Betrayal Ch. 2bySaoadora©
“Yes, seeing you together brings me pleasure. Tell me Ning, have you ever made love to your friend Ying?”, our Master asked. “Have you ever yearned for her?”
“Truthfully, Master,” I answered, “never. I never before even thought of Ying that way. At least not that I realized. Of course lately I’ve only thought of you.”
“Good answer, Ning. And you Ying,” he asked, “have you craved your friend?”
“Yes, Master, I have,” she answered. She looked up into my eyes, “I have wanted to tell her many times. But I never had the courage.” Our eyes were locked. She looked at me not just with love, but with an apparent hope of my understanding how deeply she felt about me—with a hope that I might share her feeling. As I looked deep into her beautiful eyes, and I thought of all the times we had shared together, and now of her great sacrifice in agreeing to by my Master’s slave. I realized I loved and longed for her as well. I squeezed my fingers against hers, as our wrists were locked together on the table leg.
“Interesting,” our Master said. “Are you a lesbian, Ying?”
“Oh no, Master, hardly that,” Ying answered. She surprised me, maybe even surprised my Master, by chuckling a little. “I love men especially.” She quickly added, “I have sworn myself to you Master. I am no lesbian, but my feelings for Ning are special.”
“Good answer, Ying,” Master said, allowing himself a little chuckle. “Ning is indeed special, and I think more and more that you are too. Go ahead girls. Kiss each other—with passion—this looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Between my new found feelings of lust for Ying, and the fact that I had been ordered to do so by our Master, I was passionate indeed as I pressed me face against Ying’s. We kissed a long deep kiss, then explored each other’s ears, eyes and noses with our tongues, ending with our tongues almost locked as we sucked each other’s breath in a French kiss. I strained against the cuffs wanting to grab Ying. I felt her straining as well. Our sighs of pleasure and frustration were almost a hum.
Our Master had watched us kiss for some time, and then left the room. When he returned he said, “Enough fun for now, ladies. There will be plenty of time for that. For now, I think Ying has some things to learn. You, too, Ning. There is a new dynamic here. I want to explain some rules. You will help me Ning.”
Master’s arms were behind his back. Ying remained spread-eagled in cuffs on her back on the coffee table. I was kneeling at the end of the table, wrists cuffed to the legs, my face inches away over Ying’s. My hair hung down, sweeping Ying’s cheeks. I felt a nearly uncontrollable urge to lean forward and kiss her again. I think her lips and mine almost pulsed with desire for each other.
“Of course, both of you are here—you exist—only to bring me pleasure. Lucky for you, sometimes it pleases me to see my slaves enjoy themselves—at my bidding. But, as Ning well knows, sometimes it pleases me to see the frustration of my slave as she struggles, striving for pleasure she is not able to attain. Sometimes I enjoy the look of fear. Of pain. Of humiliation. The hurt you feel as you endure my crazy whim simply because I want it.”
As Master said this, he produced the funnel from behind his back. The funnel was actually a 1.5 liter drinking water bottle. I had on my Master’s orders cut the bottom portion of it off to create a sort of funnel. I was very surprised to see it so soon. I had been Master’s slave several months before he added water sports to my humiliations. Even then, it was several more months before he introduced the funnel. Ying had become Master’s slave hardly an hour ago. I was surprised he would so soon have her drinking his golden fluid. Of course, Master was full of surprises.
As he unlocked my wrist cuffs he said, “Ning, I want you tell Ying the rules of the funnel. The “rules”, if that’s what one would call them, went something like this. The funnel was placed in the slave’s mouth. She was to hold it firmly in her lips as Master filled it with his golden flow. The slave was not allowed to swallow until ordered by our Master.
Even though I was quite used to drinking my Master’s pee— having him splash my face, shower my body—the funnel was for me still another matter entirely. The urine would fill my mouth, overwhelming my senses of taste and smell. It was difficult to breath and next to impossible not to gag while lying on my back as my mouth and a portion of the bottle filled with his warm, salty fluid. More than once I had spit some of Master’s piss out my nose, and of course I was severely punished for this. I could not imagine that Master would subject Ying to this awful humiliation so soon. Even if our Master’s piss was a substance to be worshipped.
I explained the basic rules, though of course not some of those details, to Ying. Master handed the funnel to me. “Place it in her mouth, Ning,”, he said, and I did so. Ying’s eyes betrayed some fear, but her mouth—the mouth I had just been worshipping with my tongue— accepted the funnel. “Now, get up on the table and give your friend a drink.”
I couldn’t believe what I had heard. It was not Master’s pee that would baptize Ying’s throat, but my own. I needed to protest. I longed to kiss my lovely friend’s mouth, not piss in it. But I knew better. I not only failed to protest, I quickly scrambled up onto the end of the table. I knew the consequences of delaying to obey Master’s orders.
Squatting in my black heels over the funnel was awkward at best. I edged my toes under Ying’s shoulders and lowered my pussy over the funnel, steadying myself by gently placing my hands on her breasts. I paused briefly to appreciate the feel of my black-stockinged ankles rubbing against Ying’s cheeks and the wonderful feeling of her firm breasts under my hands. I noted that her nipples hardened and rose to my palms.
Fortunately or not, my bladder was full to bursting from our earlier drinks. It was fortunate in that I am not sure that otherwise I could have peed—peed into the mouth of my dear friend Ying—on command in such an awkward and humiliating position. Fortunate because the volume of my drinks had served to dilute my urine. Unfortunate because my warm flow just kept coming and coming. Beneath me, Ying’s face was hidden from my view. But I could see her body stiffen, then writhe. I could imagine—from experience—her struggle to deal with the overwhelming sensations of accepting urine, holding it in her mouth and fighting back the gag reflex. I could imagine her breathing deeply through her nose, with every breath heavily urine scented. Part of me was revolted by what I was doing to my friend. Amazingly, though, I realized another part of me enjoyed it. I had been on the other end of the funnel often enough. It felt great to be on this end. Better Ying than me, part of me thought. I had an inkling of the sense that a Domme must feel. I hate to admit it, but a part of me enjoyed Ying’s obvious suffering.
When my flow finally ceased I looked up. Master stood before me smiling. “Good job, Ning,” he said. He embraced me and lifted me off the table, squeezing me with a congratulatory hug. He kissed me deeply. Such kisses were a rather rare reward from Master. I greedily accepted and returned them. Master fondled my buttocks, and toyed with my pussy. I took the liberty to hug my Master and my hand reached down to his hardened member. I started stroking his perfect penis and lost track of time.
“Don’t you think we should permit your friend to swallow?”, Master asked, snapping me from my reverie after who knows how long. “My god,” I thought, “how could I be so selfish?” And I noted with interest my Master’s having said “we”.
“You have done well, Ning. You have brought me a beautiful new slave. You will be rewarded, sometimes. Sometimes you will dominate her, at my bidding.” Master’s praise was unexpected. It surprised me, as did the realization that part of me enjoyed the notion of dominating my best friend. Another part me, larger I hope, was mortified. How could I dominate Ying? I looked at my friend, with the funnel still full of my urine lodged in her lovely mouth. Her eyes were sort of rolling. It was clear she could barely breath. Tears welled in my eyes, as I realized the extent of my betrayal—and my love for Ying. “And sometimes she will dominate you… at my bidding,” Master added.
“Tell her she may swallow, Ning,” said my Master. I did. I saw Ying’s throat swell and contract as she took in my urine, her head lurching back with each tortured swallow, a bubble occasionally surfacing in the funnel. Her face reddened. Her breasts heaved (I wanted to suckle them). Finally the fluid was gone. Ying’s eyes looked glazed as the funnel stood empty in her mouth. She gasped for breath.
I was about to ask Master to whether I could remove the funnel but before I could do so he opened his fly and stood over my helpless friend.