Spilling the Chamber Pot

Important note!!

Today, as I was performing my chamber pot duties, I mistook a breath and spilled all over my Master. As punishment I have to write a new story for you, and may not piss until it is finished. Also, I may not cum until this story receives its first comment.

The windows are open, but the breeze doesn't atone for the humidity in the room. The sun has set, but neither of us are close to retiring. The night is heavy with summer; the room is lit with Christmas lights. You are making dinner, and I am tidying up our sitting space. I feel my skirt ride up my thighs as I pick up objects, and slightly wish that I was wearing nothing-the A/C is broken, and the windows just aren't doing it. But you have plans for tonight, and this is the outfit I was told to wear.

I light candles on the low table, and feel you enter the room. From behind me, I feel a palm grace my back, sliding a little lower playfully. Here you go, you say, and present me with a full glass of wine. We're both going to need this tonight, you add. I say thank you, and gladly take a sip before lighting the last candle.

You go to the speaker, and plug in your phone. Gently, tango music saunters into the room. I watch your fingertips pinch around a knob, and my mind goes a little too far with the connections it's making. I can tell I've been ready to have this night to ourselves, as I realize that the rising sound- which is a result of your twisting motion, seems a little too familiar a result. My nipples get a little envious, and I lift my glass while getting back on track. You weren't paying attention- were you? Surely not. I'm not so desperate. Not yet.

You leave the room, and I finish my task. I go to you in the kitchen and start to gather the silverware. I see you refilling your glass, and when I look at your face there's a twinkle in your eye. Devilishly, you let me know that for now you'll be needing to drink twice as much as me. I take the hint and get a little more excited. Before you I never had as much fun with our own needs. It's funny how tastes change.

I carry the plates out, and you follow. This skirt is tiny, and it feels a little silly wearing such a thing just while at home. It's probably why you keep on walking behind me though. I set down the plates, and try to sit without the skirt riding up too much. Right now we're just eating, and I don't want to get too far too fast.

Dinner has gone and went. True to your word, for every time you filled my glass, you made no move to hide that you needed to finish whatever left you had as well. Not just wine- you didn't want for us to get too drunk tonight. You hand me back the glass with water, and I'm wondering how you're making due with this stipulation you've put upon yourself. I observe the glass, reflecting on how much I've always liked its shape. It's not the traditional wine glass, instead it's maybe meant more for hot toddy's and Irish coffee. Clear and long, the width of the glass has got to be at least three inches. Not that I'd be able to look at a cylindrical object and have good judgment on how wide it was. Especially not if it was as large as three inches or more. No. Not me.

You growl at me, and I'm snapped out of my thoughts. You can tell I'm getting more distracted. I ask for what you said, and for not hearing you the first time you change the order from drinking it quickly to finishing it in one go. You get closer, and press a hand on my abdomen. I squirm, and you remind me that you've been having double. My eyes glimmer, and I feel the fullness when you press the heel of your palm deeper. I bring the glass to my lips, inhale, and let the water hit my mouth. Swallowing, I watch you watching me, but soon I have to pay more attention to finishing what you poured in time for me to catch my breath. My head tilts back, and I feel my throat making contractions as it gets harder and harder to swallow it all.

I pull back, inhale deeply, and you swirl your hand around my bladder while telling me I'm a good girl. Your lips land on my wet mouth and I open for a hungry invasion from your tongue. Lost in the slick feeling of our saliva mixing over variegated taste buds, my eyes close. You're straddling me now, grinding your hips into my pelvis. You feel so full.

The song changes, and you halt our little makeout session. You move my hand from your hair, and as our faces are close you let me know you've got a present for me. It's all about presentation you say, and you take my empty glass from my side. You also pickup the wine bottle, and it looks like you're surprised by how little it weighs. Holding it up to the multicolored lights, you inspect the bottle. Surely enough, I see that there isn't too much left. As if on a second thought, you get back in front of me. Open your mouth, I hear. My tongue cautiously darts out as my lips open. It's easier to smell how musky you are with the organ exposed, and you take the initiative. Moving quicker than I expected, the bottle's neck is laid on my tongue. Deep green against the pink. You're feeling more forceful now, and the burgundy hits the back of my throat. Involuntarily I shiver, feeling the strength in the blend go down. Over in seconds though; now you repeat that there's still a present. I wipe my mouth, and you grab my hair. I'll need to have a better view I'm told, and I follow your lead to my knees. Looking up at you, you smile and unzip your fly. Producing the erection I always adore, I realize the glass you're holding now is your own. But you hadn't finished your wine. Confused, I watch how proud you look back at me. You seem so pleased that I haven't been able to keep up with your game.

The glass is intimately cupped in your hand; you literally enter the glass with your cock, and my thoughts disappear with your vulgarity. Eyes wide, I'm not even able to handle how I just got to see your cock slide into such a transparent vessel. You engorge a little more, my eyes doing the same. The dark wine of the glass becomes lighter, more diluted. As I realize what you are doing, I'm just a bit horrified over the impiety of your action, and my panties get wetter when I see how much pleasure you're getting from pushing things further than I'd dare. Still pissing, you draw back your erection, which is glistening with the adulteration that has now filled the glass fully. The stream is stopped short, and there's no way that was all you had in you. But now, with control, you position the glass into my hands.

Have I already picked up my jaw? The surprise from your little scene has left me shocked. And wet. Close to my crotch, the skirt is clinging more; I think my panties just got soaked from watching you. Go on, you usher. Appreciate the present. You're going to fill the bottle next.

Dear readers, I'm so horny, and nearly bursting. Four tall glasses of water later, and the rest of his liquid as well. It's tedious waiting for him to get back so I don't make another mess.

But more importantly, I can't cum until someone posts a comment on this story. It looks like you'll be getting more postings soon. Please help a slave out!