A Split-Personality Slave

'Wow,' exclaimed Mr High, 'that was some experience.'

'And who are you going to share this experience with, may I ask?' interjected Mr Low. That was a good point. Who on earth could I tell about all this? However, my aching, stinging backside took my thoughts away from the question: I had too much pain to attend to in the present to be bothered about the future.

Plus, a slight complication had arisen. I had an urgent need to use the toilet. I hadn't relieved myself since first thing this morning, and now that the intensity of my beating was over and I was returning to normal, my bladder was making its presence felt: I was bursting for a pee.

My Mistress returned after what seemed like an eternity. I rolled on my back – no, I wasn't going to forget her orders on that, not so soon after my thrashing anyway – and kicked my legs in the air.

"You may speak slave."

"May I use the bathroom please Mistress?"

"No, you may not." Not a moment's hesitation. My God! I was dumbfounded. I was already struggling to hold it in, I would never be able to hold on. " Piss on the floor" suggested a mischievous Mr Low. I ignored him and tried to think of something – anything – else to take my mind off it.

She then left the room and I could faintly hear her speaking on the telephone. It seemed to take forever, and even when she finished she didn't come back into the room. I began to panic. When she finally returned I made to roll on to my back again, ready for some more pleading, but she ordered me into 'Position One'.

"Not only do you serve and obey me, but you serve and obey anyone I tell you to, especially friends of mine. I have two very dear friends coming over in 30 minutes: this will be a good test of your obedience and how well you are learning to serve. Do you understand?"

"Y-y-yes, Mistress," was all I could manage to stammer.

"My friend Veronica and her daughter Gemma often hold watersports parties. Do you know what watersports are, slave?"

'Yeah, pissing on each other, the dirty bastards,' commented Mr Low.

'Wow,' offered Mr High.

"Yes Mistress," I said. Yes, I knew what they were all right, but never in my wildest dreams thought I would take part in them. My education was continuing at some pace... and feeling slightly ashamed, I felt a tingle of excitement run through me.

"Good. I usually lend them one or two of my slaves for their parties and I think that now will be a good opportunity for them to assess you for your suitability. When they arrive I want you stood to attention, like a sentry. And I want this little thing," she flicked my sadly deflated cock, "standing to attention. So get wanking, get it more erect. She paused for a moment. "But don't you dare cum."

I could feel my bladder stretching more and more as I stood to attention in the hall, awaiting the arrival of my Mistress's friends.

WATERSPORTS

Veronica was tall, about 5ft 10in, slim with long blonde hair. Gemma, who was apparently eighteen, but looked much younger, came up to her mother's shoulders, had the same style and colour of hair, but had more prominent breasts, unless some padding was at work. They were dressed in identical, white blouses and black skirts. Cool.

They stood in front of me and looked me up and down, until my Mistress ordered me to turn round so they could examine my beaten backside.

"Who's been a naughty boy then?" smiled Veronica.

'Not him,' said Mr Low. 'He's done bugger all wrong yet, and he's already black and blue.' Which just goes to show – even Job's comforter has to be right some times. God, I hate it when he's right!

"Me, Miss," I replied weakly.

I was left standing in the hall with my semi-erect cock while my Mistress took her friends into the front room.

A couple of minutes later they came out and I was ordered up the stairs to the bathroom. I felt enormous relief and complete terror all at once. What the hell was going to happen?

" You're going to get pissed on idiot" interjected Mr Low.

I ignored him and hurried upstairs, followed by the others. My stomach was cramping and I had to stop half way up. My Mistress slapped my backside impatiently. I was bursting, but this situation was so humiliating. Finally we reached the toilet and I eyed it greedily, desperate to stand in front of it and let it all go.

My Mistress outlined the procedure, and my heart sank. "Stand in front of the toilet bowl, my dear slave. Gemma is going to hold your cock in her hand and help you to relieve yourself. Say thank you to young Gemma."

"Thank you Gemma," I said, feeling my face flush with embarrassment. Gemma stood alongside me and gripped her finger and thumb around my - now growing - cock. She slowly moved them up and down my shaft, very gently, and she urged me on.

"Let it come out, come on, don't be shy, I will aim it at the bowl for you. Come along, r-e-l-i-e-v-e yourself, just for little Gemma." I tried to relax and felt the first few drops coming through. It was incredibly difficult though. It was ridiculous: I was totally desperate, but here I was, finally standing in front of the bowl, and I still had to strain to let it go. "That's a good little boy," said Gemma and her mother in unison. Being spoken to like that, as though I were a little child, wasn't helping. However, gradually, the trickle became a steady flow, and I could feel the relief on my over-stretched bladder. It was coming, thank God, it was coming.

The direction of my piss was solely dictated by Gemma. She had control of my penis and for a second she mischievously aimed it on the rim of the toilet bowl so it splashed onto the tiled floor. Frankly I didn't care, I was just so thankful that my bladder was finally getting relief. Yes, I know it was a mistake.

"Oh dear, look what this naughty boy has done now," Gemma giggled, pointing to the mess I had been forced to make.

"Oh, that's no problem. He can clean it up with his tongue later," snorted my Mistress.

As Gemma shook the last few drops from my cock I heard her mother in conversation with my Mistress. "All that peeing has made me want to go as well."

"Me too," said Gemma.

"Excellent, that's what I hoped you'd say," replied my Mistress. "This will be a good opportunity for some more training for my new slave." From the corner of the bathroom she dragged out a portable toilet bowl. Its porcelain bottom was about two feet below the toilet seat. The middle of the front part of the base had been cut away, leaving a semi-circular groove, a couple of inches from the floor: a groove that the nape of your neck could rest in very conveniently, thank you very much, while the toilet seat could still be lowered into position and could be used conventionally. The difference being that instead of the normal plumbing arrangements, resting on the porcelain base – directly below the arse or pussy of the user – would be somebody's face.

My face.

'Did they say they wanted a pee or a shit?' commented Mr Low, alarm evident in his voice.

'Don't worry,' Mr High reassured us, 'it's only a stream of piss.'

This did not calm Mr Low. 'Yeah, it's only a stream of piss, but where is that stream of piss heading? That's the worrying question.'

I could have guessed, but it was nice of my Mistress to explain the 'bleedin' obvious'. I was beginning to recognise this trait: dominants do like to spell out in great detail what they are about to do. Presumably to add to the fear factor for the poor submissives. I have news for you: it works.

"Today, I believe for the first time in your life slave, you will be tasting other people's urine. You will rest the back of your head on the base of the toilet, placing the nape of your neck in the groove provided. The groove is shaped so that it gives you some room for manoeuvre. This is important because I want you to collect as much urine as possible in your mouth, these lovely ladies will provide plenty I am sure. " She paused. "And then I want you to swallow it all down." She looked at me quizzically, trying to gauge my response. I wasn't sure what it was. Not only had I never tasted other people's urine, I had not even tasted my own. It's not the kind of thing you get up to down the local pub on a Saturday night. At least it's not where I live.

'You're not actually going to do this crap are you?' enquired Mr Low, his choice of words somewhat ironic. I was. Not only did I not want to suffer any further punishment at the hands of my Mistress but also I was perversely intrigued as to what piss actually tasted like. I reasoned that it was female urine, and I adored females, so, why not? I was slightly shocked that I was prepared to go through with it, but I knew, deep down, there was no question. My Mistress still stared at me, and I nodded, then lowered myself to the floor. I rested the nape of my neck on the groove at the base of the toilet and readied myself. My Mistress lowered the toilet seat. I had a clear view straight upwards but couldn't see anything at an angle. It was a bit claustrophobic but I was very aroused.

'You sick bastard,' shouted Mr Low.

'Leave him alone, he knows what he's doing,' replied Mr High in my defence. I think he was right. I think...

I lay motionless, staring upwards, helpless in this bizarre prison, and after a moment I was presented with a truly magnificent sight. Being lowered down onto the toilet seat, about 12 inches from my face, was a lovely, smooth, lady's bottom.

I studied it up close. The crack in her arse, her dormant anus, and those lovely pussy lips, and the sublime slit in her cunt. I was so close that I could even count her pussy hairs, given the time. I knew all this belonged to Veronica. I thought I had gone to heaven. Any doubts I had harboured disappeared. I wanted this. I knew it. Then I heard a voice, Veronica's I think. "Get ready: one, two, three..."

And the first few drops trickled out of her cunt and splashed my cheeks. And then some trickled into my mouth and I smacked my lips to taste it. Then suddenly I couldn't see a thing as Veronica's piss cascaded from her pussy and I shut my eyes tight instinctively. I could feel the urine streaming onto my lips, splashing my nose, and trickling down my chin.

"Drink," I heard my Mistress shout.

I gulped and filled my mouth with this lady's nectar. I tried to gargle with it, stopping it sliding down my throat. "Swallow it!" My Mistress commanded. It was still flooding out of Veronica and I had no choice but to gulp a mouthful down. It tasted bitter and I attempted to spit some out. It was a hopeless cause though. I could do nothing but wait as the stream poured onto my face: more and more came pouring down, and I kept gulping and gulping. For a moment it began to overwhelm me and I thought I was going to drown, before her stream of piss started to ease off. I opened my eyes, just in time to see the last few drops falling from her pussy. That was a lovely, unforgettable sight, but the bitter taste in my mouth remained.

"That wasn't very good was it, slave?" my Mistress admonished.

I was sure that she couldn't have a clear view of my face, but I didn't want to argue. "No Mistress, sorry Mistress, I'll do better next time Mistress."

"Yes, you will indeed. And guess what? The next time has already arrived. Hasn't it Gemma? Okay slave – get ready."

I barely had time to consider the implications of her words before my world went dark again and Gemma's arse began to descend toward me. It was larger than her mother's, but it was lovely. Her skin was so soft, so smooth. Her pussy lips were puffy and wet. I wanted to lick her: ridiculously, I even stretched my tongue towards her, as though I could possibly reach. And, I realised, the shock rushing through me, I wanted to take everything she pissed out of that lovely organ into my mouth. " Do it," I pleaded silently.

"Here it comes," Gemma warned. Oh yes, oh yes.

As with her mother, I marvelled as the first few drops seeped from her cunt, and this time I was more prepared for the cascade that was to follow. It came with a force stronger than Veronica's. My face was awash in a second, but my mouth was eagerly open and swallowing as much of Gemma's piss as it was capable of. I lost count of the mouthfuls I swallowed but I noticed her piss had a different taste to her mother's. It wasn't bitter at all, in fact it was quite acceptable. I gulped and gulped, swallowing every drop of her gorgeous juice, feeling a sense of disappointment as her flow began to subside. Again I managed to open my eyes in time to see the last few drops ooze out of her. Lovely.

My Mistress must have sensed my enthusiasm because she began to clap. Gemma rose and the three of them lifted the toilet seat and peered down at my face. I was drenched. My hair was wet through with the piss I hadn't managed to swallow, mostly Veronica's, of course. My nose, mouth, cheeks and chin were drenched in these ladies' urine. I peered up at their faces: they seemed pleased.

"Mine should have tasted of coffee," Gemma informed me with a giggle.

"I am showing my friends out now, slave. Get up and shower, and don't forget to clean up that pool of piss at the side of the main toilet which you stupidly did when Gemma was trying to help relieve you. Then you may retire to your bedroom, second on the left along the passage, and I will be back up to see you shortly. If you feel like masturbating I would advise against it. I strictly forbid it."

DECISION TIME

I cleaned the bathroom and showered. I thought for a moment about licking the mess up with my tongue as suggested by my Mistress, however my Mistress wasn't around to notice, so I used some toilet paper. "That's cheating" said Mr High. Yes it was, I agreed. Obviously my training had a long way to go. My Mistress had left me no clothes so I assumed I would spend the night naked. The room allocated to me was tiny and spartan. The walls were dark blue, the one under-sheet on the single bed was also dark blue. There was no cover sheet. Completely covering the wall facing the door was a huge mirror. After the intense excitement of the previous experience, I suddenly felt alone and lonely. I felt my bruised and sore bottom. Licking my lips, I could still taste the bitterness of Veronica' piss.

'What the hell had she been drinking?' asked Mr Low. I didn't know, but whatever it was, I didn't much like it. In contrast, I thought about how Gemma's urine tasted much sweeter. Coffee hmmm, I must remember that.

The bedroom door opened, interrupting my thoughts, and my Mistress walked in. 'Position One," she commanded, and I fell to my knees. "Your supper is in a bowl under your bed. There are no eating utensils available to you. You will place the bowl in front of the mirror, you will keep your hands behind your back, and you will eat your food like a dog. You must learn humility in all things and you are very lucky indeed to have a teacher like me. Now take the bowl to the mirror."

I had long since stopped thinking and instead reacted immediately: I located the bowl and positioned it in front of the wall mirror. I knelt and put my hands behind my back, peering into the bowl as I did. It was a salad, with ample lettuce and large chunks of carrot.

'She thinks you're a fucking rabbit, doesn't she, Bugs?" giggled Mr Low.

'Shut up, you're putting him off' responded Mr High. Good for you Mr High I thought. At least I had one ally in all this. I hadn't eaten all day, so I didn't have too much of a problem scooping up my supper from the bowl. I glanced in the mirror and could see my Mistress looking on approvingly.

'Woof, woof,' mimicked Mr Low. " He's not a rabbit, he's a fucking dog."

'You're putting him off again,' cautioned Mr High.

'Putting him off? He wants fucking locking up. He's sick in the head doing all this stuff.'

My Mistress patted the top of my head. "Tomorrow we will commence with your anal training. Do you know what a butt plug is, slave? Never mind, you will find out soon enough. Now get some sleep, you will need your strength." My Mistress turned to leave, looked over her shoulder at me and added, with a mischievous glint in her eye: "My niece will be visiting us tomorrow."

She left the room and I went to lie on the bed. My arse was sore, my throat was raw, and I was still hungry.

"We're not going to be here tomorrow are we?' suggested Mr Low. 'There's nothing stopping us getting out of this place tonight. All this submission stuff, it's really not for us, is it?'

'Hey, it's something different,' said Mr High, with a touch of optimism. 'You've got to ask yourself, did you enjoy the experiences you had today or not?'

'En-fucking-joy?' exclaimed Mr Low. 'He was spanked, thrashed, humiliated and pissed on. How much fucking 'enjoyment'can one person stand, for Christ's sake?'

It was true. I could just get up right now and walk out of the door. Nothing was stopping me. Except, of course, my Mistress.

'Push the bitch out of the way, then,' Mr Low suggested.

'He doesn't mean she's physically stopping him you idiot,' retorted Mr High. 'He means mentally.'

'Mentally, he's fucking mental all right if he stays for more of this tomorrow.'

It was a dilemma indeed. I was being forced to dig deep into my innermost feelings to discover my true sexual nature: it's an uncomfortable experience, I guess everyone would like to imagine they are dominant – or at least men do: it must be something to do with the testosterone flooding our systems, I think. I had never been submissive in all my forty-two years: quite the contrary - I had always revelled in being dominant.

I am dominant.

But.

I lay back on the bed, exposed and naked, and recalled the sight of Veronica and Gemma's pussies. My hand strayed down to my, by now, erect cock, but I quickly moved it away as I remembered my instructions. Damn. This was very frustrating: I would need the permission of my Mistress to cum. I was no longer in control of my own cock. And for all those years I was the dominant one. I'm still dominant, I said to myself. Perhaps I should get out of this place. No more beatings, no more humiliation, no more drinking other people's urine. To stay or leave: that was the question I had to answer?

I put this to my helpers and we decided to have a vote on it. Stay or go?

Mr Low's vote was as expected: 'Get the hell out of here, now. Get out, for Christ's sake."

Likewise, Mr High was true to form. 'Stay, I think you like it, don't you?'

So, the casting vote was mine.

Hell, what was I to do? Assert my dominance and walk out, or submit to these new desires. It was my choice. Dominant or submissive? I closed my eyes and gripped my hand around my cock, squeezing gently. It felt good. I dropped my hand to my side and lay on the bed motionless. I had decided.

We stayed.