Controlled Surrender

She glanced up and he was looking at her so intently that she had to look away. She started to ask if she could rest her head on his knee when he said he had a task for her.

"Ok, Serving girl, get us some breakfast. Or, since you slept in so long, brunch." He told her what to get, and she put everything on a tray. The makings for sandwiches, a couple of those meal replacement drinks for her, a couple bottles of water that had been in the freezer, and a few beers. She brought everything over and put the tray where he indicated on a table to his right. Then she resumed her place, kneeling on the towel and pad at his feet.

He opened one of the drinks, and told her to open up; this quirk of his amused her. She leaned forward and tilted her head back as he poured the liquid into her mouth, varying the height of his hand and making her move slightly. She thought he liked watching her having to keep up with out fast the liquid poured out. The second bottle he just handed to her while he made himself a sandwich, and opened one of the beers. When she was done with her second drink, he took the bottle back from her, put it on the tray and opened another beer.

This time he tipped the bottle upside down in her mouth, and she held it there. He made her sit like that while he ate his sandwich and drank his beer. When he was done, he moved the bottle in and out of her mouth, as though he was fucking her face with it, then tilted it over so the beer finally came out. He poured the beer into her, and then put it with the other empties on the tray. He ate another sandwich while she watched him, with a pleased and contented look on her face.

When he was done with the sandwich he told her to leave the water bottles and take everything else back to throw away. She knew he was watching, so she moved as quickly as she could and came back to what she was beginning to think of as her place, on the towel pad.

He relaxed back into the chair, and told her he wanted to cum, quickly. He turned on the TV to a nature documentary and she leaned forward to take his cock back in her mouth. She licked and suckled his head, used her hands to spread his knees. She used her tongue on his underside, licking and massaging the big veins that ran through there, relishing the feeling of his erection growing in her mouth. She kissed and slurped along the sides of his shaft, then used her tongue to pay special attention to his head and underside of his glans. She used her lips to pinch his skin lightly, then ran her tongue in long, saliva coated passes from the very base of his cock around his head and down his shaft to the base again.

When he was completely erect and sighing, she fucked him with her mouth. Because of the angle, she couldn't take him quite as far in as she had the day before on the picnic table, but she did the best she could. When his head hit the back of her mouth, she felt him tap the back of her head, and she pressed down a little further. He tapped her head again, and she made herself go further still. Then she felt the weight of his hand, not pressing her down, just indicating that she couldn't move up. She wasn't quite choking, but she had to concentrate on breathing, and she could feel the drool running out of her mouth on to him. Just when she felt like she had to pull of, he tapped her head again, and she forced her mouth open wider, forced her throat open, and slid further down his shaft.

Again, he held his hand on her head. She had her hands on his knees, and found herself wanting to pinch him or ball up a fist and hit him. But she fought off the panic and stayed where she was, closing her eyes and making herself notice that she was still getting air. Then, mercifully she thought, he tapped her head twice, and she pulled off of him. She slid back until just his head was in her mouth, and closed her lips around him. When she moved to resume licking him, he tapped the back of her head again. She sucked in a lung full of air and forced herself on him again.

This time, he didn't hold her there nearly as long, and soon she was bobbing up and down on his shaft and he was moaning and grunting. When she noticed him holding his breath she took him deep again, and he ejaculated down her throat. She sucked her spit off of him as best she could, and he stroked her hair.

"Sir, can I get you a towel? To clean some of this up?"

"Sure, Cunny, go ahead. But remember, no dawdling, come right back."

She jumped up and walked quickly to the bathroom to get a hand towel. She thought about stopping to pee, but decided she didn't really need to go just then, and wanted to get back to him. Kneeling down in front of him again, she wiped up the mess of her drool carefully and gently, then wiped off her face, folded the towel and put it down next to her. She figured she'd need it again.

Now when she looked at him, he looked so contented and relaxed. He looked happy, blissful almost. She smiled, because she was doing that for him. For so much of their relationship, he did things for her, to her, that gave her that same look. They were violent things that a large portion of people wouldn't understand, but he was willing to do them. He'd been willing to meet her needs, even when he hadn't understood at first.

That was part of why she'd agreed to this week of his ownership, as he'd put it. She wanted to repay him for all the ways he'd changed during their relationship. Sure, he seemed to have grown into the Dom role pretty naturally, but she still felt like she'd led him to it. That if he'd never met her, he'd just be a regular vanilla guy with a regular vanilla sex life. Not that she thought he minded things being so different, not now anyway.

She sighed, looking at him, and he was reaching out again, to touch her hair and cheek.

"Sir?"

"Yes, sweet Cunny?"

"May I rest my head on your knee?"

He chuckled, "Of course, Cunny, love. Of course."

She settled down, leaning forward, her head on his knee, his cock almost close enough to lick. She closed her eyes, and heard him unmute the TV.

He looked at her, at this picture of contentment, wondering what would happen when she realized what his plan really was. He'd outlined things so carefully, knowing he had to leave her the clues, but spell nothing out. This was the day. His day. His day to find out if he could actually control her, could actually convince her to behave how he wanted, whether she wanted it or not. If someone had asked him six months ago, or even a month ago, how he knew what it would take, he wouldn't have been able to explain it.

Sitting in the chair right then, with her head on his knee, and his hand lightly in her hair, he still couldn't have explained it. But he knew. He was sure. If she acquiesced today, if she capitulated today; well, then, she was his. Truly. He was pretty confident. But he wasn't counting chickens. Wasn't even assuming there were eggs. It would take some careful manipulation when the time came, so he had to stay alert. Which was kind of a shame, because having pissed in her and cum in her, and eaten lunch, what he really wanted was a nap. He'd been so excited he woke up before dawn. He'd wanted to roust her out of bed, but that wouldn't have worked with the rest of the plan.

He changed the channel to something a little more interesting, glanced at the clock to guess how much time had passed since he poured his bladder into her and followed it with the liquid meals and alcohol. Tried to think how often she got up to pee when they were at home. Then he realized he could pee again, so he tapped her lightly on the cheek.

"Yes, sir?"

"Lean back, Cunny. I'm gonna piss on your tits."

She smiled broadly. "Yessir."

She leaned back, putting her hands down behind her, and spread her knees a little more. He scooted forward in the chair and gripped his penis so he could aim his stream. He landed a good shot right between her tits, and moved the stream back and forth, soaking the t-shirt, and showing off the bright red bra. She tilted her head back so that his urine splattered onto her neck, but missed her face. When he was done, she leaned forward to suck out his urine again, and kissed his head.

She felt the pressure starting build in her own bladder, but she didn't want to get up. She just wanted to stay there, leaning against him, awash in the emotions of the past couple of days. She was sort of drifting, not quite asleep, but not really awake, despite the awkward position, and she bet she had a goofy look on her face. She waited a while, every now and then stealing glances at him, resisting the urge to wrap her arms around his legs. Laughing at herself for acting like a lovesick teen.

She watched him, watching the TV, wondering what was going through his mind. Hoping that she was making him as happy as she felt. Gradually, her bladder became more insistent that it needed to be emptied, so she sat up and started to shuffle away from him, still on her knees.

"What are you doing?" he asked her.

"I have to go to the bathroom."

"You're not allowed to get up."

"You said I didn't have to ask permission."

"You don't."

"Ok. Well, I need to go to the bathroom."

He repeated himself, harshly. "You're not allowed to get up."

"But I need to pee."

"So, pee."

"Ok." She started to stand.

"What do you think you are doing?"

Exasperated, she snapped, "I'm going to the bathroom."

"You are not allowed to get up."

"But," she said, startled, "I have to urinate."

"So. Urinate."

"I can't urinate here."

"Can't you?"

"Oh, c'mon, you can't mean..."

"First, I'm still 'Sir' to you. Second, I can mean whatever I want." She was so close, he could almost taste it. He could tell that she'd waited a long time. That her biological need was great. He just needed to convince her that her psychological need was greater.

"Please, Sir," she was practically whining. "I really have to go."

"You are not allowed to get up."

"Sir. Please, Sir, I..." Her voice was a hoarse whisper, her eyes pleading with him.

He was implacable. "You are not allowed to get up."

He watched the realization hit her; he could almost see the force of it.

She ducked her head, she leaned forward. She felt the impact of his words. Felt the understanding rush over her. Her stomach flipped, suddenly she felt nauseated. She felt flushed, hot, shaky. He couldn't mean this. He couldn't mean to make her piss herself. Make her sit in her own piss. He'd said this would be an easy day. Sure, she'd let him piss in her and on her all day long. She'd done that before. But he'd never even hinted at this.

She tried again. Tried to keep the desperation out of her voice. "Please, Sir. Please let me get up. Use me however you want. I'll be your urinal all week. I'll.."

"Stop it. Begging won't help. You made a promise." He'd wanted to add that she'd be his urinal whenever he damn well wanted, but stopped himself. He needed to stay completely and utterly calm. No swearing, no insults. If she felt the least bit brow beaten it wouldn't work. It had to be her decision completely. No restraints, no threats, only his solid will.

She was rocking back and forth, maybe to try to keep from peeing, maybe in distress. It didn't matter. She couldn't make eye contact with him. Her mind was spinning. Second guessing herself. What had she agreed to. Why hadn't she anticipated this. How could she not have? Or how could she have. He'd never cared before. Never paid any mind, never once in any of their games had he come close to this. Sure, she'd accidentally peed herself a time or two, but that was in the middle of a beating, or a good hard fucking after a few orgasms. But to intentionally, deliberately, set her up and make her do this. That had never happened; she'd never dreamed that it would.

She hated him. She fucking hated that he was doing this to her. No, he wasn't doing this to her. She was agreeing to it. She had agreed to it. She'd agreed to eight days of his complete control. She'd affirmatively agreed, after more than a day of thinking about it. Fuck. What was it she'd so confidently said to him. "Every command is a negotiation." Bullshit.

But not bullshit. Because, if she was being honest, she was negotiating. Just not with him. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. Her bladder was painful now. Soon it was going to cramp, and she wouldn't have an option. In fact, she was beginning to think that if she tried to stand up now she'd wind up peeing on herself anyway. But would that be better, to defy him and have an accident? Or deliberately let her bladder go in front of him?

She'd closed her eyes, but she could feel him watching her. Felt the weight of his stare, boring into her. She heard herself sob. Told herself to reel it back in. She shook her head hard. Of all the things he could have asked of her, this seemed simple. Clearly he'd set everything up. The pad and trash bags that she'd assumed were to catch his splatter, were really to contain her mess. Her mess. She'd been on the verge of letting go, but that thought of 'her mess' stopped her. She was angry, she wanted her anger to be justified, wanted a reason to declare that he'd misled her. But he hadn't. He'd been clear from the day he asked her. Another sob leaked out of her.

Then relief. She would do as he asked. She would show him that she was a woman of her word. She would show him that she would hold up her end of the bargain. She almost convinced herself that she was acting as an equal partner. She needed to convince herself of that in that moment.

She opened her eyes, looked directly at him.

He whispered, "Let me see."

She rose up, put her hands behind her on her ankles, pushed her pelvis out. Let her bladder go.

He watched those thin red panties darken. Watched the first rivulets of piss flow out and down her thigh. His eyes followed her stream to her knee, seeing where it soaked into the towel. This was maybe her second piss all day, and her liquid meal had plenty of time to concentrate. The towel discolored, and her scent permeated the air. He felt flush with passion and triumph, but cautious too. She was crying in a way he'd only heard maybe once before.

She laid her head back and was sobbing uncontrollably. She felt her urine stream coating her legs, and the heat building in the panties. She smelled herself in a way she'd never paid attention to before. She let go emotionally too. She didn't even try to hold back, wailing like a child, and having to take great hitching breaths so she didn't pass out. Thoughts were roiling through her, snapshots of other humiliations, other times she'd felt useless or worthless. In that moment, she couldn't decide who she hated more, him for requiring this of her, or herself for complying.

Her bladder was empty. She was still crying, she put her hands to her face, and suddenly he was cradling her head. He'd slid most of the way off his chair, and had wrapped his arms around her and was stroking her back. She didn't hear what he was saying at first, then as her sobs abated, she could understand him.

"You're amazing. I know that was hard on you. I've got you. I've got you now. You're ok. You're beautiful. I've got you."

He held onto her as she relaxed in his arms. Then he sat her up to look in her eyes. At first she wouldn't make eye contact, so he put a hand gently under her chin.

"Cunny, Cunt, darling. I don't have words. I'm so very proud of you."

She was baffled and more than a little disgusted with herself. But the look in his eyes. He wasn't lying. He really was happy. He really was proud. He was stroking her hair; he kissed her forehead, then kissed her on the lips. Her lips. The same lips that had swallowed his piss and cum just a little earlier. Suddenly the connection between them was undeniable. She felt a glimmer of contentment then, in feeling that connection. She remembered what she'd thought when she was drinking his piss. About it being an intimate act of trust. She realized she was smiling back at him.

He held up a hand, and there was an object in it she didn't recognize. He grinned and pressed a button. She felt the butt plug that she'd forgotten about vibrating and shivered. He pressed the button again, and the intensity of the vibration increased and it started pulsing. She'd never had a vibrating butt plug in before. She realized she was grinning too. He held up his hand again, and she recognized the remote for the vibrator. He pressed the button a few times, and the vibrator settled into her favorite pattern, several pulses of increasing intensity and duration, then a pause and it started again. She pressed both her hands against her crotch only momentarily put off by the feel of the warm sopping wet lace. She was humping against her hand, making the vibrator press against her clit as much as she could.

She heard him say, laughing, "Go ahead, Cunny, get yourself off."

So she did. He helped her out by increasing the vibrations, and she rocked her cunt against her hand harder and harder until the orgasm skipped through her and she leaned forward onto his chair, shuddering. He kept both vibrators running in another minute she was cumming again.

She looked up at him. "Please, Sir. I need your cock."

He let her have him willingly, enthusiastically, let her fuck him with her mouth and didn't even direct her. He figured she was on orgasm number four when he pulled her off of him so he could shoot all over her tits. Only then did he turn off the vibrators.

She leaned down again, head on his knee, looking contented once more. By now the frozen water bottles were more than half thawed. He drank about half of one, and then sat her up and poured some of the other in her mouth, and down her chest, watching her nipples harden with the cold. He was pleased, but he wasn't arrogant enough to think that this one session had inculcated the change he was looking for.

He had been a little surprised at how long she fought against her physical need, and very surprised at the emotional reaction. He'd expected her to get angry with him, to curse him, to threaten to end the experiment. He'd been prepared with a lecture on following through on promises. But for her to start crying like that. He really wanted to know what she was thinking, what she was saying to herself. But he couldn't ask. The look on her face afterward, when he was holding her, made him hopeful. Made him think that just a little more manipulation was required.

But for now, he wanted to keep her out of her own head. So he told her he was hungry and wanted another beer. She stood up, asking him permission to wash her hands before getting the food. Of course he agreed. When she knelt back down after bringing the food, he watched a look of disgust flash across her face when her knee hit the wet spot on the towel.

"Do you need to stretch your legs, Cunny?"

"Yes, Sir. That would be nice."

"Go ahead then, turn sideways and lean into me if you want. Use my leg as a back rest."

She did, and he watched her as the wet towel squished against her butt. She grimaced, then sighed, and leaned back against his leg. He rested a hand on her head, and she was still close enough that he could easily use her mouth. He handed her the water bottle, and she drank absentmindedly. He polished off the beer, and the sandwich, then made her a half sandwich and fed it to her in chunks. She thanked him after every bite.

He turned the TV to a football game he knew she'd be interested in. They settled in for what appeared to be a lazy afternoon. His bladder filled up again, and she repositioned so she could swallow his urine. Once again, he marveled at how little that bothered her, compared to the simpler act of befouling herself. When he was empty, he tapped her head so she'd look at him.