Muddy Summers Day

I dragged my head up blearily, mouth open, gasping for air, and felt something hot pushing insistently through the layers and layers of accumulated filth.

Please no not... that...

The running joke among my friends is that "Felicity doesn't have a piss kink... yet". It's something I'm curious about, it's something that flusters me when it gets brought up, but it isn't something I've properly explored. It seems like such an extreme level of humiliation, of degradation, the ultimate reinforcement of hierarchy, of power dynamic, but like... god it's so gross. My usual "horrified fascination" approach to kink turned up to 11.

I guess I dragged my feet long enough someone else decided for me...

I could now clearly identify the stream pouring down my face, hot and acrid, burning my eyes, playing back and forth, trailing lower, pushing at my lips as I screwed them tightly shut.

"Open if you know what's good for you, you little slut. Don't make us hurt you any more than we already have." Yellow hissed at me, and reluctantly I cracked my mouth open, the warm stream pooling in my mouth and running down my chin into the mud below.

"Oh good, the toilet is finally open" I heard Blue toss a can into a trash bin and moments later I felt a second stream at the back of my head, soaking deep into my muddy mop of hair, down my back, the warmth playing across bruises, running between my ass cheeks.

Hot embarrassed tears poured down my face, pooling with the piss in the face shaped dent in the mud beneath me. Low sobs and moans burbled out of my mouth in between trying to spit the taste out. And then it was done. I tried to hold my head up, away from the stinking mud beneath me, but it was a losing battle. I sank down, laid my cheek onto the warm filth, and tried to scrape my brain back together.

I felt not quite inside my body, but somewhere above, in the light breeze, or in the sun on my back. My body was ruined, in every sense of the word, and it would take time and effort to force my thought, my mind, my will back into it, and so instead I let myself wander. I couldn't see out of stinging, mud-caked eyes but I heard the conversation start back up, heard laughter, heard more cans opening, smelled the hot dogs on the grill- there it was. The smell of food kicked my stomach hard enough to pull me slowly back into the body, slowly taking inventory of my aches, forced to confront what happened to me.

Whenever I do a particularly intense scene there's this really delicious wound from the betrayal. How could they do this to me? Aren't they my friends? How could they possibly treat me like this? How am I supposed to go on being their friend after this? How am I supposed to look them in the eye? I poked at the thoughts over and over again, the way your tongue pokes at a loose tooth, teasing jolts of pain out through repeated careful inspection.

"c...can" I could barely hear myself. I took a bit more time, tried again, my hollow voice a bit louder.

"Can... can I have something to eat..." I didn't hear a response, the conversation didn't seem to pause, and I began to gather my strength for a third attempt when something slapped against my face hard, dropping into the mud beside me.

"Oh wow, great shot" Green congratulated. "Fe, you better eat that quick. I'm going to need to use the bathroom soon and I'm pretty sure you want to be done with your hot dog before I come over there."

Oh god... am I going to do this? I can't believe I'm fucking doing this

Moment of indecision almost immediately overcome, I began to root around, trying to find the hot dog, trying my best to separate reeking mud from food as I awkwardly devoured my lunch. As I was gulping down the last mouthful, I felt Green begin to empty their bladder all over my face. Something seemed to break in me, and I found myself tilting my face up, trying to use the piss to clear my eyes. Once it was over, I could blink the stinging liquid away and get my sight back. I felt it working, dirt and grime sluicing down my face, my eyelids feeling lighter and less gummy. The stream trickled out, and I heard a fly being zipped back up, and began frantically squinting and blinking, fluttering my lashes, tears streaming down my face, and being greeted by bright light, before seeing it blocked out almost immediately by the shadow of a large boot, moving up, up, over my head, pressing me down.

"Nonononopleasenonopleasepleasedon'tple-" my face was shoved down, pressed side to side, mixing the piss and mud into a horrible slurry, caking back up and over anything that had briefly been exposed.

"Silly girl. Interesting thought, trying to put the shower firmly into golden shower, but I don't think we can allow it." One final emphatic shove pushed my head fully under the mud, leaving me to slowly crane my neck again, breaking the surface, the air fully tainted and reeking of urinal filth. Blinded again, I wept quietly.

Time passed. My... 'friends' enjoyed their afternoon outing. At one point it sounded like they chased each other around with the garden hose. They laughed, they enjoyed themselves. I caught bits of the conversation, trips they were planning, restaurants they'd visited recently. They weren't even talking about what they did to me. That was something that required no explanation, no exploration apparently. They used me as a urinal when they needed to. Orange walked over at one point, explaining that they were a bit shy about peeing in front of everyone, but that they had gone behind a tree and filled a bottle. They slowly, lovingly poured the bottle of piss over my head, ensuring me they wanted to make sure I didn't feel shorted, or like they didn't care about me. Yellow came over and forced me to thank them for their thoughtfulness, for finding a way to include themselves. I babbled out effusive thank yous, thrilled to be having a conversation at all.

Orange held the last of the bottle to my lips, offering me something to drink. I knew I didn't have a choice. It burned all the way down my throat, I could feel it settle sourly in my stomach.

I was left alone again. The sun warmed the mud. Grasshoppers made quiet noise in the fields nearby. There was a peace to it, to the complete surrender. The quiet stillness I find in kink, the ability to shut off, to stop worrying, settled over me like a blanket. I actually drifted off to sleep, my limbs still tied behind me, the mud embracing my tits.

And then, instantly, impossibly, the spell was broken. Movement woke me up in a haze, barely able to process what was happening, hands released me from my restraints, rubbed blood back into sore limbs. I was pulled gently to sitting, then helped to standing, no one complaining about the filthy mud on their feet or their hands, gentle voices offering instruction, handing me a paper towel for my eyes, walking me slowly over to the hose, spinning me slowly, apologizing for the cold water. Hands in my hair, rubbing shampoo, scrubbing my face, working slowly down, gently caressing clean tits, spinning again, squeezing my ass playfully, checking my ears, wrapping me in a soft towel. Walking me to a chair, easing me down into it. Kind laughter as I winced, not mockery but sympathy. A glass of water pressed into my hands. Praise spilled over me, what a good job I did, how I held up, how proud they were of me. Scrubbing away at the betrayal the same way the hose scrubbed away at the mud.

Of course. Of course they care about me, why else would they go to all this trouble. Of course they love me, and of course I love them. I can't ever thank them enough.

I was bundled into a car, my recovery playlist softly pulsing through the speakers, a window cracked open, and the gentle rocking of the drive lulled me to sleep again, almost instantly.