New York City Submissive Female

"It's like drinking beer for the first time—"

"I hate beer—"

"The first time you drink beer, you hate it. Some people never get past that — looks like you didn't," said Sue. "But most of us do get used to it. Or wasabi — do you ever eat wasabi? With Japanese food?"

"I stay well away from that."

"You're sensitive. That's okay," said Sue. "But the point is, those of us who do eat it take a while to get used to it. Then we love it."

Phil digested this. She really doesn't mind? She will really drink my urine?

Sue prostrated herself on the floor — a floor soaked in piss. She stretched out her hands to Phil in supplication, her chains clinking. "Won't you please continue, master?" she asked. "I'm so thirsty..." She stretched out that last syllable teasingly, a twinkle in her wet eye.

Suddenly Phil felt like a four-year-old who wets the bed because he's too lazy to get up and head to the bathroom. A lifetime's discipline, a lifetime's worth of injunctions on where and how to piss were falling away. Of course, he should piss in this whore's mouth!

Filled with excitement, he let fly the golden shower again. Sue picked up the dog bowl and held it under her face, catching all the overflow dripping out of her mouth.

Not even the strongest woman can truly swallow a urine stream. It is like drinking from a firehose, albeit a small one. Most of the piss entering Sue's mouth dripped out the sides. But still she swallowed, one gulp after another, more and more of Phil's filth flowing down her throat. The thought of it settling in her stomach made him jump for joy.

"Swallow my piss, you dumb white bitch," Phil said, excitedly. Yet the pejoratives didn't engender contempt in his heart. What he felt was awe, respect, and gratitude for his slave's doings.

At long last, his bladder was empty. Sue's body was completely soaked. Her hair, on head and pubic, was as wet as a bathtub. Spray had soaked the floor and the toilet. The room looked like a golden disaster area. Only the overshoes protected Phil's own body from the contamination.

He was more aroused than he could remember being in many years. From the look of it, so was Sue. Her wet face was filled with triumph. It was the face you see on someone who has just finished their first 10K race, or given their first speech in public, or passed their driving test. It was the face of someone who has looked into the eye of fear and moved past it, someone who has not just left their comfort zone behind, but shredded it.

Sue started to lift the dog bowl to her lips. Phil hadn't told her to do that, but the sight almost instantly brought a different fluid to his cock.

She gingerly took a sip, then, suddenly, a full gulp. She looked straight at him as she swallowed the large mouthful. Despite the filth soaking her, Phil wanted to ram his cock in her mouth, and shoot a load down her throat. She was fully prepared to drink down his piss as if it were beer!

"Stop."

She looked at him questioningly.

"Pour it on the toilet rim. All the way around."

Sue managed to look disappointed as the urine soaked the sides of the toilet, though most of it went into the water designated for such purpose.

"Now let's see how much of a whore you really are. Drink out of the toilet."

"That's diluted," she grumbled. She dipped her head in, then flipped her head back up.

"I am sorry, my lord, but I must ask you not to flush the toilet."

"Of course not."

It didn't work all that well. New toilets have a water level so low that her tongue barely scraped the surface. Sue made do by sucking it, loudly, like a child playing with a milkshake through a straw. Her ass was so gorgeous. Phil wanted to kick it through his piss-soaked overshoes, but held himself back. She was doing enough for him.

Sue came up, her face dripping. "How will master degrade me now?"

"This floor is dirty, you stupid slut. I told you to keep it clean."

She didn't miss a beat. "Then I must clean it, my lord."

Many times had Sue shocked him with the depth of her depravity. But he still couldn't believe that she would bend down and casually lick his piss off the floor, as if it were ice cream. Every so often she'd look up to give him the same sly smile. Phil's eyes went wide. He had to hold onto the towel bar to steady himself.

"I... I can't believe you're doing this."

"I love it, master." And, indeed, she was fingering her clit as she did it.

"You have done... you are extraordinary, slave."

"Your slave lives to please you, sire."

"The... the toilet is also dirty."

The light bulb clicked on in Sue's eyes. She turned back to the toilet and began to lick the rim.

Phil thought he had never seen a more beautiful sight. Sue's urine-soaked body, naked and chained, licking his piss off the rim of a toilet while fondling her clit. She looked up at him, eyes meeting his, sparkling as she slowly dragged her tongue on the filthy surface.

His slave was a slut in the real sense of the word, someone who has taken the laws of a culture and found them wanting, who rebels against the strictures society has laid down. She was her own woman, a woman who did exactly as she pleased, without restraint, without judgment, without fear.

There was something special, even sacred, about her devotion to an idea, even an idea as perverted as this. It was devotion so strong that it would break any barrier, cross any boundary. Phil felt awed and humbled to be able to share this moment with her.

After she finished the rim, Sue began licking the sides of the toilet, the front, even the floor right beside the edge. Many people are reluctant to clean these regions even with a sponge, though Sue already had. The sight of her tongue down there was more than Phil could bear.

Sue looked up at her master to give one of her bawdy grins but was astonished to see tears flowing down his face.

"Why are you crying?"

"Because I'm so happy... so happy... I never... never thought I would ever see this..."

Tears appeared in Sue's eyes as well. "You don't know, master, how long I've waited for someone who would do this with me. You don't know how good this feels. How... how right it feels. This is me. This is who I am."

She licked the filthiest part of the toilet, the cap on the screw that holds it in place. Touching herself all this while, she moaned again as her body began to vibrate and shake with orgasm. Phil staggered forward, his cock thrusting, desperate for release into this goddess.

"Oh, master," she murmured. "I can't wait for you to fuck me."

"Your cunt is not getting my cock today, bitch."

At that, Sue looked taken aback. "Please, master. Please. Please fuck me."

"I want your ass," Phil replied.

Sue's eyes lit up. "I will need to use the toilet the way it's usually used," she snickered. "In fact, maybe I should clean this room first, with, um, conventional means. And then I can bathe myself."

Phil removed the chains but left the leash on. He gave her the extra toothbrush and mouthwash they'd bought.

Conveniently, the floor had a drain, so she pointed the shower on the floor to get rid of the remaining piss. She then carefully spread the disinfectant mix on the floor and scrubbed it clean.

She pointedly glanced at the door, and Phil left the bathroom, his heart still pounding.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in the company of a woman must be required to wait while she is in the bathroom.

He tried to calm himself down, thinking of the forbidden nature of anal sex. Wasn't it illegal in many parts of the country? All his life he had heard revulsion at the idea. It was that revulsion, more than any other feeling, that drove homophobia. He knew men who were driven to fury at the idea of gay male relationships, a fury born of the horror of the anus and all it represented.

Phil had never dared try anal sex. Fewer than a third of prostitutes offered the service, and they charged a hefty premium. Nor did it feature much in the porn he watched, dominated by blowjobs.

Funny how that is, isn't it? Porn is no preparation for real sex, not even with Sue, who really had the personality porn stars only pretend to have.

***

Sue crawled out of the bathroom on her hands and knees, a tube in her mouth. When she reached him, she dropped it and started licking his cock affectionately, licking until he was fully hard again. Then she picked up the bottle. Cococare 100% Coconut Oil, read the label.

"I will not be able to suck master's dick after I put this on," she warned.

"P-proceed, s-slut."

She began spreading the oil on his cock. It did not feel all that different from the baby oil masseuses used, but it smelled much better, a warm, tasty scent.

She looked straight into his eyes as she gently lubed him up. He wished to god he'd had someone like Sue, not so much a lover as a teacher and friend, when he had lost his virginity.

Sue offered Phil the leash, and he followed her to the bed.

"How does master wish to use me?" she asked.

Phil shoved her onto the bed, flat on her stomach. Then he could not help it, her ass was so cute and inviting, he started to kiss it. It felt so soft, so pliable, it was like kissing a pillow. He could not go near the crack, decked out as it was in coconut oil, but the intoxicating smell filled his nostrils.

"You promise your asshole is entirely clean, whore?" he asked nervously.

"As clean as yours when I licked it, master," she replied sweetly.

With the same reluctance a new father shows changing diapers, Phil started to insert his little finger up her ass.

"Ohhhh," she moaned.

"How does that feel, slut?"

"Like you're invading me, master."

That thought excited him — that, with the possession of her ass, every hole of hers that he could enter would have been entered. If the male is defined by his cock, that protrusion that extends outside him, the female is defined not by an organ but by the lack of an organ, by a space, a void that it falls to male to fill. Thus is a female an extension of the male, a thing, a possession, someone to be owned, guarded, even sold. Such has been the literature of man, written by men, throughout history. Phil no longer tried to fight the ancient sexism. He reveled in it.

He pulled out his hand and showed it to Sue. "That was this," he said, holding up the little finger. "Now this." He raised the middle finger, giving Sue the ugly symbol of rudeness.

She only smiled. "I'm yours, master."

He slowly pushed his finger into the tight opening, trying to suppress thoughts of the interior. It slid in easily against the soft oil. There wasn't the wiggle room the cunt had — he could only go in and out.

Sue was moaning, sighing with pleasure. She snuck her hand to her cunt region and began stroking it.

Suddenly he pulled out.

"I want your ass now, whore."

He lay down on his back.

"Face me."

Sue obeyed, squatting over him, still touching her clit.

Would the ass be impossibly tight, even painful? It was not. It felt like putting on a condom, albeit a rather heavy one.

Then he was in — in! He was there, in the filthiest of places. It was a total, overpowering sensation, but what made Phil tingle the most was the defiance behind it.

And Sue! The only woman Phil had ever seen orgasm, the only woman to stare at him with raw animal lust, to think he was beautiful. She loved it when he degraded and abused her, all the things he had believed wrong. She enjoyed being objectified. And now she was masturbating with his dick up her ass. Phil lay there, passively, aroused almost as much by the fierce desire on Sue's face as the feel of her ass on his cock. He slapped her hand away and lunged for her clit with his left hand.

"Are you my property, bitch?"

"Yes! Yes!"

"I'm going to fuck you like an animal up your ass. I'm going to use you like a whore."

"Yes! Use me! Abuse me!"

And it was then that Phil thrust his own hips, no longer caring about hurting her, just energized, impassioned, by the hunger in her eyes, the jungle passion, the call of the wild that had unleashed the fires of his id. That wrenching tightness enveloped him like a glove, harsh and gripping, driving him in deeper. She was screaming, she was shaking, he felt his seed roaring into her rear, he felt his head spinning as his cum flowed. Their bodies were moving in unison—

"Keith! Keith! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"

Chapter 5

"I feel so stupid," said Sue bitterly.

"I'm not going to complain. You've given me things I never dreamed I would have," Phil replied.

"I could say the same about you," she sighed. "You're not just wasting your money on whores. You're wasting your talent."

"What talent?"

She shook her head incredulously. "You really have no idea, do you? Why do you think I'm cheating on my husband to be with you? You're the first man I've ever known who did what I asked. You took fantasies I've had for years and made them come true. That's a precious gift, something most people never experience."

"You did most of the work—"

"Let me tell you something. When someone gives you a compliment, say thank you, and then shut up."

Phil could see, at that moment, that Sue was a manager.

"Now I want to do another quickie with you tomorrow morning," she continued. "Can you meet me here?" She wrote down an address, dressed quickly, and kissed him goodbye.

Phil looked at the paraphernalia around the room — the whip, the chains, the leash, the dog bowl and bone.

What a woman, Phil thought. What a woman. He could not believe the good fortune of spending even a few days with this sensuous and courageous cougar.

***

Phil hurried to the address in the morning. It turned out to be a newsstand. Why had she brought him here?

His eyes wandered, as usual, to the top shelf.

***

1983 it was. Summer.

Phil wandered into the motel newsstand, looking for comic books.

There was an issue of Playboy. It was the Dirty Book, the one You Aren't Supposed to Read. Normally it was on the top shelf. But not today. Someone had put it where they shouldn't.

Dark whispers were spread about Playboy. It was said to have pictures of women in it, women with no clothes on.

Phil wondered what sort of man read it. Surely women would feel very uncomfortable in front of someone like that. He could not imagine ever admitting to such a thing.

His curiosity was about to kill its cat. No one could see him. He opened the magazine.

Women didn't have dinks! Instead, they had...hair? Did it get wet when they went to the bathroom? And their chest! It had big round lumps on it, lumps whose purpose puzzled him.

That wasn't as puzzling as what was happening to his dink. It was hardening. Just like it sometimes did when he had to go to the bathroom. He had never felt that way before. He did not understand it. It felt very good, but it was scary.

For weeks, months, years afterwards Phil was obsessed with the memory of those pictures. He would lie in bed at night, tossing and turning with the memories, feeling again the terrifying hardness in his dink. Touching it made it even harder. Eventually it all seemed to come together in an intense squirmy motion.

Phil never told anyone about his experiences. Surely no one else was engaging in such perversity. If anyone ever made teasing remarks about him and girls, he heatedly denied it. By the time porn began to circulate, Phil loudly proclaimed he would not read it, that he would never descend into the gutter. Nobody knew he touched his cock regularly, thinking first of that magazine, eventually of attractive girls he knew.

***

1979 it was. Spring.

Sue was walking through the park. Her eyes spied movement.

A chubby black boy had his face in a magazine. The boy's name was Derek. He was in the senior year with Sue.

Derek had a look of reverence in his face, as if reading the Bible. But it wasn't the Bible. It was Penthouse. His hand was inside his pants. Sue stared longingly at his face, full of veneration, even worship. She wished so much that someone would look at her like that.

Why not? "Try the real thing," she said boldly, stepping forward.

Derek looked terrified, squirming to hide the magazine under his ass, but Sue was already pulling off her clothes. She stood naked before him, young and cute and lewd. The sight of his crotch made her feel a sudden thirst. She'd heard girls talk about it.

Throwing caution to the wind, she sank to her knees, scrabbling in the dirt for his zipper...

She was roughly yanked to her feet. The policeman made her get dressed and frog-marched her home.

The luckless Derek was not in school the next day. Sue never saw him again. Teachers would only say that he didn't come to their school anymore.

Years later, she found out his neighborhood, on the other side of the tracks, had been rezoned into a different school district.

***

"Enjoying the view?"

Phil felt very embarrassed. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't be sorry, you dork," said Sue. "This is exactly why I brought you here."

"What?"

"What's your favorite magazine?"

"The New Yorker—"

"Porn magazine, you dingbat."

Phil blushed. "Playboy." She reached for the current issue. "Not that one," he said. "This one." He pulled out Playboy's Book of Lingerie, which was burdened with neither articles nor advertising. Its models were less famous, but Phil wasn't interested in celebrity.

She flipped through it. "Hot girls," she noted. "But no action. What about something hardcore? You read hardcore, don't you?"

"Um..." There was a large variety from Paul Raymond's notorious catalog. Finally, he reached for Club International.

"Perfect. Now go and buy them...that counter," she pointed. It had, of course, a pretty young woman at the till.

This did not bother Phil. He always tried to buy porn from an attractive woman, if possible. He remained polite, but it still gave him an exhibitionistic high.

Sue wouldn't let him take a bag. He carried the magazines openly on the street, his other hand in hers. She led him over to the river, down some stairs, and into a tunnel.

"What is this place?"

"Druggies come here at night," she said matter-of-factly. "People tend to avoid it during the day, but the sea air gets rid of the smells." She led him to a bench and scrubbed it clean with her ever-present baby wipes.

"Sit down." She sat beside him, took off her jacket, and draped it over his crotch.

"I think you have some reading material," she said playfully.

They had traded porn links online, of course, but Phil had never contemplated something like this. He kept looking back at her as he started to leaf through it.

"Not like that. I want you to read it the way you would jerking off at home."

Phil tried to, but couldn't.

"What's bothering you?" she asked.

"Why are we doing this?" he asked in return.

"I like humiliation, remember? And I know those girls are younger and hotter than I am."

"No, they're not—"

"Don't try to be nice. I know what I looked like when I was twenty. I want you to stare at these girls. Talk to yourself about them. Just don't touch yourself. Let me take care of that."

Phil turned back to the girls. At first, he muttered banalities. She's so cute. She has such a sweet smile. But it did not take long for his feelings to grow as hard as his cock. I wish she could suck my dick. I'd like to put my cock in her cunt.

There is a magic in porn, a magic in realizing that the model knows. In posing nude, she is giving tacit permission for men to lust after her, a validation of their hunger. Sue's presence made it all the hotter, a living endorsement of his vulgarity.

She slid her hand under the jacket and unzipped him.