Peeing on the Peeper Ch. 06

The home that my wife, Barbara, had sold to the millionairess Keisha was a sumptuous mansion, set well back from the road, with high fences and a security gate. It also had a large swimming pool and various more shallow "conversation" and paddling pools.

Barbara drove her massive Bentley Arnage into the area in front of the house. I was seated beside her, naked but for a bright red rubber cape which covered my arms, upper torso down to my buttocks. I looked and felt ridiculous in it, which was, of course, Barbara's intention.

We entered the house, to find Keisha, the beautiful black 36-year-old with the 40 inch bust and her daughter, Alysha, aged 20 and with breasts only an inch or two smaller than her mothers, lying on loungers by the pool, both wearing scandalously brief bikinis.

The two black women planted kisses on Barbara's cheeks and as my wife disrobed to reveal her lovely 35-year-old body clad in an equally scandalous bikini, Keisha smiled at me: "Hi Peeper, that rubber cape must be awfully hot?"

I nodded. "It is, Keisha," I agreed.

"Well then, you'd better keep it on," she laughed, then turned to my wife and asked: "The wine sample, darling?"

Barbara smiled and took a bottle from her equipment bag. "Freshly vinted this morning, darling, so I'm afraid it will need some time to mature!"

"Alysha, take this bottle inside and give it a number, then pour it into the glasses alongside ours. Oh, Barbara, everyone can come except Ro, who's got something she can't get out of, so it's just six of us."

When Alysha returned from the house, she was accompanied by the 25-year-old office junior Carmel, who had proved she had a really fine style of domination during the previous week's piss party at our place. With her was an equally pretty blonde, who was introduced as her sister, Rachel, aged 23. Both were wearing shiny little PVC bikinis.

Rachel's manner of greeting me was to thrust her hand beneath the hem of my cape and stroke my eight and three-quarter inch uncut cock. "Pleased to meet ya, Peeper," she grinned, running a finger inside my foreskin and flicking my piss slit with her nail.

Soon the group was joined by the statuesque Helga, the big-busted woman who, like Barbara, had made millions in commissions through her real estate sales in Beverly Hills.

"Right," said Keisha, when the six dominas were all assembled, "let's go inside and get Peeper here started on his wine tasting!"

And with that they all trooped into the house, leaving me to follow on, sweating and hot in the ridiculous rubber cape.

Inside in the sumptuous lounge, was a coffee table with six large wine glasses containing liquids in varying degrees of yellow – some bright, vivid yellow, some water-like.

The women arranged themselves on a couch behind the coffee table, and Keisha and Alysha settled down in large easy chairs at each end of the couch. Keisha then announced the rules of the wine tasting.

"Right, ladies," she said, "you will notice that each wine glass has a metal tag around the stem with the numbers 1 to 6. Peeper will first drink down about a third of each glass, making comments on the way as to the vintage of the urine, its suitability for bottling, its taste and so on.

"The second tasting will be another third of the glass and this time Peeper will tell us who's urine is in which glass. Alysha will note his selections, which will be compared with the master chart later. The third tasting will drain the glasses and the Peeper will then award bronze, silver and gold medals. There will be prizes for the winners."

Barbara had a question: "What happens if he gets some of the selections wrong?"

Keisha smiled: "If he gets all six wrong, then it's 60 strokes of the lash – 10 for each incorrect answer – plus a penalty of 60 extra strokes. If he gets five wrong, it's 50 strokes, plus a penalty of 50, and so on.

"There's also an added twist to his punishment, which will be obvious as soon as we all assemble in the torture chamber downstairs."

There were murmurs of excited approval from the other five women, then Alysha raised her hand: "He's never tasted Rachel's piss. Isn't it rather unfair to expect him to recognise it?"

A good point, I thought, standing in front of them, still sweating in my ridiculous red rubber cape.

My wife butted in before Keisha could answer: "That's simple, Alysha. Since he's never tasted Rachel's piss it should be the easiest for him to detect – it will be the one he's never experienced before, so he should get her piss identified no problemo!"

"Right," said Keisha, "time he got tasting. OK, Peeper, take a swallow of piss No 1!"

The glass was dark yellow in colour and I gulped down about a third of it. The salty, strong-smelling urine had been slightly chilled and I made what I hoped were the sort of comments wine buffs often come up with.

"An intensely fruity wine," I said. "It's got a lovely rich colour and I'd say it was several days old. This one's a keeper."

The next was in direct contrast. It was almost the colour of water, having a mere trace of urine yellow, which did nothing to detract from the strong taste.

"A cheeky little wine," I observed, "and a recent vintage, I would suggest. Eminently drinkable right now but not without bottling potential."

The women were giggling as I paraded through the wines. One I found "a rich Chardonnay in colour, a lovely big fruity wine". Another I found "a keeper, to be laid down for some days".

This, of course, was all just to amuse the women, who were, at times, "pissing" themselves with laughter at my descriptions, if you'll pardon the phrase, although I think it's somewhat appropriate.

Next came the round I was dreading. The identification. How the fuck was I going to pick which wine belonged to which domina? Sheer guesswork, that's how.

I sampled wine number 1, the deep yellow one. "I think this is Keisha's," I said. The lighter one: "This will be Rachel's." For the third I ventured: "I think this is Helga's." The fourth, the really big, fruity Chardonnay-type, I said: "Alysha's." The fifth, I opted for my wife. And the sixth, therefore, left only Carmel.

"Now pick the medal winners, Peeper," ordered Keisha, after her daughter had jotted down my selections in the "blind" tasting.

The first wine, the deep, rich coloured one, I gave the silver medal. One of the lighter wines – number two – got the bronze, and the supreme award I gave to the fourth wine.

Keisha stood and smiled at me, still sweating like a pig in the rubber cape. "Ladies, a round of applause for our wine expert," she said, putting her hands together. The other five joined in.

"Now Alysha, pass me his identification picks and I'll announce how he's done," she said, as her daughter handed over the sheet on which she had jotted my selections.

"Right," said the busty millionairess, clearing her throat and preparing to read out the results.

"Wine number 1 was my own piss, according to the Peeper," she said. "In fact, I'm afraid it belonged to Carmel's sister, Rachel. Oh dear, Peeper – one wrong."

"Wine number 2 was, according to our wine expert, Rachel's. Well we know that can't be right – it was, in fact, Carmel's. Not looking too good for you, is it, Peeper?"

Was I expected to comment? Keisha ignored me, anyway, and moved on: "Peeper said he thought wine number 3 was Helga's. Sorry, Peeper, I'm afraid it was my piss. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!"

"On to wine sample number 4, which the Peeper said he thought came from my darling daughter, Alysha."

Keisha paused, then smiled at me: "Fuckin' amazing. You got one right, Peeper!"

"The fifth wine you said came from your lovely wife, Barbara. Well, if there's anyone here who's piss you should be able to identify if should be your wife's, eh Peeper?"

I nodded, shyly, feeling stupid still enshrouded by my cape.

"Oh dear," said Keisha, looking mock mournful. "Sorry, Peeper, it was Helga's! You can't even identify your wife's piss, eh?"

"And so we come to wine number 6, which you said was Carmel's. Well, that can't be right, can it Peeper?"

I nodded. "No, Keisha," I whispered.

"Precisely, because it was Barbara's! Oh fuck, Peeper, you got one right and five wrong. I make that 50 strokes of the lash, plus 50 penalty strokes. What does that add up to, Peeper?"

I mumbled: "100 strokes, Keisha."

"Speak up and shout it '100 strokes of the lash, Keisha'," the lush black beauty snapped.

"100 strokes of the lash, Keisha," I almost yelled, much to the amusement of the assembled domination group.

"That's more fuckin' like it, Peeper," she said, after I had humbled myself before the group.

"Now to our award winners," said the Mistress of Ceremonies. Carmel, you win the bronze medal and here's your prize."

Alysha stepped forward and presented the young blonde with a bottle of Moet et Chandon champagne.

"The silver medal goes to Rachel," said Keisha. "Quite a little family affair, isn't it?"

Alysha handed the 23-year-old a bottle of Dom Perignon champange.

"And the supreme award, the gold medal, goes to my dearest daughter, Alysha," said the busty black woman. Alysha waved a bottle of vintage Krug above her head and everyone applauded.

"Now we'll move on to the punishment section of the afternoon's entertainment," said Keisha. "If you'd all like to have some sandwiches and some drinks, Alysha and I will get Peeper here prepared downstairs, and then we'll call you all downstairs for his 100-stroke flogging – plus his extra little surprise."

The black beauties escorted me, still sweating in my cape, down to the basement level of the large house. There, a room set in the middle of a long corridor had been equipped sparely but luxuriously with two couches, a couple of easy chairs, a refrigerator, all draped with lush red velvet curtains. The carpet was thick pile and obviously expensive.

But none of that really registered with me for a while. What did, was a wooden flogging frame set in the middle of the torture chamber. It consisted of two triangles made from brightly polished wooden posts, the triangles joined together at the base and the tops by two wooden bars.

Set into the corners of the triangular frames were straps, at the bottom for my ankles, at the tops for my wrists. Keisha ordered me to remove the ridiculous red rubber cape, and I stood nude before the two bikinied black women. Despite of what was in store for me, my penis was stiffening into hardness.

I was then strapped into place, until I hung at a 45 degree angle to the floor. It was then that I noticed a small stool which had been placed beneath my semi-suspended body.

"Right, you will be the first flogger, darling," Keisha told her daughter, "so fetch the trident. I think it will be amusing to see how he reacts to that."

While Alysha was selecting the implement of my punishment, Keisha then wheeled a high metal stool across until it was in place just behind the stool. On it stood a large transparent plastic container, much like they have in office drinking fountains. It was full almost to the brim with a deep yellow liquid.

From the bottom of the container, a transparent rubber tube with straps at the end, was hooked onto the plastic, its end pointing to the ceiling so it did not leak the container's contents onto the carpet. This, quite clearly, was what Keisha had been referring to when she spoke of my "extra little surprise".

Keisha unhooked the end of the tube and brought it to my mouth. "When I strap it around your head, block the flow with your tongue, Peeper," she said. I did so and the tube was soon firmly strapped into place around my head.

"Right, you chat with him Alysha while I fetch the rest of the gang," said Keisha, who then departed.

Alysha stood in front of me, her black skin gleaming in the strip lighting of the chamber, her body erection-inducing in its beauty. She was holding a whip with a foot-long leather hand grip, which then had a further two feet of lash.

One foot from the tip, the lash branched out into three strands, each strand ending with a heart-shaped flap. This was obviously the trident and from where I hung it did not look very loving!

Alysha traced the trident softly, caressingly down my bare back until I felt the tips flicker over my buttocks. Then the other five women entered the torture chamber.

"Right, ladies," Keisha announced, "take a seat while I explain what we're going to do."

I heard the other four women sitting down on the two couches from where they would have a superb view of my chastisement.

"OK, for his 100 strokes we'll go in alphabetical order," said Keisha, standing alongside her whip-wielding daughter. "That means that first Alysha will give him 10 strokes, five on his back, five on his buttocks in whichever order she likes.

"After each stroke is delivered, Peeper here will suck on the tubing and count 'one thousand, two thousand, three thousand' and then he will re-block the tube again. He will be drinking down a special cocktail of piss stored with him in mind during the week by my daughter and myself. I estimate it will take about 100 sucks or so for him to drain the container."

There were murmurs of approval from the assembled group of dominas. Keisha moved on: "You will have noticed the stool. I have been told my experts that when a slave is flogged it is so much more of an exciting experience for him if he endures it while sporting an erection. Something to do with flood flow.

"So the next person in line to flog him – in this case it will be Barbara – will make sure he's erect during the administration of the lash! If she thinks he's getting flaccid, she will halt the flogging until he's hard again.

"Any questions?"

There were none, so Keisha announced: "OK, Alysha, he's all yours."

A hush fell over the group, the only sound in the room was the low hum of the air conditioning and my harsh breathing. Barbara sat on the stool and took my testicles in one soft hand, then pulled my cock down to her mouth and began to suck on me.

Then the trident whistled through the air and made a "Kerrrrrack" noise on my shoulder blades, followed by the noise of Alysha calling out "Suck!"

I felt a warm glow suffusing my back, and then I sucked and counted slowly to three as I drank down the powerful piss.

"Kerrrrrack" and the trident left its triple imprint across my buttocks, this time. Barbara still sucked on my cock.

After Alysha's 10 strokes had warmed my back and bum, Barbara took over the flogger, and the blonde office junior Carmel seated herself on the stool.

"Hold on Barb," she called, before my wife could deliver her first blow, "I'd like him a little harder." And then she began to expertly fellate me until, after a minute or two, she pulled back and announced: "All yours, Barb."

The trident whistled down on its painful path, then "kerrrrrrack" and Barbara's batch was set in motion. "Suck!" she yelled, and I drank down more of the tangy, salty piss.

After Barbara, Carmel wielded the whip while the statuesque Helga fellated me, then Helga whipped me, while Keisha did the honours on my cum-dripping penis.

My next fellatrix was Carmel's younger sister, the blonde Rachel, who worked her wonderful ways on my prick while the black woman flogged me, and to complete the six-woman flogging exercise, Rachel wielded the whip, while Alysha sucked on my cock.

By the time Rachel had finished my back and buttocks were burning from the attentions of the wicked trident, but my cock was still hot and hard.

"OK, Alysha," said her mother, after Rachel had done her best, "he's all yours again."

"Hold on, Keisha," I heard my wife speak from her place on one of the couches. "He's got another 40 strokes to come, which means Alysha, myself, Carmel and Helga get to flog him again."

"Yep," said Keisha, "that's the way my math works it out, too."

"Well, it's a little unfair on you and Rachel, isn't it?"

Keisha smiled: "I don't mind, I don't know about Rachel."

But Barbara was like a dog with a bone, she wasn't going to let this one go!

"I suggest you and Rachel finish him off with 10 strokes each, which means he gets a total of 120 strokes. Now, Peeper here can't speak, 'cos he's plugging that tube, but I think I can safely say I'm speaking for him when I say that he'd welcome a final 20 strokes from you and Rachel, making it fair for everyone.

"Agreed, Peeper?"

Well, what could I say? I jerked my head up and down in approval and then Barbara sat on the stool, said "He's still stiff, Alysha, away you go" and once more the trident was flailing through the air. "Suck!" came her shouted command.

Again I suffered from the stinging trident, again I sucked more and more of Alysha and Keisha's piss down.

While Barbara was once more flogging me, she paused in her work to remark: "Hey girls, I've been thinking. I know we call him Peeper, which is appropriate seeing as how his first name is Tom, but I've got another name for him."

Keisha, from behind me on the couch, called out: "OK Barb, we'll buy it. What is it?"

"Sucker!" shouted my wife in glee.

The raucous sounds of women's laughter rang out through the torture chamber. But even so, it couldn't drown out the sound as the trident once more bit into my shoulder blades .......

THE END