The Bag Lady and the Domme Ch. 02

Two hours perhaps after this need to pee started she force-fed me two packets of mints, washed down with more cranberry juice. Those sweets were my daughters. I had stopped her eating them as on the packet was a warning that if too many were eaten they caused loose bowel movements. I was horrified! Surely she had not used them? Surely she could not be so sadistic? She must have seen the changed look on my face. I heard her laugh.

"Yes honey," she cackled, "In about an hour you will know what I truly went through. You will shit your pants. Well, if you had any you would shit them. Whatever, your bowel will involuntarily empty."

"No!"

I was truly mortified. I had always been uncomfortable with anyone seeing me shit, even the children. Johnnie had never been allowed in the bathroom when I was emptying my bowel and now my old school friend was forcing me to do this in front of her. How could I? Should I just step off the bar and say it was enough, that I understood sufficiently what they had done to her? That this silly idea to switch was just that, plain stupid?

"So, do you want to give in? Do you want to stop and just obey me with whatever perversions I have in store?"

I felt her soft hand stroking my back, caressing lower to my warm buttocks that were slowly returning to normal after their spanking. A finger insinuated itself between my arse cheeks. She was teasing my anus, reminding me of the potential humiliation to follow or was it to excite me and entice me into the other perversions? I felt her sharp nail scrape at the puckering entrance. I could not believe how sensitive I had become there. Should I give in now and take the road of perversion she had in store? Could it be any worse than the prospect of pissing and shitting myself? Hobson's choice, I told myself.

"No, no Mistress Clarissa, I will stay the course. I will NOT give in!"

"There, there my stupid, proud slut," she said softly, her finger now embedded to its first joint inside my bowel and another lightly teasing my aching clitoris. I gasped in pleasure, despite the feelings in my bladder, as she continued. "Remember what our Headmistress once said, that pride comes before the fall. Oh, and how far you will have to fall Miss High-and-Mighty."

Her fingers were gone as quickly as they had arrived. I was desperate for her touch again, any contact, as she walked away once more, though this time it appeared to only be as far as the bed. I heard the rustle of sheets as she laid down and seemed I imagined to stretch to the bedside cupboard where there were a whole set of books; my erotic novels that I had left out when Johnnie and the maid left.

For the next few hours, I tried and tried to stop first my bladder and then my bowel from releasing. I felt the pee continue to fill me, the cranberry juice working its diuretic properties at full tilt. The growing need in my gut was slower, more insidious. First there was a slight rumbling, then a nagging little pain in my belly, then the sense of movement down into the big intestine. I knew all the detritus of the meals we had eaten together were mashing rapidly on their peristaltic trip to my anus. I clenched my sphincter tighter and tighter, refocusing all my agonies and discomfort to this shameful place. How could she humiliate me like this? How could anybody do this?

"Mmnnnnn, yes, yes, yes..."

I heard my Mistress's moans and groans of pleasure as she read my books. She was masturbating openly on my bed; repeatedly. I wanted to see her, but at the same time my mind was occupied with my discomfort and shame. There were also periods of intense anger. How, I kept asking myself, could she do this to me? She told me she adored me only a short time before turning on me. Ok, I had asked to understand her plight and to know what it was to be a submissive, but this was too much, too far, and it was my greatest struggle to comply and not give in; but I would not, never, ever let her see me capitulate. It had to be on my terms. Then it struck me, that for all her submissiveness, she had thought the same when the oriental girl and the man in the leather mask had controlled and manipulated her.

It was no good, the pain in my bladder was intense. I had to release it. I thought that maybe if I did the pressure in my bowel would ease too. With a mixture of shame and intense relief I let it go, first trying to let it dribble out, but this quickly turned into a torrent.. The piss hit the pole, splashing back over my thighs and cunt, running like a hot stream over my legs and feet. The smell of urine clung in the air. It was a huge release.

I heard her climax again and again.

"Oh yes, so beautiful to cum watching you piss. We must do it over and over together," she panted between waves of obvious pleasure. Maybe she had felt humiliated when they did this to her initially, but now it was a trigger for her perverted pleasures. She continued, "Yes, honey, I guess you are thinking I am a perv, turned on by seeing you in discomfort, pissing your prissy little sluttish self? Well, yes I am and I don't give a fuck! The time in the editor's office began that process; then The Group. Now I love to lick the piss from cunts and cocks. I can come just watching you, but now you will feel pleasure."

I heard her getting up and then the warmth of her breath as she began to lick my piss-covered toes and slowly, ever so slowly, up each leg. I knew she had to be kneeling or lying in the mess I had created, but she continued to lick, climbing higher and higher towards my cunt lips. I was wet, so very wet and not just with pee. She betrayed her submissiveness with her actions. She would not get me like this again. No, next time it would be me dominating her.

"Ohhhh!"

When her tongue darted against my bruised but aroused cunt lips, then found my sensitive nub aching to be touched, I was hers to do with as she liked. I was shocked with the speed at which my orgasms came. She added to my agony and pleasure by reaching up and pulling on my pegs. I had not realised that she had strung the pegs together into one long line and just at the point I had the first of many orgasms, she pulled them sharply from my tits. I held in a silent scream as the pain shot through my bosom, followed rapidly by an intense warmth and corresponding pleasure. I could not describe it adequately but it lead to orgasm after orgasm. I was a mix of shame and pleasure, hurt and ecstacy, naked and vulnerable yet emitting a scent of sex and piss; and I loved it all.

"Ohhhhh! Ohhhhhh!" was my inarticulate response to all her ministrations, but eventually the pleasure subsided and Clarissa walked away, again giggling like some demented patient. Then came the humiliation once more.

"Slut! You have not had all the pleasure yet. Mine is to come, when I watch your hoity-toity, holier than thou countenance change as you shit yourself. Then you will know what true humiliation is. You will taste a little of what it means to have your liberty taken away and your actions, even your most simple bodily functions, controlled by another. I hope you enjoyed the cumming."

I heard the words leave my lips without thought.

"Thank you Mistress."

That laugh came loud and strong now.

"You won't be thanking me when your stinking turds are running down your leg."

"No Mistress," I replied, part apology and part agreeing with her.

I knew this would be my greatest humiliation. No previous embarrassing moment or public put-down could prepare me for what was to come. I could only think of when I was 10 years old, just starting puberty and had a bad case of diarrhoea in a shopping centre in the North of England. I remembered how I had tried to get my mother's attention as she talked on and on to a friend. I felt the tightening in my gut, recalled the pleading to leave her, too embarrassed to say in front of her friend that I needed the toilet ( I always had trouble acknowledging I actually peed and shitted like anyone else!), accepted her tellings off for disturbing her conversation but then could not stop the rush. I felt the sudden wet faeces staining my white knickers, then the blast of shit hitting the wall of cotton, straining to seep through and down my legs. I remember the stink and the embarrassment I felt as first my mother's friend and then my mum realised what I had done. Her hard slap of my face shocked me. I was determined not to cry. She would not have that satisfaction of knowing I was hurt or ashamed. I could not hear my mother's words, other than to call me a dirty little tramp. How ironic, given Clarissa's recent plight, that this should have been her description of me! Yes, and here I was now, close to doing the same; unable to move or at least unwilling to plead for help and permission to go. My pride perversely was stopping me.

So, for another few hours I struggled with holding back another inevitable humiliation. And in that time I found out how much Clarissa had learned from The Group about teasing, debasing and subjugating someone.

It started with her kisses, all smelling of my juices and piss. She held the back of my head and pressed our lips tight together. Her tongue delved and played with mine, arousing me no end, then she bit gently at my lips, sending intense pulses of pleasure to my breasts and cunt. Her hands sought out my tortured breasts, lovingly caressing them, seeming so gentle after their cruel clamps. My tits had a new level of sensitivity, as if a touch could translate directly to an orgasm, or at least be its catalyst. Her fingers sought out my cunt, via my belly, which she was careful to only lightly stroke. She pushed two fingers straight into my vagina in an act so cruel and yet so sexual. I accepted its duel function and ground my pussy down onto her fingers. Her thumb then circled my clitty, taking me to orgasm again and again. She exhausted me with her incessant ministrations, ignoring when the touches after cumming turned to discomfort, until I passed through that phase and they became the purest of sexual pleasure. But one thing was for sure, I was her plaything; no more, no less.

"All your pissing has made me want one now," she said nonchalantly. I assumed she was going to use the ensuite, but then I heard the familiar sound of pee leaving the body at pressure. However, it was not followed by the equally identifiable noise of it hitting the porcelain bowl of a toilet. No, this was like water hitting plastic. My God, I realised too late, she had used my plastic washing-up bowl or a bucket from Anya's cupboard! And she had done it right by me.

"You need a wash," she said.

The bowl of piss hit the top of my scalp and ran down my hair and over my body like a waterfall. I was covered in her golden shower. Strangely I did not find it an unpleasant physical feeling, though emotionally I was debased by this act. Again, chastisement in my childhood for peeing myself in public came back. I could have climbed off that pole and walked away, yet I stayed, accepting the humiliation. In some way this absolved those years of guilt.

I felt her hands on me again, caressing everywhere and anywhere. She seemed aroused by my dirtiness. Her tongue licked at the salty piss as it dried on my breasts and belly. I heard what could only be groans of pleasure. Had they turned her so much that she liked to drink my piss or anyone else's come to that? The answer was in the shaking of her body next to me; an orgasm. She must have been masturbating as she licked my body. I don't know why, but I felt pleased that my dirty, humiliated body excited her so much that she could cum.

"So what is the smile for?" she asked, clearly back in control.

"I-I-I'm happy for my Mistress," I replied, with genuine glee.

"Stupid bitch! I'm not happy. You have not shitted yet. Got a blockage in your arsehole?"

My smile left me as quickly as it had come. I wanted to cry. I had been genuinely pleased for her, now she was insulting me. What had I done to her? I was losing sight of why I was astride this pole, why I was experiencing her shame.

"I'm going to sit on your bed again and watch you shit for me. Imagine your schoolgirl lover with her open pussy and nice titties, caressing herself as you shit your stinking self." She was laughing, mocking me.

No, I thought, this is not going to happen. I will not go that far. Should I get off the pole? No, no one would beat me. Should I plead to be allowed to the en suite? I could, but then she would win.

And then the pains in the gut began again. They were sharper, more frequent.

"Darling slut, you look so uncomfortable. Can I come press your tummy or help it out by sticking my finger up your anus?" She asked in a babyish voice, rather like a mother uses with a child; mocking and humiliating me again.

"No, no thank you Mistress. Please...."

"Please what?" She asked, still using the baby voice, but following with," You ready to give up and willing to do whatever your Mistress Clarissa wants you to do? If you do, then you can step off that pole and run to the en suite. It is so nice and so close too."

I said nothing. That meant pleading. I would not plead. Pride, stupid pride.

The cramps hit me sharply and I felt the faeces backing up into my rectum. I knew I had only minutes left. I could not stop this. All it would take was a movement of my legs or palpation of my stomach and that would be it. I could imagine the shame; breaking a taboo I had had all my life. I felt my body flush with embarrassment, anticipating my fate.

Each minute felt like an hour, each cramp getting closer together. I could feel the pressure on my anus. I was sweating and my belly aching. I'd lost.

"I'm sorry Mistress, I can't..."

And it came, gushing noisily from my arse; a mix of loud farting noises and the rush of wet shit that rapidly covered the pole and down my legs. I was crying loudly with shame and release. I could hear her orgasm between the peristaltic emissions from my anus. It seemed to be never-ending. The stink was horrendous, yet she seemed to find pleasure in my misery. How could she? Had they made her that debased? But then as I got used to the smell and accepted my debasement. In its imaginings it had seemed worse than now the deed was done. The warmth of the shit on my body and the relief as the cramps stopped, was as comforting as that period when the spankings had finished and the heat spread over my cunt and thighs. Yes, it was not so bad after all or so I convinced myself. Maybe it would have been worse if I could see. But then she started.

"Why, you filthy slut! Fancy Miss Prim and Proper, Miss Money Bags, Miss Pillar of the Community is covered in turds all down her legs and all over her arse. How shameful!"

Yes, the shame came back because the woman I realised I wanted so much to approve of me, maybe even love me, was mocking her submissive. Did she really think I was an over-privileged woman?

"I - I - I'm sorry, so sorry Mistress Clarissa," I said between floods of real tears.

Then she changed again.

"No matter, you are a useless turd anyway, so being painted in shit suits you. I'm going to watch television."

"No, Mistress, please stay, please talk to me....I'm so sorry."

What was I doing? I'd promised I would not plead, but now I was. I had suffered all that humiliation and discomfort and the loss of her company was the real sign and lever to reveal my vulnerability. The plea had come from the heart. I did not want to be alone in this state or any other.

"No, you have not promised to do what I want, anything I want with you. I am leaving you alone to think, Shitty Slut. What are you?"

"A shitty slut, Mistress," I replied, desperate to keep her talking to me, "Yes, I am a dirty, shitty slut."

"No your name is Shitty Slut. It is not only a description of your current stinking state, with that pile of faeces pooled over and around your dainty toes, it is my name for you."

She laughed, and then left without further comment. I was stunned. Did she really expect me to answer to that name and accept it?

Then I heard the Millionaire programme blasting out.

I cried and cried. I was naked, filthy and alone again, left to consider my position, abandoned in my mind. My only connection with her being the sound of the TV that helped me know she was there. Occasionally I heard her hearty laugh. I was so lonely now, wanting her to come back. Over the hours that followed, I just wished she would return.

I could accept my stinking state, eventually pissing again without resisting the need to go. I was just a filthy toilet now. What I could not stand was the loneliness, especially the loss of contact with Clarissa. I was so exhausted, hallucinating from loss of sleep, imagining the most previously unimaginable. I realised that I was willing to do anything and everything that I had read about in my books. Those perverted stories seemed normal now. The lesbian play was especially arousing. I remembered the D/s play, the sexual torture, the games of humiliation. However, this time I was always a player.

Then I was woken from my standing sleep with a start.

The strap licked around my buttocks, its inch-wide leather ripped into my flesh, leaving a searing stripe of heat. Then another followed. I was crying out, screaming, and I felt the pole being slid back along my filthy cunt and arse. It was removed and without comment my head was pushed down onto the back of the bedroom chair in front of me. I was standing in my piss and shit, facing it and smelling the stink but fortunately unable to see it. That I knew would reinforce my shame. However, my imagination was probably making it worse than the reality. Then I heard her step back again and the punishments recommenced. Stripe after stripe was lain on my buttocks and thighs.

"Stand with your arse out and your stinking thighs wider apart."

She whipped me with the leather, which must have been one of Johnnie's belts, from just above my knees to the very top of my bum. The blows that licked around my inner thighs were the worst, but after my initial screams I stayed quiet, hoping my silence would reduce her sadistic will. How wrong I was and how stupid. She had promised to demonstrate what The Group had done to break her, not give me what she wanted. Or was what she desired one and the same thing?

However, the screams started again when I felt the familiar rush of air as the strap came towards my flesh, but realised in a split second that my cunt was her target. She whipped my cunt lips and pubis, rapidly and just as viciously as my arse and thighs.

"Hold your position Stinky Slut!"

I could have refused, even got up and walked away, but no, I did what she commanded. I widened my thighs, waiting for the next blow, and it was not one but six that followed. They created intense heat between my legs, making me wetter than I'd ever been. I could smell my sex juice overcoming the piss and shit that by now was beginning to dry out and cake me.

"Now squat."

God, my legs stung, my cunt stung, my arse stung! Yet, I was squatting like a coolie in an instant; ready to accept anything. I smelt her cunt coming towards me. Then the piss hit me full in the face. She grabbed my head and pushed me onto her.

"Drink it and stop wasting it Stinky Slut!"

And I drank and drank, sealing in her cunt with my wide open mouth, and gratefully gulping down her hot pee like it was water. Not only was I accepting my name, but the loneliness of being without her now meant I just wanted to keep her here, to please her. Besides, I found my cunt was on fire and hoped that she would satiate it with her hands or mouth. Could I ever hope for that given my stench? I had to try. I licked and licked until she was clean, then used my tongue and teeth to explore her labia and clitoris, teasing and nibbling. Her orgasms came so quickly, as if all my humiliation had turned her on so much.