The Chub Sub Session

THE CHUB SUB SESSION

By Jack Redwane

Note: Some of these activities are inspired by real events with real people, but this a work of fantasy fetish fiction and all of these activities or behaviors are not endorsed or recommended for real life people. As always with kinky play, be safe before being stupid. And if water sports and scat play are no to your liking, then please don't' read this one.

Three of us are in a tight circle, our cuffed wrists clipped above our heads to a single drop chain that forces each of us to stand almost on tiptoe, though we keep our eyes trained on the floor as ordered. Eye contact without permission is a serious offense, especially in a group setting as in this munch. My Aunt Priscilla is to my right, wearing only her ballet flats and her iron collar. Uncle Dan said she hasn't been allowed clothing for three weeks and will remain nude for another three. Her body is the best of our submissive trio with a smooth belly and waxed cunt.

On my left is sister Kathleen, not really my sister of course, two years younger than me, her big tits falling over a black bustier and garter belt with black stockings and a bare cunt. She wears a black leather collar and leash. I am in the center, my big belly drooping over my fat twat, with big pierced boobs. I was allowed to wear a pair of thigh high hose and low heels. We are at the Chub Sub Munch, a bi-weekly gathering of subs and Doms, usually held in my parents' basement, where we are tonight.

As we stare at the floor, we can hear the regular swats of leather on flesh coming quicker and quicker from the dungeon room, with an occasional sigh or whimper from my step grandmother who I know is surrounded by four males who each have a strap or paddle as they slowly circle her and smack her nipples to knees, front and back. These sessions with four Doms are not counted, but timed, and I heard my stepmother say that tonight would be seven minutes on the timer.

Yes, my step grandma is in her mid 70's but looks more like 50's with tattooed nipples and a phoenix rising from flames across her hairless twat. Her daughter, my stepmother, is 52 and sometimes she and Grandma are taken for sisters. She Is the Mistress tonight, though sometimes that duty falls to Grandma Alice. But aliceslut, as she is called tonight, is a submissive with her sagging tits and gold rings in the nipples as the blows continue to land on every inch of her slightly chunky body. I know those tits are fiery red by now as the timer rings. Grandpa Jake died three years ago, but Granny keeps coming back, often as the Mistress, though I hear her thanking the men for their attention as her cuffs are unhooked from the two rings that held her arms spread high and wide during the session.

Uncle Dan comes into the room and unclips my cuffs, pulling down sharply on my collar and snapping his fingers as I see them pointing down. I drop down to all fours and begin to crawl as he slaps my ass then swings a leg over me to ride me into the dungeon playroom. As I enter, I see aliceslut down on knees and elbows licking and kissing the feet of the four men that encircle her. Uncle Dan guides me right up behind aliceslut, shoving my nose into her butt and grabbing my hair to push me to her and I begin to lick and kiss her butt crack and rosebud asshole. Her entire ass is bright red with a series of diagonal welts along the sides of her butt cheeks, from the cane I imagine.

The Mistress welcomes me, calling me out as 'renepig,' my submissive name taken from my real name of Renee. She approaches and I think she will have the usual pig snout on an elastic band to put on my nose. But not tonight. No, tonight she carries a full head pig mask and the circle opens for her to enter. She gives a swift kick to move aliceslut aside, and pulls the mask open to show the unique mouthpiece inside, showing how it is fitted like a dental gag in my teeth, holding my mouth open and the metal funnel in front serves two purposes: it can amplify my grunts and groans and will also channel such liquids as one may want to administer. I am fitted with the mask that covers my entire head, with my mouth clamped down around the gag and the back fastened shut with Velcro. It is completely black inside but the earholes are open enough that I can hear commands shouted at me.

I am ordered to kneel up with my hands on the pig ears as I hear a table being wheeled up in front of me as the Mistress speaks.

"This will be a four-suit pursuit tonight," she says to the four Doms. "Each of you can draw a card from one of the four stacks, each arranged by suit. The number will be the number of strokes you will give. If the card is a five or less, you may give that number to each cheek or tit. Six or more, and you deliver that number. Spades will be delivered to the ass with the paddle of your choice, diamonds with a tawse or other leather strap. Hearts will use any of our tit slappers, and clubs may choose any crop on any body part they wish."

The first one chosen is spades, and I hear that the number is five. Five with a paddle on each cheek. The only advantage to wearing this headgear is that I don't have to count the strokes or say thank you every time. I am told to stand and bend, grabbing the backs of my knees which will stretch me tight to increase the sting of the paddle. The swats start out slow, one every ten seconds or so, then the last four coming on hard and fast.

Next choice is diamonds and the number is eight. I am ordered to the floor, on my back, then my ankles are grabbed and pulled toward my head, in what they love to call the "diapering position." Eight with the tawse or whatever strap they choose will be agony on my sit spot and the backs of my thighs. And they are.

Next is hearts, and it is the queen of hearts, which by the card count is 12. I am pulled to my feet and ordered to bend at the waist, hands locked behind my head. My big tits hang down making great targets. But that's not all.

"Face cards are also double value, so that will be twelve to each tit," the Mistress says.

Just about any implement could be used as a "tit slapper," so I'm at a total loss to know what it might be. From the sharp sound and feel on my right nipple it seems to be a kitchen spoon, and I don't know if it's wood or plastic. At the next stroke feel the cupped edge of the spoon's bowl smacking hard on the top of my left breast. Yep, that's a plastic kitchen spoon and using it that way will make a series of nice red ovals on each tit. But then things change. I feel the handle of the spoon flicking onto my nipples, first the right one, then the left. Whoever is handling the spoon is obviously an expert, so I vote for Ray, my stepmother's current hubby. She married Ray about a year after my own father died. He too was an absolute expert with an implement.

But back to the boob beating, where the bowl of the spoon is swinging onto the undersides of my big fun bags hanging down. I've lost count of the strokes but that really doesn't matter since I can't do anything about it anyway. After the last stroke I am told to keep the position. Fingers pinch and twist each nipple then I feel sharp pain as tiny alligator clamps are placed on the tip of each nipple in front of my gold rings. It's time to draw for the clubs.

Nine is the number drawn. My arms are yanked back, and I am pulled onto my back on the rolling table with the cards. I can feel the cards digging into my back as my ankles are grabbed and spread, pulling them up to where my wrists are held and then spreading them wider.

"I think I will use the split tail studded crop on the cunt," I hear, coming from Ken, Kathleen's husband. Damn, that thing is wicked, I know, but I've never felt it squarely slamming down on my spread lips, especially not for nine hard swats. And knowing Ken, they will be hard. As the first stroke lands I shriek, and the noise that comes from the metal funnel in the mask doesn't even sound human, much less like my voice. The next one is as bad as the first, but I manage to hold it down to an anguished groan as the third stroke lands quickly and my groan this time is more of a sharp whimper. There is a pause and I feel the tongues of the crop sliding slowly up and down my crack, the end of the shaft spreading my lips open.

"My God, she's getting wet," I hear Ken say. "Hey Hugh, isn't it about time to pierce these?" Ken says, pinching my labium open as he asks my husband Hugh.

"Good idea, Ken, maybe next time," Hugh answers. "I'd like a little time to shop for just the right pair of rings. Something that will complement the nipples."

"Fair enough," Ken replies, stepping back to bring the fourth stroke down the middle. Shit, that hurts, I think as another loud groan bellows out of me. My twat is in such pain that I'm not sure I even feel much from the last five except my cries get louder with each one. Then it's over and I feel my wrists and ankles released and I am pulled off the table and into a kneeling position on the floor while my hands are once more placed on the pig's ears of the headpiece.

"Let's be sure she's properly hydrated," Ken says. I hear a zipper pulling down.

"I might join you," chimes in Uncle Dan, unzipping next just as the first splash of piss starts running down the funnel snout and into my clamped open mouth. "And don't waste one drop of it, fat bitch," he follows, as two streams flood my mouth and throat.

It's all I can do to do keep up with it, gulping and swallowing as much as I can. I am about to choke when the streams both ease off and I can try to catch my breath while the two streams still dribble into my throat. My face is soaked with piss that has splashed around the funnel and I hope the headpiece was sealed enough around my neck that it's not dripping down my body and onto the floor.

The tap of a cane on my hips directs me, still crawling on my knees, to the side of the room, I assume to a corner where I will be forced to pose and remain until the session ends. I'm not wrong. But as I approach the wall the intensity of the cane tapping under my ass and crotch increases and I find myself crawling onto a low tray filled with coarse gravel and small pebbles which will be agony on my knees and shins. As I am pushed against the wall, I feel my tits being pressed against a panel of tacks that is attached to the wall. And from behind, the rolling table that held the cards is pushed up against my back to keep me pressed against the wall with my boobs being poked by the tacks.

"Stay right there, up against the wall, cunt," I hear Uncle Dan's voice. "Don't move a muscle or make a sound, unless you want some real punishment," he coos into the ear of my headpiece, as though what I've just gotten is nothing. I am fighting the urge to puke from the pressure of the gag on my mouth and lips, but I manage to hold on.

The rattle of a heavy chain leash arriving in the dungeon tells me that Aunt Priscilla is most likely next. I'm not wrong.

"Prissy slut," I hear Mistress say, "how do you like being a full-time nudist, and don't bother answering. I think she needs some color on that pale body, what do you boys think?"

"How about a red sunburn without the sun?" Hugh asks. "Or maybe some goosebumps without the cold?"

"Yes, you betcha," agrees Ken. "Grab your gloves guys and I'll be right back with the goods." I hear the snap of clips fastening onto Priscilla's wrists, most likely to the overhead bar, followed by the whir of the winch pulling her up to hang a foot off the floor so that swings freely, rotating round and round.

I know what's next and even though I can't see it, my mind's eye has it all in front of me, having felt it myself. Each of the four will have a bundle of fresh stinging nettles in each hand, and they will systematically rub, brush and switch them onto every inch of Priscilla's lush body, putting extra pressure into her cunt crack and along her ass, swatting hard on her armpits and especially her nipples. The nettles will instantly raise tiny bumps that itch and sting like crazy, and the more sensitive the skin, the more it will hurt.

After a few minutes, I hear the nettle bundles being dropped to the floor along with a suggestion of refreshments. The men will go have some drinks while Priscilla hangs there whimpering and sobbing in pain. Mistress will likely gag her with a filthy rag and seal it with tape before she asks to join the Doms in a glass of bourbon. A few minutes later I hear the Doms returning to resume another set of swishes and swats with their vicious greens.

"Spread her ankles and snug them up," I hear from Ray. "Want to be sure to get all the way up and down the legs and thighs." I can picture Priscilla's legs being tied out wide and then the nettles swinging up and in along the inner thighs and behind the knees, even the soles of her feet and into the crease or her bare twat. Noise escapes from Priscilla despite the gag, though it's only a muffled whine. Even though I can't see I know she has tears rolling down her face and onto her beautiful boobs.

"Time to wet her down and towel her off," Uncle Dan yells out. I hear the spraying hissing sound of spritz bottles most probably containing a mixture of ice water and stale piss, or vinegar with pepper seeds in it. Priscilla moans, most likely from the peppered vinegar dripping into her cunt. Then I hear the telltale snapping sounds of wet cotton towels making contact with Priscilla's body, along with the thumping thuds that I know well are wet hand towels, each tied with a knot on the end and swung up into Priscilla's crotch or into her arm pits.

The towel snapping stops suddenly and is replaced with open hand slaps everywhere up and down her body, even her face, and on down to the backs of her knees. Some slaps are hard and loud, some are quieter and quick, repeated again and again and making the skin as red as an apple before they return to the towel snaps and thumps with the knotted wet towels.

A few minutes later, my knees are on fire from kneeling on the gravel and the stench of the piss in the pig mask is about to make me puke, though if I do, I know it will be hell to pay. That's when I hear Ken bringing Kathleen into the dungeon. I can hear that he has clipped bells to her nipple rings and cunt rings as they jingle and ring as Ken slaps her ass with a crop, pushing her along into the dungeon. Just then, my collar is grabbed, and I am pulled to my feet and walked along the side wall of the dungeon. I know where I am headed, having been there many times.

The head mask is opened and removed, and I can breathe fresh air for a minute, before a funnel gag is attached to my collar. It's a black funnel, inserted into my mouth, or actually my throat, it's tailpiece extending past my gag reflex, from which I have long been trained to overcome. I am kneeling in a metal tub at the end of what they call the "water table" which is a rolling cart with a rack of enema bottles and other devices hanging over a table with stirrups and straps to hold the legs wide open. I can see Kathleen's spread cunt in the stirrups, and her ass displayed in front of me, as a huge inflatable valve is inserted in her ass, pumped up and locked before the valve to the flow is opened, But before that, the insertion probe is placed into her pee hole and Ken announces "A royal and regal urethral irrigation!"

Urethral irrigation is usually done with a liter or more, warm water, and the next thing I expect is that another one of us will be brought up to join in the irrigation alongside Kathleen. But before that, I hear Ken talking about how they need to empty some bladders and I know that's why I am wearing the black funnel. So as Priscillas gets a 1.5 liter bottle of warm salt water into her pee hole two of the guys are using my funnel and it's all I can do to keep up with the flow. Then the probe is jerked out of Kathleen and the piss comes gushing out into my funnel and all over my face and dripping down my body.

And that's when they turn the valve loose on her enema rig, with three different bottles filling her up, each in turn. There is the soapy suds, followed by a hot water wash and completed with a cold ice water rinse as Kathleen's torso expands and I hear her screaming into the ball gag about the cramps from the cold water. The bottles have emptied, but the inflatable valve is keeping it all in her. The funnel is pulled from my throat as aliceslut is led over to join me at the foot of the water table.

Two of the men loop a short rope around both of our necks to pull our heads close together, then pulled up close to Kathleen's asshole as the plug is deflated and pulled out and the stream rushes out all over both of us, a mixture of soap suds, shit and hot and cold water covering us. In the course of less than five minutes I have been showered and soaked with piss and shit from at least three people. But it's not over yet.

I am squeezing my eyes shut so I can't see anything, but the sound tells me what's up next. I hear a pair of rubber gloves being snapped onto hands and then some swishing and sloshing in the liquid of the tub around my feet and knees. Then the stench of crap being scooped up in a wire strainer basket and my nose is shoved into it before it moves over to aliceslut for the same treatment. And then the brush comes into play. A

long-handled paint brush is used to paint the strained shit solids over my face and over aliceslut as well, to laughter and clinking glasses from the group.

The strainer is then turned over to be a hat on my head as the shit is smeared into my hair and next thing I know I am pulled to my feet and told to lean over Kathleen and mop her with my shithead, as they laughingly call it. One hand is unclipped from my collar and I use it smear my hair on her face and down her chest and tits, trying to rub as much of the shit off me as I can as I open my eyes, then wish I'd kept them closed with the disgusting sight of all three of us covered in piss and shit.

And that's when the Mistress drags Priscilla over to the tub pulling her by the hair and then shoving her down to her knees and dunking her head into the tub while she uses the strainer and ladles some more solids over Priscilla's head.

Then the four of us are ordered to our feet, hands locked behind our necks. The metal tub is placed on the water table and it is wheeled away. The floor has been covered with a black plastic sheet and we are told to each take a corner and pick it up to take it outside without allowing any of the mess to get on the floor of the dungeon. We carefully pick it up as the side door opens out into the back yard where the floodlights come on. We are on a secluded farm property so we don't' need to worry about being seen.

We are told to stretch out the plastic sheet on a slight incline by the garden as the Mistress uncoils a hose with a spray tip. She lines us up at the top of the incline and turns on the water, which hits us like icy needles, running up and down our shit covered bodies and then spraying the plastic as well. Ray comes up around behind us as the spray stops for a minute, then one by one he tosses us onto the wet plastic so that it becomes a big shitty slip and slide and Mistress resumes the spray as we slide down the hill, rolling over to get clean in the cold spray since we know that's the best we can expect. And once we are all down the hill, Mistress orders to run around and up to the top again for another round as they guys pop open some more beers.

For this round I am laid on my back with my legs locked around Kathleen's head and then Ray shoves her off so we go flying down the hill with her head slapping into my cunt as they yell out orders to "Eat you fat bitch, eat!" Priscilla is sliding down beside me and she is pulled to her feet and made to squat over my face, with the same orders to eat some pussy as the relentless spray from the hose finally cleans us up pretty well.