Date: Wed, 2 Oct 2013 19:40:30 -0400 (EDT)
From: bigrimmstales
Subject: The Bag Lady And The Domme Chapter 2

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The Bag Lady And The Domme Chapter 2 - Clarissa switches & shows Jessica
how she was  degraded
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The  hairbrush landed repeatedly on my rump and inner thighs. I stayed as
still as I  could, my legs wide apart and my body hung over the dressing
table's  stool.  I had travelled to another place in my mind; that subspace
mentioned so often in my trashy women's porn.
Clarissa was nothing if not  thorough in her ministrations, ensuring the
marks carefully came together to  create a mass of redness that would raise
the heat and pain, plus the pleasure  that flowed from her constant pauses to
stroke the puffed and ultra-sensitive  folds of my sex. She loved the rivers
of sweat that streaked across her  Mistress's back and dripped from my full
breasts. She appeared to be tempted to  stop and lick them, but I had asked
to be just a slave, a slut, a whore and such  actions would have been
deemed too loving, too indulgent. No, I wanted to know  what it had been like in
the clutches of The Group, and so as Mistress Jessica I  would be `Topped
from the bottom'.
She stopped the spanking, placing the  brush beside her, noting that I did
not move, still expecting more blows; frozen  to the spot. Yes, I had
clearly entered subspace, a parallel dimension in my  head that was full of
pleasure as the endorphins kicked in like a marathon  runner's. She admired my
sweating, naked form, then barked a command.
"Go get  me a drink, slut!"
I was jolted back to reality. I thought I had heard an  order but was
strangely unsure; unsure of everything. I could not even remember  how I had got
into this position, assuming a lewd pose that made me available  for more
than just a spanking. Then I felt the searing heat in my buttocks and  thighs,
and a dull, growing warmth in my sex. I felt disoriented, needing the
direction of something or someone.
"Are you stupid slut? Go get me a drink of  water. Now!"
I got up, wincing suddenly with the pain from the beating. The  hairbrush
had hurt far more than the hand, though was less intimate. It  distanced
Clarissa from her actions. Every move made me remember the sadistic  actions of
my friend and, at least at this moment in time, the power someone had  when
dominating. I felt good and yet significantly diminished in control and
status. I kept my head down, automatically acknowledging the switch of roles by
 this subservient gesture.
"Hurry up bitch."
I ran downstairs to the  kitchen, completely naked and oblivious of
anything around me save getting the  water for Clarissa. In fact, another switch
had happened. l was back in 6th form  at school, a doting 18 year old who had
a crush on her. All I wanted to do was  please Clarissa; give her love, give
her pleasure.
I walked barefoot on the  cold tile floor to the enormous American fridge
that Johnnie had bought me for  Christmas. I took a glass from the rack on
the side and pressed for crushed ice.  I felt some splashes of freezing water
hit my breasts and belly. It was like  breaking an egg on a hot New Orleans
street, the liquid quickly shifting and  changing. I stopped, putting the
glass to one side and cupping my hands under  the machine. I took scoops of
dispensed ice and applied them to my rosy red  buttocks. The relief, if only
temporary! Then I filled the glass with cool  water, wiped any drips from it
and walked back upstairs.
I tried to enter the  room calmly, but I was excited and proud for having
given over my trust to  Clarissa. I liked this role, though paradoxically
instinct told me it was not my  natural one. I had already had that brief
thought whether I was a switch. No,  this was just an experiment. I needed to
understand her perspective and also get  closer to comprehending what had
happened to her. I snapped out of my thoughts,  getting refocused. I put my head
down and looked at Clarissa's feet.
"Your  drink, Mistress Clarissa."
She giggled at this, took a sip and then threw the  rest of the icy
contents straight at me. I screamed.
"That was very, very  bad. You should have thanked me for that drink I have
just thrown at  you."
Her tone had changed, once happy now severe. I was confused. Why should  I
be thanking her? She had thrown it at me. I felt I wanted to defy her, take
control back, but something stopped me.
"Go get a broom."
"A broom? But  it was wa..."
"I said a broom, slut. Get it and bring it back!" she snapped,  angry at
my questioning.
"But, Mistress Clarissa the water needs a  mop..."
"Bend over. Present your arse to me," she snapped, sounding very  angry.
I could do nothing but obey. The spanks were cruel, harsh and in quick
succession. I felt the tears well up in my eyes. I cried and cried, unable to
stop.
"Shut up, shut up bitch," she screamed over and over. I could not; I  was
hurting too much, more than before and possibly because of the hairbrush
session. I felt pee dribble from me, I had so little control. Now she was
laughing.
"You dirty little slut, getting piss on your lovely thighs and the  oak
floor," she said, mocking me, laughing at me.
"Get that broom," she  snapped again, not an ounce of concern.
I walked downstairs, aware of my  footprints made in piss, my piss. I was
no better than my sons and daughters had  been when they were toddlers. I
felt dirty and yet the warm pee was in another  way comforting. I remembered
Clarissa's smell when she arrived and its slightly  erotic significance. I
noted how its fragrance melded with the scent of my  over-aroused cunt. But
perhaps even more significant was that for the first time  since school I was
aware of every part of my naked body; every sensation, every  smell, every
movement and its effect.  Even the sway of my full breasts,  that seemed
permanently aroused at present, seemed accentuated and incredibly  sexy to me. I
felt an intense sexual hunger.
I opened Anya (my Czech maid's)  walk-in cleaning cupboard, taking out the
stronger of the two brooms propped up  against the wall. I noticed how tidy
everything was, with no wastage of space.  Anya was a very disciplined
individual, if a little timid or was it subservient  in her manner? I was
noticing things I had not considered before, or denied to  myself. Then my mind
switched back to an obvious question I had not even asked  myself. Yes, why did
she want a broom?
I was a little more cautious as I  walked back, entering the room slowly. I
noticed she had two of our special  bedroom chairs, those low seats that
were once so fashionable in Edwardian  England and Belgium too, where ours had
come from. The backs of the seats were  engraved and raised at the centre
but with two curved elements to each side that  dipped down then back up from
the central decoration, making the top of the back  look like a shallow `w'
. Clarissa took the broom from me. She had placed the  seats back-to-back
but a few feet apart.  She laid the handle of the brush  across the gap and
into the dipped curve on one side of each seat back. Was I to  limbo dance
under it? What was it for?
"I am now going to give you a taste of  what The Group did to us on the
eleventh day and for four days after that. Come  here."
I was curious, so I walked up to her confidently, unaware what I was
letting myself in for. She grabbed me by my right nipple. I guessed that if
rings had been there she would have used those. Instead, I felt the sharp pain
as she gripped my erect teat hard in her fingers, pulling me to her. I was
spun  round in a moment, no kiss or any endearment. She let go of my breast
and held  my wrists in a tight lock. I felt something being bound round them
tightly. It  was uncomfortable, and a barked command not to struggle made me
accept passively  what was happening. Then all went dark. A scarf had been
placed over my eyes and  tied behind my head. It was at once frightening and
thrilling.
"Now, my fun  and your agony begins," she whispered in my ear. "Come
towards the handle."
I  fumbled forward, eventually touching what could only be the cold broom
handle.
"Raise your right leg high over the bar and place it on the other side. Do
it quickly or else you will receive some paddle strokes."
I was torn. I had  grown to seek the pain of the hairbrush, but I was now
curious about the bar.  What a fool I was as I lifted my leg high, knowing
she would be staring at my  exposed cunt as I made the action. I was enjoying
exposing myself to her but not  thinking what this bar might really mean to
me emotionally and physically.
It  was hard to get astride it. I had to keep myself on tip-toe, balancing
like some  blindfolded ballerina. With a little bit of a struggle and some
assistance from  Clarissa as she held my arm, I was placed across the pole.
What a fool I was to  obey so easily.
"Now keep that position. Perfect."
I heard her laugh as  she let go of me and walked away. I was now
positioned with the pole running the  length of my cunt and arse. If I put my feet
flat to the floor the pole would  press cruelly into me. If I stayed on
tip-toe, the pain in my feet would  increase as I tried to maintain my position.
What was I to do?
"I was kept  for about four days with my hands suspended above me and my
cunny astride a  plank much narrower than this broom handle. I was told that
if I pleaded with  them, acknowledged my lack of worth and accepted my role
as their slave to do  with as they wished in all things, they would let me
off the beam.   However, my innate stubbornness for all my subservient ways
kicked in. I had  accepted the piercings reluctantly and quite perversely on
the basis that around  that act had been pleasure, but now they were giving
me an ultimatum. I was not  going to be beaten, well not in this way anyway."
Already I could feel the  ache in my ankles and toes. I kept shifting my
weight from joint to joint,  muscle to muscle, in my feet. Occasionally I
dropped down slowly, feeling the  curve of the broom force apart my sex lips. It
felt ok, until I reached the  lowest point and then the pressure of my
whole body came down hard. I got to  know what a flower might feel like when it
is dried and dead weight applied from  above. My cunt was an orchid under
the press. Beauty distorted. I hated this. I  hated my lack of control over
things.
"It is uncomfortable,  Clarissa"
"Shut up you whining bitch. And for now I am Mistress, not  Clarissa. I am
your torturer, your tormentor, but I can be your lover too if you  plead
with me to take you from the bar and accept anything, and I mean anything,
that I may tell you to do."
What was it about this device? It had the same  affect on me as it had on
Clarissa. I was not going to be beaten by it. It was  just a broom, for God's
sake!
"NO, no you will not win. I am your mistress  you cheap little slut," I
snapped back with all the defiance my heart could  muster, though in my head
there was already a nagging doubt as the physical ache  turned to quickly to
pain.
She laughed, saying nothing. I was to learn she  did not have to.
Her footsteps padded away, presumably to the door. I could  not tell. The
blindfold left me with absolutely no light. I was alone now; to  contemplate
this fiendish yet simple device. All my senses were on alert, but  every so
often it was the ache in my feet or the pressure on my cunt and  sometimes
my anus too that craved the most attention.
I heard the television  go on downstairs in the drawing room. There was
laughter.  She was on a  cable channel that repeated old comedy shows. I could
just hear Jennifer  Anniston's voice. I imagined that slim, small breasted
woman naked and astride  this pole. I laughed to myself, glorying in her
imaginary humiliation, then  grimaced as I had forgotten to keep my upright
posture and slipped hard onto the  shaft. I cried inside, being sure not to let
any outward sign show. No, there  would be no weaknesses, even if Clarissa
could not see me. It was about  self-discipline I told myself. So I started
to let my mind create new thoughts  and images. I began to think about work
and home, listing the problems,  identifying solutions. At first it was a
struggle as the pole reminded me of my  vulnerability, but I started to sink
into that place I knew was called  `sub-space'.
I had no idea how long I had been in that place in my mind, but  some
answers emerged to thorny problems I had not had the time or the strength  to
address.  The ache in my toes and ankles, the tortuous pressure on my  cunt and
anus seemed acceptable to me. Then I screamed.
"You fucking  bitch!".
I had not expected the shower of ice and freezing water that  descended
down my body. Nor had I expected the cruelty in the laughter that  accompanied
Clarissa's actions.
"What did you call me, slut?" she asked, her  cruel laughter still ringing
in my ears, her tone now measured, precise,  cold.
I stood high on my toes, wanting to apologies for my language, for
ignoring convention by not addressing her as Mistress; of not thanking her for  her
actions, however sadistic they might seem. I knew that convention from the
books I had devoured recently.
"Sorry Mistress," I heard myself say, with  such an apologetic tone. Where
was the fight in me?
"We'll see about sorry. I  cannot pierce you, but I can enable you to feel
at least something of what I  felt. I've been in your maid's cupboard
again. She has some very useful things,"  she said in a very menacing tone.
"S-s-sorry Mistress," I heard myself say  between the chattering of my
teeth as the ice chilled my body to the bone. I was  so concentrating on this
that I did not even think of my nice oak flooring  flooded by her cruel act.
The domestic goddess, i.e. so proud of my house and  its wealth, was nowhere
to be seen. I was a small speck of shit in the park, and  I knew it, but
was determined not to show it.
I felt the bar being raised  again, filling the space I had left when I had
extended higher. You see, the  cold had made me lift my toes to their full
height. I stood like some ballerina  at the Garden. I thought nothing could
be more agonizing than that.
And then  it happened.
I screamed again.
The clothespegs were attached one at a  time to my breasts. Placed in
concentric circles around my nipples, they spread  back to cover the tops and
curvy underside of my tits. I tried hard not to moan  or cry after the initial
shock of the first pincers.
"And now for the piece  de resistance," she announced.
I moaned loudly as one peg was pinched onto  each of my nipples.
I was surprised by how hard my teats had become during  this sadistic play.
I was balanced precariously over the beam, my toes finding  it difficult to
sustain my weight, and now I was coping with the pain and then  surprising
pleasure of the pegs that covered my entire bosom. Plus, to add to  the
challenge, my toes were extended and beginning to ache. I tried to lower to  the
bar to ease the discomfort. I felt my cuntlips part around the pole,
opening  and pressing around it. My anus was pushed flat to it as well. The weight
above  this focused the discomfort, almost making me forget the pegs that
grabbed my  tits like cruel fingers.
Clarissa was giggling hysterically. Was this making  her relive her ordeal?
Was she in distress as she relived it or experiencing  pleasure? I could
not tell but was surprised at my love and concern for her,  even though she
was deliberately hurting me. She walked away again, descending  the stairs. I
was left alone for I do not know how long.
My hearing was  acute. My nerve endings honed to feel every sensation. My
mind was racing with a  thousand and one thoughts, some positive and others
dark and dangerous. In the  midst of it I knew one thing for certain. I was
not really submissive, this was  not really me, but the switch was helping me
to understand Clarissa's world and  where she had gone after her abduction.
In that way I could accept it and yes,  enjoy its perverse pleasures and
pains. But for me I knew it would be the last  time I would enter the domain
of the submissive. A set of plans became so clear  as I straddled the broom.
The time in subspace was a release, an opportunity to  be free of worldly
things.
I don't know when she came back, but I remember  her lifting first one leg
then the other, the rustling of something like plastic  bags, and then her
sliding something under each foot. I felt the sudden pain,  mainly in my
lower body, with each movement as I became aware of my torture  again.
"You cannot leave the bar, so there is a plastic sheet underneath  you. If
you need to piss or shit, or if your menstruation starts as mine did in
that room they held me, then this is where it will go. Enjoy the life I  had."
"But..."
"Shut up slut, I have not given you permission to speak to  me," she
snapped.
So I continued to straddle the pole, aware again of my  tortured physique
and my complete lack of status, respect and choice. This was  doubly
challenging for my dominant self. I hated this loss of control with such  an
intensity that I was angry, seething, yet knowing I could not give in to this
challenge. Yes, I felt humiliated and degraded, but she would never know. Or so
I vowed. It was crazy.  I could have easily stepped off that broom, found
some way of untying my bound wrists and taken off the blindfold, but instead
I  accepted the restraints on the basis of my pride. I was the
perfectionist in all  things. Besides, again the driver was to understand her
predicament and I could  only feel it if I experienced at least some of it. So, I let
pride drive me, and  not a little kinkiness as the pleasure that was always
just behind the pain  kicked in with ever-increasing force.
"How long have I been here Mistress?" I  asked, calling out in the
blackness that permanently surrounded me. My legs were  screaming their agony,
muscles tight and close to cramps. I was really asking  for release, but would
not plead.
"24 hours you stinking slut," she  said.
It felt like days not one day. I did not care about the stink anymore.  I
had held my bladder for hours and hours, desperately trying not to disgrace
myself again. She had already seen me pee myself, but something made me want
to  resist doing it again. Besides, naively I had thought the ordeal would
be over  before I needed the toilet. How wrong I had been and how sadistic
she was to  ensure that I would need to go. She had brought me cranberry
juice at some time  in the day or night, forcing my mouth open and using a jug
to pour it down my  throat. When I tried to plead that I had had enough, she
held my nose up so my  mouth would open. I felt the cold liquid at first
satiate my thirst, run in  rivulets down my body over my tortured breasts to my
aching cunt, cooling it  momentarily before splashing onto the sheet below.
Then, over the next hour the  diuretic properties of the juice kicked in.
My bladder became the focus of my  thinking, my whole attention.
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 ecstasy, 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 diarrhea 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 feces 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 feces 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 feces 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 program 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.
Then the worst, most shocking thing  happened.
"Stay there."
She stood up. I heard her turn round, then smelt  her bottom coming closer
and closer to me. She had clearly not washed for a  while.
"Stick your tongue out and lick my arsehole."
I still had my hands  tied behind my back. It was the first time I had
noticed this, suddenly aware of  the discomfort, but even more so as I had no
way to steady myself nor, if I  disliked this, to fend her off. I swayed as
the strong muscles of her arse  pushed into me and my nose and tongue slipped
between the perfect globes. I was  tasting her dirty anus, smelling its
sweaty, unclean state yet growing to like  the degrading feeling it created in
me. Besides, she was making contact with me.
And then it came, the ultimate degradation. What had come before was not
the  worst.
I felt the anus open more than usual. A soft projectile was pressing
against the tip of my tongue. The smell had changed. There was a texture akin to
uncooked chicken stuffing, though the aroma was disgusting. She was
shitting in  my face!
"Eat it, Stinky Slut!"
I wanted to say `no' but I had gone so  far. I was that stinking slut. I
could not sink lower, so why not? It was not  unpleasant anymore, I was
humiliated, degraded and besides, by now all I wanted  was her approval, her
care, her love.  Yes, I wanted her to love me and if  this did it then I would.
So I took the soft turd into my mouth, realising I  could not swallow it in
one. I chewed, suppressing the desire to vomit,  realising that it was not
so bad as I had thought. I centered in my mind that  this was just waste food
and nothing more.
I blanked out my fear of e-coli  and germs of any type. I had been so
obsessed about hygiene with my children,  having immense arguments with Johnnie
who thought I was responsible for their  allergies as I had prevented their
immunity developing. Yes, this super-clean  woman was now a Stinky Slut who
ate her lover's shit. What a change. I swallowed  the last morsel of feces,
and licked her anus as clean as was possible without  being able to see it. A
thought entered my head. What else could she do to me  after such
degradation?
Then it happened.
"Oh, Mistress I cannot keep up  the pretence. I am submissive. This is too
much for me. Please, let's switch  back?"
She lifted me up by my armpits, turned me round and undid my bindings.  I
felt the blood rush back into my hands. In an instant she had the scarf off
my  face, my eyes blinking madly as I adjusted to the bright lights in the
room.  Then she kissed me, but as her head came towards me I saw the river of
tears  that streaked her face. Being dominant had actually distressed her,
no matter  how much she had tried to top from the bottom. A tremendous wave
of love  overcame me. I kissed her so hard and so hungrily. I forgot my mouth
had only  just finished eating her shit and my body was a disgusting mess.
I just wanted  her.  And I needed her to want me.
She did. She pushed me back onto the  bed.
She broke away from me.
"Please forgive me?"
Then I thought how I  could best reassert my position.
"Only if you clean me."
"Ok, Mistress, I  will go get sponges and ..."
"No, only with your tongue," I interrupted.  "Only your tongue can clean
this abused body."
I thought that maybe I had  gone too far. How wrong I was.
"Oh, yes Mistress. I am so sorry, I took the  demonstration too far."
Under the tears was a radiant smile. Then her tongue  eagerly licked my
face clean, even using the tip to tease any mess from my teeth  and gums. Then,
she licked down my body, as I lay exhausted and aching. The  attention she
gave to my nipples was disproportionate to their level of dirt,  but then as
she went lower so more delights were to come. I found erogenous  zones I
did not realize were there. For example, she lapped and licked at the
undercurve of my breasts, cleaning days of sweat. My navel, that had accumulated
residues of piss, was explored and cleaned expertly. I had hardly ever paid
attention to it, seeing it as something non-functional, but now I felt waves
of  pleasure connect directly to my clitoris. I had become sensitive and
aware  through my ordeal or else it was through naïve, neglectful sex over
years of  marriage. This woman knew more about my body than Johnnie or I had
ever  discovered.
I moaned and groaned in pleasure. She had reached my inner thighs  and
cunt. I knew she was licking up my dried piss and shit, but I did not care,  and
by the enthusiasm she showed, neither did she. I knew The Group had
conditioned this into her. It was her fetish, but I had plans that it would be a
rare thing, that there were other practices to explore. Besides, they had
created the desire artificially, as I had found. She would not do anything
ever  again against her will after this day, though her boundaries would
always be  tested.
Now she was turning me over, licking my arse and little rose bud  clean. I
felt the point of her tongue probe at my anus, and it opened almost
automatically.  She was not going to be surprised by my shit. I was empty,  unfed
for days except with porridge and that cursed cranberry juice. I got onto
all fours, delighting in the attention her tongue was giving this previously
taboo place. Not forbidden any more! I was moaning and groaning in pleasure,
 even more so as her delicate fingers slid under me and caressed my soaking
wet  cunt. I was exhausted from the trials of the past days, but aroused by
her  sexual assault. I wanted her to pleasure me as much as possible.
I came,  screaming into a pillow. Wave upon wave of orgasms overcame me
until I was  unable to scream or say anything. I just accepted her love and
attention when  she gently helped me some time later into my sunken bath. I
just let her pay  attention to me, even lying me on the side with my open legs
in the water, and  shaving my cunt clean, then kissing the denuded slit so
lovingly. I had no  strength to make love, but she helped me back to my bed
that had been stripped  and covered in fresh sheets.
"I love you," I whispered.
I noticed the big  sheet of plastic had been cleared away, the chairs
returned to their positions.  In fact, apart from the fact that there were two
naked women sharing that bed,  there was nothing out of the ordinary in my
bedroom.
I lay naked on my back,  my legs open and the freshly shaven pudenda
showing to all who wanted to see it.  I had become so comfortable with my nudity.
Clarissa knelt up on the bed,  pouring oil into her palm to warm it then
spread it over my breasts and  belly.
"Mistress, would you like me to tell you more about The Group as I  massage
you?"
Her fingers stretch and teased at my breasts. I felt my nipples  harden and
my cunt turn to liquid.
"Mmmm, yes. Tell me more."
Instead of  exhaustion overtaking me, this massage was bringing me to a
hungry state of  arousal. I wanted to know more.
"Well, after they had degraded me and left me  filthy astride the plank..."
I listened attentively, feeling such love for  her. I wanted to know
everything about her. I would do my best to find out.


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