Property

 

I stood in front of the full-length mirror and slipped into my new dress shirt. It didn't look too bad – maybe I wasn't the conventional ladykiller type, but for a certain type of woman I was attractive. The shirt was adorned with dancing red flames and devil's forks, over a black backdrop.

"What do you think, pet?" I asked M.

She was kneeling on the floor next to me, watching me with big, sad eyes.

She was, of course, insanely jealous that I was going out tonight. She grumbled a response, and I laughed at her.

"Look at me," I said to her. She looked up, and I spit in her face. "Don't be a bitch. Tell me what you think."

Her lower lip trembled. Sticky clear ooze shined from her thighs. She didn't move to wipe off her face.

"You look very handsome, sir," she whispered.

"Thank you," I said with a smile. "Now go fetch my black shoes."

As she crawled away I admired the new tail she had, and smacked her ass. The week before I had found a lovely buttplug at the adult superstore, a thick black plug with a long braided tail attached to it. Every night since I had made her wear it for me. She still found it acutely humiliating, which of course made it intensely enjoyable.

She crawled back out of the closet with my left shoe in her mouth. She sat it down in front of me and went off to get the other one.

Last month I had played a similar game with her. I had gone out drinking with some friends of mine. Before I left I sat her in front of the mirror told her to sit still. I put a plastic pig snout over her nose, and cute little clip on pig ears in her hair. In black marker I wrote PIG WHORE across her chest (letters reversed, naturally, so she could read it properly). I sprinkled baby powder all over the carpet around her, another trick of mine. Bondage is all well and good, but I prefer actual mental control over physical restraints. When the powder is laid out, I will see if she moves or gets up. There is no way to move and not make a mark in the powder, so she is forced to sit still or face the consequences.

And when I am disobeyed, I do the only thing she can't handle – tell her to leave. No matter what degrading thing I do to her, it still makes her wet, still presses her buttons. Threatening to never see her again is what really frightens her.

When I came back late that night M was still in position, still looking at her piggy self in the mirror. I took her into the bathroom and had her squat in the shower and piss into a bowl.

"Who's my cute little pig whore?" I teased her. She flushed red.

"I am," she said.

"Does my cute little pig whore want to have hot piggy piss dumped over her head?"

She couldn't respond, but nodded slightly.

"Then ask me nicely," I said.

"Please, sir," she said. Her voice cracked a little, and her eyes got wet. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please dump piggy piss on me."

"Since you asked so nicely," I said, and dumped the bowl over her head. I had her sit there in the shower for a few minutes, urine dripping from the ends of her hair and beading up around her pig snout.

But that was then. Tonight was an entirely different game. I tell you, trying to find new ways to humiliate and humiliation slut is a taxing chore. If you repeat yourself too much, if it gets redundant, and you stop enjoying it quite so much.

M sat at my feet and put my shoes on me, lacing them up just the way I liked. Then I brushed my teeth and spritzed on some Obsession.

"I'll be gone for a few hours. Going to go out with the boys and drink some beers. But I was thinking later you and I could do something."

She perked up a little. She hated being left alone, even for a night.

"I want you to clean the bathroom. Scrub it, every inch." I told her sternly. She nodded. "And when you get done with that, do your nails. And then you can put on make-up. I won't tell you what to wear, but make yourself look nice. However you want to do it. Your hair too, make it look nice. Then find something pretty to wear – no work clothes, something kind of slutty, but pretty. Can you do that for me?"

She looked a little confused, but happy.

"Yes, sir!" she said brightly. "I'll make myself so pretty for you."

"Good girl," I said, patting her head. "I'll see you later."

And I left. I paused outside the window, and heard her talking excitedly to herself. She rushed into the closet, and I heard her pulling out dress after dress after dress. She was so excited.

I met my friends up at a local bar, and we ordered several pitchers of beer and shot a few games of pool. I don't go out as much as I used to, but always had a blast when I did make it out on the town. Before long the beer started weighing heavily on my bladder, so I started drinking a little more slowly. I had to pace myself, after all.

Around midnight, we decided to call it quits. All of us had girlfriends these days, except for my buddy J, who had a wife and kid. None of us partied like we used to, but then again, there wasn't any reason to. You get older, you realize there are other, more exquisite, pleasures in life.

Like M.

I rushed out to my car, needing to piss so badly I could barely keep from stopping and pissing right on the curb. But that wouldn't have been much fun, now would it?

A few minutes later I was unlocking my front door. M was waiting for me in the middle of the living room. She had her hair up, except for a spit curl trailing down each of her lovely cheeks. She had used a little make-up, just to accentuate her features, not to look whorish. Her nails were my favorite shade of purple, and matched the black and purple strapless dress she wore.

"You look gorgeous," I said honestly, and took her in my arms. I kissed her deeply. She wrapped her arms around me – and her hug almost pushed my poor bladder to the limit. "I do love you, M."

I had never told her that before. Her face softened, and she kissed the side of my neck.

"I love you, too, N," she said, using my real name (which was a rare occurrence, but in this case entirely expected and welcomed)

We held each other for a few more moments, just enjoying the words we had spoken.

And then….

"Ok, come here," I said, grinning at her mischievously. I took her hand and led her into the bathroom. She was so happy that she never expected what was coming next. "Now get on your knees in the bathtub, pig whore."

"What?"

"Do it!" I snapped. I slapped her ass. She gave me a pleading look. "Tonight is a very special night, pet. We're going to another level between us. Don't you want that?"

She nodded dumbly and did as told. Her chest was already starting to heave.

"You look so beautiful, baby," I said sweetly, and pulled out my cock. "I've never pissed on such a beautiful face before. Now open your mouth."

She started crying. She sobbed and sobbed, and could barely hold her mouth open. I reached in and spit in her mouth, and yanked it open with my fingers. She closed her eyes and held her mouth open.

"That really is a pretty dress," I told her, as I let my mighty stream of beer-piss go right across her made-up face. I aimed between her lips, but didn't expect her to swallow it. She struggled to keep her lips from slamming shut, and started bawling, gurgling yellow from the corners of her painted lips. "Open your eyes. Look at me!" I told her.

She did as told, and I continued to empty my bladder across her mouth.

By the time I was finished, her dress was soaked. Her lipstick and eyeliner had started to smear and run. Her shoulders were slumped, and she looked broken.

"Who's my cute little piss whore?" I asked her, my voice jovial.

"I am," she whispered.

"What?"

"I'm your piss whore, sir," she repeated. And then she leaned forward and licked the last drop off the head of my cock, and kissed it. "All yours."

I put my cock away and went to the door.

"Good girl. Now get naked and clean up. I want you collared, clean, and greased up in fifteen minutes."

"Yes, sir," she replied.

"Pet," I told her, "I think maybe tonight I might let you cum as much as you can. You have been a good girl."

"Thank you, sir," she said, licking her lips.

And I left her to her cleaning. I stripped down and crawled into bed, and thought about what game we should play next.