Katrina's Taming

KATRINA'S TAMING (by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 7 – Katrina the Leggy Waitress

You can, I am sure, imagine with what care I had to wiggle sexy tiny stepping my erotically enhanced and encumbered body across the lower-floor hallway of Jackie's London apartment into the room where I knew my presence was long overdue: though my lateness was surely no fault of my own.

I wiggled my delicious rubber wrapped dimple-contoured bum cheeks, as I took enforcedly tiny-tiny mincing steps with my tightly-tightly hobbled ankles. I wiggled super-femininely, my beauty tethered tensioned torsioned and tied for the pleasure of others.

I was tethered tensioned torsioned and tied to enhance my girlness, to show my stunning woman's body in an extreme of stress through dress that only served to enhance and emphasise the beauty that nature had given me, this delectable girl, wiggle-mincing skyscrapered-leggy-legged top-of-tip tiptoed and balletdancered in her pirouette-booties.

I wriggle-minced tiny-stepped, a strong curved calved and monumentally strong thighed stupendously eroticised beauty, with concave hollowed buttock hemispheres, my titties sticking out like two round, too round, obscene conical mountains on my chest, my nipples being constantly chastised by my anxious breathing spinning the little paddles in my nipple-torment bra, my gorgeous squeezed purse lubriciously sweating between my gorgeous thighs under my hot rubber skirt, my face cruelly masked to hide my prettiness but show my submissive beauty, my head topped by my lovely hair coiled in a bun aloft to crown me princess imperial of all girls in any and all the universes of girls.

I was transformed into a Stepford maid. I wiggled into the room where Jackie held court and a silence dropped like a net over a tigress, as all eyes turned to absorb fully the beauty that was my tethered and bound body as I tiny-stepped into the room, tiptoe topped in my punishment stilt-booties one-inch hobbled leggily before them.

“Here's the damned maid at long last,” Jackie snapped for my ears to remind me of my submissive role.

I obediently wriggle-wiggle-trotted to the tray of drinks, which was resting on Jackie's bar, readied for me to distribute. With the greatest of difficulty, because of the chain hobbling my wrists so that I could only use one hand, I picked this tray up and proceeded in my wriggle-wiggle-tiny-one-inch hobbled-tip-of-tiptoe steps toward the thirty or so Japanese businesswomen that Jackie was entertaining. Once tiptoed among them I obediently proffered the tray in my right hand, whilst wiggling in tippy-toe tiny-steps with my helplessly held-back lovely left hand resting sexily on my rubber clung bum.

“Curtsy!!” Jackie shouted at me with a force that made me jump in metaphor at least.

“Where are your manners you useless bitch?!”

“I will not have bad manners in my home especially before my guests, and least of all from a stupid little bitch of a serving maid!”

I lowered my head in shame. I was shamed by Jackie's insult of me, her friend, of me who loved her devotedly. I was also shamed because my bondage, and the never-ending threshing of my nipples through my breathing working the nipple-torment bra paddles, and through Jackie's aggression, and through my being publicly humiliated before thirty strangers, had wet my pretty pussy purse and that wetness was even then threatening to escape my nether lips.

How could I curtsy with my ankles hobbled only one-inch apart? Putting my tip-of-toes tiptoed feet together, I bent gently toward crouching at both knees as if in the process of sitting, and lowered my shamed head, in what little I could do in my severe bondage to satisfy my mistresses quite correct demand that I show the manners due my lowest-of-the-low station in her household, and then rose again.

I wriggle-wiggle-trotted around obediently curtsying before every guest until my tray was empty. I then stood submissively by waiting to collect empty glasses.

One pretty Japanese guest could not take her eyes off me as I stood by with my tray in my right hand, my pretty left hand resting on the rubber clung half-moon of my wonderful rear.

When I had been up close to her, she had watched with fascination the little paddle wheels constantly flicking my nipples as I breathed through the tube leading to my mouth behind my mask and leading on to the twin ends of my nipple-torment bra.

Despite the steamed-up state of the containers they were encased by, this girl could see clearly how excited my nipples were at the totally unrelenting attention of the little paddles driven by my breathing through the tubes leading to the single tube leading to my mouth.

And excited indeed my nipples were. But, though I knew that my captors would not have frowned upon such an act of public masturbation, I was not so foolish as to adjust my breathing to pleasure myself. I was pleasuring myself even by breathing normally though.

My nipples were being constantly rhythmically flicked flapped tapped and tormented by the divinely evil little paddles. And, even as I merely stood patiently waiting to be a waitress, I gave out a little girly gasp, inaudible behind my mask, as my constant titty-tip torment increased the arousal already evident in she who nestled so warmly and snugly under my close-clinging black rubber micro-micro-mini skirt between my wonderful thighs.

And on and on and on it went – the constant unrelenting flicking of my nipples went on and on and on, breath as I must and torment and arouse my own nipples as I therefore also must.

The pretty Japanese who had been unashamedly ogling me, now held out her empty glass as did another girl nearby.

I wriggle-tiny-wiggle-girly-wiggle tiptoe-tip-top ballet-legged long leggy-stepped toward the first girl, obediently curtsied, and took her glass on the tray I held out in the one hand I was able to raise a little in front of me. But, as I was girly-wriggle-wiggle-stepping toward the second girl to take her empty glass, Jackie bawled out at me again:

“One empty glass back to the bar at a time you stupid bitch!!”

My eyes closed behind my tunnel-vision forcing blinkers as I registered the intentional cruelty of this. I must perform my maid's duty to take over thirty single empty glasses on my tray back to the bar one at a time in my hobbled and tiptoe tortured state, when my tray could carry of course far more.

I did as I was ordered, and this lovely girl watched my wonderful clinging close rubber encased dimple-sided bottom as it wriggled wiggled and swung super-sexually as I mince-stepped tiny-tiny quick-kick stepping in my one-inch hobble, with her one empty glass on my tray taking it back to the bar.

I was at least allowed to return to this girl with the long drink that was, curiously, to follow the wine. As I wiggled my lovely body toward this still stunned young woman, she had the close-up of the wording on my apron that she had sought to read as I had stood with empty tray obediently at the ready.

Hitherto her poor eyesight, which she vainly avoided wearing the glasses she knew she should to correct, had prevented her satisfying her curiosity, but now she had put her glasses on.

No doubt, other girls among the guests had already read what was written in Japanese on my apron, but his girl, having taken the tall drink I offered her after my obedient leggy curtsy, now read it out loud, astounded and made giggly by alcohol and her pleasure at what the notice printed in large bold red Japanese symbols on my apron read.

To my eternal shame she shouted out in English translation to the whole room, where Jackie's mocking laughter multiplied my deep shame, the wording on my apron:

The girl calling out from reading the apron I wore laughingly called out its mocking words:

“If my services are not entirely satisfactory, you may have me punished”.

As all the assembled women laughed aloud, I continued to mince and wiggle in my tippy-tiptoed skyscrapering-booties kicky-leggy as if this were something that happened every day. For me in my bondage it might just as well have been something that happened every day, for all I could do about it.

“I not satisfied”, said the girl who had read my apron notice out loud in her broken English, to my total horror,.

“I not satisfied maid. Maid naughty girl”, she laughed.

“You are very harsh madam” Jackie told her, “But you are entirely in the right, and your wish is my command”, she concluded.

“Prepare the chair”, Jackie ordered my other two chief tormentors.

Then, turning to the woman who had demanded I be punished, Jackie told her, conspiratorially, “Madam, the maid is admittedly a disappointing totally useless bitch, but we might as well have her serve us till we are ready to wind-up our little gathering”.

“Okay: I wait” said the girl raising an eyebrow to signal to Jackie her understanding of Jackie's desire to prolong my present erotic torture.

“As you can see ladies”, Jackie called out to all the women assembled in the room, “We can supply lovely models for the photo shoot you have in mind.”

What was that I had just heard? Did Jackie call me “lovely”? Did the love of my life praise my beauty? I stopped in the progress of my duties to turn myself to look at the face of my beloved. I wanted: no: I needed to look for the sign I had so longed for that Jackie loved me to the total distraction with which I loved her.

“Why are you not working you stupid stupid bitch?!!” Jackie snapped.

I turned with tears in my eyes, to wriggle-wiggle-mince-tiptoe-top-step about my leggy-legged duties once more, deeply hurt by Jackie's rejection.

Jackie continued her address to the Japanese businesswomen: “A calendar for each month of the year, with an erotic moving picture constantly repeating on a loop, is an excellent idea. And for it to be posted on the internet for people to download for a suitable fee, splendid. I can guarantee you twelve lovely models, one for each month..” she concluded.

Their business apparently settled, the guests and Jackie took seats so that they could watch me suffer as I struggled to wriggle-wiggle-walk in my one-inch hobbled bondage with their individual empty glasses and return with their tall drinks, of which a number of the guests were demanding more than the one.

I cannot deny for one moment that the sexiness of my erotic bondage and the humiliation brought about by my humbling and demeaning duties had got me sexually aroused. Add to this that my nipples were throbbing divinely from the constant beat of the paddle wheels within my nipple-torment bra and you have the picture of the peak of sexiness I was at toward the end of that evening.

I hardly need add therefore, that behind my white rubber maid's apron, with its savage, “If my services are not entirely satisfactory, you may have me punished” message emblazoned upon it, and only just under my skimpy black rubber tube skirt, my lovely pussy was oozing my nectar contentedly.

During the year since my girl-cage torture, I had not neglected to keep myself fit and trim, as a photographic model must, but two hours had now gone by with me on leggy tiptoe in my punishment-booties and I was feeling the physical and mental strain.

I stood once more obediently awaiting to serve my superiors when the Japanese who had demanded I be tortured, visibly purposely dropped her handkerchief on the floor of Jackie's sumptuous lounge.

Jackie smiled as she noticed this.

“Where's that damned maid?!” Jackie snapped.

“Come on you totally stupid idle and useless little bitch, pick it up!!” she demanded of me.

“My goodness where DO they get these bone-idle useless lazy good-for-nothing brainless little tarts from?!”

“Look at you, you idle little bitch, your mistress has dropped her handkerchief, are you really so damned stupid that you have to be told your duty is to immediately pick it up and present it back to her? Have you really no understanding of your place in this world? Do you really and truly not realise that little slags like you are a thousand to the cent?” Jackie ranted on and on…

“…Have you really got no gratitude to your superiors for saving you from selling yourself on the streets, because that is what you'd no doubt be having to do if we had not had the goodness to take you in, feed and shelter you, you useless little whore…”

“…For god's sake just look at yourself: you are even wearing uniform that we have had to buy for you out of our own pockets…”

“Do you have any idea how much it costs to clothe you in rubber aprons rubber mini-skirts and steeple booties to keep you clothed? Do you?! And those chains we have to bind you with to get even the slightest useful effort out of you, do you know how much they cost?! Do you, you worthless ungrateful lazy good-for-nothing little slag?!…”

“I was wrong to ever have bothered employing you. I should take your uniform off you now and throw you naked back into the gutter from whence you came, you useless little bitch!!”

“…Get MOVING you stupid useless whore!!”

I wriggle-wiggle-kicky-leggy-stepped, shamed to my core, over to where the handkerchief lay, and lowered myself to a murderously precarious huge folded legged squat, to reach out with the one hand my bonds allowed me to use, and take up the dropped handkerchief.

As I lowered myself to the squat, all eyes were on my legs and the women nudged themselves as my white rubber maid's apron ceased to cover what my black rubber skirt hem had never really fully covered, and my extremely wet purse was wholly clearly to be seen smiling between my wonderfully strongly-thighed folded legs.

I rose slowly, curtsied humbly, blushing deeply with shame at my sexual arousal from Jackie's tirade, as I offered this handkerchief back to its owner, who simply ignored me.

“What took you so damned long, you idle bitch?!” Jackie demanded.

“You damned well need to be reminded of your station in life, you lazy slut. Take the useless idle bitch and fit her with the bowl mask, and then let's see if an hour or two in the punishment chair will drive some lessons into her useless arse!!”

Mina and Nina, my two pretty tormentors had made ready for me in the neighbouring room in which I had been bound as a serving maid. They now took my arms and led me back there at such speed as I could manage in my one-inch hobble.

No fellow woman protested this fellow woman's humiliation and torture. My fellow women were enjoying my suffering too much for that.

To my great relief, in the preparation room my torturers removed the rubber mask that covered my face, the nipple-torment bra, my apron and my skirt, which they had to cut off, so tightly did it hug my wonderful contours.

They smiled and nudged each other as they looked at the incredibly aroused state of my nipples from their never-ending paddling when in the nipple-torment bra.

As they wiped my face of my sweet sweat, they unclipped my nostrils and I was left standing just in my stilt-booties with one-inch ankle hobble and the chain that went around my waist and the cuffs linking my wrists.

I was naked but for these and the glorious princess imperial crown that was my hair still drawn up and coiled in a tight light-brown bun atop my head.

My relief was only momentary though. Mina and Nina, the girls attending me had malign smiles. They knew what was coming next.

It seems to be only in old cartoons on TV now, that one sees a goldfish in a round bowl. I was, or at least my head was, about to become like that goldfish.

My torturesses now placed in my sight two halves of what looked like two halves of such a goldfish bowl, or maybe an imaginary spaceman's helmet. It combined the two. Like a goldfish bowl the two halves curved up to an open top with flared out lip and, like a space helmet, there was also an opening at the bottom where, in this case, the “bowl” or “helmet” mask turned into a short round pipe to go around the wearer's neck.

As I studied this device lost in a dream at the relief from my stress and torture as I sat. One of the girls wound, quite tightly around my neck, some black rubber tape about four or five-inches broad and sticky on both sides. She wound this around my neck from a reel, over and over itself, so that I finally had three layers sticking to me.

Each of my tormentors then took a half of the helmet bowl and brought them to where I had been sat so that they could prepare me. The open halves of the helmet had a tongue and matching groove respectively. The groove was lined with a rubber seal.

My captors now put the two halves carefully together one over my face and the other over the back of my head. The tongue in the rear half was mated into the groove of the front half so that the seam they formed when combined ran alongside my ears, and the rubber seal in the groove made the two halves one combined unit, from the open flared “goldfish bowl” rim down to and including the two halves of pipe that now formed a whole pipe around and containing my neck.

Four clips on each side of the grooved half of the bowl also mated and clicked into matching tongues on the tongue side, so that my helmet was fixed immovably in place.

Once in place, the open flared top like that of a goldfish bowl, was some two-inches above my coiled head hair. At the bottom, the short pipe was already stuck to the sticky tape that had been wound around my lovely neck.

The girl who had wound the tape around my neck, now repeated the three winds of the double-sticky-sided tape, but this time over the pipe running out the bottom of my helmet and over the still exposed original tape winding, so that pipe going all around my neck as it did, was sealed by an outer seal to the inner seal to which it already stuck. A stretch rubber brace was then brought and taken around my neck and strapped at its back.

I now gazed out at the world like a 22 nd century space-girl. I looked out through a clear plastic-glass helmet as if I had just landed from planet girl. As I sat dreamy-eyed, the sexual arousal of my nipple threshing and serving maid bondage having receded by now, I had no idea whatsoever why I had been fitted with this strange helmet.

My short dreamy reverie was short-lived. Without a word, my tormentors took my elbows and made clear that I was to stand and walk back into the room where Jackie's party guests were still assembled.

I obeyed unquestioningly, and wriggle-wiggled-tiny-kicky-stepped once more tiny-tip-top-tiptoed super-high forced leggy-legged in my pirouette-ballet-punishment-booties savagely controlled by the cruel one-inch hobble between my dainty ankles, back in among my fellow girls.

I was back in among my fellow women, but outside their fellowship. I was a girl apart. I was a victim and they the victors over me. Theirs and theirs alone was the freedom: mine and mine alone was the imprisonment and suffering.

Any one of them could have rescued me from my plight: none of them would. I was beneath them. I was beneath their contempt. In their eyes I was just dirt. I was a stupid girl who seemed to love being abused and, for them, it was wonderful to see me abused, so why not just let me be abused for the pleasure it gave them? If I was so very stupid as to let these things happen to me, I deserved all I got didn't I? What harm was it doing to me to be sexually tortured?

Whether any of these women ever thought of me for one moment as a fellow girl I do not know, but if they ever did, they must have excused themselves along some of the preceding lines because, as I wiggled back into the room they were in, none flicked an eyelash other than to clear her eyes to more clearly see what had been done to me and what was to follow.

Jackie's smile was distressingly evil as I wriggle-wiggled back in alone ahead of my torturesses.

The centre of the room in which I had so recently been the subservient serving maid, had been cleared and rearranged. I now saw, as I was meant to see, hence Jackie's grin, that there was a large square wooden platform in the middle of the room and, bolted to the platform, in the middle of the platform, and with its back to me, a straight backed, high backed, wooden chair.

This wooden chair was of the build and strength of a park bench, but was a seat for one only. Alongside it was what I recognised as a chamber pot. It was made of metal, and had a little spout lip like a jug has to pour from. And alongside that in turn was a curious two-step ladder like arrangement made of the same rugged wood as the chair and the base to which the chair was so soundly and immovably bolted.

I stood in my space helmet goldfish bowl open topped mask in my murderously tiptoeing booties the lovely creature from planet girl, awaiting my instructions.

The guests, my two torturesses and Jackie moved to stand around the edge of the platform in front of the chair…

“Come here bitch!” Jackie snapped. I saw that both she and her fellow tormentors of me, Mina and Nina, had black leather whips at the ready, “Come here bitch!” Jackie repeated.

I dutifully wiggle-tiptoe tiny-trot stepped to where Jackie was indicating, to where Jackie had ordered I must be, to where all the women were assembled to witness what was to happen, and I turned and looked with absolute horror, total horror, complete and all encompassing horror at what was prepared for me!

“Sit down straight backed right back on the chair bolt upright thighs together” Jackie ordered, but I did not hear her as I looked at the chair I was now in front of having hitherto, purposely no doubt, only been able to see its rigidly straight high back.

This chair, this horrendously horrible chair, looked to some extent like a commode. I could see that it had a depression in its near rear centre and what was obviously a drain hole. Even as I looked at the chair, the metal chamber pot with jug-like lip was being slid into grooved slots that took its flanged rim directly under where this drain hole would serve.

At the top of the back was something I could see now that I stood in front that I could not have seen from standing to the rear of the seat.

At the top of the back of the seat was a sort of stocks in the same horizontal plain as the seat of the chair. One half of the stocks was built into the top of the back of chair itself. This was the non-moving half. I could clearly see that this half of the stocks had a single semi-circle hole in its centre.

Hinged to this non-moving half of the single-hole stocks, was a hinged second half with matching semi-circle hole in its centre. This hinged half was, as I studied the chair, opened out and away to the side. The moving half of the stocks had legs dangling from it that would, clearly, support it from the arms of the chair when the stocks were swung shut. Indeed there were securing connections for these supporting legs for the front half of the stocks on the chair's waiting arms.

When I sat in it too, there would be solid wings up to the chair's arms either side of my thighs to keep my thighs hard together.

But, that I was looking at a commode was not what horrified me. What horrified me, what was fully intended to horrify me, what I had been summoned to witness before all my fellow women gathered to see me see it for the first time, were the dozens of strong steel spikes of the thickness of sewing needles that stuck savagely, cruelly, rigidly, unyieldingly, unmercifully, upright from the seat of that chair.

These dreadful spikes, sharp pointed in shiny steel, thrust upwards for the most part one-inch from the seat where by poor buttocks and handsome thighs would be when I sat. But, in the most strategic place, not only because they had to compensate for the hollow that led to the drain, but because of deliberate forethought and cruel invention, where my quim would nestle, the spikes were not only thicker and stronger but fully seven-inches or more in their brutal length.

“Sit bitch,” Jackie ordered, “Sit straight backed right back on the chair bolt upright thighs together” Jackie reminded me.

I must obey. I must do as I was ordered.

Every eye watched my every move as I wiggle-walked to the chair and turned myself to sit on it.

And I begged for mercy. I begged not to have to sit in that seat of unmerciful pain. I begged the women who were Jackie's guests seeking their sympathy as fellow women to persuade them to plead in turn for me with Jackie.

My only answer was from one of my torturesses aiming her cruel whip at my belly causing me to stagger even though she did not in fact strike me.

“Do as you have been told bitch”, Jackie angrily slowly forcefully shouted at the terrified girl that was her victim: poor me.

Ii was clear that resistance was totally useless.

I do not even now know how I found the courage but, as my tormentors gloated with glee and threatened with their whips, I lowered myself as slowly as I possible could given my tiptoed state. I lowered myself hands at hip height until I could feel the points of those spikes. The first to touch me were the extra-long spikes strategically positioned for where my lovely purse-lips would be when I was fully sat.

Once more I begged for mercy. Once more a whip was raised in threat.

I had, of course, thought of the Indian fakirs who lie on beds of nails. But these were no nails: these were super-sharp needle-spikes and I was crying out in absolute agony as I finally had to let my superbly delicious 115 pounds press on the seat, and I was pierced in my lovely bum and my beautiful thighs, stabbed what seemed a thousand horrible and horribly painful times as my lovely body sat obediently straight backed right back on the chair bolt upright thighs together, just as I had been ordered, and screaming with the pain.

The tears ran from my eyes not for the terrible pain of the stabbing spikes penetrating the lovely girl-soft flesh of my gorgeous bottom and thighs, but from the truly dreadful agony of the extra-long spikes that had now gone right through the lips of my soft and lovely and loving purse and, inside it, through my inner nether-lips.

I cried out with the excruciating agony and begged to be released, even as my two torturesses were putting a strap across my lap at my hip bones to pull me hard and fully down on the spikes on which I was skewered, and another around my trunk just above my breasts to hold be sitting upright on my spikes.

I continued to cry the tears of the agonised and to sob the begs of the hellishly tortured as I endured the terrible pain of the spikes through my southern lips outside and inside.

The pain was unbearable and I must needs cry out with it, helpless as I was to relieve myself from it. I sobbed and begged for Jackie to let me up, even using her name and telling her that I loved her.

The horror of the pain can be of no surprise considering that, although I could not myself see them, several of the longer spikes had gone right thorough my love lips and were sticking viciously victoriously up between my thighs, with trickles of my bright red blood running down them.

I was bolt upright in the straight backed seat, the back of which rose to some two-inches above my head, just short of the same height as the lip of the transparent “space-helmet-goldfish-bowl” mask in which my head was contained.

My two girl tormentors now ensured the narrow top neck of my mask just below the lip around its top, was slotted within the half-hole in the half-stocks integral with the top of the chair back. They then swung shut the other half of the stocks so that they entirely gripped the top of my goldfish bowl mask, locked the stocks shut, and secured the legs that supported the front half of the stocks to the arms of the torture chair.

I now therefore sat, in my agony, bolt upright with the transparent bowl mask that contained my head below the stocks built into the top of the back of the chair. The stocks gripped the top of my goldfish bowl mask. The lip of my goldfish bowl mask was just above the top side of the hole in the stocks, with the top of my head open to the air through the hole in the stocks.

I sat crying and begging in agony and was ignored, as my captors brought the wooden ladder like arrangement to where I sat.

This was put in front of me. But in my pain I hardly noticed what was happening and had no idea what it was being done for.

The “ladder” had two steps: at either side of the second step as a rigid upright pole. The ladder was tilted at an angle in front of the chair where my lovely legs were. Thereafter, it was secured to the front arms of the chair and to where its bottom end was on the floor plate the chair was mounted upon.

The second and last step of the ladder was at the level of my knees. I therefore now had two ladder steps in front of me, leading up to the height of my lap.

I continue to cry out my never-ending agony as the spikes that had gone right through my love-lips and were protruded visibly up between my thighs, tortured me unbearably painfully.

Yet I could see through my lovely dark brown eyes opening and closing as waves of pain swept through my tortured nectar-pot, that my beloved Jackie was inspecting the arrangements fixed to my chair.

“I can wait if someone else needs to go first” Jackie said calmly and cooly.

“No. Please”, said one of the Japanese women who had not spoken before, “You have entertained us so wonderfully that on this occasion it is not bad manners for the host to go first.”

“Thank you”, said Jackie, and at that I watched through the terrible pain filling my sex, Jackie's dainty white stiletto sling-back shod feet standing on and testing the first step of the ladder in front of me. Jackie then turned and nodded to her guests as if to say, this is good, very safe and very sound.

She then, still holding one of the upright poles to steady herself, she took the second step and trod immediately thereafter, without the least hesitation or consideration, with the full painful compressing pressure of her stiletto heels on my totally naked flesh, on my bare thighs, using my nude thighs as if they were a platform.

I screamed and howled with the pain as she stood on my thighs in her stilettos driving the spikes that were already deeply into the back of my thighs as I sat, even further into me.

Her cruel heels pressed the flesh and muscle of my glorious thighs into agonising deep hollows that would soon turn to heel-imprint-matching blue-black bruises where she had stood in her heels, and I screamed with the pain.

My eyes closed with the purgatory I was in, as Jackie stood on my nude thighs. She had at first faced me, but was turning now. I felt some relief from the terrible stilettos, as she must have sat down on the top of the stocks-containing-frame that was above my head.

I opened my eyes and could see the gorgeous calves of Jackie's expensively stockinged legs. And around her calves were her lowered panties.

I looked up within my transparent helmet mask, as if I needed to, to be sure of what was being done to me.

I looked up and saw Jackie's gloriously beautiful naked sex above me, her panties having been taken down, her skirt hem having been lifted away and, as I looked up a strong gush of Jackie's urine hit the front of my goldfish bowl mask as she relieved herself into my helmet fully, to the point where her last drips anointed my lovely top-of-head-coiled hair.

I flicked my eyelids to remove the horrible burning urine that had splash-bedewed them and between Jackie's lovely calves I saw all her guests in paroxysms of mocking laughter as they pointed at me.

I began to sob with my pain and this, this abject rejection of my humanity, this cruellest of cruel use of me.

Jackie climbed down, “Who's next?” she asked.

These young Japanese would never have normally done in such a public way what they now did to me, as each in turn stepped up the two ladder rungs to walk brutally on the platform made by my nude thighs, take down her panties and pee into my all but hermetically sealed helmet mask.

Even as the fourth girl urinated on my head and down my face within the mask, the mask was full beyond my mouth and approaching my nostrils.

The horror of the acidic pee in which my chin and lovely mouth lips bathed was increased by its heat and its terrible stench, I sobbed and cried and tears ran down my beautiful face to add themselves to the urine that was now above my nose as the fifth and sixth girl pissed on my head and face.

Jackie and companions watched with absolutely unshakeable concentration, staring in fascination at my face in the mask and cheering in savage uninhibited celebration as I, as I was forced to unless I wished to drown, opened my pretty mouth, closed my lovely eyes, and swallowed three large gulps of the pee in which my face was being covered.

Even as I swallowed, another pretty girl was sitting on the human toilet that I was made into by my bondage, and her urine was running through my lovely hair into my head bowl to raise the pee level above my nose once more and cause me to have to drink the hot stinking filthy salty acidic mouth burning nostril nauseating pee in which I would otherwise certainly choke.

Over the course of the next hour, all thirty girls emptied their bladders into my helmet, some of them more than once, as they re-charged themselves with drink, and I swallowed what must have been some two gallons of the indescribably disgusting stinking urine.

Even as I obediently played my role as a human toilet, I suffered the never-ending agony of their high heels on my now completely bruised nude thighs, the spikes on which I was sitting and, by literally the longest possible margin not least, the savage spikes that were right through my poor love-lips.

In the midst of the enjoyment of my torture it went all but unnoticed by Jackie and her guests that I had, as was inevitable, filled as my poor belly was being by my enforced swallowing of pint after pint of pee over the space of the hour, let go my own bladder and, under the chair to which I was impaled by the brutal spikes, the chamber pot was half-filled by my pee, for the greater part the pee of my torturers recycled through my lovely body.

It was Jackie, of course it would be Jackie, who heard the musically pretty dribbling of my pee as it trickled into the metal chamber pot.

The relief of my bladder brought back the memory, as if I could ever forget, of what had been done to me in the girl-cage. As a consequence, my quim, now that it had for the moment done its secondary duty, began, strangely and perversely began, to feel the pleasure of my terrible pain and total helplessness and absolute degradation.

In spite of everything that I was suffering still, and I was even then nearly up to my nostrils in girl-pee, I once more began to feel my girlness. I was humiliated girl. I was tortured girl. But I was also sexual and sexy girl. For me, though I would never have been able to admit it to myself then, there was a form of sex and sexual pleasure and relief that was of a higher calling than that experienced by the average girl, whatever the average girl may enjoy to bring her off.

I normally had willpower over this and would never admit in my routine day-to-day life that it had any part to play with me. But I am a girl. A very, very sexy girl. I have my needs and, if my needs could be fulfilled only under the heavy cruelty I was enduring, my lovely head brain was going to have to stand aside while she, the mistress between my legs, the mistress that knew what my head brain would always and forever deny, would have to take over from the head brain of the normal me to ensure I satisfied my physical cravings.

She between my legs now had command over me. She ordered my head brain to move entirely to one side. Her command over me was total. My head brain surrendered without resistance. She between my legs moistened her wonderful lips and began to dribble with the excitement of having all my girlbody at her command. For winning the battle over my head brain, she then raised her victory standards, by causing my exquisite nipples to erect and harden. Her sword, my clitoris, was already coming out of its scabbard.

Now the brain between my legs took over my voice and I moaned and sighed and squeaked at the pleasure of the horrible pain I was in and the absolutely total degradation I was forced to submit too. And my lower-lips-brain dribbled her lovely saliva uncontrollably even as Jackie took the chamber pot full of my pee out from underneath where my sex was dripping my nectar and carried it up the steps in front of me.

And she stood with her cruel stilettos on my bare thighs once more, and lifted the chamber pot full of my pee so that its jug-like lip was ready to pour, and shifting her feet on my totally-bruised nude thighs terribly painfully for me, she slowly poured the pee that had passed through my body into my bowl mask so that the chamber pot was completely empty and my bowl mask was filled up to my eyes.

“Waste not want not!” she laughed as she poured.

And then she stepped down off the steps that led to the platform comprising my nude thighs, and she and all the other women stood back and watched as I, as I had to, began to drink down the recycled pee which covered my eyes, and swallow it to recycle it once more through my wonderful body, and as I drank down the piss, she between my legs, she who was impaled upon a half-dozen razor sharp spikes through her outer and inner lips, continued to torrent my lubricant, and as I gulped, bubbles rose through the pee to end in my sexual squeaks as they broke surface and burst, and I began to orgasm. And I moved the little I could being tight strapped in my seat and as I did so the tip of my sexually aroused swelling clitoris was suddenly touching the tip of one of the razor sharp spikes piercing my cunt and I wanted this to happen. I wanted this to happen. I wanted to happen what I did not want to happen. I wanted to know the excruciating pain of my clitoris being impaled by this serendipitously placed spike and my mind was also filled with the terrible horror of this happening. And I became aware that such was the relationship of my poor clitoris to the spike that if I continued my sexual arousal the spike would penetrate the length of my clitoris. All this thought in the splittest of split seconds. And this splittest of split seconds thought in itself aroused me the more and my clitoris swelled and was speared right through down its length by a razor sharp spike sticking up from the punishment chair, and I blew a billion bubbles in the girl-pee I was all but drowning in, as my scream of the extremist pain was one and the very same as the agonised scream of a girl in the absolute pitch of the most joyful and heavenly wonderful orgasm she had ever yet endured, and the pee filling my helmet mask bubbled like a volcanic geyser as I gulped it down with eagerness, the eagerness of a girl in sexual heaven, and I drank and drank and gulped and swallowed the pee which now tasted like the sweetest of sweet wine to me, until my final gargling scream of multi-orgasmic girl-heaven took the very last drops of foul pee over my eagerly awaiting palette…

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Katrina will continue her reminiscences….

Other fantasies from Eve Adorer include: -
The Contract
and
Sherrie Finds Legal Loopholes