The rascal himself

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A Woman's Dream of Serving

Females who are in positions of responsibility and who outwardly manifest all the elements of steely control of their lives find it specially hard to release their inner desires as sluts, slaves and objects of lust and humiliation. I know of no small number who deeply desire it but are either in ordinarly relationships where it could prove catastrophic to broach the subject or are in such positions of responsibility that they dare not take the risk of seeking an outlet.

'M' is one of them. She wrote this story for me and I am delighted to bring it to you. It may help to put the watersports section of the site into context.

The Story of 'M'

She knelt at his feet. Looking up at him fully clothed but with his semi flaccid penis hanging outside of his open trousers, her nerves crackled with excitement. This was not to be some ordinary blowjob, although at 36 she still enjoyed a tremendous thrill from the thought of eagerly and joyfully providing oral pleasure for a man knowing that the only reciprocal stimulation for her was purely cerebral. This was the mutually decided upon first step toward a new beginning for her. This was a special arrangement that could have been said to have taken the 20 years she had wanted to do this for or the eight months of apprehensive but anticipatory Internet correspondence they had just concluded.

Their meeting had been accidental, their conversations unprecedented, their plans meticulous, their desires, in tandem... In that moment frozen in time at his feet, her heart beating a bruise into her chest from the inside, she reflected on all that they had discussed. All that she had always wanted, all that she had fantasized about continually and thus unconsciously had prepared her entire life for. The service, the submission, the ritual torture and sexual abuse, the training and abject humiliation. All voluntary. All completely willingly. The possible long term damage, the probable eventual modifications both deliberate and incidental... Was she past it? She had always said that when she failed to give herself to a Dominant man she had come into contact with when she was 22, she would probably never belong to another. But here she was.

Well-preserved and not bad to look at when dressed in her usual conservative attire. Her stretching, diet, exercise and Yoga had really paid off since she began that regimen so many years ago. She would have a new regimen now. Aside from a few stretch marks on her thighs and hips, she could have passed for 28 had it not been for her sizable but somewhat sagging breasts, and that, she told herself, was mostly due to genetics. (How that condition might now be accelerated far beyond what nature intended now with the binding and suspensions they had discussed set in as she tucked her right heel under her padded alabaster thigh and opened her mouth to prepare for the first taste of her new life.) She thought of herself as an object now. The most logical evolution for her. She was to become an object of lust. Of sex, suffering and denial. An object of torment and humiliation. There to be used and tortured for another person's enjoyment as he saw fit to use her.

And at just that very moment, when she felt the chill of a viscous and transparent dollop of her own vaginal mucosa that had been hanging in the air until then touch her right ankle, did she take him into her mouth for the first time. He did not make her wait long, but long enough for her to contemplate the act she was about to perform. Looking back down into her nervous gaze, he released his bladder and began to urinate directly into her mouth. She is at once consumed with shame and yet there is relief as her feelings of sexual excitement blend with her deep humiliation and together swell into a symphony of intense long awaited sensation. She swallows. It isn't much. It is hot. That much she can tell.

As her mouth fills again, the taste buds at the sides of her tongue are activated and she feels more than tastes the acidic content of his piss. She instinctively grimaces, for it is a strong and bitter taste. It occurs to her that she is probably fighting some primordial human instinct by ingesting the liquid waste of another. She swallows again. It is coming faster now. Her mouth and throat rebel and contract, but she is a woman of great will and has often fought against instinctual nature and deliberately set about to cause herself severe sexual discomfort. Her mouth is flooded and she swallows again. Her olfactory senses are lit up and alive with this peculiar and new sensation. It is as if she had been 'plugged in' somewhere and now every fiber of her body, every sense were now amplified, only this was better then any experimental XTC trip she had taken at the trance clubs in the city. She swallowed again.

It was all happening so quickly, and yet her mind slowed everything down, as if to dissect, examine and preserve every nanosecond for future access. She was bordering on the verge of an involuntary gag response. This was foreign to her. She had long since lost her gag reflex during her bouts with Bulimia in middle school. That was all behind her now. There were far more interesting ways to be self destructive, and she had flirted with many of them. She fought the urge to choke, steeled herself and then swallowed again. Now settling into a rhythm, she believed she had it under control. It would not be easy, but she was determined to persevere. Gulping now in timed sequence with the contractions of his urethra, she drank of him and drained him and took him into herself a most intimate and unusual manner. Her mouth and throat burned from the bitterness. She thought she might have detected coffee or even wine. Breathing through her nose to keep up with him had opened yet another dimension. Her nostrils filled with the scent of urine. Male urine.

It made her think of what she was doing, what she was really doing, and what she was becoming. She continued to drink and drink, each swallow becoming more effortless then the last, but still her mouth kept filling until it was no longer a matter of suppressing ones revulsion at the execution of this deed. Iit was now becoming a simple fact of physics. Her stomach was becoming full. Just as this new concern was beginning to turn to alarm, she felt him subside a little and his flow slowed to a trickle. She distantly heard herself moaning and making throaty sounds. They were ecstasy sounds. Sex sounds. Love making sounds.

Was she so turned on by this? The dangling string of lubrication was now a small puddle that moistened her thigh and leg. Although sexually unrelieved and technically not satiated in the conventional sense, her eyes were glazed over and she felt sleepy. A dreamy feeling came over her and she felt at peace. She held his penis between her lips within the wet nest of her cheeks. No orgasm could ever have felt that good. This was where she belonged.