Priceless - Part Three

Part Three

In my humble opinion, there is almost nothing that takes a woman down a notch or three faster than making her perform her toilet for an audience. Believe me, the humiliated expression on their perspiring faces is priceless. It works with men too, especially in front of a female audience. But somehow it’s even worse for a woman to have to squat and let go while a selected mixed gender crowd stares at her, giggles and catcalls.

So, our version of New Year’s Eve fireworks was to have Sally entertain us at midnight on her very own dining table. She and Gordon cleared away the remains of the delicious banquet they’d served us and laid out sheets of newspaper on the table. She’d eaten earlier and had already asked me at around ten thirty if she could use the toilet. Request denied, naturally.

She was wearing the fishnet stockings, high heels, thong and Ľ cup bra she’d served our meal in as a slutty waitress. Leon, Don and Joan had copped numerous feels of her body but, as yet, they hadn’t seen Sally’s private bits. The four of us all know that these things are best drawn out, nice n slow, to heighten the tension.

“Get up on the table, Sally.” I finally ordered at exactly 11.55. The radio was playing so that we could listen to Big Ben’s chimes. One camera was mounted on the tripod and Leon was holding the other in his black hands.
“Gordon,” I said, “stand behind your wife and undo her bra clasp for us.”
He looked at me and then slowly obeyed. Like Sally, he was dressed in fishnets and a thong, but whereas hers were black, his were bright pink.
“That’s it. Now take the bra away and show us her tits. Stick’em out Sally. What do you reckon, guys ? Not bad ?”
“A bit droopy.” Leon said, eye to the viewer, filming.
“I’d like to try tit fucking them some time.” was Don’s comment.
“I’m sure that could be arranged.” I chuckled. “Gordon, would you like to invite Don here to fuck your wife’s hooters one day ?”
Oh Gordy boy, such a sweet flash of petulance in your eyes.
“Er … oh fuck … yes, I invite you to f… fuck her breasts.”
“No Gordon ! That’ll cost you another hundred quid. And ten strokes of the cane from Don later. Now, ask him nicely !”
“Please, Don Sir. I’d love it if you would fuck my wife’s hooters, at your c … convenience, Sir.”
“Better.”
Both of them looked very cute. Sally kneeling topless on the table, cheeks scarlet with embarrassment and uncertainty, Gordon standing behind her in his ridiculous outfit holding her bra, grimacing with helpless humiliation.
“Now, Sally, kneel up and remove that thong of yours for us.”
We watched her peel it down, lifting one knee then the other, finally managing to get the Y of black lacy fabric over her ankles.
“Hand it to Gordon and then kneel with your knees wide apart.”
I could sense an intake of breath and both Leon and Don leaned in closer. Joan sat back in her chair, smoking, playing it cool.
Sally’s hairless mound and coral-pink pussy looked delightful.
“Get up on the balls of your feet now. And squat.”
She manoeuvred herself into the frog-like position, wobbling slightly.
“Lean back against your husband. Gordon, you support under her armpits.”
Now she was ready to perform. Almost.
“Knees wider. Rest your buttocks on your ankles.”
Her hazel eyes screwed shut, as if she could block out the moment. She was the perfect height. She could see that our eyes were just below her waist, so we could look up into every single detail of her anatomy.
“Eyes open, doll. Look at us. That’s it. Everything nice and wide.”
I turned to the audience, smiling at Joan, Don and Leon, in turn.
Leon had the camera pointing at Sally, not me. My words were all being recorded and I could decide to use or delete them later. Everybody looked excited. Joan was inhaling deeply on her cigarette.
“Sally has already asked me if she can use the toilet. Tell us, Sally, how badly do you need to go ?”
Her red mouth hung open, slack-lipped. The radio commentary in the background mentioned that it was 11.58. Sweat glistened on her forehead under the lights.
“Pretty badly … Sir.”
“And is that, er, a pee ? Or a poop ? Or even both ?”
“… b … both, Sir.”
Don and Joan both clapped. I grinned at them, getting up from my chair to fetch a used salad bowl from the sideboard. I placed it under her.
“Piss into this.”
“Omigod.” Gordon muttered quietly under his breath.
I shrugged at him.
“Sssh. Don’t worry, my friend. Your time will come too.”
Sally had to have been pretty desperate. No sooner had I sat back down than there was a hiss and then she was spraying her bladder into the bowl. Remarkably, she was accurate and controlled enough that only a few droplets missed and spotted the newspaper. After a few seconds the sound changed as the bowl started to fill. A gurgle mingled with the hissing.
“Look straight at the camera lens, Sal.”
I checked the monitor.
“What are you doing ? Tell us.”
“… I’m p … peeing.”
“We can see that. What’s your name ?”
She looked up at me, over the top of the camera. I pointed down.
“To the camera, dear. Name ?”
“S … Sally.”
“And who’s that standing holding you ?”
I panned upwards to Gordon’s face.
“It’s G … Gordon.”
Her flow was diminishing now. She’d been at it over thirty seconds. It was almost midnight. I pulled the bowl away as soon as she’d finished.
“Okay, Sal. As soon as Big Ben starts to chime, you can start dumping. And you’d better have finished by the twelfth strike. Or else !”
Sometimes it’s amusing to watch uncontrolled diarrhoea but I think that most of the time a constipated shit is more humiliating. People hate being watched doing all that grimacing, groaning and pushing to get it out.
Sally wasted valuable seconds just gawping at us, unable to bring herself to do as I’d ordered. But then she saw my camera and must have been reminded how much material I already had on her. She frowned and began bearing down.
It’s at a time like this that an audience earns its invites. Leon took the roving camera behind the table, and managed to get an angle right up between Sally’s thighs, zooming close up so her anus literally filled his screen. Don and Joan leaned in, staring right into Sally’s eyes, shaking their heads in mock disapproval at how shameless her behaviour was. Only four hours ago she had never even met these people in her life !
Her looks had disappeared. One moment she was pretty, in her mascara-and-lipsticked nakedness, cunt framed by fishnet stocking tops, long platinum hair and pendulous boobs. Next moment she was a scowling, sweating woman, looking more than her age, thighs quivering, with a brown turd emerging slowly from between her legs.
“Push harder !” we all jeered.
Big Ben completed its fifth strike as the long piece tumbled onto the newspaper. I clocked the alarm in her eyes. There was more to come.
“Hurry Sally !”
“Don’t let it hang about.” Don joked.
We pinched our noses. The coiled stool underneath her was steaming slightly, releasing its odour. For a second she stared back at us, then down between her legs in shame.
Joan’s cell phone whirred as she caught the moment on camera.
Sally shut her eyes, face red, almost bursting a blood vessel.
Gong. Big Ben tolled.
Gong.
A second, only slightly smaller turd hit the paper on the twelfth chime.
We clapped and cheered her.
As they say in the film industry; that’s a wrap.

*** *** ***

Where do I begin ? New Year’s Eve was the most extraordinary day, and night, of my entire life. The highlights ? Or perhaps that should be low points ? I’m not sure. That’s the stage you have us at. I always thought that things were either consensual or non-consensual. ‘Reluctant’ ? A cop out, really. I think the ‘no-no-yes-yes-yess’ situation is 99% a figment of the male imagination. And yet … that is where I find myself at. And I speak for Sally too. It’s like consensual n/c. We have consented to give away our right not to consent. Does that make sense ? I am certainly reluctant about just about everything you’ve made us do this past week or so. So is Sally. Most of it’s humiliating, some of it revolting and the rest downright awful.

And yet ? I am living the dream I’ve secretly wanted for so long. Nothing that has happened yet has – deep, deep down – changed that. Yes, we’ve lost control. Yes, we’re in your hands. So, yes, we’ve been stupid. You’ve done much, much more to us in a much, much shorter time than we’d ever have agreed to up front. You lied. You’re taking money. It’s real, not pretend blackmail. But until you go too far (and I genuinely hope you don’t), I cannot say that I regret allowing you to take over our lives.

When I drove Don and Joan home during the small hours, listening to them, remembering Sally on her knees between Don’s disgusting hairy paunch, feeling the tenderness of my bottom against the car seat where he had caned me, the sour taste of both Joan’s middle aged orifices in my mouth, my cash lining his wallet, I felt as small and insignificant as … I don’t know. A nothing. And your smirking words as you stood on my doorstep with Sally, waving me goodbye; “this, my friend, is only the start of the year.”

*** *** ***

I am a fireman. During my working life, I’m totally serious. My job and my bdsm play are like two different planets, populated by life forms unaware of each other’s existence. It’s a stressful job, of course, and I find sex of one form or another is the best way to relax when I’m off duty. My girlfriend is a nurse and there are often times when she has to work while I’m off.

Fortunately, Sally is now able to take up the slack. She and Gordon live about 40 minutes from me. She has a part time job three days a week and her office is about 15 minutes nearer to my place. I’m not sure I’m going to let her keep the job but we’ll see. I’d like to see her doing something much more menial. In the meantime, she’s purchased a dedicated cell phone to which only I have the number. I call, day or night, Sally comes running.

Thursdays and Fridays are her days off. She worked January 2nd so I phoned her at 7.30 a.m. on Thursday 3rd. Gordon had already left for his office.
“Get round here by eight thirty.” were my opening words.
There was a pause. “Hi … Master. Okay I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“No. I said eight thirty latest.”
“… um …right.”
“And stop off and buy me some stuff. Got a pen ?”
I gave her a list of domestic essentials; milk, butter, eggs, bacon, bread, fruit, water, juice, coffee, the Times.
“Got that all down ?”
“Yes.”
“See you eight thirty.”
I pressed the red button on my phone and smiled, scratching my balls.

She made it with two minutes to spare. I opened the door. She was dressed casually in jeans, top, sweater and winter coat, without makeup.
“Come in.”
She was carrying a supermarket plastic bag.
“Get everything ?”
She nodded.
“Make me a coffee.” I said. “Milk, no sugar.” I lifted the newspaper out of the bag. “Put the rest of the stuff away in the kitchen.”
I sat reading the sports pages while she made my coffee. I was still in my dressing gown. It hung open at the waist.
“Suck me.”
She put the steaming mug down and knelt between my thighs. I carried on reading the paper, enjoying her warm mouth on my dick. It was frosty outside and her cheeks were still cold against my skin.
“Undo your jeans.”
I put the paper down to watch her.
“Now get on all fours. Head to the floor.”
I spanked her butt once for fun and thumbed down her panties.
“You only wear thongs from now on, right ? Get rid of all of these.”
She nodded into the carpet. I cut the panties off so she could spread her knees. My fingers opened her labia. The bitch was already wet.
“How’s Gordon getting on in his chastity belt ?”
I slid myself inside her in one smooth motion, gripping her thighs.
“I … he … okay, I guess.”
“You do anything husband and wife-ish yesterday ?”
“No, S … Sir.”
“Good. You feel horny, you text me. Right ? And I’ll decide what happens. Maybe I’ll let him lick you. You’d like that, right ?”
“Mmm … sss.” She moaned.
“But no sex. You catch him even trying to get that thing off, you report him to me. Yeah ?”
“Yes.”
I was slamming hard, my thighs slapping her butt.
“You like that, huh ? Rough ?”
“Y … yes.”
I threw my head back and came, spewing my load inside her. She wriggled her ass in frustration. I guess she’d been near to a climax herself.
I slapped her butt again.
“Stay still.”
I eased my glistening dick out. There was a long pearly teardrop hanging from the tip.
“Turn around and lick me clean.”
She crawled 180 degrees, made a face, but gently wrapped it in her lips.
I patted her on the head.
“Enough.”
I sat back down, pulling my robe around me, picking up the paper.
“Okay. Get dressed. You can go home now.”

I gave her an hour to get home. Then I called her.
“Leon’s off today too. Go round to his place. Got that pen ?”
“Look …”
“Shut it. I don’t have time.”
I gave her an address. It would take her at least an hour from her place.
“Spend all afternoon with him if that’s what he wants. And pay him twenty quid for each fuck. But don’t you climax once. He’ll tell me if you do.”
“Please …”
“And make him wear condoms.” I said. “Take a handful.”

That evening, Leon bought me several pints at a pub midway between us. I don’t know him that well. We met at a bdsm club in London.
“How many ?”
He gave me a toothy grin and held up three fingers. Leon’s a fairly good looking black guy who plays bass guitar in a band. He’s used to treating women of all colours like groupies.
“She cum ?”
“Not so I could tell. She wanted to though.”
He opened his wallet and took out six Ł10 notes. I took three of them.
“Fifty fifty, my friend. What did you think of her ?”
He tipped his hand in a ‘so-so’ gesture.
“Not bad. You know me, man. I prefer them enthusiastic and tight. But if they’re getting on a bit, they need to be experienced and muscled. You want to get her doing some of them pelvic work out things.”
I grinned at the idea. I’d get her to buy herself one of those kegel exercisers. We chatted more about a bunch of stuff for an hour or so; music, football, women. He’s good company.
“You know that friend of yours who makes porn movies ?” I asked.
He nodded. “Jurgen. Yeah.”
“You think he could use Sally ?”
Leon smiled, shrugging. “Sure. Why not ?”
“He pay well ?”
“Depends. Vanilla’s cheap. But I’ve heard he pays good for the kinky stuff. The kind that the usual porn actresses don’t want to do.”
I finished my beer.
“Fancy one more ?”

*** *** ***

Of all the fantasies, chastity is possibly the strangest. I remember before Sally and I decided to look for a Master, surfing sites about enforced abstinence and chastity belts. Irony, huh ? Masturbating over photos and words about not being allowed to masturbate. Yet here I am, living the reality. And I’m climbing the walls. My dick’s a decent size, not huge, but not wimpish, just a standard issue length and thickness. Locked away as it has been in the small, discreet steel tube for six days now, it looks so … harmless. My balls are filling and my wife is getting filled, but I cannot even relieve my frustration with a quick, functional jerk off. And yet my famine has only just begun. I feel like Oliver Twist trembling before approaching the Beadle. ‘Please Sir, may I have some more ?’

*** *** ***

After my evening with Leon, I worked through the long weekend from Friday 4th to Monday 7th January, collapsing for short naps at home and catching occasional brief sessions with my girlfriend, Jan. She’s been doing long stints at the hospital but the little minx is usually hot for a little fucking. I tested Jan out during a spot of post-coital chat about trying woman-on-woman fun and she didn’t rule it out. Maybe I can get her and Sally together and then come clean about my new … arrangement ?

“Get the fuck over here right now.”
It was 05.45 a.m. on Tuesday 8th. I woke them up and told Gordon to pass Sally the phone.
“… yes Sir. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“Quicker. Now get going and pass the phone back to Gordon.”
“Hello ?”
“Hi, blue balls. I read your latest blog about chastity. You still being a good boy ?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What time do you finish work today ?”
“Er, the usual. Sevenish. Maybe six thirty.”
“Okay. Be outside my front door at eight tonight. Bring your cell. I’ll call you when I’m ready to see you. Wait until then.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Oh, and Gordon ?”
“Yes ?”
“I need one of those new i-phones.”
“… yes, Sir. Er … understood.”
“Good lad. And don’t forget that file of information we discussed. How’s Sally by the way. Horny ?”
“I … well I guess so.”
“She had you licking her cunt out ?”
“Er … once. On Saturday.”
I laughed. Sally had texted me while I was at the Fire Station on Saturday afternoon. I’d replied a few hours later. “Good man, Gordon. Looking after your wife’s needs like that. She dressed yet ?”
“She’s just putting on her bra, Sir.”
“Call her over.”
I heard him say Sally’s name and the sound of her next to him.
“Has she got her thong on yet ?”
“No, Sir.”
“Then kiss her cunt. And her asshole. Send her to me with your blessing.”
I heard him obeying my instruction, the hushed words he spoke to her.
“Bye Gordon.” I said. “Have a good day at your office.”

It was still dark, quiet when Sally arrived at my place at six twenty.
I had made myself a coffee and was sat drinking it. My kitchen was a tip. Neither Jan nor I had done any washing up for four days.
Sally was dressed suitably; trackpants, top, a Gap hoodie and Nike trainers that she’d pulled on in a rush. Perfect domestic chore garments.
I pecked her on the cheek. She was carrying a small leather bag.
“Hi, doll. What’s in there ?”
She shrugged, embarrassed. “Stuff. Lingerie, makeup, a change of clothes for work. I didn’t know what you might want or for how long.”
I nodded approvingly. “Put it there. You can call your workplace at eight and tell them you’re sick today. For now, there’s a load of work here you need to do to get my place sorted.”

I drove her hard. They had employed a cleaner for several years and Sally was used to doing very little housework. Sadly, her cleaner had just been given her notice as part of the cutbacks I’d imposed. From now on Sally would be doing both her own menial chores and mine.
First up, the kitchen. Mounds of washing up, greasy pans, stained mugs, a sink full of used plates and dirty cutlery.
I have a dishwasher but I prefer things done the old fashioned way.
Then she mopped, cleaned, wiped and polished the kitchen floor until it shone and put everything away in its correct cupboard.
Next, my bedroom. Stained sheets, pillow cases, dirty clothes on the floor. There was stuff of Jan’s too.
Sally tidied it all up and put the bed linen in the washing machine, before making my bed up with clean laundry.
I have two bathrooms. An ensuite which I use and a second bathroom that is for any visitors. It’s got Jan’s toothbrush and essentials round the basin.
My own bathroom was in a heck of a state. Wet towels, toothpaste without the top on, basin full of bits of bristle from my last shave, you know the sort of scene. At the end of the room, the toilet pan had cupboards and shelves either side of it littered with books, old newspapers and boxes of well thumbed mens magazines. The tiled floor had several damp puddles.
“Get those tiles clean and shining.”
It was still only ten o’clock. I was in my robe with another cup of coffee. I watched her scrubbing my bathroom floor on her hands and knees.
Suddenly, I felt the morning urge in my guts.
“Out the way.” I said, walking past her, lifting the cover and sitting down on the pan.
Funnily enough, whilst it’s humiliating for a slave to perform for an audience, it’s not the same for a Master in front of a sub. It’s all in the attitude. I have no qualms about using the toilet while somebody slaves for me.
I was ready. I discreetly pressed the remote control in my robe pocket. Within moments, my guts flipped again and I noisily began. I stared at Sally and caught her glancing up at me for a second. I winked and she lowered her eyes back to the tiles.
I’d had a takeaway curry the previous night and you could tell. The remnants exploded out of me in a staccato series of pungent, loud blasts.
“Look.” I pointed my toe at a dime-sized patch of water between my feet. “Here. Clean this up.”
She shuffled right beneath me. Right next to the action. I watched the back of her head as she sponged up the tiny puddle.
“Look at me.”
Her hazel eyes slowly peered, blinking, into mine.
I flipped my robe aside and showed her my erection. I grinned lasciviously.
“You … pervert.” She whispered, wrinkling her nostrils at the stench.
“No, my dear.” I brushed a strand of her blonde hair aside. “You are the pervert. You and your husband. That’s what the world will think. It’s you two they’ll see. I’ll be just one more anonymous dick.”
Her eyes watered and her cute lips trembled.
“We didn’t … sign up for … this.”
“Oh but you did. I have all the emails. And I recorded our calls.” I rubbed my erection against her cheek. “Admit it, Sally. Deep down, you want this. And more.”
“No.” She turned her face to dodge my dick. Without knowing it, she’d looked straight into the clandestine camera. It was recording her through a hole I’d cut in one of my magazine filing boxes. “Not this.”
I chuckled. “Exactly this.” I twisted her hair so she looked back at me. The time for talking was over. “You think you’re fucking shit doesn’t stink, huh ? Well I know it does, don’t I ? Just like mine. Now, you’re going to be punished for calling me a pervert, Sal. How badly depends on you. I’m going to give your butt one stroke of the cane for every minute it takes you to make me cum in that insolent mouth of yours.”
She shut her eyes. I knew it was a gesture of acceptance, of defeat.
I watched her lift her right hand up and lean her pouting lips forward.
“No, Sal. No hands. You’ve got to do it with just your mouth and tongue.” I glanced at the new watch I’d bought myself with the first donation made by Gordon and Sally to fund my 2008 lifestyle. “Clock’s ticking.”
As she took me into her warm, wet mouth, I made myself comfortable on the toilet seat, letting rip one final blast of flatulence.
She raised her eyes in disgust but didn’t stop slurping her tongue up the underside of my veined shaft. I smirked back. She parted her knees and straightened her thighs to raise herself, so she could get a better angle on me.
I idly looked at the logo on her upturned Nikes and shut my eyes.
Yeah, Sal – just do it !

End of Part Three