Tuesday, July 5, 2016

Train wrecked (I cannot resist a pun, sorry.)

While I was riding a train across Italy, Master tasked me with an edging assignment. What you will read here is based upon the scenario he presented to me.


The gentle sway of the train is comforting. Its low, regular rumble comes up through my seat. I can feel the slight movement of my clit piercing inside my jeans.

My reverie is broken by a train stop. When the momentary hustle fades, I get up to find the restroom. It is at the far end of the car. I press the button to open the automatic door. Nothing happens. I hear someone stir inside so, I sit down to wait. I can feel my pussy mildly throbbing from the stimulation of my short walk.

Finally, a woman comes out of the restroom. She shoves open the sliding door manually, with effort, and leaves to find her seat. I pull the door shut behind me only to find that the door doesn’t lock. Ugh, you know? I just don’t care. I sit down to pee. Finished, I stand to button my pants, and the toilet automatically flushes behind me.

I let out a gasp of surprise as a hand claps over my mouth. I freeze. My thoughts flee in panic. I feel the cold of metal and a sharp twinge as he draws a knife along my neck.

In the momentary silence, I realize that we are not alone. There is a third person, a man from the sound.

“Shut up. If you make noise, this will be much, much worse.”

I feel the knife come away from my neck, and I am lifted roughly. My arms are pinned behind me, tightly, between us. I can feel his cock begin to swell against the back of my hand. His smell fills my nostrils. I am wrenched around as though I weigh nothing, and I find myself face-to-face with the second man.

I break out in a cold sweat. He is tall, finely muscled. A nylon stocking covers his face. I can just see the flash of cold eyes underneath. “Don’t fight, bitch,” he says as he steps toward me.

With a sinking feeling, I realize that there is no chance that I can escape. I nod vigorously. He roughly strips my jeans away. I feel the moisture from my cunt begin to drip down my thigh. I am angry at being aroused. Furious.

He briskly slaps the inside of my thigh. I feel a sting.


I cannot help but comply. He drags my legs apart, so wide that my pussy is completely open. I feel exposed. His hand violates my pussy. My juices flow easily. He gives a chuckle.

“Look at you! Wet like a fucking whore! You must be a pretty fucked up bitch, honey.”

His hand strikes with a resounding crack against my clit. Every fiber of my being screams in agony, but before I can make a sound, he rips off my shirt and shoves part of it firmly into my mouth. Again, and again, and again, he strikes me. I have lost count. My head is lolling on the shoulder of the man behind me, his fully erect cock shoved between my pinned hands. I cannot think. I cannot resist. I bite down hard on the shirt in my mouth to dampen my screams. I have no idea how much time has passed. My existence has become the stinging staccato of his hand against my clit. Through the searing pain, I feel my pulse begin to quicken, and I can feel the orgasm rising from my toes.

Suddenly, he stops. The orgasm slips away. I let out a shuddering moan of lustful despair. I am shaking, weak, tears streaming down my face. He wipes a tear from my eye, with a smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. “Did you think I was going to let you cum?” His voice mocks me. He slowly unbuckles his belt, and draws it from the belt loops. It looks beautifully dangerous in his hands, like some kind of poisonous snake. Silently, he places it aside and withdraws his cock.

With a nod, the man behind me kicks my legs out from under me, and I fall on my hands and knees. The man before me grabs me roughly by the hair, and forces his full length into my mouth. My eyes widen as I splutter and cough. I attempt to pull away, but he just forces me harder onto his cock. I can feel him deep in my throat. I cannot breathe. Without warning, I feel the man behind me grab my hips and ram his cock into my dripping cunt.

They are talking to each other, but I cannot understand. I gasp for air between the thrusts down my throat. I’m crying. There is snot and drool running down my face and puddling on the bathroom floor. They seem to coordinate their efforts so that they each slam into me at the same time. I feel my back flex under the force. Over, and over, and over, and over, and over they thrust. My arms give out, and I fall into the puddle of my drool, snot, and tears.

For a moment, I feel no one touching me. My pussy aches. My abdomen is wracked with passion cramps. Then, there is a hand in my hair dragging me upward. A hand cups my pussy and lifts me from the floor. When they put me down again, I am straddling one of them. I cannot tell them apart anymore. He drags my hips toward him, and I feel his cock stabbing upward inside me. Someone pinches my nose. As I open my mouth to breathe, my throat is filled with another cock. This one is slimy and dripping with my juices. Somewhere in the back of my head, I recognize the taste.

They continue to ravage me. Without warning, an orgasm hits me like a tidal wave. I am struck, sharply, across the face. “Did I say that you could cum!?” I try to shake my head no, but my head is held firmly. I choke out something, it might have sounded like a “no,” but I doubt it. I recognize the voice. I look up and see, through blurry eyes, that it is my Master fucking my face. I have no time to feel relief, because another orgasm takes me. The world turns grey, and I slump down, unconscious.

I am awakened by the sting of the belt across my ass. I haven’t been moved. The man beneath me continues to obliterate my pussy. I moan, because it is the only sound that I can make. The belt stripes my flesh several times. It stops, and I feel a cool liquid dribbling into my ass crack, running past my asshole and dripping off my pussy. I feel the warmth of his cock against my asshole. He swirls it around once, twice, and then slowly begins forcing his way into my ass.

The man beneath me rhythmically pounds my pussy as my asshole is stretched wider and wider by the invading cock. I moan, unable to stop myself. He continues in, deeper, and then slowly takes up a rhythm. Each thrust takes him deeper into my ass. If I could think, or speak, I might scream, but I am unable. There is nothing but the utter, mind-blowing sensation of fullness. As the tempo of the ass-fucking picks up, I become nauseated. He continues to pound my ass harder. Faster. Harder. Faster. With one final thrust, he forces himself completely inside of me. I feel his body contract, and his cock pump cum forcefully into my ass. The man slides out from under me. I am facedown in my puddle, as before.

I feel my ass cheeks being spread wide. He takes my ass, again, and again. My face is pressed firmly into the floor, my saliva mixing with the urine and dirt and smearing over my cheeks. I feel another convulsion and another squirt of cum into my ass.

Then, there was nothing. I am left on the floor, my ass sticking high into the air, my asshole gaping open. Copious amounts of cum run down my crack and drip from my pussy. I hear congratulatory laughter and the click of a camera shutter.

Something warm is folded around me. My Master lifts me gently. He holds me against his chest. I can feel his heart beat. “I am so proud of you, little one,” he says as my consciousness fades.

Monday, July 4, 2016

Submission from across the globe, Part 2

“When you get up, beautiful slave, you will pee on the floor of the bathroom. Send me a picture. Then, clean the floor with your tongue. I want to see a second picture of a sparkling clean floor.

Master told me that he would not make me drink piss until I got home from Italy. But, he thought I was ready. “Yes, Sir” I said as I closed my eyes in sleep.

I woke early the following morning. The bright sun was streaming in my window and falling across the bed. A rooster crowed. I laid sleepily in bed. I checked Fetlife for updates. I responded to a few messages. I crept out of bed, taking my phone with me. My pajama pants swished around my ankles as I stepped up into the bathroom. I stood there, looking at the floor, trying to get up the courage to do as I was told.

The first task was not so difficult. I removed my pants and top and laid them across the toilet, which I would not be using. I removed the rug from the bathroom floor. I squatted beside the toilet and peed. I angled my hips to keep the piss from running  all over the floor. I moved my foot away from a wayward drip.

The urine felt warm as it left my body and splattered on the floor between my feet. The widening yellow puddle was daunting.

When I was finished, I stood.  I stared at the vast sea of yellow that was my little puddle. I took a deep breath. I knelt. I could smell it. I fought back my disgust as I extended my tongue, leaned down, and licked the floor.

UGH! The taste was salty and bitter. My revulsion, or maybe it was the taste, got the better of me. I gagged. I gagged again. I bent over to lick again… I smelled the smell. I couldn’t do it. I waited a minute to regain my courage. I bent down, my face close to the floor… Nope. Nope. I can’t do this. Oh god, I can’t do this. What if Naomi hears me gagging?

I tore a sheet of toilet paper. With relief and disappointment, I laid the sheets in little rows across my yellow puddle. It took many, many more than I expected to clean the floor. By the time it was done, I had piss all over my hands. I dried the floor and replaced the rug.

“I couldn’t do it, Sir,” I texted when I got back to my room. I offered my pitiful excuse.
 “You know that it is in your best interest to do as I say, little bitch? The consequences of your disobedience will be much, MUCH worse than the original task. Do you understand?” “Yes, Sir.” “I had hoped that you could handle this, little one. We will have to try again when you are home. I will be there by your side.” “Yes, Sir. I did try, Sir!” “I am proud of you for trying, but I WILL make you into a filthy piss-drinking whore. Get used to the idea.” 
I felt the disappointment rise inside of me… much like the bile had a few minutes earlier. I almost wished there were still piss on the floor in the bathroom, so that I could try again. I hate to disappoint Master. Tears came, unbidden, to my eyes.


“You will throw away all of your panties that you brought with you on this trip, right now.”

Well, that sounds extreme. Underwear are expensive! Surely, he cannot be serious.

“You mean that I cannot bring them home with me, Sir?” “Of course that is what I mean! In the future, you will do better to grovel and beg. Because you dared to question such a simple task, you will go into the bathroom, piss, and then dunk your head into the bowl filled with your piss and flush. I want to see a picture of your head and face dripping.”

I gathered my underwear from my suitcase and shoved them into a spare shopping bag. I took them into the bathroom and placed them, a little wistfully, beside the tiny trashcan, like an offering.

I removed my clothes and sat heavily on the toilet. I heard my urine splashing into the bowl below. I wiped the last drop from my pussy. I turned and knelt before the porcelain throne. I took my phone in my hand and positioned it so that I could snap the requisite picture AND flush the toilet. I dipped my head. As I flushed, the water rushed around the bowl splashing piss into my face and hair. I took the picture.

I also took a picture of the toilet bowl. The water level was is so low in Italian toilets that I had not been able to fully wet my head. It was my thought to send this to him in explanation.

I stepped into the shower, piss-water running down my body. As I washed my hair, I immediately felt less grotesque. But, even in my disgust, I felt a certain pride. I felt accomplished. I had completed my task.

When I got out of the shower, I sent Master the pictures along with my explanation.

“Good girl for completing your task, little one. However, in the future, I that if you are unable to complete a task as I have asked, you will do your best to accomplish what I intended. You are a very bright woman. You should have used your hands to bathe your face and head in your piss. Next time, you will do better. “


“Send me a picture of your dinner… I would like you to cut everything into bite-sized pieces. You will take your dinner completely naked, and on your knees, from a dish on the floor. Don’t forget a bowl of water. From now on, precious slave, you will take your dinner in this fashion whenever you are at home.”

My poor traveling companion, bless her little heart. I can only imagine how weird this must have been for her. I did my best to make things easier on her, but I doubt that I succeeded terribly well.

We sat down to a dinner of fruit, cheese, cured meats, and bread. While she ate, I cut my food into little pieces. When I was finished, I informed her that I had an order which required that I eat alone. I picked up my plate and left.

I was feeling particularly ambitious. The light was fading fast… but I wanted to accomplish my task… outside. The house was situated in such a beautiful area with lush fruit trees and bushes all around. I found a place, I knelt to try to situate my camera, and… I heard voices. Disappointed, I set my meal outside of our room, and went to Naomi for the keys.

Still hoping to get a nice view behind me in the pictures, I opened the French doors wide onto the balcony. I allowed my dress to slip from my frame and puddle on the floor. I arranged my dish of food and water bowl, turned on the camera, and began to eat.

At first, I was acutely aware of the food touching my face. Humans don’t have a long snout, you know… That is why we have hands. But, I cast off my dignity like a dirty shirt and dug in.  About halfway through the meal, I was surprised by my inner animal. I grabbed a piece of salami and wolfed it down, much like a dog. It was surprisingly satisfying. Really satisfying.

When finished, I sent the pictures to Master and received the highest praise and accolade. It makes me feel so wonderful (like a princess) when he approves of my efforts. At his behest, I posted the pictures to my account on Fetlife. Master wanted the rest of the world to see my dehumanization and applaud.


“Take off your bra, little one. I want to see a picture of your nipples through your shirt. While, on the train, I want you to twist those nipples ten times. The tenth time, I want you to catch the eye of another passenger, lower your eyes and then twist within full view of that passenger. They should see you. Do you understand, cunt?”

Yes, Sir. I planned to find a bathroom or somewhere private to remove my bra. Soon fifteen minutes had gone by. I was still out in the open. I was sitting on a concrete bench, waiting for my train, surrounded by dozens of people.

Well, fuck it. I slipped my left arm out of my bra strap. No one seemed to notice. I slipped my right arm out. No one was staring. I furtively reached behind me, and with a quick snap, it was off. I pulled the bra from beneath my shirt, folded it, and placed it in my bag. Still, no one seemed to have noticed.

I arranged the scarf that I was wearing to cover my breasts. I sent a picture to Master. He chucked at my resourceful scarf placement and informed me that when I boarded the train, I was to make sure that my scantily clad breasts were exposed and in view of the other passengers.

It was a blustery day. I was wearing a thin white tank, which did not even hide the color of my nipples from view. It ruffled in the breeze like a flag. It was cold. Well, I was chilly once I removed my bra. With my nipples standing fully erect, the fabric of my tank rippling over them and playing in the breeze, I sat, on a concrete bench, waiting for my train.

The cool breeze and the sensation of the fabric blowing across my breasts sent shivers down my spine. As I sat at the platform, the handles of my handbag kept brushing against my nipples.

When the train arrived, we clambered aboard with our baggage. I settled into my seat and tied my scarf in the middle leaving my breasts exposed.

Through out the train ride, I occasionally reached up and twisted a nipple hard.  Before too long, they were hypersensitive and my cunt was throbbing between my legs. For the last one, I had a little more trouble. I had to catch someone’s eye.

I waited, scanning the crowd for eyes. The train was mostly empty now. The stop before ours, I caught the eye of a 60ish year old man. I looked intensely, averted my gaze and twisted. I didn’t look up again. With a devilish grin, I reported my success to Master.


I am writing to you now on my endless travel day. It feels like I have been traveling for days. I’m totally out of juice. So, you should know how I love you dear reader. You are getting the last of me.

Now, all I do is focus, single-mindedly, on getting home to my beloved Master.