(We're continuing from here.)
I had to clean up the floor, still wearing my soaking panties, feeling that terrible, lovely sense of degradation. Charles washed his hands, then watched me, slowly stroking his hard cock. I did my best to scrub the floor with a maximum of bottom-movement, and it paid off.
"Emily," he said, in the ultra-dominant voice I very rarely hear, "take off those panties, then get in the shower and face the wall, with your hands against it."
I did as I was commanded.
"I'm about to do something I promised I'd never do, sweetheart." Then he pissed on me, from where he stood outside the shower stall, starting with my legs, and moving up, over my bottom, to the small of my back, and then down again.
There's a part of watersports that still defies the kind of analysis I've managed to do on the vast majority of my kinks. The humiliation factor is obvious on both sides of the coin--which I usually think of as the "pee-side" (submissive's bladder-control taken away) and the "piss-side" (dominant uses urine to mark submissive as degraded), but there's also the matter of the proximity of our urethras to our erogenous zones.
I guess what I've never been able to figure out is whether the actual erotic pleasure--the physical stimulation of our sex organs by the act of withholding and then releasing urine--has an integral relation to the humiliation involved or not. Or, maybe to put it another way, would we still enjoy watersports (those of us who do, I mean) if we pissed out of our elbows?
Perhaps the question makes no sense, though. We probably wouldn't have the same feelings of shame about our urine if it came out of a place other than the place that was always private and secret and had something mysterious about it, until the day we figured out that touching and being touched there could make us feel better than just about anything else in the whole world, which made the whole affair even more mysterious, but also much more important, and much more in need of being kept secret.
And when you throw toilet-training in there, and all the "Are you a big girl or a baby?" stuff that goes along with that, well I don't know why watersports isn't something more people are into, I guess, at least among those who are already BDSM-inclined. As long as you have sex and humiliation together, how can bladder-related activities not be involved? I mean, didn't you ever pee your pants as a kid, and feel that terrible humiliation?
(Actually, I had a horrendous experience with this in second grade, where I was too scared to ask to go to the bathroom. Maybe that's what did it. So everyone just needs to be extra, extra humiliated by a pee-in-your-pants incident, and then it'll be watersports all the time!)
Anyway, I did my level best to make noises that reflected that delicious humiliation that was causing my vulva to run with moisture that flowed down to meet my master's piss. The stream was over, and Charles was in the stall with me, closing the door and turning on the water. Of all the times I've wished that fucking in the shower actually worked, this was one of the most intense. But I did give him a really skillful handjob. Soap is good for that. And there was all sorts of romantic kissing and things, but you don't want to hear about that.
After we were clean, and wearing fluffy towels, we went to lie down in our bed to debrief. (Though of course in another sense, we were already de-briefed. Heh.). "Thanks, sweetie," I said as I snuggled into his chest. "Seemed like you kind of enjoyed it."
"Oh, yes."
"What's up next?" I played with the hem of his towel, trying not to get my hopes up. "Did I. . . you know. . . earn my diapers?"
He kissed the top of my head. "Yes, little girl, I think you did."
"Oh, daddy!" I said. "Thank you!"
(If you like this mode of narrative, buy the Companion to EXPLORATIONS, which is chock-full of it!)
I had to clean up the floor, still wearing my soaking panties, feeling that terrible, lovely sense of degradation. Charles washed his hands, then watched me, slowly stroking his hard cock. I did my best to scrub the floor with a maximum of bottom-movement, and it paid off.
"Emily," he said, in the ultra-dominant voice I very rarely hear, "take off those panties, then get in the shower and face the wall, with your hands against it."
I did as I was commanded.
"I'm about to do something I promised I'd never do, sweetheart." Then he pissed on me, from where he stood outside the shower stall, starting with my legs, and moving up, over my bottom, to the small of my back, and then down again.
There's a part of watersports that still defies the kind of analysis I've managed to do on the vast majority of my kinks. The humiliation factor is obvious on both sides of the coin--which I usually think of as the "pee-side" (submissive's bladder-control taken away) and the "piss-side" (dominant uses urine to mark submissive as degraded), but there's also the matter of the proximity of our urethras to our erogenous zones.
I guess what I've never been able to figure out is whether the actual erotic pleasure--the physical stimulation of our sex organs by the act of withholding and then releasing urine--has an integral relation to the humiliation involved or not. Or, maybe to put it another way, would we still enjoy watersports (those of us who do, I mean) if we pissed out of our elbows?
Perhaps the question makes no sense, though. We probably wouldn't have the same feelings of shame about our urine if it came out of a place other than the place that was always private and secret and had something mysterious about it, until the day we figured out that touching and being touched there could make us feel better than just about anything else in the whole world, which made the whole affair even more mysterious, but also much more important, and much more in need of being kept secret.
And when you throw toilet-training in there, and all the "Are you a big girl or a baby?" stuff that goes along with that, well I don't know why watersports isn't something more people are into, I guess, at least among those who are already BDSM-inclined. As long as you have sex and humiliation together, how can bladder-related activities not be involved? I mean, didn't you ever pee your pants as a kid, and feel that terrible humiliation?
(Actually, I had a horrendous experience with this in second grade, where I was too scared to ask to go to the bathroom. Maybe that's what did it. So everyone just needs to be extra, extra humiliated by a pee-in-your-pants incident, and then it'll be watersports all the time!)
Anyway, I did my level best to make noises that reflected that delicious humiliation that was causing my vulva to run with moisture that flowed down to meet my master's piss. The stream was over, and Charles was in the stall with me, closing the door and turning on the water. Of all the times I've wished that fucking in the shower actually worked, this was one of the most intense. But I did give him a really skillful handjob. Soap is good for that. And there was all sorts of romantic kissing and things, but you don't want to hear about that.
After we were clean, and wearing fluffy towels, we went to lie down in our bed to debrief. (Though of course in another sense, we were already de-briefed. Heh.). "Thanks, sweetie," I said as I snuggled into his chest. "Seemed like you kind of enjoyed it."
"Oh, yes."
"What's up next?" I played with the hem of his towel, trying not to get my hopes up. "Did I. . . you know. . . earn my diapers?"
He kissed the top of my head. "Yes, little girl, I think you did."
"Oh, daddy!" I said. "Thank you!"
(If you like this mode of narrative, buy the Companion to EXPLORATIONS, which is chock-full of it!)
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