“Drink faster or you’ll drown”
I gulp down the liquid, my face submerged in the bowl.
The floor is hard under my knees, my fringe stuck to my face; I’d been comfortably naked in the summer heat, stripped within seconds of arriving, spread and left waiting, ready for inspection; one that was carried out with precision, snapping on the black latex gloves, no words, just roughly forcing fingers inside to check I had met his demands, clean, shaved and stretched wide using a butt plug.
I became an object for him to use.
Since his rough violation against the kitchen cupboards, making use of the stretched orifice, and now with the humiliation of being force-fed this liquid; my comfort is the last thing on his agenda.
He’s focussed on barking orders at me, demanding that I drink, I must drink, I have to drink, faster puppy, faster “You don’t want to drown, do you?” his fist wrapped firmly in my hair holding me under.
My thoughts are jumbled and my heart racing with the lick of fear that he actually means it. He will hold my head under even if I struggle, even if I can’t breathe. The threat is real and I have to try to inhale the liquid quicker, racing against the depleted oxygen supply.
Even through the veil of fear and shame I’m surprised to think “It doesn’t taste that bad” certainly the smell is worse and the tepid temperature makes the predicament all the more unpleasant. I’d retch if my determined speed allowed me to do so, instead I swallow mouthful after mouthful, following his demands.
He allows short reprises, just enough for a gasp of oxygen and to feel the disgrace of having my own urine drip off my face before being dunked back down into it to drink more. His threats the soundtrack to my indignity; a tirade on how he will drown me in my own piss if I don’t cooperate.
The mortification at my current predicament far outweighs anything I felt to get here. Laid back on the bench I’d listened to the sound of my bladder emptying out of my control. A constant drip from the catheter into the glass bowl.
“How does it feel?” he asked “having that control taken away from you?” Sadistically laughing at the blushes his question produced. I hadn’t really considered the control element yet here I was with absolutely none over the release of liquid from inside me, a slow drip as it drains into the bowl on the floor.
Minutes earlier I’d needed to relieve myself now that feeling was ebbing away without me physically doing anything. Being emptied without the satisfaction of release feels like how I’d imagine a ruined orgasm to be. The sensation without the satisfaction.
The sound of dripping without control makes me nervous, like I’m weeing on the floor without knowing it, incontinent puppy learning to toilet train. I strain to see the reflection of the tube going into the bowl, to assure myself it’s all being caught but it’s beyond my eye line. All I can do is lay back and try to trust it. I daren’t ask for fear of ridicule, yet the discomfort must be written all over my face.
Finally it’s all done. I’m completely drained. A bizarre feeling, the need to relieve myself has passed yet it’s taking time for my brain to catch up, I feel like I still need to go, but I know I couldn’t.
With the catheter removed I’m allowed to sit up and see the shocking amount of liquid I was holding, the bowl is over half full and clearly I’m well hydrated.
I’m secretly quite pleased that nothing had hurt, nothing had spilled and I’d survived a catheter. I’d endured the humiliation and pleased him. My sigh of relief wouldn’t have been so satisfying had I know what would follow.
First, we conduct an experiment. For this purpose I am just a test object, a body just to use for science.
The conditions have been carefully prepared and a hypothesis proposed. Can he still make me squirt with my bladder drained? There’s a lack of agreement in the world over where female ejaculate comes from, is there an element of urine? No one can decide and, noble to the cause, he endeavours to find out.
Pulled onto the floor and onto his hand he easily slips fingers inside of me, directly and immediately onto that magic spot that makes me gush. With barely any effort at all he forces my body into release. With a gasp and a whole body clench I cum messily onto the floor. A smaller amount than usual, but unmistakably girl spaff.
We look at each other baffled. Where does it come from, the mystery of magical girl cum?
I’m still pondering as I notice his attention is elsewhere. No longer looking at me his eyes are transfixed on the bowl that is still on the floor. The relatively full bowl. I flick my eyes back to his and start to object. I already know what he has planned, the Dark Sadist look has appeared and it spells trouble. It’s the same facial contortion that appears as he punches me later, repeated jabs to the ribs. The same expression I see before my face is covered by a towel and I’m subjected to knee after knee to the cunt. The gleam as he restricts my breathing with a hand over my mouth. The tell tale show that I won’t like what he’s about to do.
He will do as he pleases, especially because he knows I do not want this….I don’t even think I fight, resigned to my fate. With his hand in my hair I’m lowered down into the bowl….
“Drink faster puppy, if you want to breathe you’ll drink it….”