piss shy

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Piss Shy, Part Three

Disclaimer: The content of this story is a little bit harsher and a little more intense than most of the experiences I have written about on here. Please keep in mind that I had safe words – “yellow” for slow down or do less, “red” for stop. The things I did were done willingly and enthusiastically, even when I demonstrated reluctant or fearful behavior. I like to be scared and I like to feel psychologically exhausted, and this experience allowed me to tread some harsher waters. So, I hope you’ll stick along for the ride.

I hitched up my skirt and started rubbing my clit, I hadn’t worn panties that day, a fact that I was now grateful for as I considered the humiliating possibility of having to lower them around my knees. Despite the fact that I was petrified that someone might see, even if it was nighttime, and despite the fact that I was humiliated, or maybe because of it, I was soaking wet. 

The door swung open and Flint walked past me, gesturing for me to follow. “Very nice,” he said, and I tugged my skirt back down and shuffled after him. “Now clean that up, fingers in your mouth. It comes out of you, it goes back into you.” I nodded, shoving my fingers into my mouth. We got in the car, buckled up, and headed off to his partner’s house.

“So,” he asked while we waited at a stoplight. “what are the tallies for? What happens when you hit eight?”

For the thousandth time that hour, my cheeks burned. “Eight ounces in a cup. Each tally is an ounce. And at eight, I…” I sucked a deep breath in through my nose and glanced out the window, “I drink a cup of my own piss.”

It was something Sir had come up with. I would be lying if I didn’t say I wasn’t five thousand percent reticent about it, but I also would be lying if I said I wasn’t secretly, deep-in-the-stomach, vaguely intrigued by the idea. So, I agreed, totally reluctantly, and hoped that I’d never do anything horrible enough to get up to eight tallies.

But, now I was at two. One quarter of the way there. 

“That’s disgusting,” Flint said through a grin, chuckling and shaking his head. “I bet you want to make sure you don’t get any more tallies tonight, huh? You’d better be on your best behavior.”

I nodded, “yeah. I’d like it if you were able to tell him that I was a good girl tonight.”

“Well, that’s entirely up to you, isn’t it?” He patted my knee. “By the way, I like the way you trail along to keep up with me.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Sir says I’m supposed to heel.” This got another laugh out of him.

When we reached his partner’s place, I got out of my seat and noticed I’d dripped right onto the seat. Before Flint could see it, I wiped it up with my hand and licked it off of my palm. 

Piss Shy, Part Two

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Disclaimer: The content of this story is a little bit harsher and a little more intense than most of the experiences I have written about on here. Please keep in mind that I had safe words – “yellow” for slow down or do less, “red” for stop. The things I did were done willingly and enthusiastically, even when I demonstrated reluctant or fearful behavior. I like to be scared and I like to feel psychologically exhausted, and this experience allowed me to tread some harsher waters. So, I hope you’ll stick along for the ride.

Sir had established that if I wanted to play with Flint, Flint had to contact him and negotiate with him directly. As we were hanging out and having a drink, I noticed Flint texting and felt my stomach tie itself in knots. Prior, he had asked me if what he was doing was all right, and I gave him the go ahead and thanked him for checking in. But watching him negotiate with Sir and having no idea what was on or off the table made me squirm in my seat.

“What are you saying to him?” I texted to Sir.

“Let the grown-ups talk,” he texted back, and I felt my cheeks flush.

In some effort to try to reclaim a vague sense of control over the situation, I started sassing Flint while we all hung around. This worked for about two minutes, before he placed his hand into my hair and asked if I thought giving him attitude was a very good idea when he’d already gotten me one tally. 

After we left the bar, we headed off to his partner’s house – the one we had hung out with earlier – to retrieve his car. As we walked, we went over my limits. He was respectful, asking me to elaborate when needed, offering scenarios that may have fallen into a grey area and asking where I went if such a scenario were presented. “And I don’t know about taking off my clothes,” I finished off. “I’ll see how I feel?”

“Well, here’s the thing,” Flint replied. “Your owner gave me permission to remove your clothes. So, I guess that’s settled, now isn’t it?”

I blushed and nodded. Sure, I could still veto it, but it wasn’t honestly a limit. It was more a silly way for me to retain some control over a situation where I seriously, honestly just wanted to relinquish control. Not to mention the whole idea that Sir had told him to take off my clothes kind of made my heart flutter. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

We reached the house and walked up the driveway to the side door. I went to follow Flint inside, but he put a hand up to stop me.

“I’m going to go grab my things,” he said, approaching the door. “You stand right here and masturbate until I come out.”

I dropped my hands over the front of my skirt. “What?”

He turned to face me, “was any of that unclear?”

“N…no,” I stammered a reply.

He placed his hand on the door, “is there a problem, then?”

I shook my head, “no.”

With that, he opened the door and slipped inside, leaving me alone out on the driveway. 

Piss Shy, Part One

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Disclaimer: The content of this story is a little bit harsher and a little more intense than most of the experiences I have written about on here. Please keep in mind that I had safe words – “yellow” for slow down or do less, “red” for stop. The things I did were done willingly and enthusiastically, even when I demonstrated reluctant or fearful behavior. I like to be scared and I like to feel psychologically exhausted, and this experience allowed me to tread some harsher waters. So, I hope you’ll stick along for the ride.

Aside from the endlessly awesome and adorable worthlessrapemeat, I met some really cool people at the munch last week and have been talking to a few of them. One in particular, Flint, was super welcoming at the munch. He was the one who introduced me to WRM (hence, Flint, because he’s good at making sparks. Heh heh I’m the cleverest.) WRM and I ended up hanging out with him and a few of his partners after the munch, and he and I have been texting since. 

Yesterday, he, one of his partners and I met up to hang out before another munch event. WRM was going to join us for dinner right before and potentially drinks after, as she had somewhere else to head off to during the discussion.

I met up with Flint and his partner after work, and we spent a little time walking around town and talking before his partner had to split. 

Things with Flint were going pretty great. He’s super quick-witted, a little sarcastic, vaguely menacing when he wants to be. I got a little brave and linked him to this tumblr, so he’s able to read this (eek) and he was able to follow Sir (eek) and so Sir has been teasing me that he may or may not have been in contact with him (eek.) 

But by far the absolute worst part of the whole thing is the fact that about halfway through hanging out, he figured out that I was ticklish. So, before getting together with WRM, Flint started trying to trick me into lifting my arm so he could tickle me (asshole.) 

“You and my boyfriend would get along,” I said, trying to test the waters to see if any of Sir’s little threats of them having spoken were substantiated. “You’re both jerks like that.”

Flint smiled, “well, maybe I’ll get to talk to him.” 

I grinned. So, Sir had been just making empty threats this whole time. He and Flint weren’t conspiring. They hadn’t even spoken. 

We met up with WRM for dinner and to compare notes on people from the last munch: who we thought was cute, who we thought was totally creepy, who was now randomly harassing us on fetlife. Before Flint and I headed off to the munch, WRM kissed goodbye.

“I’m jealous of you,” Flint admitted, “jealous of her, too, actually.”

The munch was a little bit of a bust, so we ended up breaking off as a smaller group and going out to get drinks. Flint was still being a serious meanie and tickling me, but had invited me to hang out with his primary and one of his other partners after to potentially play a little bit. I liked how things were going with him, so while we headed over to the bar, I texted Sir to ask him if I could play with Flint and if I could have a drink at the bar.

“Sorry,” I explained to Flint, trying to balance holding his hand in my left and texting with my right, “I’m texting Sir to get permission to have a drink.”

Flint cocked a brow. “Did you get permission for the wine at dinner?” 

I brought my index finger to my lips, shooting him a “shh” and a wink. Hopefully, he’d keep the glass of wine I’d had without asking – a careless oversight – to himself. Or, simply have forgotten about it by the time he actually spoke to Sir, if ever.

When we were heading to our table, Flint walked up next to me and placed his hand on the small of my back. He leaned down, whispering, “he’s disappointed in you for not asking. Oh, and you’re up to two tallies now.”

I froze, staring up at him as if he’d just sucker punched me in the gut. He smiled. My mouth fell open before I actually started talking. “How’d you…you just…you…”

He smirked and strode past me.