The Urinal

“turn your pretty head here…”

“Yeah, c’mon girl…”

Her mouth was held open by a spider gag, her hands tied to each side of a urinal pipe. She turned her head as far away from the men mocking her as she could. The sharp acrid tang of urine filled her nostrils, making her want to gag. A male laugh, some jostling, and then the sudden stream of hot piss spraying on her tits. The ‘wife-beater” white tank shirt clung to her, her dark nipples clearly showing beneath the thin white cotton. It was one of his, the fit somewhat baggy, the scoop neck riding low, giving the crowd a generous view of her full breasts. The piss dampening the front did the rest.

Her jeans absorbed the run off, the cold bite of the concrete floor amplified by the cooling wet mess. The noisy bar was filled with people, male people, who had to piss.

Often.

Two, three at a time, aiming for her open mouth. A few scored a shot or two before she would flinch away, trying not to swallow. A small pool of vomit beside her betrayed where she’d failed in that regard, and the resulting emptying of her tummy.

This was her punishment. This was what became of slut-slaves who back talked their owners, who refused to do the chores set for them, but mostly, for arguing.

Loudly.

Firmly.

Or what He called

being pissy.

“Let the punishment fit the crime.”

Another stream of pee hit her hair, dribbled into her ear, interrupting her thoughts. It was going to be a very long time until closing.

 

 

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7 thoughts on “The Urinal”

    1. hahahah!

      I had the most incredible pee-fetish when I first started. It’s kind of waned a bit but once in a while….it rears its head…

      nilla

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