Boss secured a gag around my face. It was bound tightly. I couldn't open my mouth.
When I tell you to swallow you swallow, you don't dribble, you don't cough, you don't splutter. The piss goes down straight down that throat of yours smoothly with no fuss. Seems that you have a problem with that, so that mouth remains shut until I'm certain you can obey. No more cigar ash, no more saliva no more piss.
Now get in, and lie down.
We were in the bathroom, and Boss was instructing me to lie in the bath.
I'm not going to deny you the opportunity to be the party's piss pig and ashtray, but not in the way you wanted. You can lie there, and just dream of tasting the piss that is going to rain on you, and the ash that is going to be flicked on you . Once the party is over you will sleep here, and If you have pleased me, then I may allow you to drink whatever is left in the bath tomorrow.
Boss unzipped, and the force of his piss hit me directly in the chest.
Wake up. A bare foot was pressing against my face. It was Gunter. I'd been dreaming. I looked round, I was on the floor outside the apartment.
Master, looks like the skinheads have left a piss rag on the doorstep again.
Every Friday for the last month I had been delivered to the club by Boss, who left me at the door to be secured and prepped for a night of urinal service by the Mohican.
The Mohican's prediction that I would soon know what position to take for each of my Piss supplying superiors.
Some just wanted to relieve their bladders and go. There were the straight forward ones , I would just kneel and wait for the piss to slowly going through the funnel and then empty into my throat, and those who took pleasure in using me in the lying down position. Some however used me in slightly different ways. One would come in half way through the night and crumble the remains of his cigar into the funnel. Before pissing, another liked to tweak my nipples, his extra long dick just hanging in the funnel, he had no need to hold it. Most memorable however was the older Leather Daddy, Not much taller than 5ft 8, with an impeccably groomed, thick white moustache, a pipe always in his mouth.
He would visit three times a night.
He would grab me by the neck, firmly but enough so I could still breathe easily. No swallowing until Daddy says so. As difficult as it was I somehow managed to succeed in keeping the piss either in the funnel or in my mouth. It was only after he had fully emptied his bladder that he would release me., and after zipping himself up would say.
Swallow.
His final visit of the night would be followed by his tapping his pipe into the funnel, At the second week, I found myself wishing that the next customer would come soon, to wash his ash into my stomach.
Every half hour or so the mohican would appear and pour a litre of water.
Got to keep you hydrated.
By his sixth visit I was sitting, lying or kneeling in a pool of piss. My own piss, as my bladder coped with the regular top ups of water as well as the copious amounts of piss.
As the bar was open until 4 am staying awake was always a challenge as by then I had been in position for almost 12 hours. After my first night of service I was permitted by Mohican to be able to lie down solely for the last hour, and that Punters if they wished could just piss over my body. I found this last hour a release and always fell asleep. Although I was conscious of it, I could never fully explain how I got home, or who was responsible, Gunter claimed it was Skinheads, but I could never be sure.
In , I followed Gunter into the apartment, Boss was there with a paddle in his hands. Reward time.
Boss had decided that every Saturday morning I would get a whack for every ten euros I had earned.
Just had a text you brought in 600 EUROS last night, Sixty whacks. That ten more than last week. You are a popular piss pig aren't you?
Ok, start counting.
And then you can have a shower. You stink.