The Bag Lady and the Domme

============================================================================ The Bag Lady And The Domme Chapter 2 - Clarissa switches & shows Jessica how she was degraded ============================================================================

The hairbrush landed repeatedly on my rump and inner thighs. I stayed as still as I could, my legs wide apart and my body hung over the dressing table's stool. I had travelled to another place in my mind; that subspace mentioned so often in my trashy women's porn. Clarissa was nothing if not thorough in her ministrations, ensuring the marks carefully came together to create a mass of redness that would raise the heat and pain, plus the pleasure that flowed from her constant pauses to stroke the puffed and ultra-sensitive folds of my sex. She loved the rivers of sweat that streaked across her Mistress's back and dripped from my full breasts. She appeared to be tempted to stop and lick them, but I had asked to be just a slave, a slut, a whore and such actions would have been deemed too loving, too indulgent. No, I wanted to know what it had been like in the clutches of The Group, and so as Mistress Jessica I would be `Topped from the bottom'. She stopped the spanking, placing the brush beside her, noting that I did not move, still expecting more blows; frozen to the spot. Yes, I had clearly entered subspace, a parallel dimension in my head that was full of pleasure as the endorphins kicked in like a marathon runner's. She admired my sweating, naked form, then barked a command. "Go get me a drink, slut!" I was jolted back to reality. I thought I had heard an order but was strangely unsure; unsure of everything. I could not even remember how I had got into this position, assuming a lewd pose that made me available for more than just a spanking. Then I felt the searing heat in my buttocks and thighs, and a dull, growing warmth in my sex. I felt disoriented, needing the direction of something or someone. "Are you stupid slut? Go get me a drink of water. Now!" I got up, wincing suddenly with the pain from the beating. The hairbrush had hurt far more than the hand, though was less intimate. It distanced Clarissa from her actions. Every move made me remember the sadistic actions of my friend and, at least at this moment in time, the power someone had when dominating. I felt good and yet significantly diminished in control and status. I kept my head down, automatically acknowledging the switch of roles by

this subservient gesture. "Hurry up bitch." I ran downstairs to the kitchen, completely naked and oblivious of anything around me save getting the water for Clarissa. In fact, another switch had happened. l was back in 6th form at school, a doting 18 year old who had a crush on her. All I wanted to do was please Clarissa; give her love, give her pleasure. I walked barefoot on the cold tile floor to the enormous American fridge that Johnnie had bought me for Christmas. I took a glass from the rack on the side and pressed for crushed ice. I felt some splashes of freezing water hit my breasts and belly. It was like breaking an egg on a hot New Orleans street, the liquid quickly shifting and changing. I stopped, putting the glass to one side and cupping my hands under the machine. I took scoops of dispensed ice and applied them to my rosy red buttocks. The relief, if only temporary! Then I filled the glass with cool water, wiped any drips from it and walked back upstairs. I tried to enter the room calmly, but I was excited and proud for having given over my trust to Clarissa. I liked this role, though paradoxically instinct told me it was not my natural one. I had already had that brief thought whether I was a switch. No, this was just an experiment. I needed to understand her perspective and also get closer to comprehending what had happened to her. I snapped out of my thoughts, getting refocused. I put my head down and looked at Clarissa's feet. "Your drink, Mistress Clarissa." She giggled at this, took a sip and then threw the rest of the icy contents straight at me. I screamed. "That was very, very bad. You should have thanked me for that drink I have just thrown at you." Her tone had changed, once happy now severe. I was confused. Why should I be thanking her? She had thrown it at me. I felt I wanted to defy her, take control back, but something stopped me. "Go get a broom." "A broom? But it was wa..." "I said a broom, slut. Get it and bring it back!" she snapped, angry at my questioning. "But, Mistress Clarissa the water needs a mop..." "Bend over. Present your arse to me," she snapped, sounding very angry. I could do nothing but obey. The spanks were cruel, harsh and in quick succession. I felt the tears well up in my eyes. I cried and cried, unable to stop. "Shut up, shut up bitch," she screamed over and over. I could not; I was hurting too much, more than before and possibly because of the hairbrush session. I felt pee dribble from me, I had so little control. Now she was laughing. "You dirty little slut, getting piss on your lovely thighs and the oak floor," she said, mocking me, laughing at me. "Get that broom," she snapped again, not an ounce of concern. I walked downstairs, aware of my footprints made in piss, my piss. I was no better than my sons and daughters had been when they were toddlers. I felt dirty and yet the warm pee was in another way comforting. I remembered Clarissa's smell when she arrived and its slightly erotic significance. I noted how its fragrance melded with the scent of my over-aroused cunt. But perhaps even more significant was that for the first time since school I was aware of every part of my naked body; every sensation, every smell, every movement and its effect. Even the sway of my full breasts, that seemed permanently aroused at present, seemed accentuated and incredibly sexy to me. I felt an intense sexual hunger. I opened Anya (my Czech maid's) walk-in cleaning cupboard, taking out the stronger of the two brooms propped up against the wall. I noticed how tidy everything was, with no wastage of space. Anya was a very disciplined individual, if a little timid or was it subservient in her manner? I was noticing things I had not considered before, or denied to myself. Then my mind switched back to an obvious question I had not even asked myself. Yes, why did she want a broom? I was a little more cautious as I walked back, entering the room slowly. I noticed she had two of our special bedroom chairs, those low seats that were once so fashionable in Edwardian England and Belgium too, where ours had come from. The backs of the seats were engraved and raised at the centre but with two curved elements to each side that dipped down then back up from the central decoration, making the top of the back look like a shallow w' . Clarissa took the broom from me. She had placed the seats back-to-back but a few feet apart. She laid the handle of the brush across the gap and into the dipped curve on one side of each seat back. Was I to limbo dance under it? What was it for? "I am now going to give you a taste of what The Group did to us on the eleventh day and for four days after that. Come here." I was curious, so I walked up to her confidently, unaware what I was letting myself in for. She grabbed me by my right nipple. I guessed that if rings had been there she would have used those. Instead, I felt the sharp pain as she gripped my erect teat hard in her fingers, pulling me to her. I was spun round in a moment, no kiss or any endearment. She let go of my breast and held my wrists in a tight lock. I felt something being bound round them tightly. It was uncomfortable, and a barked command not to struggle made me accept passively what was happening. Then all went dark. A scarf had been placed over my eyes and tied behind my head. It was at once frightening and thrilling. "Now, my fun and your agony begins," she whispered in my ear. "Come towards the handle." I fumbled forward, eventually touching what could only be the cold broom handle. "Raise your right leg high over the bar and place it on the other side. Do it quickly or else you will receive some paddle strokes." I was torn. I had grown to seek the pain of the hairbrush, but I was now curious about the bar. What a fool I was as I lifted my leg high, knowing she would be staring at my exposed cunt as I made the action. I was enjoying exposing myself to her but not thinking what this bar might really mean to me emotionally and physically. It was hard to get astride it. I had to keep myself on tip-toe, balancing like some blindfolded ballerina. With a little bit of a struggle and some assistance from Clarissa as she held my arm, I was placed across the pole. What a fool I was to obey so easily. "Now keep that position. Perfect." I heard her laugh as she let go of me and walked away. I was now positioned with the pole running the length of my cunt and arse. If I put my feet flat to the floor the pole would press cruelly into me. If I stayed on tip-toe, the pain in my feet would increase as I tried to maintain my position. What was I to do? "I was kept for about four days with my hands suspended above me and my cunny astride a plank much narrower than this broom handle. I was told that if I pleaded with them, acknowledged my lack of worth and accepted my role as their slave to do with as they wished in all things, they would let me off the beam. However, my innate stubbornness for all my subservient ways kicked in. I had accepted the piercings reluctantly and quite perversely on the basis that around that act had been pleasure, but now they were giving me an ultimatum. I was not going to be beaten, well not in this way anyway." Already I could feel the ache in my ankles and toes. I kept shifting my weight from joint to joint, muscle to muscle, in my feet. Occasionally I dropped down slowly, feeling the curve of the broom force apart my sex lips. It felt ok, until I reached the lowest point and then the pressure of my whole body came down hard. I got to know what a flower might feel like when it is dried and dead weight applied from above. My cunt was an orchid under the press. Beauty distorted. I hated this. I hated my lack of control over things. "It is uncomfortable, Clarissa" "Shut up you whining bitch. And for now I am Mistress, not Clarissa. I am your torturer, your tormentor, but I can be your lover too if you plead with me to take you from the bar and accept anything, and I mean anything, that I may tell you to do." What was it about this device? It had the same affect on me as it had on Clarissa. I was not going to be beaten by it. It was just a broom, for God's sake! "NO, no you will not win. I am your mistress you cheap little slut," I snapped back with all the defiance my heart could muster, though in my head there was already a nagging doubt as the physical ache turned to quickly to pain. She laughed, saying nothing. I was to learn she did not have to. Her footsteps padded away, presumably to the door. I could not tell. The blindfold left me with absolutely no light. I was alone now; to contemplate this fiendish yet simple device. All my senses were on alert, but every so often it was the ache in my feet or the pressure on my cunt and sometimes my anus too that craved the most attention. I heard the television go on downstairs in the drawing room. There was laughter. She was on a cable channel that repeated old comedy shows. I could just hear Jennifer Anniston's voice. I imagined that slim, small breasted woman naked and astride this pole. I laughed to myself, glorying in her imaginary humiliation, then grimaced as I had forgotten to keep my upright posture and slipped hard onto the shaft. I cried inside, being sure not to let any outward sign show. No, there would be no weaknesses, even if Clarissa could not see me. It was about self-discipline I told myself. So I started to let my mind create new thoughts and images. I began to think about work and home, listing the problems, identifying solutions. At first it was a struggle as the pole reminded me of my vulnerability, but I started to sink into that place I knew was called sub-space'. I had no idea how long I had been in that place in my mind, but some answers emerged to thorny problems I had not had the time or the strength to address. The ache in my toes and ankles, the tortuous pressure on my cunt and anus seemed acceptable to me. Then I screamed. "You fucking bitch!". I had not expected the shower of ice and freezing water that descended down my body. Nor had I expected the cruelty in the laughter that accompanied Clarissa's actions. "What did you call me, slut?" she asked, her cruel laughter still ringing in my ears, her tone now measured, precise, cold. I stood high on my toes, wanting to apologies for my language, for ignoring convention by not addressing her as Mistress; of not thanking her for her actions, however sadistic they might seem. I knew that convention from the books I had devoured recently. "Sorry Mistress," I heard myself say, with such an apologetic tone. Where was the fight in me? "We'll see about sorry. I cannot pierce you, but I can enable you to feel at least something of what I felt. I've been in your maid's cupboard again. She has some very useful things," she said in a very menacing tone. "S-s-sorry Mistress," I heard myself say between the chattering of my teeth as the ice chilled my body to the bone. I was so concentrating on this that I did not even think of my nice oak flooring flooded by her cruel act. The domestic goddess, i.e. so proud of my house and its wealth, was nowhere to be seen. I was a small speck of shit in the park, and I knew it, but was determined not to show it. I felt the bar being raised again, filling the space I had left when I had extended higher. You see, the cold had made me lift my toes to their full height. I stood like some ballerina at the Garden. I thought nothing could be more agonizing than that. And then it happened. I screamed again. The clothespegs were attached one at a time to my breasts. Placed in concentric circles around my nipples, they spread back to cover the tops and curvy underside of my tits. I tried hard not to moan or cry after the initial shock of the first pincers. "And now for the piece de resistance," she announced. I moaned loudly as one peg was pinched onto each of my nipples. I was surprised by how hard my teats had become during this sadistic play. I was balanced precariously over the beam, my toes finding it difficult to sustain my weight, and now I was coping with the pain and then surprising pleasure of the pegs that covered my entire bosom. Plus, to add to the challenge, my toes were extended and beginning to ache. I tried to lower to the bar to ease the discomfort. I felt my cuntlips part around the pole, opening and pressing around it. My anus was pushed flat to it as well. The weight above this focused the discomfort, almost making me forget the pegs that grabbed my tits like cruel fingers. Clarissa was giggling hysterically. Was this making her relive her ordeal? Was she in distress as she relived it or experiencing pleasure? I could not tell but was surprised at my love and concern for her, even though she was deliberately hurting me. She walked away again, descending the stairs. I was left alone for I do not know how long. My hearing was acute. My nerve endings honed to feel every sensation. My mind was racing with a thousand and one thoughts, some positive and others dark and dangerous. In the midst of it I knew one thing for certain. I was not really submissive, this was not really me, but the switch was helping me to understand Clarissa's world and where she had gone after her abduction. In that way I could accept it and yes, enjoy its perverse pleasures and pains. But for me I knew it would be the last time I would enter the domain of the submissive. A set of plans became so clear as I straddled the broom. The time in subspace was a release, an opportunity to be free of worldly things. I don't know when she came back, but I remember her lifting first one leg then the other, the rustling of something like plastic bags, and then her sliding something under each foot. I felt the sudden pain, mainly in my lower body, with each movement as I became aware of my torture again. "You cannot leave the bar, so there is a plastic sheet underneath you. If you need to piss or shit, or if your menstruation starts as mine did in that room they held me, then this is where it will go. Enjoy the life I had." "But..." "Shut up slut, I have not given you permission to speak to me," she snapped. So I continued to straddle the pole, aware again of my tortured physique and my complete lack of status, respect and choice. This was doubly challenging for my dominant self. I hated this loss of control with such an intensity that I was angry, seething, yet knowing I could not give in to this challenge. Yes, I felt humiliated and degraded, but she would never know. Or so I vowed. It was crazy. I could have easily stepped off that broom, found some way of untying my bound wrists and taken off the blindfold, but instead I accepted the restraints on the basis of my pride. I was the perfectionist in all things. Besides, again the driver was to understand her predicament and I could only feel it if I experienced at least some of it. So, I let pride drive me, and not a little kinkiness as the pleasure that was always just behind the pain kicked in with ever-increasing force. "How long have I been here Mistress?" I asked, calling out in the blackness that permanently surrounded me. My legs were screaming their agony, muscles tight and close to cramps. I was really asking for release, but would not plead. "24 hours you stinking slut," she said. It felt like days not one day. I did not care about the stink anymore. I had held my bladder for hours and hours, desperately trying not to disgrace myself again. She had already seen me pee myself, but something made me want to resist doing it again. Besides, naively I had thought the ordeal would be over before I needed the toilet. How wrong I had been and how sadistic she was to ensure that I would need to go. She had brought me cranberry juice at some time in the day or night, forcing my mouth open and using a jug to pour it down my throat. When I tried to plead that I had had enough, she held my nose up so my mouth would open. I felt the cold liquid at first satiate my thirst, run in rivulets down my body over my tortured breasts to my aching cunt, cooling it momentarily before splashing onto the sheet below. Then, over the next hour the diuretic properties of the juice kicked in. My bladder became the focus of my thinking, my whole attention. Two hours perhaps after this need to pee started she force-fed me two packets of mints, washed down with more cranberry juice. Those sweets were my daughters. I had stopped her eating them as on the packet was a warning that if too many were eaten they caused loose bowel movements. I was horrified! Surely she had not used them? Surely she could not be so sadistic? She must have seen the changed look on my face. I heard her laugh. "Yes honey," she cackled, "In about an hour you will know what I truly went through. You will shit your pants. Well, if you had any you would shit them. Whatever, your bowel will involuntarily empty." "No!" I was truly mortified. I had always been uncomfortable with anyone seeing me shit, even the children. Johnnie had never been allowed in the bathroom when I was emptying my bowel and now my old school friend was forcing me to do this in front of her. How could I? Should I just step off the bar and say it was enough, that I understood sufficiently what they had done to her? That this silly idea to switch was just that, plain stupid? "So, do you want to give in? Do you want to stop and just obey me with whatever perversions I have in store?" I felt her soft hand stroking my back, caressing lower to my warm buttocks that were slowly returning to normal after their spanking. A finger insinuated itself between my arse cheeks. She was teasing my anus, reminding me of the potential humiliation to follow or was it to excite me and entice me into the other perversions? I felt her sharp nail scrape at the puckering entrance. I could not believe how sensitive I had become there. Should I give in now and take the road of perversion she had in store? Could it be any worse than the prospect of pissing and shitting myself? Hobson's choice, I told myself. "No, no Mistress Clarissa, I will stay the course. I will NOT give in!" "There, there my stupid, proud slut," she said softly, her finger now embedded to its first joint inside my bowel and another lightly teasing my aching clitoris. I gasped in pleasure, despite the feelings in my bladder, as she continued. "Remember what our Headmistress once said, that pride comes before the fall. Oh, and how far you will have to fall Miss High-and-Mighty. " Her fingers were gone as quickly as they had arrived. I was desperate for her touch again, any contact, as she walked away once more, though this time it appeared to only be as far as the bed. I heard the rustle of sheets as she laid down and seemed I imagined to stretch to the bedside cupboard where there were a whole set of books; my erotic novels that I had left out when Johnnie and the maid left. For the next few hours, I tried and tried to stop first my bladder and then my bowel from releasing. I felt the pee continue to fill me, the cranberry juice working its diuretic properties at full tilt. The growing need in my gut was slower, more insidious. First there was a slight rumbling, then a nagging little pain in my belly, then the sense of movement down into the big intestine. I knew all the detritus of the meals we had eaten together were mashing rapidly on their peristaltic trip to my anus. I clenched my sphincter tighter and tighter, refocusing all my agonies and discomfort to this shameful place. How could she humiliate me like this? How could anybody do this? "Mmnnnnn, yes, yes, yes..." I heard my Mistress's moans and groans of pleasure as she read my books. She was masturbating openly on my bed; repeatedly. I wanted to see her, but at the same time my mind was occupied with my discomfort and shame. There were also periods of intense anger. How, I kept asking myself, could she do this to me? She told me she adored me only a short time before turning on me. Ok, I had asked to understand her plight and to know what it was to be a submissive, but this was too much, too far, and it was my greatest struggle to comply and not give in; but I would not, never, ever let her see me capitulate. It had to be on my terms. Then it struck me, that for all her submissiveness, she had thought the same when the oriental girl and the man in the leather mask had controlled and manipulated her. It was no good, the pain in my bladder was intense. I had to release it. I thought that maybe if I did the pressure in my bowel would ease too. With a mixture of shame and intense relief I let it go, first trying to let it dribble out, but this quickly turned into a torrent.. The piss hit the pole, splashing back over my thighs and cunt, running like a hot stream over my legs and feet. The smell of urine clung in the air. It was a huge release. I heard her climax again and again. "Oh yes, so beautiful to cum watching you piss. We must do it over and over together," she panted between waves of obvious pleasure. Maybe she had felt humiliated when they did this to her initially, but now it was a trigger for her perverted pleasures. She continued, "Yes, honey, I guess you are thinking I am a perv, turned on by seeing you in discomfort, pissing your prissy little sluttish self? Well, yes I am and I don't give a fuck! The time in the editor's office began that process; then The Group. Now I love to lick the piss from cunts and cocks. I can come just watching you, but now you will feel pleasure." I heard her getting up and then the warmth of her breath as she began to lick my piss-covered toes and slowly, ever so slowly, up each leg. I knew she had to be kneeling or lying in the mess I had created, but she continued to lick, climbing higher and higher towards my cunt lips. I was wet, so very wet and not just with pee. She betrayed her submissiveness with her actions. She would not get me like this again. No, next time it would be me dominating her. "Ohhhh!" When her tongue darted against my bruised but aroused cunt lips, then found my sensitive nub aching to be touched, I was hers to do with as she liked. I was shocked with the speed at which my orgasms came. She added to my agony and pleasure by reaching up and pulling on my pegs. I had not realised that she had strung the pegs together into one long line and just at the point I had the first of many orgasms, she pulled them sharply from my tits. I held in a silent scream as the pain shot through my bosom, followed rapidly by an intense warmth and corresponding pleasure. I could not describe it adequately but it lead to orgasm after orgasm. I was a mix of shame and pleasure, hurt and ecstasy, naked and vulnerable yet emitting a scent of sex and piss; and I loved it all. "Ohhhhh! Ohhhhhh!" was my inarticulate response to all her ministrations, but eventually the pleasure subsided and Clarissa walked away, again giggling like some demented patient. Then came the humiliation once more. "Slut! You have not had all the pleasure yet. Mine is to come, when I watch your hoity-toity, holier than thou countenance change as you shit yourself. Then you will know what true humiliation is. You will taste a little of what it means to have your liberty taken away and your actions, even your most simple bodily functions, controlled by another. I hope you enjoyed the cumming." I heard the words leave my lips without thought. "Thank you Mistress." That laugh came loud and strong now. "You won't be thanking me when your stinking turds are running down your leg." "No Mistress," I replied, part apology and part agreeing with her. I knew this would be my greatest humiliation. No previous embarrassing moment or public put-down could prepare me for what was to come. I could only think of when I was 10 years old, just starting puberty and had a bad case of diarrhea in a shopping centre in the North of England. I remembered how I had tried to get my mother's attention as she talked on and on to a friend. I felt the tightening in my gut, recalled the pleading to leave her, too embarrassed to say in front of her friend that I needed the toilet ( I always had trouble acknowledging I actually peed and shitted like anyone else!), accepted her tellings off for disturbing her conversation but then could not stop the rush. I felt the sudden wet feces staining my white knickers, then the blast of shit hitting the wall of cotton, straining to seep through and down my legs. I remember the stink and the embarrassment I felt as first my mother's friend and then my mum realised what I had done. Her hard slap of my face shocked me. I was determined not to cry. She would not have that satisfaction of knowing I was hurt or ashamed. I could not hear my mother's words, other than to call me a dirty little tramp. How ironic, given Clarissa's recent plight, that this should have been her description of me! Yes, and here I was now, close to doing the same; unable to move or at least unwilling to plead for help and permission to go. My pride perversely was stopping me. So, for another few hours I struggled with holding back another inevitable humiliation. And in that time I found out how much Clarissa had learned from The Group about teasing, debasing and subjugating someone. It started with her kisses, all smelling of my juices and piss. She held the back of my head and pressed our lips tight together. Her tongue delved and played with mine, arousing me no end, then she bit gently at my lips, sending intense pulses of pleasure to my breasts and cunt. Her hands sought out my tortured breasts, lovingly caressing them, seeming so gentle after their cruel clamps. My tits had a new level of sensitivity, as if a touch could translate directly to an orgasm, or at least be its catalyst. Her fingers sought out my cunt, via my belly, which she was careful to only lightly stroke. She pushed two fingers straight into my vagina in an act so cruel and yet so sexual. I accepted its duel function and ground my pussy down onto her fingers. Her thumb then circled my clitty, taking me to orgasm again and again. She exhausted me with her incessant ministrations, ignoring when the touches after cumming turned to discomfort, until I passed through that phase and they became the purest of sexual pleasure. But one thing was for sure, I was her plaything; no more, no less. "All your pissing has made me want one now," she said nonchalantly. I assumed she was going to use the ensuite, but then I heard the familiar sound of pee leaving the body at pressure. However, it was not followed by the equally identifiable noise of it hitting the porcelain bowl of a toilet. No, this was like water hitting plastic. My God, I realised too late, she had used my plastic washing-up bowl or a bucket from Anya's cupboard! And she had done it right by me. "You need a wash," she said. The bowl of piss hit the top of my scalp and ran down my hair and over my body like a waterfall. I was covered in her golden shower. Strangely I did not find it an unpleasant physical feeling, though emotionally I was debased by this act. Again, chastisement in my childhood for peeing myself in public came back. I could have climbed off that pole and walked away, yet I stayed, accepting the humiliation. In some way this absolved those years of guilt. I felt her hands on me again, caressing everywhere and anywhere. She seemed aroused by my dirtiness. Her tongue licked at the salty piss as it dried on my breasts and belly. I heard what could only be groans of pleasure. Had they turned her so much that she liked to drink my piss or anyone else's come to that? The answer was in the shaking of her body next to me; an orgasm. She must have been masturbating as she licked my body. I don't know why, but I felt pleased that my dirty, humiliated body excited her so much that she could cum. "So what is the smile for?" she asked, clearly back in control. "I-I-I'm happy for my Mistress," I replied, with genuine glee. "Stupid bitch! I'm not happy. You have not shitted yet. Got a blockage in your arsehole?" My smile left me as quickly as it had come. I wanted to cry. I had been genuinely pleased for her, now she was insulting me. What had I done to her? I was losing sight of why I was astride this pole, why I was experiencing her shame. "I'm going to sit on your bed again and watch you shit for me. Imagine your schoolgirl lover with her open pussy and nice titties, caressing herself as you shit your stinking self." She was laughing, mocking me. No, I thought, this is not going to happen. I will not go that far. Should I get off the pole? No, no one would beat me. Should I plead to be allowed to the en suite? I could, but then she would win. And then the pains in the gut began again. They were sharper, more frequent. "Darling slut, you look so uncomfortable. Can I come press your tummy or help it out by sticking my finger up your anus?" She asked in a babyish voice, rather like a mother uses with a child; mocking and humiliating me again. "No, no thank you Mistress. Please...." "Please what?" She asked, still using the baby voice, but following with,"

You ready to give up and willing to do whatever your Mistress Clarissa wants you to do? If you do, then you can step off that pole and run to the en suite. It is so nice and so close too." I said nothing. That meant pleading. I would not plead. Pride, stupid pride. The cramps hit me sharply and I felt the feces backing up into my rectum. I knew I had only minutes left. I could not stop this. All it would take was a movement of my legs or palpation of my stomach and that would be it. I could imagine the shame; breaking a taboo I had had all my life. I felt my body flush with embarrassment, anticipating my fate. Each minute felt like an hour, each cramp getting closer together. I could feel the pressure on my anus. I was sweating and my belly aching. I'd lost. "I'm sorry Mistress, I can't..." And it came, gushing noisily from my arse; a mix of loud farting noises and the rush of wet shit that rapidly covered the pole and down my legs. I was crying loudly with shame and release. I could hear her orgasm between the peristaltic emissions from my anus. It seemed to be never-ending. The stink was horrendous, yet she seemed to find pleasure in my misery. How could she? Had they made her that debased? But then as I got used to the smell and accepted my debasement. In its imaginings it had seemed worse than now the deed was done. The warmth of the shit on my body and the relief as the cramps stopped, was as comforting as that period when the spankings had finished and the heat spread over my cunt and thighs. Yes, it was not so bad after all or so I convinced myself. Maybe it would have been worse if I could see. But then she started. "Why, you filthy slut! Fancy Miss Prim and Proper, Miss Money Bags, Miss Pillar of the Community is covered in turds all down her legs and all over her arse. How shameful!" Yes, the shame came back because the woman I realised I wanted so much to approve of me, maybe even love me, was mocking her submissive. Did she really think I was an over-privileged woman? "I - I - I'm sorry, so sorry Mistress Clarissa," I said between floods of real tears. Then she changed again. "No matter, you are a useless turd anyway, so being painted in shit suits you. I'm going to watch television." "No, Mistress, please stay, please talk to me....I'm so sorry." What was I doing? I'd promised I would not plead, but now I was. I had suffered all that humiliation and discomfort and the loss of her company was the real sign and lever to reveal my vulnerability. The plea had come from the heart. I did not want to be alone in this state or any other. "No, you have not promised to do what I want, anything I want with you. I am leaving you alone to think, Shitty Slut. What are you?" "A shitty slut, Mistress," I replied, desperate to keep her talking to me, "Yes, I am a dirty, shitty slut." "No your name is Shitty Slut. It is not only a description of your current stinking state, with that pile of feces pooled over and around your dainty toes, it is my name for you." She laughed, and then left without further comment. I was stunned. Did she really expect me to answer to that name and accept it? Then I heard the Millionaire program blasting out. I cried and cried. I was naked, filthy and alone again, left to consider my position, abandoned in my mind. My only connection with her being the sound of the TV that helped me know she was there. Occasionally I heard her hearty laugh. I was so lonely now, wanting her to come back. Over the hours that followed, I just wished she would return. I could accept my stinking state, eventually pissing again without resisting the need to go. I was just a filthy toilet now. What I could not stand was the loneliness, especially the loss of contact with Clarissa. I was so exhausted, hallucinating from loss of sleep, imagining the most previously unimaginable. I realised that I was willing to do anything and everything that I had read about in my books. Those perverted stories seemed normal now. The lesbian play was especially arousing. I remembered the D/s play, the sexual torture, the games of humiliation. However, this time I was always a player. Then I was woken from my standing sleep with a start. The strap licked around my buttocks, its inch-wide leather ripped into my flesh, leaving a searing stripe of heat. Then another followed. I was crying out, screaming, and I felt the pole being slid back along my filthy cunt and arse. It was removed and without comment my head was pushed down onto the back of the bedroom chair in front of me. I was standing in my piss and shit, facing it and smelling the stink but fortunately unable to see it. That I knew would reinforce my shame. However, my imagination was probably making it worse than the reality. Then I heard her step back again and the punishments recommenced. Stripe after stripe was lain on my buttocks and thighs. "Stand with your arse out and your stinking thighs wider apart." She whipped me with the leather, which must have been one of Johnnie's belts, from just above my knees to the very top of my bum. The blows that licked around my inner thighs were the worst, but after my initial screams I stayed quiet, hoping my silence would reduce her sadistic will. How wrong I was and how stupid. She had promised to demonstrate what The Group had done to break her, not give me what she wanted. Or was what she desired one and the same thing? However, the screams started again when I felt the familiar rush of air as the strap came towards my flesh, but realised in a split second that my cunt was her target. She whipped my cunt lips and pubis, rapidly and just as viciously as my arse and thighs. "Hold your position Stinky Slut!" I could have refused, even got up and walked away, but no, I did what she commanded. I widened my thighs, waiting for the next blow, and it was not one but six that followed. They created intense heat between my legs, making me wetter than I'd ever been. I could smell my sex juice overcoming the piss and shit that by now was beginning to dry out and cake me. "Now squat." God, my legs stung, my cunt stung, my arse stung! Yet, I was squatting like a coolie in an instant; ready to accept anything. I smelt her cunt coming towards me. Then the piss hit me full in the face. She grabbed my head and pushed me onto her. "Drink it and stop wasting it Stinky Slut!" And I drank and drank, sealing in her cunt with my wide open mouth, and gratefully gulping down her hot pee like it was water. Not only was I accepting my name, but the loneliness of being without her now meant I just wanted to keep her here, to please her. Besides, I found my cunt was on fire and hoped that she would satiate it with her hands or mouth. Could I ever hope for that given my stench? I had to try. I licked and licked until she was clean, then used my tongue and teeth to explore her labia and clitoris, teasing and nibbling. Her orgasms came so quickly, as if all my humiliation had turned her on so much. Then the worst, most shocking thing happened. "Stay there." She stood up. I heard her turn round, then smelt her bottom coming closer and closer to me. She had clearly not washed for a while. "Stick your tongue out and lick my arsehole." I still had my hands tied behind my back. It was the first time I had noticed this, suddenly aware of the discomfort, but even more so as I had no way to steady myself nor, if I disliked this, to fend her off. I swayed as the strong muscles of her arse pushed into me and my nose and tongue slipped between the perfect globes. I was tasting her dirty anus, smelling its sweaty, unclean state yet growing to like the degrading feeling it created in me. Besides, she was making contact with me. And then it came, the ultimate degradation. What had come before was not the worst. I felt the anus open more than usual. A soft projectile was pressing against the tip of my tongue. The smell had changed. There was a texture akin to uncooked chicken stuffing, though the aroma was disgusting. She was shitting in my face! "Eat it, Stinky Slut!" I wanted to say `no' but I had gone so far. I was that stinking slut. I could not sink lower, so why not? It was not unpleasant anymore, I was humiliated, degraded and besides, by now all I wanted was her approval, her care, her love. Yes, I wanted her to love me and if this did it then I would. So I took the soft turd into my mouth, realising I could not swallow it in one. I chewed, suppressing the desire to vomit, realising that it was not so bad as I had thought. I centered in my mind that this was just waste food and nothing more. I blanked out my fear of e-coli and germs of any type. I had been so obsessed about hygiene with my children, having immense arguments with Johnnie who thought I was responsible for their allergies as I had prevented their immunity developing. Yes, this super-clean woman was now a Stinky Slut who ate her lover's shit. What a change. I swallowed the last morsel of feces, and licked her anus as clean as was possible without being able to see it. A thought entered my head. What else could she do to me after such degradation? Then it happened. "Oh, Mistress I cannot keep up the pretence. I am submissive. This is too much for me. Please, let's switch back?" She lifted me up by my armpits, turned me round and undid my bindings. I felt the blood rush back into my hands. In an instant she had the scarf off my face, my eyes blinking madly as I adjusted to the bright lights in the room. Then she kissed me, but as her head came towards me I saw the river of tears that streaked her face. Being dominant had actually distressed her, no matter how much she had tried to top from the bottom. A tremendous wave of love overcame me. I kissed her so hard and so hungrily. I forgot my mouth had only just finished eating her shit and my body was a disgusting mess. I just wanted her. And I needed her to want me. She did. She pushed me back onto the bed. She broke away from me. "Please forgive me?" Then I thought how I could best reassert my position. "Only if you clean me." "Ok, Mistress, I will go get sponges and ..." "No, only with your tongue," I interrupted. "Only your tongue can clean this abused body." I thought that maybe I had gone too far. How wrong I was. "Oh, yes Mistress. I am so sorry, I took the demonstration too far." Under the tears was a radiant smile. Then her tongue eagerly licked my face clean, even using the tip to tease any mess from my teeth and gums. Then, she licked down my body, as I lay exhausted and aching. The attention she gave to my nipples was disproportionate to their level of dirt, but then as she went lower so more delights were to come. I found erogenous zones I did not realize were there. For example, she lapped and licked at the undercurve of my breasts, cleaning days of sweat. My navel, that had accumulated residues of piss, was explored and cleaned expertly. I had hardly ever paid attention to it, seeing it as something non-functional, but now I felt waves of pleasure connect directly to my clitoris. I had become sensitive and aware through my ordeal or else it was through naïve, neglectful sex over years of marriage. This woman knew more about my body than Johnnie or I had ever discovered. I moaned and groaned in pleasure. She had reached my inner thighs and cunt. I knew she was licking up my dried piss and shit, but I did not care, and by the enthusiasm she showed, neither did she. I knew The Group had conditioned this into her. It was her fetish, but I had plans that it would be a rare thing, that there were other practices to explore. Besides, they had created the desire artificially, as I had found. She would not do anything ever again against her will after this day, though her boundaries would always be tested. Now she was turning me over, licking my arse and little rose bud clean. I felt the point of her tongue probe at my anus, and it opened almost automatically. She was not going to be surprised by my shit. I was empty, unfed for days except with porridge and that cursed cranberry juice. I got onto all fours, delighting in the attention her tongue was giving this previously taboo place. Not forbidden any more! I was moaning and groaning in pleasure,

even more so as her delicate fingers slid under me and caressed my soaking wet cunt. I was exhausted from the trials of the past days, but aroused by her sexual assault. I wanted her to pleasure me as much as possible. I came, screaming into a pillow. Wave upon wave of orgasms overcame me until I was unable to scream or say anything. I just accepted her love and attention when she gently helped me some time later into my sunken bath. I just let her pay attention to me, even lying me on the side with my open legs in the water, and shaving my cunt clean, then kissing the denuded slit so lovingly. I had no strength to make love, but she helped me back to my bed that had been stripped and covered in fresh sheets. "I love you," I whispered. I noticed the big sheet of plastic had been cleared away, the chairs returned to their positions. In fact, apart from the fact that there were two naked women sharing that bed, there was nothing out of the ordinary in my bedroom. I lay naked on my back, my legs open and the freshly shaven pudenda showing to all who wanted to see it. I had become so comfortable with my nudity. Clarissa knelt up on the bed, pouring oil into her palm to warm it then spread it over my breasts and belly. "Mistress, would you like me to tell you more about The Group as I massage you?" Her fingers stretch and teased at my breasts. I felt my nipples harden and my cunt turn to liquid. "Mmmm, yes. Tell me more." Instead of exhaustion overtaking me, this massage was bringing me to a hungry state of arousal. I wanted to know more. "Well, after they had degraded me and left me filthy astride the plank..." I listened attentively, feeling such love for her. I wanted to know everything about her. I would do my best to find out.

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