Rule of Thumb Pt. 01 - Sex Stories

Rule of Thumb Pt. 01

... flood coming toward her. She quickly closed her lips around the slug of his flesh just as the first jet of warm salty piss shot to the back of her throat. She held her throat closed, letting the fluid form a reservoir at the back until finally she released the glottal closure and let the rank fluid drain to her stomach.

Claire was mildly revolted by the taste. Holding it to the back of her throat had kept most of her tongue from being submerged in the urine but there was no avoiding the backwash of odor permeating her nasal passages and the eventual spread of more of the liquid across the whole of her taste buds. It tasted like... piss. How else to describe it!? And more kept coming. Jim watched her somewhat convulsive swallow but saw that she'd mastered the gagging and was continuing to receive his load smoothly even as she swallowed. So, he just let his bladder continue to drain its contents into her receptive mouth.

She really is an absolute gem. I don't know what kind of wiring god gave this girl but nothing seems to faze her. It's not like it can all be old hat to her. She's too young! But man! Just look at her go!

Jim's bladder emptied after only two more swallows, by which time Claire had overcome all urge to gag on the strong-tasting liquid. When she felt Jim clench his asshole to expel the last few drops, she sucked hard and then held still awaiting instruction. She was still completely drenched in her crotch and desperate for him to finish whipping her to ...

... orgasm. No way was she sucking his cock without permission: she didn't' put it past him to deny her the cum to punish such a presumption.

"Very good slut, very good! I must confess that you've impressed me. Not many women would be able to swallow piss that easily. Was it your first time?"

"Thank you, Sir. Yes Sir, this was the first time I've drunk pee." Claire blushed a little at the admission, but felt a warm glow from the praise; pride in having served her owner effectively. Drinking his piss had made her feel "right" regardless that most people considered such a thing to be disgusting. She knew she was addicted to sex; was a "sex slave" to that extent. But being an "owned sex slave"... she was finding that made so many things different. "Normal" behavior was... no longer meaningful. Serving her owner was meaningful. It is what mattered to her now.

Of course, this detachment from "normal" behavior had to some extent been the story of her entire life. But certainly, it had taken a big jump the day she moved in with the Lester's. Watching women be whipped to orgasms. Men walking around with their cocks dangling, or sitting casually while women on leashes stroked or sucked on them. Or being beaten; gang fucked. Pissed on.

Mrs. Lester, enslaved by her husband, now her Master, her fantasies subverted, nurtured by him. Methodically cultivated as a pain slut; given to strangers while he watches. Or not. They come to the door which she answers naked, eyes downcast. They ...