Public humiliation/punishment/submission Blood play Urine play Vomit play
It’s a hot day. I’m wearing a little blue cotton summer dress that clings to my curves. You are wearing baggy shorts and a tee-shirt with some lame science joke on it. We are surrounded by your friends laughing and joking, and carrying hampers and blankets. We all stroll through the woods and arrive at a clearing. The sun sparkles through the trees, light dapples on the ground, the sun makes my hair shine red and yours go just a little bit blonde.
We sit and snuggle on a rug, laughing and joking with your increasingly loud friends. Then we start kissing, our hands caressing each other’s arms, our fingers entwined. I rub my thumb around your palm in circles. I lift up your hand and suck your fingers. You trace your fingers around my lips; you move your fingers down my neck, trailing them across the curves of my breasts, brushing your fingertips down my spine, along my thighs, until finally your hand slides under my dress. My breath hitches. Our kissing becomes more passionate, we start rubbing ourselves together, little groans start making their way out of our throats. The rest of the group notice, they start coughing, calling our names trying to get us to stop, but we are too caught up with our passion, and our hands too busy exploring each other to stop. We rub each other’s cock and cunt, we nibble each other’s ears and lips, and then... then it goes very wrong.
In the heat of the moment with our bodies entwined, with a reluctant audience, I bite your lip too hard. I draw blood. You slap me round the face and call me a careless slut. Chaos erupts. Your friends rush towards us, some shout at you, some drag you away from me. I'm crying, pleading with them to stop. “No, you don’t understand, I am his slave and I hurt him. I deserve to be punished. My body belongs to him, I must be punished. You must let me be punished. If Sir wills it you should all stay and bear witness to my shame.”
Half the group leave in disgust, a few try and get me to go with them, some scream and shout at you. I just sit there and hang my head. I caused this chaos, I must wait for my punishment.
When there are only us and seven others remaining, we sit on the blankets and we all eat and drink. There is a tension in the air, something electric. Your friends chatter silently with you, stealing glimpses at me. Some of them have a glint in their eye, a couple have something akin to pity. They all look hesitant. All the while I say nothing; you do not talk to me or look at me. Finally you get up and you simply say, “Stand.”
I stand before you, terror coursing through my veins, matched in equal measure by excitement and anticipation. The calm before the storm is always the worst and best single, solitary moment; that moment when I am never quite sure what is coming next. You waste little time. There is no anger left in you now, you never punish me in anger. In your eyes I can see the need to wield your power over me. You need me to obey you, to fear you.
You tear my dress from me, ripping it in two. The force of it stings and knocks me slightly off balance. My panties and bra quickly join the remnants of my dress on the woodland floor.
You point to a large oak tree. Without either of us saying a word I walk towards it and wait. You tear my dress in strips, never looking at me, never saying a word. Your friends stare at you with grotesque fascination. They look at me in bewilderment and fascinated horror.
You come towards me; you turn me around and roughly throw me against the trunk of the tree. I wince as my nipples are dragged along the bark. You tie an end of one strip of fabric around my ankle; you wrap it around the tree trunk and tie the other end to my other ankle. I cannot move; I cannot even shuffle. My balance will never hold like this. You know this. You tie another strip around my wrists so my arms are hugging the tree. If my legs give way, my arms will stop me from falling completely. You place a plastic bottle in one of my hands. It can only mean one thing, I am to be gagged. My throat clenches, my eyes sting, my heart pounds. Not here, not in front of everyone. I plead silently. I say nothing.
You call one of your friends over, a guy whose name I can’t remember. He has been enjoying the whole thing; his eyes have been devouring every part of me. He has no compassion in his cruelty and I am grateful you are nothing like him. But still, you use his delight in my shame. You ask him to piss on a scrap of my dress. I can’t see him but I can hear him laugh as he takes his cock out and pisses. I can smell that he hasn’t drunk much water; his piss smells pungent and revolting. My nose recoils at the smell. You tell me to open my mouth. I do as you command. The scrap of piss-soaked cloth is placed between my teeth, the piss squeezing out onto my tongue and slowly making its way down my throat. I choke at the taste of it. You tie the gag tightly behind my head. Still you say nothing. Every part of me feels shame and humiliation.
I can sense the shock and disgust around me, the gasps of horror. But I can smell the arousal, the juices people are secretly trying to hide, from themselves and each other.
I hear twigs and branches cracking, I hear birds singing, I hear leaves rustling. I feel the sun on my back, for a brief moment I feel peace. Then you strike.
I have never felt anything like it before; my back feels like it is on fire. It is like 20 strikes of the cane all at once, all in the same spot of my back. I scream out as best I can. Then I feel your hand spanking my arse. Each time you smack me you knock me against the tree, the bark biting into my skin. Each smack jolts my back and sends waves of agony through me. Suddenly I realize I can hear counting “12, 13, 14, 15.” One of the two women still remaining is counting each strike behind me. When I realize she is your ex-girlfriend, your best friend, I burst into tears. The humiliation is too much for me to bear. I try calling out for you to stop, but the gag is too wet and too tightly bound to move. I could always drop the bottle, but, no, I’ll wait just a little longer. I must not fail my Sir.
Then it comes again, the fire across my back, the searing agony like nothing on earth. Everything stops, somebody gasps. I hear one of your friends start crying, telling you to stop. He asks me whether I am ok. I cannot answer him; it is not my place to answer anyone but you. I feel you undo the gag. I choke and cough as I gasp to control my breathing. Still I say nothing. I feel your fingers brush along my back; it stings but is comforting. I hear someone retch behind me. You put your fingers in front of my face; they are covered in blood, my blood. I feel a shudder of desire and want rush through my body. I flick out my tongue, I try moving my head towards your fingers. I feel your other hand go between my thighs. My cunt is dripping wet. “Please Sir, please” I cry out, begging you to touch me. You smack my arse again as you put your bloody fingers into my mouth. My blood tastes salty on your fingers. As I lick them clean, I feel your other fingers fill my cunt. I am so wet and desperate for you, I cry out. You stop and smack me again. Finally you speak to me, “You understand why you are being punished?” I nod. “You understand your infraction was as severe as it has ever been and deserves the severest form of punishment?” I nod. “You will not orgasm today. Do I make myself clear?” I moan and groan and more tears come to my eyes. “Do I make myself clear? You may answer me.”
“Yes, Sir, I understand, I hurt you and I deserve my punishment. I will not orgasm today.”
You speak to the others then, not many are left. A couple had been too disgusted by the beating and the blood to stay; another was too horrified by my willing submission. There are three men left when you speak to them. “I am going to stand back and watch. I want you to piss on her, to wank over her, to shoot your come over her, but you are not to touch her. She is mine. Will you do that for me? Will you join in her punishment?”
I hear them say yes. I start sobbing in shame and disgust and humiliation. I sob because I know how much the sensations will arouse me. I sob because I know how much being aroused by such humiliation will shame me more. I sob because I know I am not permitted to orgasm, to let myself lose control of my body. I sob because I know I will have to experience their actions and not my own body’s release.
I hear and smell their piss first. It stings as it hits my back, washing my blood and sweat to the ground. Then I hear their hands rub at their cocks, their foreskins move back and forward, the slick sounds of wet hands moving over dicks. Then I feel the first burst of come, it shoots over my arse. I feel it drip down my thigh. Another aims at my back. The third man, the cruel man, comes in his own hand. He places his hand above me as you tell me to open my mouth. I feel and taste this man’s juices drip into my mouth.
“Enough” I hear you say. You then speak to the one remaining girl, a short sturdy lady I had only met once. She had been standing next to me, looking me in the eyes the whole time, I barely noticed her. Was she making sure I was ok? Was she getting turned on? You speak to her and tell her she should do anything to me she wants. She pisses in one of the left over picnic cups. She grabs my nose in one hand, holding it shut. Her strength is overpowering. I open my mouth to breathe, struggling even then, as she tilts my head back just with her one hand on my nose. I feel my throat choking as she empties the cup down it. A whole cup of her piss choking me. It is too much, too fast. I gag and retch. My stomach lurches as I feel and taste the bile and vomit shoot up my throat, over my tongue and out, down my chin and chest. She lets go of my nose then and starts smearing the stinking, slimy mess over my breasts. Then with her same hand she lifts her skirt and fingers herself. She disgusts me.
I feel you then. I feel your warm arms stroke my shoulders. “You’ve done well, my slave. It is nearly over. Are you ok?” I nod, feeling your warmth and comfort. I feel bliss as you talk to me, caressing me with your words and hands. You move your fingers between my thighs again. I focus all my thoughts on you, on how you must be feeling, on what your fingers must be feeling as they get soaked with my wetness. You sense my control and congratulate me, offering warm words of encouragement, you take your fingers away and I moan in relieved despair. I hear you play with your cock; I hear your juices spread. Then I feel you spread my arse cheeks and tease my hole. I feel your cock push into my entrance. You fill me slowly at first, stretching me slowly. Then you move faster and faster while you watch your friend fuck herself. You tell me how good it feels to fuck my arse. As you thrust against me I feel the tree biting the flesh on my breasts and the bruises on my arse deepening, and the searing pain on my back warm my whole body. You get faster and push deeper as I have to stop myself exploding on your cock. I beg you to come inside me; I need you to come inside me. I need you to be quick, to help me not break your command, to fill me. Then I feel you and hear you release. I relax.
As you untie my hands and feet, I feel the first of your juices trickle out of my arse and down my thigh. You run a finger through it and put it in my mouth. “Well done my darling, well done.”