Message-ID: <11466eli$9805201533@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/11466.txt>
From: BeccaToy <BeccaToy@aol.com>
Subject: My Latest Humiliation (M Dom/f sub, enema, w/s, humilation- True!_
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit
Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <e64f535e.35630e77@aol.com>


Greetings, reader--

My name is Becca, and I am a submissive into humiliation and pain. As part of
my ongoing training in humiliation, my dom, J Sir, has ordered me to write a
detailed missive about my last training session.

Please remember, this story is totally true. I actually performed the most
humiliating things related here. If what I've written excites or entertains
you, please feel free to contact me or post your reactions to this story,
especially if you have any suggestions for J Sir regarding my further
humiliation and torment. 

J Sir is my phone dom, or I'm his phone whore, depending on your point of
view. In 3D I am a happily married, attractive homemaker. I do, however, have
a very dark side that my husband allows me to explore online and on the phone.
I have had a few other phone doms in the past, but they were into the pain
aspect. J Sir is the first dom to truly explore my craving for humiliation.
Being humiliated both attracts and repulses me, much like people instinctively
slow down to watch the aftermath of a car accident.
 
It's important to mention that in our phone sessions, there are no safewords.
The only limit placed is that whatever we do can't involve anything that would
come back to haunt my 3D life. Since my husband is aware of my activities,
this does not include marking or various other tortures.
 
My heart was pounding as the phone rang. I was standing "in position": my
hands palm-down on the bathroom sink, my legs spread, my ass sticking out, and
a full enema bag hanging beside me, full of warm water. For just a moment my
mind flashed back to a few months ago when I would never have dreamed of being
involved in water games--another reminder of what "no limits" means. I pushed
the talk button on my headset phone and heard the voice of my owner. He
sounded angry. I had not sessioned for awhile and had been a bit snotty
earlier in the day.

He asked if I had bought diapers yet. We had previously discussed a fantasy
involving diapers, but I had misunderstood his order that I was to actually
purchase some. I was instructed to insert the nozzle of the enema into my ass.
(It was already lubed. If I forget to pre-lube, that's my problem--why should
Sir wait on me because of my stupidity and forgetfulness? If I forget to lube
my toys, they go in dry.) I put the enema nozzle in and when ordered, I
released the clamp. The sensation of the warm enema going into my bowels
always gets me wet. Considering I never had an emema until this year, it's
amazing how the feeling is like a familiar friend, warm and sexy at the same
time. 

After half a bag I was allowed to reclamp the enema, and insert my buttplug.
Before calling, Sir had also instructed me to drink two full 16-ounce glasses
of water. I was then made to drink another. My bladder was already suffering
from some discomfort. Sir then informed me I would walk to the drugstore,
about a quarter of a mile away, and buy the diapers I had neglected to buy
earlier. He would call back in 25 minutes. Sir hung up, and I began the long
trek to the drugstore.

A quarter-mile doesn't sound like a long walk, but first I had to put clothes
on, which took a bit of time. And a quarter-mile in the midday heat of the
humid South with an enema churning in one's bowels and a distended bladder is
far from a gentle walk to the corner store. The store was being remodeled, and
I wasn't sure if I should get adult or baby diapers. I finally chose baby
diapers with teddy bears, because part of my assignment upon coming back home
was to dress in the most shamefully youthful outfit I owned. After asking the
salesclerk where the diapers were, buying the generic brand, and getting a
magazine (for some reason I couldn't just pay for the diapers, I had to buy
something else), I realized I was running late. The new clerk had a problem
with my check and had to call the manager while I shifted desperately from
foot to foot, the pressure in my bowels and bladder increasing. Finally they
gave me my stuff and I fled the store, jogging back home with two quarts of
enema sloshing inside. I'm not sure if it was psychological or physical, but I
could hear the enema water inside my body. 

Home...upstairs...stripping quickly, the sweat glistening on my skin from
running and the beginning of cramps...I dressed in a pink sundress my mother
had bought me one year. I'm not sure what I did to offend her, but I never
wear pink, nor do I wear ruffled full skirts. I had cut the bottom two layers
off and hemmed the dress, making it into a bathing suit cover, but that made
it look even more youthful. The dress was sleeveless, with buttons going down
to the navel. I didn't wear a bra, but put on a pair of white cotton panties.
I was reaching for a pair of anklets when the phone rang. 

Even though I wasn't in position, I answered the phone, sounding breathless
and off-balance. It was Sir. He sent me back to the bathroom and had me remove
the buttplug. Usually I would just relax and push, helping the plug out, but I
was standing at the sink attempting to hold two quarts of fluid in my bowels,
so I had to clench my asshole tightly and then force the plug out. It hurt,
but I managed to keep the water in and put the plug aside. Sir had me refill
the enema bag, reinsert the nozzle, and place two more quarts of water inside
me, while at the same time forcing me to drink two more glasses of water--32
additional ounces! Sir laughed at how breathless I was and how I was having
trouble thinking. I am always a bit off-balance with him anyway, but now I
felt so out-of-control! 

Sir ordered me to get some packing string, unbutton my dress, and pull out my
large breasts. I then had to wrap the string tightly about 20 times around
each breast and tie it off. Breast bondage was new to me. Once before Sir had
me tie my breasts with rope, but not this tightly. Both breasts looked like
water balloons--full, swollen, purple, ready to pop. I could feel the string
cut into my skin. Next I was sent downstairs for a wooden spoon, while he
waited. When I returned Sir had me put a diaper into my panties. I did. 

I was so ashamed! He asked if it turned me on, and I was so into subspace I
didn't even know. So I ordered to put my hand down and feel my pussy. It was
soaking wet and so very hot! These humiliating things were indeed turning me
on. Following orders, I took the wooden spoon and begin hitting my swollen
tender breasts. Because the blood was pooled, they bruised easily, and there
were reddish marks all over my skin, marks that later became purple bruises. 

Next, I had to go into the bedroom, get on my hands and knees, and rub my
breasts against the floor. Doing so lifted my ass into the air, and the enema
went deeper into my bowels. The cramping was becoming increasingly severe--I
wasn't sure how much longer I could fight gravity. I then was ordered to dance
for my Master, shaking my tits and ass like a bimbo, standing inches away from
the door with my breasts not quite touching the hard wood. When they did
touch, J Sir knew because of the low moans of pleasure I couldn't contain. My
breasts were so damned sensitive, even the lightest brush made me want to
orgasm. Finally I was allowed back into the bathroom, where he ordered me to
put clothespins on my nipples. I stupidly thought the string would have made
my nipples numb, but instead the pain of clothespins on my nipples was
tripled, bringing tears to my eyes almost immediately. I was again made to hit
my breasts with the spoon, each bounce sending pain rippling to my nipples and
back.

Finally, gravity began to win--the enema began to leak slowly down my legs. I
started crying as I informed J Sir of this. The diaper wasn't heavy enough to
hold the enema. He then made me kneel on the floor, with the enema still
leaking, and pee my diaper. I felt so out of control and vulnerable. I
couldn't help the tears. Sir made fun of me for crying. The more he laughed at
me, the harder I cried, and the more enema leaked from my diapers.

Finally he allowed me to sit in the toilet with the seat lifted and my ass in
the water. Sitting there in my own foulness, I was allowed to rub my pussy and
clit until I came, telling my owner what a filthy, bad girl I was...a filthy
whore who wears diapers and can't control her own bodily functions...who pees
herself and poops herself…who needs a diaper because she is such a bad,
disgusting bimbo.
 
After cumming himself <smile> and making sure I was emotionally OK, Sir let me
hang up and clean myself up. As always, I had to write a summation of our time
together. Here's part of the letter I wrote:

************** 

Hello Sir,

Just the thought of writing to you about what we did today has me so wet I'm
sitting on a towel. We hadn't played for awhile, and I knew today would be
rough. I was both afraid and terribly excited at the thoughts of what you
might do to me.
 
I still have the string marks on my breast... and the spoon bruises...and I am
almost wetting myself with excitement. Binding my breasts is incredibly
exciting, a major trigger I didn't know existed for me. I've seen pics of it,
but the breasts only looked disgusting--it didn't turn me on at all. But being
bound like that, the poor things purple and grotesque--the feeling went from
my breasts straight to my crotch. Hitting them, pinning them--the pain was so
amazing. I'm unbuttoning my blouse and looking at my poor, bruised breasts
right now, the string mark still visible. Excuse me--I am going to touch
myself now and cum. 

I'm back... licking my fingers. Jeez, that did it for me...

Perhaps the bathroom games excite me so much because it's only recently I've
admitted to wanting them. The amount of enema you gave me was almost
impossible to keep inside. I was so ashamed when I couldn't. I really did feel
like a naughty little girl who couldn't control herself. I was crying and
leaking. I just felt so bad and helpless and vulnerable. Then on the potty, it
was hard to relax, but then my body just kept pushing and pushing. Telling you
how nasty I was until I came excited me incredibly. I wanted to be told how I
was naughty and out of control. And then you came, and then asked me if I was
OK, which was so incredibly sweet. As always after an enema, my breasts are
incredibly tender, and I am wet from writing this--and cumming again.

I look forward to the next time you want to use me Sir.

becca

*********
 As you can see, reader, just writing about what was done to me made me cum
again! And even now, writing about my humiliation and degradation for you to
read has made me horny yet again. So now I am spreading my legs and running my
fingers over my clit and my wet, wet pussy, and cumming just from reliving
what my Sir did to me. I am so appreciative of the time he takes to treat me
like the slut slave I long to be. 

I'd love to hear from readers who were excited by my story and from anyone who
has interesting ideas about new ways for J Sir to use and humiliate his
plaything.

[END]


-- 
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>