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DISCLAIMER: Since this is one of my more 'realistic' works, I feel I must here make mention of some elements of this story that should not be attempted in reality, due to being unsafe, unhealthy, or both. Firstly, a submissive in full bondage should _never_be left alone or unattended, not even for a minute, since they're helpless to protect themselves in the event of a sudden emergency. Secondly, being restrained in a single pose for more than a few hours at a time is extremely hazardous, and can - far more than mere cramps - lead to thrombosis which can be deadly. Thirdly, while piss-drinking can be good, clean fun in moderation, the kind of intake depicted in one of this story's scenes would cause a host of severe health-issues, up to and including death.

Remember, guys, girls, and everything in between: Anything goes in fiction, but in reality, always keep things safe, sane and consensual!

My Two Masters

You're asking how I wound up with such an unusual Master? Well, I don't mind telling you, though brace yourself - it's a bit of a long story... actually, I'd probably have to start at the very beginning.

I was in my late teens when I first realized that I had a bit of a 'thing' for BDSM. The discovery happened the usual way - I was looking for some nice porn online, and instead stumbled on some less-than-nice porn. Women being tied up, spanked, berated, ordered around... used. It made me hot under the collar and wet between my legs. It wasn't long before I started to experiment with it, along with my boyfriend at the time. Bit of light bondage, bit of light spanking, bit of light domination... but he clearly didn't have any real interest in it. He just enjoyed the ability to get blowjobs on command, as any teen boy would.

Eventually, around the time I turned twenty, we broke up - not because of that, mind, but mostly just as a result of having been stupid teens who were then starting to grow up and realizing that they were actually a pair of very different people with very little in common. Well, maybe my growing interests - and his inability to meet them - were _part_of it. Small part. Either way, I was single again, and for a while I tried to focus on my new career, seeing to my own needs by way of some of that aforementioned less-than-nice pornography. Not like the internet ever seems to run out of that, after all!

But fantasies have their limits, and as work got more stressful, my desire to try the real thing grew. I knew just what I wanted - a_real_ dom, a Master even. Someone in whose hands I could place myself without reservation, falling back into his grasp the way you'd fall back into a mountain of pillows. Signing away all will, giving up any self-determination, being nothing more than a loyal sub... making no decisions whatsoever, while the stress I built up at work just leaked out of me.

Fortunately, the ever-reliable internet came to my rescue again. I started to hang around in certain online communities specifically meant to connect dominants, submissives and other pervs with one another, fending off a steady stream of would-be doms that I recognized, instantly and instinctively, as being no different from my ex-boyfriend. Men who just wanted easy sex with no strings attached, lacking any appreciation for the stern responsibility of a true Master.

Eventually, though, I met Him. He was older than me, by a healthy margin. Late thirties, early forties - I never actually got the exact number. Nearly old enough to be my father, but... He was also everything I'd been looking for. Even through our first online encounters, I could tell that He radiated authority, and His words made it obvious that He saw the meaning of domination and submission through the same lens that I did. He was experienced, too - unsurprisingly, perhaps - and could recount stories of trying much of what I'd fantasized about in real life. To varying degrees of success, granted - but then, life is rarely like a porn, as I've come to realize.

Soon, a meeting was arranged. A date at a semi-fancy restaurant, no promises beyond that, just to see if we'd connect just as well in the flesh as we had through out respective screens. Talking in hushed tones when the waiter was safely away. He was everything I'd hoped he was - with piercing, intelligent eyes, and a tidy beard that gave him the appearance of an old-school patriarch. Despite having planned nothing of the sort, I asked Him home after dinner - and He agreed.

Needless to say, once we were back at my place, whatever shreds of resistance I still retained evaporated - and I found myself bending to his will in a way I never had with my old boyfriend. Putting out on a first date? I did anal, for the first time, on a first date.Repeatedly. His calm, authoritative voice commanded me to bend over and pull my ass-cheeks apart so that He could penetrate me right to the root, stretching my until-then virgin sphincter around the thick base of His cock - and I obeyed, maintaining position and grip until released by His word.

Mind, He took some pains to avoid making the experience unduly, well,painful for me. Using plenty of lube, gradually stretching my sphincter with a single finger, then two, then three, leaving time for adjustment in between. It still hurt, of course, but not unendurably so - and the pain faded as the night went on, as He used my ass over and over, never touching my pussy. I eventually worked up the courage to tell Him that I was 'safe' - I'd gotten a hormonal implant a while back, putting an end to both the risk of unwanted pregnancies and, joy of joys, my periods.

Such risks, however, did not appear to be foremost in His mind - as was, perhaps, apparent from the fact that he'd been riding my ass bareback_the whole time. The subject of STD's had come up during out earlier online conversations, and we'd both assured the other that we had a clean bill of health, but it wasn't as if either of us had shown any_proof thereof. Still, He apparently trusted me enough on that to not bother with a rubber - and I hadn't even thought of_demanding_ that He used one.

Sure enough, my reassurances were met by a dry chuckle as He finished shooting his third load into the dank depths of my rectum, and I felt His palm land stingingly on one of my butt-cheeks. "Desperate to feel my shaft in your cunt, are you pet?" He teased. "Well, tough - you haven't earned that, not even close. Someday, perhaps, if you're very good. For now, though, I'll show you what you_have_ earned, for your impatience..."

Once He'd pulled out He ordered me over on my back, then told me to spread my legs and keep them that way. Thus exposed, I watched with rising trepidation as He grabbed his pants from where they'd fallen earlier in the evening, and pulled a broad leather belt from them. Layering it double, He smiled down at me. "Five strokes should do, for now. But if you close your thighs, we start over." And thus, still on a first date, I received my first pussy-spanking. Twelve strokes in all, was what it took before I was able to keep my legs apart for the full five in a row. He clearly wasn't using his full strength when He delivered the blows, but even so, the slap of the harsh leather against my sensitive, engorged labia and the clitoral mound above were far more intense than the simple spankings I had experienced before.

After that night, our relationship was well and truly established. I called him 'Sir', for a while, but after just three months, He presented me with a collar, and I gleefully accepted it. From that moment on, I only ever called him 'Master'. My first_Master. I never actually learned his true name - I only knew him by the handle he used online, and then as Master. I never visited his home either - He always came to _me. For all I know, He may have been living out the back of a truck the whole time, or in a majestic mansion somewhere - though considering some of the gifts He gave me, the truth was probably closer to the later than the former.

Over the following months, He - to use an unavoidable pun - taught me the ropes, gradually turning my various fantasies and secret desires into real experiences. Bondage and sensory deprivation; orgasm-denial, forced orgasms and broken orgasms; proper, respectful behavior towards your Master; spanking, flogging, caning and whipping; clamps, electroshocks and other mild torture. It was a comprehensive education, to say the least, but it wasn't hard to pick out the overall theme.

However little I knew about my Master, one thing I certainly did know beyond shadow of a doubt was that He was an 'ass-man'. He'd often stroke my behind, complimenting me on its softness, its subtle texture, its pleasing shape, giving me little butterflies of happiness in the pit of my stomach. And, of course, he'd fuck my ass every chance he had, as well as applying various toys, beads and plugs to my 'anal training'. It wasn't long before this determined exercise-regimen had loosened my sphincter enough to make the preliminary steps unnecessary - he'd simply order me to lubricate his tool with my saliva, then bend me over and push his cock up my dirtpipe without further preparation. Anytime he came over, I could look forwards to getting that treatment at least three or four times, often in the aftermath of a thorough spanking that had colored my cheeks a dark crimson. Apparently, he found the sight of a freshly-punished rear end irresistible.

As for my pussy, well... I soon learned by heart his maxim: "The ass is for pleasure, the pussy is for punishment." Flogging, caning, whipping, belting... it all found my tender cunny far more often than my well-insulated bottom. Early on, I merely suffered through it - but bit by bit, my masochistic side began to engage more and more, until I learned to wholeheartedly enjoy having my tender bits brutalized. My Master seemed completely aware of this development the whole way through, increasing the level of pain accordingly - I'm not sure_how_ He tracked it, seeing as I never called my safeword, nor did we ever discuss it afterwards... I can only assume He was particularly skilled at reading my body-language.

Now, getting your tender pussy flogged may sound like it'd be terrible torture no matter what, but the devil is in the details, really. Implements of varying brutality were employed, the Master applied various levels of force, and the circumstances themselves could vary significantly too. Sometimes, it was like when He first did it - with me keeping my thighs spread under orders, trying to keep them that way while a handful of blows were delivered. At other times, though... the more intense sessions... I was instead tied down, legs forcefully spread and fastened in place, gagged and usually blindfolded to boot. The blows would rain down longer and more harshly, then - my legs straining futilely against the bonds, instinctively trying to close regardless of my will. The aftermath of such a session invariably saw my pussy as a bruised and swollen mess, covered in striations from whatever instrument had been used - likely to remain sore well into the following day, and sometimes beyond.

Just to be clear, though - sadistic though He could be, my Master never shied away from practicing proper aftercare, especially after those intense sessions. He'd always hold me close afterwards, as I shuddered with the continued waves of pain radiating out from my bruised labia, stroking my hair, kissing away my tears, and speaking softly and soothingly to me. Granted, what He actually _said_was often things like "You are a fine pain-slut, my pet... watching you shudder and moan as the cane struck directly against your clit was delightful... I am very pleased with you indeed..." But honestly, that was just what I needed at such time. Early on, it was a reassurance that the torment I'd just undergone had been _worth_it. Later, it was simply an affirmation and reinforcement of the pleasure I'd derived from it.

Not_all_ of my 'lessons' were painful, however. Some were simply humiliating, and quite often foul-tasting. The first such lesson, unsurprisingly, was called 'ass-to-mouth'. The Master enjoyed making frequent use of my ass, after all, and he soon tired of wiping himself off afterwards using the regular means. My mouth, instead, would and did serve - after every ass-reaming, I was tasked with cleaning his cock with my tongue, licking off the bitter residue of my own intestines, feeling the body-heat on his shaft. You know that kind-of-gross sensation when you sit down on a toilet-seat that has been but recently vacated, and can feel their heat on it? It's sort of like that, only with your tongue instead of your buttocks.

Early on, I gagged a lot when carrying out this duty - came pretty close to throwing up a few times. But the Master was stern and determined - there would be no shying away from this assignment. Well, you can get used to anything, and so did I - after a while, the taste stopped bothering me. I can't say I ever grew to enjoy it, but I enjoyed the sense of humiliation and submission I got from it - so once the flavor was no longer a significant negative, it became just another welcome part of our regular sessions. Of course, as with the pussy-whipping, the Master noted my progress and increased the intensity accordingly. From merely having to clean him off, I was eventually ordered to always tongue-clean anything that had been in my ass - including toys and plugs. It grew to become an ingrained habit, one I still observe even though I have moved on from Him since.

Having grown accustomed to the taste of my own ass, I was also soon given the opportunity to get used to the taste of His - with rimjobs being first an occasional 'treat', then a regular part of our routine. From the salty tang of his crack-sweat, to the dank and bitter flavors I could detect when I pushed my tongue all the way inside His sphincter, this too I grew accustomed to - indeed, it became a regular component in any blowjob. I'd start with the rimjob, then lick across His taint to suck on His wrinkled sack for a bit - cleaning any ball-sweat off - before finally reaching and worshiping His, by then, rock-hard shaft.

Following a similar trajectory, I was taught how to properly act like a human urinal - first during already intense sessions, when I was well into subspace to begin with, then later with far less fanfare. Just like with the taste of ass, I soon learned to stop gagging at the sharp, bitter flavor of His piss, swallowing mouthful after mouthful with steadily decreasing feelings of nausea - eventually coming to treasure the sense of sheer objectification that came from Him simply grabbing my head and pushing it onto His knob so that He could empty His bladder down my throat.

So I was His pain-slut, His cock-cleaner, His piss-mop, His personal meat-toilet - all of which He frequently reminded me of - and I was loving every minute of it. When He took my anal virginity, he also gave me my first anal orgasm - and his frequent, subsequent ass-reamings rarely failed to give me more, each of them curling my spine and drawing breathless cries of ecstasy from my lips. Eventually, I started to achieve orgasms from getting my pussy punished too - and better yet, from those rare cases when I 'earned' a cunt-fucking from Him. They would invariably take place right after an intense punishment-session, with my pussy freshly swollen and incredibly sore - every thrust from him inducing as much pain as pleasure, only for both of those things to just kind of merge together in my overwhelmed mind...

The only unsatisfying aspect of our relationship was, well, the basic_premise_ thereof. As I mentioned earlier, I never visited His place - He always came to me. At first, for pre-arranged sessions - but seeing as I basically surrendered my life entirely into His hands every time He came over, it didn't take long before I just gave Him a key to my place. Thus, I'd sometimes come home from work to find Him sitting on my couch, watching TV, turning to look at me with a sadistic grin that made my knees weak as soon as I stepped inside. At other times, he'd turn up early on the weekend, literally catching me asleep - and turning the whole day into a conga-line of pain, humiliation and unspeakable ecstasy.

His orders remained in effect even when He wasn't there, though, of course. One of the first being that I was no longer allowed to wear any kind of panties, nor trousers. Skirt or dress over bare skin, was the command. I also had to keep myself clean and smooth for Him at all times - waxing my legs, pits and pussy on a regular schedule, lest He find any stubble to complain of. The fact that He could be waiting for me at home on any given day kept me honest - I'd sometimes find myself pushed face-first against my front door as soon as I entered, bending at the waist as He pulled up my skirt and fucked me then and there... complimenting me on my sluttiness and easy accessibility. So yes - whether going to work, to meetings or out shopping, I did so with bare (and often bruised) pussy underneath my dress. Still do, for that matter. Just like with the tongue-cleaning thing, it's become a habit - I'm just not comfortable wearing panties anymore.

Speaking of, He gave me a dildo, early on - a thick, ribbed, knobbly thing, bigger than anything you're likely to ever see on a human. For anal use only, He commanded - but other than that, I was free to use it whenever I wanted to get off. The days when I came home and didn't_find Him there, well, that dildo was my vague substitute. Riding it hard, feeling its ripples and bumps torture my widely-stretched sphincter, I could almost imagine that _He was the one using it on me, as indeed he sometimes did - reinforced further by the obligatory tongue-cleaning afterwards. The heavily-textured design ensured that the dildo gave me an even better taste of my own insides than His cock ever did - without, also, the delicious condiment of fresh, hot cum. Sitting by myself, tonguing that dildo fresh from my ass, I felt very dirty and very submissive, even without my Master there to enjoy the sight...

But that, really, was the problem. The days when He wasn't there. I'd come home, tired and stressed, pussy already growing wet underneath my skirt as I looked forwards to surrendering myself into His arms once again... but then I'd find the house dark and empty, with only a dildo there to keep me company. It varied how often I saw Him - sometimes several times per week, sometimes only one, though at least in this case it was always a full-day session on the weekend. Either way, for me, it wasn't enough.

I started growing needy and desperate, wanting Him to show up more often. Part of that, of course, was simply to work all the harder at pleasing Him when he did show up - throwing myself into ass-licking and piss-drinking alike with gusto, thanking Him for every round of vicious torture he deigned to apply to my cunt. But that wasn't enough, not by itself. I wanted to be better for Him - more important for Him. When the subject of intimate piercings was, at one point, raised, I leaped at it - offering to get whatever piercings would please my Master.

He took me at my word, and put me into contact with a professional piercer and tattoo-artist. My new decorations would be applied in a deliciously dominant fashion - all I had to do was book a time and turn up, and the artist would perform the work as requested. I would not know in advance how many holes were about to be punched in various sensitive parts of my anatomy, nor what would fill them. It was fortunate that the piercer proved both unsurprised and unperturbed by the juicy, drooling state of my pussy when I mounted the chair that, in such a familiar fashion, held my legs apart in preparation for the pain to come.

When he was done, I had a basic pair of barbell-piercings in my nipples, and six gleaming rings in my labia - three on either side. The Master had previously used clamps to pull my pussy-lips apart for more intense punishment-sessions on a number of occasions, and now it would be far easier - indeed, the rings ensured that my labia could be held open, tied to my thighs, on a more long-term basis if needed. The capstone, however, were a pair of clitoral hood piercings, which were used to fasten a 'cap' of silvery titanium over my clit.

Even with a growing appreciation for anal pleasures, I hadn't exactly stopped rubbing my clit on occasion - whether while riding the dildo by myself, or while the Master was using my ass. He'd never ordered me not to, but now a clear restriction had been lodged - permanently. Not only that - when I presented my newly-decorated pussy to my Master a short while later, I learned that the cap had an added feature. When He gave it a gentle nudge, pain shot through my groin - and not just from the still-fresh piercings. The inside of the cap, as it turned out, was covered in stubby, yet sharp spikes, like you'd find on a meat-tenderizer - and any impact to the cap would push them down into the subtle flesh beneath. "Wouldn't want it to provide any _protection_from your well-earned punishment..." my Master explained with an eager grin.

Sure enough, the regular pussy-whippings - which I endured at _least_once for every session - only grew more deliciously painful after that. No longer would I feel the whistling sting of the rod against my naked clit - but instead, the swing of a paddle or broad leather belt would strike the sensitive nub with the sensation of being crushed under a hobnailed boot-heel. Better yet, rising arousal would cause my clit to engorge, making it even more vulnerable, and even bringing it into contact with the spikes on its own.

I was at the height of my masochism in those days, and the Master gleefully rose to match it with His own sadism. Sometimes, he'd randomly order me to spread my legs, and then deliver a full-force knee or even a kick directly into my exposed privates - usually sending me sobbing and gasping to the ground as dull pain shot up through my abdomen. He'd then pat me on the head and call me a good, obedient pain-slut... or order me to stand up for another one. Of course, I never failed to obey, regardless, even though these blows were far more painful than any of the usual pussy-punishment play. After all, I was desperate to prove myself to Him.

Ultimately, however, none of it had the desired effect. Regardless of my new decorations, my sealed clit, my eager and enthusiastic obedience to His every whim... the relative frequency of His visits never noticeably increased. Worse, I pretty much knew what He was doing the rest of the time, if not exactly with whom. He had been upfront, after all, about our relationship being an 'open' one, telling me that he had other subs and casual 'fuckbuddies' that he regularly spent time with as well. I was likewise free to 'play the field' as long as I took suitable precautions against STD's, but I didn't want to. I wanted Him.

It had made sense back when we first got together - I just wanted a stern and patient teacher who could show me what BDSM was really all about, after all. But we'd been together for years by then, and well... if you're romantically inclined, you could say I fell hopelessly in love with Him. If you're less so, perhaps you'll find it more accurate to say that I'd grown obsessed with Him, dependent_on Him. Ultimately, it all added up to the same thing, after all, and in retrospect, it probably wasn't very healthy. A sort of submissive jealousy grew inside me, making me feel like there was no reason why the Master would need any _other slaves, since I was willing to do anything, be anything, He desired.

In the end, I gathered up my courage and asked my Master, straight up, if He could not please spend some more time with me? I knew that I was overstepping a crucial, if unspoken, boundary in doing so, and the vaguely disappointed look on His face both confirmed this and made me flinch. However, after a weary sigh and a few seconds of silence - during which he looked me up and down in a painfully assessing way, as if He was measuring and weighing things about me I had no words for - He agreed. "Perhaps I could come by more often... or we could go out together on occasion. But it would not be like our sessions together so far, I hope you understand. Your full and unquestioning obedience will not be expected in this case, my pet - but demanded."

Indeed, He made the terms of our... expanded relationship crystal-clear. These extra sessions would happen under strictly proscribed circumstances, and any failure or act of even accidental_disobedience on my part would bring them to an immediate and permanent end. Despite a rising trepidation and a rapidly-beating heart, I of course accepted, solemnly swearing that He would not be disappointed in me. Not long after, he delivered to me some new..._implements, as he had given me so many other toys and instruments of punishment. They came with detailed and written instructions, which I carefully studied and memorized.

Thus, I was quite ready the first time he called me, shortly after I had returned home from work, to calmly declare "I will be over later. Be prepared." Then he hung up. There was nothing else to say. I knew, after all, what I needed to do next. First, a bath and a careful shave [or waxing], ensuring that there'd be no unsightly hair anywhere outside of my head. A thorough enema ensured that my intestines had been properly emptied and cleansed. A tall glass of cold water, so that I wouldn't wind up dehydrated later. Then, buck-naked, I donned the only set of 'panties' I was permitted to wear - using the term rather loosely. They were made from black leather, and honestly had more in common with a medieval chastity-belt than anything else, boasting a number of advanced features.

Its front was fitted with a urethral sound, thinner than a pencil - He had toyed with my peehole on a few occasions, though never very seriously, so I wasn't entirely unfamiliar with such a penetration. The rod was bumpy, textured - and hollow. A thin tube went from its base, to the thick plug attached to the back of the leather-article, which fitted neatly into my well-trained asshole. The panties proper were then pulled taut around my waist and groin, various straps tightened and locked in place with a pair of tiny padlocks, to which I did not have a key. It was tight enough around my pierced pussy to squeeze my spiky clit-cover down into direct contact with the sensitive nerve-bunch, applying a constant, if vague, pain.

I then knelt down on the floor of my front hallway, facing towards the front door, and strapped on the rest of the paraphernalia. My collar, I of course wore all the time save in the bath. A leash was attached to it now, however, hanging down my front, over the small, rectangular sign that now swung from my nipple-piercings, inscribed with - in a large, bold font - the words "SLAVE-SLUT" Strapped around my feet were a pair of leather moccasins - their underside covered in vicious spikes on the inside, pushing vaguely against the sensitive soles of my feet even as I knelt there, and promising unendurable agony if I tried anything so foolish as standing up. These too were locked around my ankles.

At that point, it was time to remove the clamp from the catheter, leaving the contents of my bladder to flow freely through it and the plug, into my far more capacious rectum. It was as much for safety as for humiliation - this way, I could wear that getup for a protracted period of time without having to worry about potty-breaks or burst bladders. I also toggled a switch on the base of the plug itself, starting the powerful vibrator built into it. It would stimulate my sensitive sphincter and insides until the battery ran dry or it was toggled off, randomly running through a number of different vibration-patterns to keep me from getting too accustomed to any one of them - but for a veteran anal-slut like myself, it was by no means enough to get me off. Merely suitable for keeping me in a state of high arousal indefinitely.

The semi-final piece was the mask - a proper bondage-hood, covering my head almost entirely. A hole at the top allowed me to pull my hair through in a ponytail, and my nose poked out as well. There were no eyeholes, and only small holes atop my ears for sound - which could optionally be covered by thickly padded 'earmuffs' if my Master decided to rob me of another sense. The mouth featured a built-in ring-gag, with an attached bathtub-style plug that would dangle from my chin when not in use.

Finally, of course, were the handcuffs - fastened around my wrists, behind my back, clicking into place and locking. As with the rest of the getup, I did not have the key for them myself. Effectively, I'd rendered myself completely helpless until such time as my Master would appear, carrying the necessary keys to free me. The vibrating plug would keep me aroused, but never grant me the release of the orgasm. All I could do was tremble and produce muffled moans through the plugged gag as I waited... with no way of knowing when He would arrive, only that it would be tonight. Hours could pass as I knelt there, obedient and helpless.

Eventually, however, the door opened, and He entered - along with her. One of his other women. He introduced me as "My pet" and patted me on the head. She laughed delightedly, commenting on what an utterly depraved slut I was. The handcuffs were unlocked, and replaced with a pair of bondage-mitts - fingerless, restraining, leaving no room for manual dexterity, suitable for walking on your hands and knees and little else. I could neither put them on nor remove them without help. Everything else remained as it was, including the vibrator that ceaselessly teased my asshole, as I was led around the apartment on all fours by the leash.

Thus, I came to kneel - blind and mute - beside my couch and later my bed as He made love to her on them. It was a very different kind of sex to that which He normally shared with me - that much, I could tell just by ear. More tender, more gentle - still dominant in its own way, mind. She was bending to His will just as readily as I did, just... in a different way. Other than being a blind voyeur, though, my only involvement was oral. The plug would be removed from my mask sometimes so that I could put my tongue to various uses, assisting the two of them in their lovemaking while I remained bound and frustrated.

I'd lubricate and clean His cock before and after He used her ass - His obvious focus on anal sex clearly not being limited to our_relationship. I'd likewise prepare _her sphincter with my tongue, gently massaging and prodding it, feeling it loosen under my insistent touch so that He could more easily penetrate it. I also served both of them as a urinal, at various points, as well as enduring various dismissive comments from her about what kind of perverted bimbo I was.

Once they'd had their fun, He walked her home, leaving me once again kneeling in the hallway, my leash tied to the hat-rack... hands now free, but contained within the bondage-mitts, I was no less helpless than I'd been before. Eventually, after at least another hour of kneeling there blindly, my ass constantly teased by the vibrating plug, slowly filling up with my own piss, He returned. Not to release me, mind - but merely to feed and water me.

Cold water was poured down the hole in my hood to keep me hydrated, and I was spoon-fed a thin yet surprisingly tasty porridge. Then I was led into my bedroom on the leash, before - as a sole concession towards my comfort - both the leash and the sign that swung heavily from my pierced nipples were removed. With all the rest of the restraints still in place, the Master would finally turn off the vibrating butt-plug and allow me to curl up on the wet spot where he'd fucked His ladyfriend earlier, while He went to sleep beside me.

Only early the next morning, when the Master awoke, were the many restraints removed - allowing me to empty my rectum of the accumulated piss-enema by way of morning ablutions. I drank down his morning pee, so much stronger and more flavorful than usual, and was then ordered to spread my legs in the usual fashion. With my frustrated libido building up throughout the previous evening, I came more easily and forcefully from the pussy-whipping than I normally did, convulsing and crying out in ecstasy as his belt rained down blows on my fully-exposed cunt. Along with the requisite aftercare, this was my sole 'reward' for a night of service.

Except, of course, not really. I got to sleep beside Him, which normally never happened - normally, he'd head home after our sessions, often well past midnight, rather than literally 'stay the night' at my place. I got to work with a freshly-punished pussy, still throbbing with the recent violence done on it, cruising through the day's stresses on lingering endorphins. And more importantly, I proved to both Him and myself that I was the greatest submissive among my Master's girls. Well, that one session by itself didn't prove that, of course, but it was only the first.

Once or twice per week, I'd get those calls - and far from being deterred by the intensity of the experience, the humiliation, the hours of discomfort and edging, I only grew more determined to show my Master that I would happily submit to anything He asked of me. I grew to know His other women by the sounds of their voices and the tastes of their pee, if never by sight - grew familiar with the ways each of them preferred to use me, too. Some of them sounded fascinated, even jealous when they spoke of me, others were dismissive, others again marginally disgusted based on their tone. I counted six different women that were, at various points and with various frequencies, invited into my home so that I might serve and service them. One of them seemed to be a really big fan of asparagus, another was an occasional smoker who enjoyed stubbing out her cigarettes on my tits, while a third apparently didn't bother with enemas before her sessions with the Master. I served them all without prejudice or distinction, always acting just as He had proscribed. In other words, if He had hoped to scare me off with such intense bondage and submission, He had failed.

But those visits were not, after all, the only thing that had been added to my schedule. Sometimes, on the weekends, we would 'go out' together. Always to the same place - The Club. It had no other name, as far as I ever learned - rather natural, really, seeing as it was an 'underground' establishment, accessed via a nondescript basement-door in a nondescript back-alley behind a very eye-catching and distracting smoke-shop. Not surprising, seeing as the place was definitely skirting a number of state and federal regulations - hence, serving only a highly select clientele, with membership only by invitation. The Master was a member, of course... and me? I was merely an accessory of his.

I never actually saw the inside of The Club, beyond the entrance-room, which was lavishly appointed in purple velvet and contained only a coat-check counter staffed by a pretty girl with a jaded look in her eyes, suggesting that she'd seen it all and then some. I'd follow the Master there wearing a long, concealing coat, hiding the fact that I was already 'dressed to party' underneath, then add the final touches in the entrance-room while the girl behind the counter dealt with me and the Master's coats.

My 'outfit' for these visits, picked out by the Master of course, consisted of a black PVC underbust corset, enhancing and lifting up my breasts without concealing them. A bottomless black garter-belt, holding up a pair of sheer black stockings, with a set of black stiletto heels completing the look. My pussy was adorned by a golden chain, running zig-zag through my labia-rings in a shoelace pattern, then locked together at the bottom with a small, golden padlock. A rectangular sign from my now-checked purse was attached to my nipple-piercings, like when I served the Master at my home - but the text was different, reading instead "ANAL SLUT/MEAT TOILET - FREE USE".

My collar, of course, was in place as always, complete with leash - and the bondage-hood went on as usual, sealing my sight and forcing open my jaws. Finally, my arms were restrained in a somewhat more stylish fashion than usual - a sort of double-glove that covered most of my arms, cinched tight like a corset, pulling my shoulders uncomfortably back and forcing me to thrust out my chest and the sign that adorned it. Thus suitably bound, I would be leash-led into the club that I only ever learned to know by smell, sound and taste.

Anyone who entered the club had to deliver recent STD-screens, I should mention. The Master handled all that for me, of course. Female guests also had to sign a sworn affidavit confirming that they were on a suitably efficacious form of birth-control, though my vaginal adornments freed me of that necessity. There were no rubbers in there, is the point, and the sign dangling from my tits was clearly accepted as informed consent. Within The Club, my ass and my mouth were public property.

The Master was clearly a familiar face in there - being hailed and greeted by many of the other visitors every time we were there. As he led me around the club's many rooms, he'd stop to chat with various of them for a while - whether about BDSM culture, bondage-gear craftsmen, world events, or even just catching up on recent personal developments. This left me standing nearby, leashed, gagged and blind, as my body was freely used.

Without a word, people would bend me over and ream out my asshole, or push me down to my knees and unplug my mouth in order to use it for cock-cleaning, throat-fucking, or bladder-emptying. Not all of these penetrations were from real dicks either - more than a few thick, heavily-textured strap-ons found their way inside me too, using me just as roughly. The payment for these services came in the form of a few firm slaps to my jiggling buttocks, or even something stronger - powerful swings from a paddle or a cane, the pain an unfamiliar delight considering the Master's general focus on pussy-punishment.

Many different things happened in The Club, other than these anonymous encounters. Several times, one of the Master's acquaintances asked to 'borrow' me, and He invariably agreed - leaving me to be led away from his presence, to be used and abused by unfamiliar people for hours on end. The sign was detached from my nipples for these sessions, and it was clear that the only limitation on my expected service was my sealed pussy. I experienced many things during these encounters that the Master had never subjected me to - like vicious tit-torture, and endless ass-spankings that left me with purple bruises across my rear, unable to sit comfortably for days afterwards. New flavors of ecstasy for my masochistic tastes.

My ass, meanwhile, was fucked raw over and over - and fisted, too, which was another new experience. My sphincter was strained to the limit by the intruding limb, shrieking with a sharp pain I hadn't felt the like of since the Master took my anal virginity. The arm's owner was hardly gentle, either - no surprise, seeing as _his_owner was spurring him on with a loudly cracking whip, encouraging him to 'fist me bloody' if he valued the integrity of his balls. He did so, vigorously - leaving my ass as a bloody, gaping crater when he was done. I got to help give him his 'reward', too - my forcibly-open mouth forced down over his thick cock, deep-throating him to completion while his Mistress sodomized him from behind.

Most of the time, whether trailing the Master or lent out to another, I was just another hooded face in the crowd - I could tell, just from the noise and the concentrated smell of sweat and other bodily juices, that there were at least two or three dozen people in The Club every time we visited. One time, though, I got to be the center of attention - after one of the Master's acquaintances asked to my training, and expressed some mild skepticism when he heard the answer. This prompted the Master to declare that he would 'put on a show' tonight, to silence any spoken or unspoken doubts about the capabilities of his 'pet'.

An hour later, I was seated in a gynecologist-type chair, not too dissimilar from the one I'd been in when I received my piercings. My legs were spread in the stirrups, but not tied down, and the golden chain binding my pussy shut had been unlocked and removed - the rings, instead, were now attached to elastic-bands that connected to my thighs, pulling open my outer labia to expose the pink wetness inside. My arms had been untied too, the strange corset-gauntlet being too awkward to fit in the chair, and my hands had instead simply been handcuffed behind the chair's back. I still wore the mask, but the plug had been removed and a short, rubbery pecker-gag inserted into my mouth - 'to give me something to bite down on', the Master said. He then gave me a simple order, loud enough that the audience I could hear assembling before the chair, with a crystal-clear view of my exposed pussy, could hear it too. "When you cannot endure it any longer, simply close your legs."

Then he went to work, in the old familiar way - attacking my cunt with various torturous tools, striking the sensitive flesh forcefully and without mercy, mashing the clit-cover's tenderizer-style insides into the sealed mound beneath. Belt, flogger, riding-crop, wooden ruler, cane, switch... the nature of the pain regularly shifted even as it built up, a pounding mass between my thighs with my brutalized clit as a single bright point of sheer agony in the middle. The whole setup, being put on display like that, and getting a chance to prove to the others how well the Master had trained me... it aroused me so much, too much, forcing my poor clit to engorge and push out of its hood, directly into the path of the descending torment.

It was rougher and more painful than our regular sessions that, normally, saw my legs safely tied in place for the duration. A mercy, I now realized - allowing me to focus purely on the delicious agony radiating out from my most sensitive bits, not having to spare any attention for keeping the area accessible to the torture. Still, I remained unbending - and my legs remained spread, welcoming every blow. I couldn't tell how much time passed - due, at least in part, to the pain-induced time-dilation - but finally, the blows stopped raining down... for a little while. I dimly heard the Master declare, "See? Half an hour, and her legs are barely even trembling. If any of you think I've been going easy on her, I invite you to come up here and have a go at her yourself. Those legs will remain spread no matter what you do, I guarantee it."

Several members of the audience eagerly answered the call - more, I expect, for the chance to simply be a part of the perverted display, than out of any real doubt. As for me, hearing the Master's rock-solid vote of confidence had filled my gut with glowing butterflies. Ten wild bulls couldn't have pulled my legs back together at that point, and indeed all attempts to prove the Master wrong failed. Not that many of them didn't try their level best, applying full-force blows to my already tenderized groin, and even using punishment-methods that the Master hadn't resorted to.

Only_one_ of them even came close - a man whom I could tell, just from his voice and the sense of his presence, was quite large and heavily built. He eschewed the usual implements, and instead delivered his blows using his large, heavy fists... and what felt like some kind of brass knuckles. When the first of his punches thundered home in my swollen and badly-bruised groin, I have to admit that my knees moved inwards, by several inches at that - the muscles in my legs shivering as instinct battled with sheer willpower within them. However, I had indeed been well-trained, and these blows were not truly that different from the kicks and knees that the Master had so often applied to my pussy. The same kind of dull, throbbing ache that seemed to spread far deeper inside my abdomen than the more surface-level punishment of the whip, crop or paddle.

So my legs remained spread - shaky, but spread - as several more metal-hardened punches were delivered, each of them lifting my torso from the seat's back and drawing a muffled cry from my gagged mouth, yet failing to achieve their apparent objective. Thus, in the end - after what I later learned had been nigh on an hour of nonstop cunt-torture - the assembled doms and dommes acknowledged that I had, indeed, fully absorbed my Master's creed: The ass is for pleasure, the pussy is for punishment.

While that particular visit undeniably served as a bit of a high-water mark - along with making it difficult for me to walk normally for half a week afterwards, due to the monstrous swelling of my battered cunt, necessitating a cover-story about a bad fall and a hurt knee - it wasn't ultimately the most taxing or most memorable visit I paid to The Club with the Master. No, that came a while later, after we had been coming there regularly for a several months, and I'd already grown familiar and comfortable with staggering along behind the Master on a leash, cum dripping from my frequently-fucked anus.

On that occasion, we went there earlier than usual, in the afternoon rather than the evening. I did not question this, of course - that was not for me. I merely prepared myself at the appointed time and accompanied the Master to the door as usual. It was clear from the moment we arrived that things would be different this time, however. We were met not just by the young woman in the coat-check, but by a stern, elderly woman whose voice I vaguely recognized, and whose exchanges with the Master both before and then strongly suggested that she was something in the nature of a manager for The Club. She still looked amazing for her obvious age - likely quite a hit with those who preferred their women well-matured - and had the matriarchal bearing of someone who was used to commanding the obedience of men.

This time, what she commanded was a one of those signed confirmations that I was on birth-control - as, indeed, I was, having maintained my hormonal implant despite the Master's obvious disinterest in doing anything that might inadvertently impregnate me. The fact that it prevented me from having periods was frankly reason enough to keep it up all by itself. Considering this, it was hardly a surprise that the golden chain was removed from my pussy before I was masked and led inside, also lacking the usual nipple-attached sign and arm-restraints this time. It was an odd feeling - like I suddenly didn't know what to do with my arms, so used was I to having them bound behind me in that situation.

"You are certain she is up for it?" I heard the manager ask in a cool voice, not so much doubting as just making sure she'd crossed every t and dotted every i. The Master's reply was equally matter-of-fact. "Quite certain. I've put her through more demanding trials on a regular basis. Worst case scenario, she throws up at some point. Hardly a big issue considering where she'll be, and you know there are a few regulars who would be quite... undeterred by this." This exchange had clued me in on the fact that I was about to face some manner of endurance-test even before my mouth was unplugged to let me drink some water and what tasted like some kind of protein-shake, likely all the dinner I'd be getting today.

The place I was then led to was vaguely familiar, an area I'd passed through many times before during previous visits - quite close to the toilets, by my memory. It still felt somewhat alien, however, due to the lack of people - previously, I'd always been able to hear the sounds of vigorous fucking in that area, presumably from one of the many alcoves set aside for such activities in The Club. This time, though, we seemed to be the only people there... save one, whom I vaguely sensed despite my blindness, just from the muffled sound of shifting feet.

It is hard to really put words to the sense of confusion and disorientation that followed as I was, blind and oblivious, guided into place. I had no idea what was going on at first - but simply obeyed the Master's touch and words without question or hesitation, regardless of whether it made any sense or not. By this avenue, I shortly found myself stuck halfway through a wall, having pushed my arms and torso through a hole I'd previously been unaware existed - at which point, with a slight hiss, something inflated around my waist, effectively locking it into place.

The Master walked around to my front then, entering what my nose and ears alike were already informing me was the club's toilets. While somebody else - likely the manager herself - was working on the other side, moving my legs and feet into a specific position where my ankles were then locked into place with felt-lined manacles, the Master personally fastened my wrists to similar cuffs above and behind me. My torso was basically horizontal at this point, my waist bent at a sharp, ninety-degree angle, leaving my pussy and ass invitingly exposed on the far side of the wall - especially with my labia-rings now once again being attached to my thighs by way of elastic bands. As a final touch, my ponytail was pulled back and apparently tied into place using a hook somewhere behind me - forcing me to bend my neck sharply backwards and thus making my currently plugged mouth easy to reach at convenient waist-height.

Well, I say 'final touch', but there was one more detail, of course... the familiar sensation of a sign being attached to my nipple-piercings to dangle beneath me. I could guess, even before the Master told me, that the text would be different from my usual one. "It reads 'Public Toilet', my pet... along with the usual symbols." He explained, somewhat unnecessarily. "For that is the role you will be playing, from now and until The Club closes tonight. It will test your stomach and your fortitude. I trust you won't make me look bad..."

Certainly, by then, the earlier exchange between Him and the manager made perfect sense. As did the fact that I'd heard loud fucking in this area every time we'd passed through in the past. It was a daunting prospect, I won't deny - but His words, as ever, filled me with desperate determination. If I couldn't hack it... if my duties resulted in me throwing up and thus making a mess of the bathroom... it'd make Him look bad. That could not be allowed. I'd been readily consuming His piss for years by then, and no longer felt either hesitation or nausea from doing so. Between the women he'd brought over to my place and the previous visits to The Club, I'd served as a urinal for many others too. This would simply be the next logical step.

I was not entirely alone in my duty, though, I soon realized. The presence I had sensed earlier turned out to be another submissive, already embedded in the wall by the time I'd arrived. From the sound of breathing, I guessed that this was a man. A third specimen was added a few minutes later, definitely a fellow woman based on the high pitch of her whimpering as she was set into place. Were these two hooded and blind like myself? I never did find out whether my own eyeless experience of The Club was a general rule for submissives, or just the Master's personal preference. All I could really surmise from my hearing was that the man on my right seemed quite comfortable in his current position, while the woman on my left was decidedly nervous, almost on the edge of hyperventilating by the sound of it. I suppose I was somewhere in between - anxiety at the stomach-churning challenge I was about to face, tempered by an iron-cast determination to once again prove to the Master that I was the only slave He needed.

Mere minutes after the other woman had been fully restrained - and received a short but heartfelt peptalk from her mistress - The Club opened its doors to yet another night of borderline illegal debauchery, and the guests began to arrive. It didn't take long for some of those guests to filter through to the toilets... or to the line of disembodied rear ends adorning the other side of its wall. Seconds later, a perfectly anonymous cock nudged its way into my spread-open pussy, the sensation strange and unfamiliar. The pussy-fucking 'rewards' from the Master had basically ceased over the past year, year and a half, I'd belatedly realized at that point - and I'd never even noticed, not really missing it anymore. I'd grown accustomed to finding my pleasure in anal sex or a more violent sort of vaginal stimulation.

It was only the first of many, of course. Throughout the evening and night that followed, my rear end rarely went unattended for more than a handful of seconds at a time. Not that I was getting fucked _all_the time. As it turned out, a standard-issue BDSM paddle had been hung on a hook beside my butt, along with a polite suggestion that a few whacks with it would be suitable recompense for my services. The members of The Club were nothing if not conscientious when it came to following the rules - leading to my buttocks being gradually reddened, a handful of spankings at a time, over the course of the night.

You know, a lot of songs and whatnot talk of 'making love all night long' or going at it 'till the break of dawn', etc. I don't think most of those songwriters really realize just how long that is, nor how painful and exhausting it would actually be to do so. I was stuck in that wall from when The Club opened at 6PM, until it closed in the early hours of the morning - near enough twelve hours. About halfway through, I received an uncomfortably voluminous enema - which I suspect had at least a small audience - in a sole concession to my biological needs, but I was otherwise left hanging there like a piece of furniture, endlessly used. Though, at least, I wasn't lacking for hydration. As a result, I found myself forced to empty my own bladder several times throughout the night, naturally having no option but to simply start pissing where I stood, often while somebody was fucking me, hoping and assuming that there was something between my feet that could catch the various fluids that would inevitably be leaking down there.

I don't think my rear has ever been so sore, before or since, as it was after that night. And yes, I'm including the extreme pussy-torture session I mentioned earlier. In that case, it was just_my cunt that was a swollen mass of bruises and contusions, after all. After my service in the bathroom wall, however, my pussy and ass alike had been _literally fucked raw, with every fresh penetration feeling like a rod of red-hot iron being shoved up my holes. The regular application of the paddle had turned my buttocks into a mass of dark purple bruises. For twelve hours, I was being fucked and spanked basically without break. Afterwards, I could barely stand, or walk, or even sit for days - I wound up taking a couple of sick-days off from work just to recover.

Even so, my rear end was just a sideshow - at first pleasurable, then later torturous, but never my main focus. While my pussy and ass were publicly-available fuckholes mounted on a wall, after all, my _front_was one of three living pissoirs lining The Club's heavily-trafficked toilets. Over and over, someone would step up to my head, pull the plug out of my mouth, and shove a thick cock into the hole to empty a payload of sour urine across my tongue and down the back of my throat. Sometimes, instead, a fragrant pussy would be pushed against my face, pubic hair tickling my nostrils, and I'd stick out my tongue to push it against the top of her slit where it could act as a sort of canal for her piss. The toilets weren't gender-segregated around here, after all.

Sometimes, men wouldn't stop after emptying their bladders - especially not if it had happened via a high-pressure jet of piss from the tip of a rock-hard cock. Instead, they'd fuck my forcibly straightened throat, grunting as they mashed their hips against my nose, and ultimately sending a load of cum after the earlier surge of pee... often while some of the other visitors to the bathroom laughingly jibed at them for 'jacking off into the toilet' instead of availing themselves of The Club's many available holes.

For hour after hour, throughout the night, my past experiences with piss-drinking were put to shame. People just kept coming, kept using me, leaving me with little time to catch my breath or emit muffled, orgasmic moans in response to what was happening on the other side of the wall. I'm fairly certain that I was the most 'popular' out of the three available meat-toilets. The man on my right, I gathered from a few comments, was a regular there - certainly handling his duties with aplomb, but at the same time, less 'interesting' than a newcomer like myself. The girl on my left was just as new, of course - but eventually, probably somewhere past midnight, she noisily retched and emptied her piss-filled belly onto the bathroom floor. The mess was swiftly cleaned up by The Club's no doubt very well-compensated cleaning-staff, and she returned to service for a while - but already at that point, I could tell I was getting even more visitors. A few hours later, she was removed from the wall altogether by her Mistress, who spoke soothingly to her despite obviously being rather disappointed.

Past that point, I was basically doing double duty while my own stomach strained under the gallons of hot piss that had already been poured into it. Raw determination, as ever, was what saw me through - helped by the undeniable note of disappointment and humiliation I'd heard in the voice of the Mistress who had come to collect my colleague. I refused, absolutely refused, to put myself in a position to hear that kind of tone coming from the Master. And so, I carried on - suppressing my growing nausea as I swallowed piss-load after piss-load with the occasional jizz chaser. Under the hood, my eyes were watering from the combined discomforts of my front and rear half, as well as the growing ache in my various muscles from having been restrained in this bent-over position for so long - but still, I carried on.

Eventually, finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the visitors on both sides of the wall declined, leaving longer gaps between them, before finally disappearing altogether. For a handful of minutes, I was simply left alone, restrained and exhausted. My rear end was a mass of raw pain, while my stomach strained to contain a greater quantity of piss than I'd ever imagined it could - and I continued to fight down the waves of nausea that assailed me every few seconds. Then, finally, He appeared - the Master, walking into the bathroom and stepping up to my head as so many had before. I think I recognized his presence even before he talked, just from the sound of his footsteps and his smell, perceivable through the bathroom reek somehow.

"You've done well, my pet..." He said, patting me on my hooded head. "I am quite impressed with your endurance, as are many others. You truly are a fine toilet-slave..." The compliments made me forget all about the throbbing pain in my fucked-raw rear, and the nausea emanating from my badly over-strained belly. When He pulled the plug from my mouth and used me, as hundreds of men had during the past night, I swallowed down His piss just as thirstily as I always did - and subsequently ran my worn-out tongue around His cockhead and under His foreskin to pick up any stray drops, just as he had taught me. Only once I was done were I released from the restraints and the hole in the wall... and, supported by His strong arms, was walked over to a regular old toilet, where I was finally allowed to purge my roiling belly of its acrid contents.

So yeah, a rather intense, exhausting and unpleasant experience - like I said earlier, it took me several days to even recover enough to go to work again. But even so, I was content - overjoyed, even. I'd once again proven myself to the Master, impressed him even. Surely, I believed on some silly, girlish level, He would soon realize that He didn't need any of those other women, that I was everything He needed. Then he'd move in with me, and we'd be together all the time, so I'd never have to come home to an empty house, left to amuse myself with a dildo and the vague hope that He'd call me soon for another 'visit'.

It was only much later that I realized what He'd actually been trying to do. Inviting the other women over, taking me to The Club, lending me out to other doms... He was trying to socialize me, basically. Getting me used to submitting to people who weren't Him. Showing me off to other doms, like with the pussy-torture show and the meat-toilet duties. Hoping that I'd be able to find another Master, someone who could fill the gap - that I'd finally take advantage of my side of our 'open relationship'. But alas, though I could not at the time conceive of the notion that the Master might fail at anything - that was indeed exactly what He did. Through it all, I only grew more attached to him, and I never picked up on the hints inherent in the questions he asked whenever he'd left me in the hands of another dom for a while. He was simply the only Master, the only man, in my little world.

Another thing I didn't realize at the time, even though the clues were all there - especially in the way he acted with his other women when he had them over - was that all the extreme stuff we were doing, from the brutal pussy-punishment to the extreme bondage and submission He put me through, was all for _my_benefit. He was playing to my kinks, exploring the limits of my masochism, and apparently struggling to find them. His own tastes, if anything, seemed to run to a somewhat more soft-touch approach, a more gentle form of domination. Catering to my perverted needs must have been downright exhausting for Him... no wonder He was trying to find another dom for me who could take some of the load off of Him, and particularly handing me off to what was probably some of the most brutal and sadistic doms in The Club!

Still, imperfect though I now realize the Master was, I still maintain that He is the most sharply perceptive person I have ever met. No doubt, he realized that he'd ultimately failed to find me a more suitable master - and accordingly, activated a hidden 'Plan B' that no doubt was chugging along slow and steady even as I was being pushed to my limits in The Club every other week. For months, things just carried along as usual - He would visit me a few times per week to pound my ass, whip my pussy, piss down my throat, and just generally treat me like the dirty little slut I was. At other times He'd call and warn me to attire myself for a visit from Him and one of His ladyfriends, and I'd spend the evening as a living sex-toy, while sleeping through the night in hard bondage afterwards.

That's not to say that everything was just a dull routine, mind. The Master wasn't just perceptive, he was also quite creative - every now and then, He'd throw something new at me that left me dazed with pleasure and/or pain. There were several incidents that I still think of fondly... like when he turned up with a device that he laughingly referred to as 'The Orgazmatron 3000', which I suspect he had either rented or borrowed from another dom with an engineering background.

I was strapped into a sex-machine that appeared to have been built around the guts of a high-powered auger, its business-end featuring a thick, heavily-textured anal dildo, not dissimilar from the one I sometimes pounded myself to a lonely orgasm with. Electro-pads were glued to my chest and my neck, and a clip was placed on one of my fingers after my hands had been suitably fastened behind me - for reasons I did not immediately realize. My clitoral cover was removed, then - a rare occasion indeed - to reveal my rather pale and battered clit, covered in red specks from the frequent impact of the cover's spiky roof. An alligator-clamp was affixed to the now unprotected nub - ratcheting up the pain nicely already - and a thin metal rod was pushed into my urethra below. Both the clamp and the sound were connected to the device itself with wires, giving me some inkling as to what was about to happen before my bondage-hood was put into place - following the requisite 'last chance to back out' speech.

Then the machine was started, and my torment began. The mechanized dildo pounded my ass more forcefully than my own hands could ever have managed, or for that matter the hips of any but the most muscular of men. Accustomed as I was to anal pleasures, this fierce stimulation - combined with the tight bondage and sense of danger - soon lifted me towards an orgasm. However, just as I was about to reach that climactic peak, my pulse racing faster and faster, a shock of sheer agony radiated out from my groin. It was far more severe than anything I'd experienced during previous games involving electro-torture, piercing even my well-worn masochism, sending me crashing back down to earth...

The thrusting dildo slowed, then, for a minute or so, before gradually building back up to its previous, rapid-fire pace - lifting me soon towards another climax. And once again, as soon as it began, it was broken by a fresh shock of electric agony directly into my clit. The purpose of the various pads and the finger-clamp were obvious now - they were obviously tracking my pulse, and once it hit the threshold that indicated that an orgasm had begun, another electric shock would be triggered, followed by a brief slow-down in the dildo's actions to let me recover before the whole thing started again.

It was fully automated, in other words - pushing me into broken orgasm after broken orgasm all on its own while I trembled and sobbed within my bonds. The hood was for once equipped with the padded ear-covers, shutting out all sound, even the chugging of the engine beneath me and the sparking of the electric crucible strapped to my clit. For all I knew, the Master had long-since left, abandoning me to my fate. I could track time only by the number of interrupted climaxes I had suffered through, and the gradually growing pain in my rear as the continued assault rubbed it raw.

As time-keeping goes, orgasms - broken or otherwise - make for a poor stopwatch, though. I'm actually pretty sure they grew closer together, not further apart, as time went on. The pain of the brutal, mechanized ass-reaming only stirred my masochistic side - as did the hard bondage, the sensory deprivation, and the sheer cruelty of the repeatedly denied ecstasy. The knowledge that every rise towards that yearned-for climax would only result in another ruthless burst of electric pain seemed to merely arouse me all the faster. The only clear marker of the passage of time, thus, came when the plug was briefly removed from my mouth and, through sobs and gasps, I managed to drink down His hot piss in keeping with my regular duty.

Certainly, I must have been in the machine for several hours - when it was finally turned off, and the bondage-hood removed, it was well dark outside. It had ended, from what I could tell, largely due to the increasing amount of blood dripping from my battered anus, courtesy of the rough pounding it had endured. My bonds were loosened, the electric implements removed from my groin, the clitoral cap replaced... then later, as part of my aftercare, I received an unbroken climax at long last, courtesy of the Master's cock in my pussy - a reward for bearing up so well under the torment. I still remember it as one of the sweetest, most delicious orgasms I have ever enjoyed. Hunger, I suppose, is always going to be the finest sauce...

There were a few other memorable incidents like that, both at home and at The Club, and I realize by now that they were merely meant to keep me content while the Master awaited the arrival of the crucial component of His plan. Back then, though, I genuinely believed that He was still testing me, that I merely needed to continue to prove my 'worthiness' to Him so that He'd be mine alone. True Love, or monomania? You decide.

Then, one day I came home from work as usual to find him there waiting for me - like so many other times. Only this time, He wasn't alone. Sitting calmly beside the couch was a large dog of a breed I could not immediately identify. I'd always liked dogs, and had originally planned to get one once I moved out on my own - indeed, I'd picked an apartment that allowed for pets specifically with such plans in mind. However, I knew that raising a puppy - housebreaking and training it to behave itself - would require lots of time and energy, and so I'd kept putting it off until I had more of both, until work let up for a while... and then it just never happened. Once I got seriously into the BDSM lifestyle, I more or less forgot about it.

"This is Dono..." the Master introduced. "He's a new breed from Brazil, produced by a very exclusive breeder. Mostly English Mastiff, I gather, with a bit of Retriever, some German Shepherd, and even a bit of Grey Wolf mixed in for good measure if I'm not mistaken. A bit of prime DNA fresh from the crucible of evolution - always a good way to reduce the various health-issues that established breeds wind up with over the years." He had, according to the Master, been bred for a combination of size, intelligence, stamina and temper. Specifically, a calm and confident temperament. And certainly, there was no sign of the kind of energetic behavior you'd normally expect from a dog meeting a new human - just a single, deep-noted bark when I entered, and the gaze of two deep, brown, intelligent eyes.

"I'm giving him to you." The Master continued. "I know that you are lonely when I am not here, my pet, so while I cannot be with you all the time, he can keep you company in my place." I wasn't exactly sure how to respond to that - the surprise inherent in this unexpected event was slowing my brain's progress towards the obvious conclusion, and the Master, as always, noticed. With a thoughtful look at my no doubt confused-looking face, he nodded. "Now then... I know that you are eager to obey me in all things, enduring any pain or humiliation I see fit to lay on you. I trust, however, you have not forgotten your safeword, for all that you've never used it in all the time I've known you. With that said... get down on you knees, face on the ground, then reach back and pull those delicious cheeks of yours apart."

It is true - I never used my safeword with Him, at any time. For all the torments and degradation he poured on me over the years we'd been together, it had never been more than I could handle. Close, sometimes - but my sheer determination to never disappoint Him always saw me through. Even so, he always made sure I still remembered the word, whenever he tried something new with me - just in case this time would be different. I still had not forgotten it at that point... and even as my mind finally managed to put two and two together, I still did not use it.

I simply obeyed, as I always did - still wearing my work-clothes, skirt now bunched around my waist to expose my lack of underwear. I did not hear the Master issue any commands to Dono - but even so, seconds later, I felt a cold, wet nose snuffle at my exposed asshole, followed shortly afterwards by a wide, soft, very wet tongue. I'd dished out hundreds, probably thousands of rimjobs by then, but this was the first time I was on the receiving end, albeit from a dog. My first taste of the pleasure I had delivered to so many others, particularly the Master - a subtle yet powerful tongue caressing and teasing my sensitive sphincter. The sensation could not fail to stir a powerful arousal in an experienced butt-slut like myself, chasing away some of the confused thoughts that were still whirling around in my head as I wondered just what I had let myself in for.

He continued to lick me for at least a couple of minutes - then the delightful sensation stopped, giving me just a couple of seconds to take a deep breath before a soft-furred mass landed on my back, powerful canine limbs wrapping around my shoulders, pushing me down into the carpet. Something hot, slick and pointy poked at my rear, tracing a slimy path down my ass-crack - still spread apart by my obedient hands - before, with unerring accuracy, finding its mark. It went in with remarkable ease - my ass was well-trained, thoroughly experienced, and freshly lubricated with canine slobber, after all. The shaft thickened noticeably near the base, but this too shouldered its way through my sphincter with minimal difficulty. And that was it - I'd been mounted by a dog, fully penetrated, and could already feel the knot begin to swell inside me.

As if to drive this point home, the Master squatted by my head and chuckled down at me. "No going back now, my pet..." he said softly. "You offered your asshole to a dog, and he happily accepted. You're a genuine bitch now - suited only for pleasuring animals! Only a truly perverted human would want to be with you after this..." Even as the payload of his degrading words sank in, Dono began to fuck me - His powerful, fuzzy hindquarters taking full advantage of the secure tie, screwing me faster than any human could hope to equal, faster even than the sex-machine I'd been impaled on not that long ago.

At that point, I still couldn't quite believe what I was doing - bestiality! It was a new low, even compared to all the past humiliations I'd undergone, not to mention technically illegal in this country. I also couldn't quite believe how good it felt. Dono's cock was smooth, yet veiny... and long and thick and hot,_pounding into my sensitive asshole with incredible speed, already lifting me towards an orgasm. His knot was constantly teasing my sphincter, pushing against it from the inside, bigger than a man's fist inside me. The tie, by itself, aroused me. I wasn't chained up this time, not hooded or gagged or bound, but that swollen knot provided a kind of primal, biological bondage, ensuring that the bitch - _me - could not escape.

Soon, I was cumming. A couple of minutes later, before the aftershocks of the first orgasm had even started to fade, I reached another climax while Dono reached His. I could feel the hot doggy-cum pouring into my intestines as He stopped thrusting and straightened up, shifting His stance and placing one dominant paw on the back of my neck - keeping me where I was as He finished filling me up. That, more than anything, was what set me off.

The tie lasted for about ten minutes. Ten minutes in which I just lay there, still holding my buttocks apart as ordered, feeling His furry haunches resting against them. His knot behind my sphincter, His cum filling my rectum, His firm paw showing me my place - underneath Him. When at last the knot deflated enough that He could pull it out, gracefully dismounting me and stepping back, I needed no reminder from the Master to do as I always did: Turn around, and embrace Dono's canine cock with my lips, cleaning off whatever impurities it may have picked up within the depths of my ass with my tongue.

Now, I should mention, when the Master's cock was in my mouth, it was almost invariably because I was cleaning the ass-slime off of it. He had, if anything, even less interest in blowjobs than he did in vaginal sex - an ass-man through and through! The occasional visits to The Club was the only reason the blowjob-skills I'd built up subbing for my boyfriend back in the day hadn't rusted over entirely - quite a few people there were happy to demand a proper deepthroating once they were done using my mouth as a urinal.

With this in mind, you may understand why I felt a sudden thrill when, as I finished licking clean Dono's doggy-dick, I felt a heavy paw land softly on the back of my head, pushing me down even as I was starting to lift my head. A wordless signal, easily understood - and so, I carried on, applying suction along with my well-trained tongue. Little shivers of humiliation and arousal continued to run through me as I sucked Him off - constantly cognizant of how decidedly inhuman the cock in my mouth was. The shape, the texture, the heat it radiated, the taste of the cum that still lingered around the tip... all noticeably different. All helping to ensure that I could not for a moment forget that I was currently pleasuring a dog with my mouth and, even as I eagerly sucked and licked, it dawned on me that I was doing so on no prompting save the dog's. The Master had, in fact, given me no orders since telling me to get down on my knees and spread 'em.

Not that He seemed to object, mind - rather, as I bobbed my head between Dono's furry thighs, He chuckled merrily and patted my upturned ass in a fond manner. "I see you're already catching on... excellent, excellent..." He commented. "The place I purchased him from has a few different breeds, each raised with carefully complimentary training. They have obedient, eager-to-please sex-dogs, of course, ready to mount or roll over on demand - but that's not the breed Dono is from. He's been raised to consider himself an Alpha, even among humans. He will act on his own desires, and expect you to comply with them. Basically, if you just treat him as you would me, you're going to get along splendidly."

I absorbed this information as I continued to vigorously suck off Dono, feeling His smooth cock throbbing against my tongue. The speed of events had left me somewhat disoriented, and the afterglow of the two potent anal orgasms I'd just enjoyed added a golden veneer of pleasantness to this new level of depravity I had descended to. Thus, all I could think of was now nice it'd be to have someone _always_there when I got home, ready to take charge and spare me the loneliness of being 'Masterless' for the day.

Soon, the cock in my mouth began to throb more insistently - and the knot I repeatedly kissed as I bobbed my head over it swelled to impressive size. Moments later, thin, hot, flavorful cum flooded my mouth, coating my tongue in a taste that was decidedly inhuman, and also decidedly male. Hungrily, I swallowed it down, even as the scent rose up into my nasal passages to make me slightly dizzy with its intense muskiness. A deep-throated "Ruff!" from above heralded the animalistic climax, along with a noticeable shifting of His groin, pushing His knot against my lips.

This alerted the Master to what had just happened, prompting him to congratulate me on my further descent into depravity. "Don't think that you've got nowhere deeper to go, though, my pet..." he then teased. "After all, I did say that you would be expected to treat him as you do me. And I'm sure you've noticed that he hasn't released you yet..." Indeed, the paw on the back of my head was still there, still holding me in place between Dono's legs even as His cock began to soften in my mouth. Addled as my brain was at that point, I genuinely didn't make the connection until the sour liquid began to pour down my throat, washing away the sticky cum that had just coated it.

I swallowed, of course - automatically and instinctively. Between the Master, His occasional guests, the various trips to The Club, and of course my 12-hour stint as a public toilet, drinking piss had become just as second nature as tongue-cleaning a cock after it had finished reaming out my ass. It was strong-tasting and pungent, and very clearly inhuman - just as the cum before it had been. My pussy throbbed, untouched and empty, as I belatedly realized that I had_indeed fallen even lower than just being a dog's bitch - I had also become His urinal, gulping down His hot piss without hesitation. I was also, of course, being _marked in the canine fashion - Dono was marking me, claiming my mouth and my stomach and the rest of my orifices for His own.

Only when the flow had ceased, and I had licked the last few drops from His tapered cockhead did the heavy paw disappear from the back of my skull, allowing me to push myself up. Once my head was no longer in the way, Dono yawned, stretched, and climbed up on the couch to take a nap, apparently satisfied for now. While He rested, I knelt quietly beside Him with the taste of canine cum and piss still fresh on my lips - waiting for the reality to catch up with me and listening to the Master patiently explain how Dono would make His desires known to me.

I was to wear my leash at all times from now on, for starters - while Dono, of course, would only wear collar and leash when out in the public eye, the law being what it was. If He required my presence or my services, He would simply lead me around by it, and I would obediently follow. If He wanted to fuck me, He'd mark His desired orifice with his nose or tongue, and I would promptly assume a suitable position - down on all fours for a doggy-style mounting would be more convenient for anal, while for vaginal, I'd need to recline on something suitably high - like the bed, the couch, or the recliner - so that He could mount me in some semblance of 'missionary' style.

Or, more specifically, His bed, His couch or _His_recliner. Since He would be living here from now on, the furniture now belonged to Him, and He would use it as he pleased. My own access to any of them was entirely on His sufferance. But the Master, ever prepared, has brought a nice, big basket with a soft blanket, where I could sleep if Dono decided that He didn't feel like sharing the bed with me on any particular night. "And one more thing..." the Master continued, His smile broadening. "If you should find yourself craving his cock, you may petition him for a good, solid fucking, at will - though of course, it's up to him to grant the request or not, as he desires. Such a petition may be lodged by way of a nice, deep rimjob."

Having thus explained, in detail, the circumstances of my new pet-ownership - a term that still applied in this case, albeit in reverse - the Master left, promising that he'd be back the next day to see how we were getting along. Frazzled as I was at the time, it didn't even occur to me that He'd barely touched me - indeed, it was almost certainly the first time He'd left my home without fucking my ass and paddling my pussy to a greater or lesser extent. All I could really think about, in that moment, was the perverted and depraved things I'd just done... and the fact that I was now kneeling on the ground beside a large, extremely confident dog, wearing a collar and a leash.

I tried, after that, to get on with my day. Changing out of my work-clothes, combing my hair - which had gotten rather tussled earlier - checking my e-mail, prepping for dinner and so on. I tried to ignore the leash hanging down from my neck, tried not to look over at the couch. It lasted all of... an hour, maybe two. At that point, Dono had apparently rested up suitably, and jumped off the couch with a canine yawn to begin exploring His new home more thoroughly, snuffling around in the corners. My eyes were inexorably drawn to him, then... and as he moved around, I soon found myself looking at his backside, and the puckered hole underneath his short, sleek, mastiff-style tail.

The Master's parting words seemed to echo in my head, and all at once both my mouth and my pussy started to drool. I realized that I hadn't actually had anything to drink since earlier, and that I could still vaguely taste His piss - if it wasn't just my imagination. The piss-drinking, and for that matter the preceding blowjob, had almost been an automatic reaction, performed by rote - the result of years of training. Conversely, while I was far from inexperienced with rimming - having performed it countless times on the Master, as well as his 'guests' when prepping them for anal and a fair few times in The Club, too - it wasn't ingrained in the same way post-anal cock-cleaning or urinal-duties had become.

In other words, if I actually did what the Master had suggested -suggested, mind, not even ordered - it would be entirely by my own decision, while in as sober a mindset as I ever seemed to reach where sex was concerned. I'd be sticking my tongue up a dog's asshole purely in the hopes of coaxing Him into sticking His thick, hot doggy-cock into one of my holes again. If I did that, I'd be tacitly acknowledging this... animal before me, not just as an entertainingly humiliating addendum to my relationship with the Master, but as my Master in His own right. I felt that keenly, on some deep, instinctive level, as I got to my knees behind Him and lowered my face so that I was eye-level with His sphincter.

The musky, overwhelmingly masculine scent that seemed to emanate from beneath His tail was what broke down my last defenses, my last grains of reluctance and, on some level, humanity. Next thing I knew, I had pushed my face right in there, under the tail, and was kissing His asshole with fiery passion. My lips wrapped around His sphincter while my tongue, lubricated by saliva, drilled into the center, tasting what I'd previously only smelled: A wild, animalistic male musk, that could only have come from His wolf ancestor. For His part, he merely lifted His head from the corner he'd been snuffling at, and stood calm and still as I eagerly tongued His rear.

For many long minutes - I cannot say how many, to any degree of exactness, so caught up was I in my first canine rimjob - I tirelessly french-kissed His rear, slobbering all over His sphincter as I pushed my tongue inside to the root, dizzied by the intensity of the taste. It's impossible to describe, really - bitter, just like a human ass, but subtly yet undeniably different. Who knows how long I would have continued that sordid act if He had not at last decided its end by stepping away from me with a slight 'chuff' sound.

For a moment, I just knelt there, tongue still outstretched, not quite believing what I'd just done. As I pulled it back into my head, however, I realized that Dono had turned around and was now looking at me expectantly and, I thought, impatiently. Heartbeat quickening, I quickly pushed myself to my feet and lifted my skirt, showing off my pussy - clean-shaven [or waxed] as always - as I awaited His decision. The bright-red erection swinging beneath him now at least hinted that my petition had been accepted - but what my prize would be remained uncertain.

Walking calmly up to me, He seemed to ponder that decision for a moment - then stuck His cold, wet nose up into my pussy, followed by some electrifying licks from His broad, powerful tongue. My breathing accelerated as He then pulled away, once again gazing expectantly up at me with those large, calm eyes of His. Wasting no time, I went for the nearby recliner, sitting on the edge of the seat and leaning the back far enough back that it was closer to horizontal than anything else. My skirt was once again bunched up around my waist, and my index-fingers quickly found their way down through the three labia-rings on either side of my pussy, pulling them apart and exposing the pink interior.

Dono did not immediately mount me - instead, He stuck His head in between my spread thighs, and began to lick more deeply and insistently. His tongue easily covered my entire, spread-open pussy, or at other times drill several inches inside, twisting around in an inhumanly stimulating fashion. For several minutes, He lapped away at my cunt, drinking down the juices that were now flowing so freely from it, while I continued to hold it open for him. Soft though His tongue at first seemed, I soon realized that it was rather more abrasive than a human one - as my pussy grew more and more sore and sensitive under His insistent attentions. His nose also repeatedly nudged my clit-cover, mashing the flat spikes into the fully-engorged nub, for some added bursts of old-fashioned impact-pain.

When He finally pulled back His tongue, pain had just about overtaken the pleasure, mixing with it in a familiar fashion that made my masochistic side purr. The sensation was unique, very different from the pussy-punishments I'd previously endured and enjoyed, but it truly was no less painful than having my cunt flogged. Thus, I was already panting, highly aroused, when He finally mounted me - jumping up across my body, planting His paws on either side of my head while His tapered cock sought a suitable orifice further down.

Once again, it found its target with remarkable ease, bespeaking thorough training from whatever highly specialized Brazilian kennel the Master had purchased Dono from. The slick cock, lubricated by canine slobber, copious amounts of pre-cum, and my own free-flowing juices, slid inside easily, teasing the worn-raw tissue and sending shivers up my spine. Vaginal penetration was so rare for me, I'd just about forgotten what a man's cock felt like there by then - even in The Club, I'd hardly ever been pussy-fucked outside of my stint as a urinal, so pigeonholed was I as an 'Anal Slut'. Indeed, thinking on it, I still don't really recall. The feeling of a dog's cock filling my cunt, though, is another matter. I felt it for the first time that day, and knew I wanted more.

His knot strained my labia as it pushed inside, and his fuzzy hips put pressure on my torturous clit-shield. He was face-to-face with me then, looking down at me with calm, brown eyes before lowering His muzzle to deliver a slobbery, canine kiss. It was forceful, insistent - and I didn't hesitate to open my mouth for it, letting his tongue inside to play. My head was thus pinned to the recliner's back just as my hips were pinned to the seat as He began to fuck me, _pound_me, smashing His powerful hindquarters into my spread-open cunt.

It was deliciously painful. Everything was raw from the licking, turning the fierce thrusts and rapid pace into a recipe for instant overstimulation. Every impact saw my clitoris flattened by its cruel covering, every bit as agonizing as if I was getting a paddling there. Accustomed as I was to pussy-punishment, I doubt I could have reached an orgasm from a regular penetration there - I'm just too used to the more severe stimulation of the whip, crop or belt there. As it was, though, I soon had my legs wrapped around His strong back as I climaxed, moaning into his mouth, enjoying the feeling of being covered, overpowered, by His sheer size and strength.

I think I must have cum a solid three more times before He poured His hot cum directly into my womb, His knot inflating behind my labia and stretching them obscenely outwards. More than I've ever come from any single pussy-fucking or pussy-punishment before - this, after all, combined the pleasure of penetration with the pain of oversensitized tissue being roughly stimulated. Well, that and my clit being continuously battered by its agony-inducing shell. Either way, it struck a perfect balance, and sheer ecstasy was the result.

The slobbery yet passionate canine kiss I was on the receiving end of didn't hurt either, of course. I think the Master only ever kissed me_once_, back when we first got together. Once I'd officially submitted to Him, well, I can't really blame Him for not feeling so inclined, considering what I routinely used my mouth for. Nor were anyone at The Club eager to share a kiss with someone marked as a 'meat-toilet'. Dono, however, was not so picky, generously allowing me the pleasure of an intense tongue-wrestling session.

This delightful session ultimately ended, once He had finished emptying his balls into my grateful cunt, with Dono pushing Himself off of me and jumping off the recliner while swinging one of His hind legs over it. For a few seconds, we were ass-to-groin like that, giving me a fine view of the way my labia were bulging out from the size of the knot inside. Then He gave an experimental tug, leaning forwards - and with a brief surge of pain, made all the sweeter by the post-coital glow suffusing my mind, the knot popped out and His cum-stained member swung forwards to dangle wetly beneath His belly.

Despite all the use my ass had seen over the past few years, the vast majority of it had been courtesy of a regular-sized human cock, or a somewhat-larger dildo. As such, my sphincter was still tight enough to keep a solid grip of Dono's fist-sized knot. My cunt, though, despite its lack of recent practice, was quite a bit more flexible, its shape too different from a canine bitch's pussy to maintain a proper grip. A rather saddening realization, and I couldn't help but feel that there was a certain note of disappointment in Dono's eyes as I got off the recliner to lick His cock clean once more.

I mated with Dono three more times that day, only one of them on His prompting. That night I slept beside Him in His bed, since He graciously allowed me to do so, and was awakened by His tongue caressing my sphincter. He mounted me there on the bed, as I sleepily pushed myself up on all fours... and if I had any compunctions left, any limits to my submission whatsoever - whether in general or to my new, canine Master - they were tested and broken that morning when I faced the consequences of having my ass reamed so early, before I could go to the bathroom. After I had finished the filthy task, however, Dono graciously washed the taste out of my mouth with his strong morning piss.

Certainly, that did not deter my joy in having a Master who could be there for me in the morning, now - being able to go to work with my asshole still tingling from a recent pounding underneath my skirt, the taste of His piss still on my tongue, and knowing that He'd still be there when I came home made it ever so much easier to face the day's stresses. Better yet, when I did return home, I found that the Master had come by as well, to 'check up' on how I was getting along with Dono. He was quite happy to learn that the answer was 'quite well indeed'.

I did, however, mention to Him my disappointment in being unable to achieve a proper tie with Dono during vaginal sex, prompting a thoughtful look. "There may be something we could do about that, I think..." He said cautiously. "It will be excruciatingly painful, of course, but I don't expect that to deter you. I'll look into it and see about acquiring what I'd need to pull it off. Until then, well, you'll just have to make it up to Dono by being the best sex-slave any dog could want!" I took those words to heart, needless to say, and while I didn't see the Master for the next couple of weeks, I gradually developed a routine with Dono - one that had me submitting even more keenly to Him than I ever had to my first Master.

That routine, indeed, is largely unchanged 'till this day. Much of the tone was set from the first day - wearing my collar and leash around the house at all times, for instance, and dropping anything I'm doing if Dono tugs on it. Spreading my legs for Him, be it on my back or on all fours, whenever He shows any interest in my ever-ready genitals. Frequently begging Him for more by way of a deep, loving rim-job. Using the furniture only insofar as He allows me to. Drinking every drop of piss He produces throughout the day, always making sure to empty His bladder before going for a walk with Him.

Beyond that, well, I started cooking meals for both of us, serving His on a plate on the table, which He always licks clean much to my joy - while I eat it from a bowl on the floor. This is one of several things I do to suitably recompense Him for the indignity of having to be on collar and leash whenever I take Him for walks. Now, you might think that walking such a large and dominant dog would be difficult for a girl like myself, but you'd be wrong - Dono was, after all, carefully trained by His breeders. Whenever we go outside, He is the image of perfect behavior, walking in a steady and stately fashion, never chasing after anything, simply beholding the world with the calm eyes of a monarch on procession. All the same, it always makes me wince to strap the collar around His neck. It just doesn't seem_right_, you know?

Another way I try to compensate Him for this is... well... every day, as soon as we get back from the walk, I always drop to my knees just inside the door and thoroughly lick clean his asshole. Sound a bit sickening? I wasn't fond of it at first, either, but ever since my first morning with Dono, I've steadily grown less concerned with such things - and I seem to have developed a strong stomach, too. I no longer maintain the kind of strict anal hygiene I used to, either, since Dono doesn't seem to mind whether I've had an enema recently or not, and every time I find myself licking flecks of my own shit off His cock, it reminds me about what an incredibly dirty and perverted bitch I've become, making me even hornier.

I still keep myself beautiful, though - for Him. I work hard to stay fit and slim, keep my armpits, legs and pussy waxed bare, put on makeup. Particularly lipstick. I love leaving bright-red lipstick-marks on His cock and His asshole. Sometimes, we go for a walk right after I have given Him such treatment, daring anyone who sees us to notice my smeared lipstick and the marks on His tailhole, and put two and two together.

Ah, but the final, crowning part of my submission, of turning myself into the perfect slave-bitch for Dono, came courtesy of the Master - when, after a couple of weeks, he showed up one fine Friday evening with a satchel of tools. He explained what he could do to me with them, but also made it clear that this wasn't an order - merely an offer. He had, by that point, effectively transferred ownership of me to Dono, a fact I appreciated greatly - though, He still has the key I gave him, and still drops by every few months for an ass-fucking and a pussy-whipping, just for old times' sake.

Regardless, I obviously accepted the offer, gleefully and eagerly. The operation was performed without sedation, and was indeed every bit as agonizing as He had promised. First, he removed all six of my labia-rings. Then, using hooks attached to elastic-bands, he stretched open my labia once again - and took a piece of sandpaper to the lower inch of both of my labia, from the bottom and up to around the lowest of the piercings in both cases. The skin and upper layer of tissue was brutally removed while I screamed into the bit-gag, struggling instinctively with the restraints that held my legs still and spread.

When the lower part of both labia had been reduced to a bloody, weeping mess, a salve he'd brought was squeezed from a tube and rubbed into the raw, pain-wracked tissue. Then the hooks were removed, and the stretched-out labia squeezed tightly together. The salve and blood made them stick - and this was quickly reinforced via a curved needle and a length of medical-grade thread, as the lower inch and a half of my pussy was sewn together. Finally, a trio of tiny rings were put through each set of piercings, and then squeezed shut with a pair of pliers - effectively stapling my cunt together at three points.

"The upper two are temporary..." the Master explained once I'd recovered somewhat from the sheer agony of the operation. "They're just to remind you and Dono to stay away from that hole until it's had a chance to heal up somewhat. A week, minimum. Preferably more than that, if you can manage. The third is permanent - a key bit of reinforcement at the main stress-point." The thread was the fancy kind, which would fade on its own - absorbed by my body - over the course of a month or two. By then, the damage would have fully healed - and my pussy beneath that third ring would have permanently grown together into a single contiguous piece of flesh. All of this, together, would shorten my vaginal opening sufficiently for Dono's engorged knot to 'catch' there, rather than slip out so easily. I'd thus acquire, at last, a suitable bitch-cunt, perfect for someone devoted to serving a canine Master...

So there you have it - that's how I wound up as the willing slave-bitch of a four-legged Master, and had my pussy-hole remodeled to better serve Him. It's been several years since then, and I've never regretted any step on my path for a moment - save, perhaps, that I caused such trouble for my first Master for so long, without realizing that I wasn't a suitable slave for Him at all. For Dono, however, I believe I have made for a serviceable enough fucktoy.

Do I miss the variety of the Master's various creative attempts to keep me occupied? Maybe a bit... but don't misunderstand. It's not like my life with Dono is in any way monotonous. My days vary significantly based on His moods. Some days, He's horny, and I find myself bent over time after delightful time as my holes grow more and more deliciously sore. At other times, He grows annoyed and banishes me from the furniture, leaving me sitting on the floor beside Him as he claims the couch for His own, and sleeping in the basket at the foot of His bed through the night... I always try to get back in His good graces any way I can, of course, licking his asshole whenever He'll allow it, for as long as He'll let me, even after multiple petitions have been denied. Even so, I rather enjoy those days, in a twisted sort of way. They, more than anything, drives home the true substance of my submission. Makes it manifestly clear that He is in charge, that I live to serve His needs and desires...

The fashion in which Dono mounts me changes quite a bit too. Every time I bend over or lean back to let Him have His way with me, I do so not knowing how He will claim me. Sometimes He likes to wrap his jaws around my neck or throat while He violently fucks me, not breaking the skin or anything, just resting His fangs against it, giving me a taste of an even more animalistic sort of dominance. At other times, He's all tender kisses and deep, pleasurable thrusts. Sometimes, He continued to cover my body with His own while we're tied, exploring my mouth with His tongue or teasing my ear with it until His knot has shrunk suitably. At other times, He'll turn around as soon as He starts to cum, leaving us ass-to-ass or ass-to-groin for a while, or even dragging me about by my asshole or cunt. The modification to my pussy, fortunately, is sturdy enough to allow for this.

The Club? No, I don't go there anymore. Not that I couldn't - it is, after all, an 'underground' spot, where the laws of nation and state are second to the laws of nature. Even the relationship I share with Dono would be welcomed there. The Master made that much clear. I just don't feel any need to go there, and neither does Dono. Save for the Master's occasional visits - which is really more a matter of maintaining an old friendship and recognizing the great debt I owe Him than anything else - I am exclusive with Dono, and feel no need for any other male, be he human or canine. Sorry if you were getting your hopes up...

Can you watch? Hmm... well, I don't see why not, I suppose. Dono doesn't seem to mind - He always makes it quite clear when there's someone He doesn't like. And yes, you can jack off, if you like - just make sure to clean up after yourself. I may be a filthy little meat-toilet, but I'm an exclusive meat-toilet these days! Now, stand back a bit - I need some room in order to suitably petition Dono to fuck me silly once again...

THE END