A Dog From Hell

Part 1: A kiss in the mirror

“Now get down on your knees!”

I looked at the floor. The tiles were wet, footprints in dirt. Footprints left by shoes of many men emptying their bladders hour after hour. I felt slightly nauseous. The shivering worsened. I could smell the urine on the floor, I could see the yellow surfaces of urinals. I couldn't. I couldn't do it.

“Get DOWN on your knees, Helen” said David impatiently. “Now!” he added, lifting his voice just a little bit to show his irritation. I looked down in shame.

“I… I can't do it” The shivering intensified. I hesitated looking up to his face to see his reaction.

He was staring at me as if thinking whether slapping me was the thing to do.

“Aw, come on. What the fuck is this now? Eh? What the FUCK?” His voice rose at the end of the sentence and produced a brief echo in the men's room.

“David, please” my voice sank. I was barely able to whisper. I knew he'd be mad. “I…”

“Aw, shut the fuck up, man.” He cut right into it. “Shut the fuck, up, Helen, I don't need to hear your excuses. Just get DOWN on your fucking knees right now or stop wasting my time with your babbling.” He made a gesture as if he was going to leave.

“No… David, please” I looked at the floor again. No, I couldn't do it.

“Aw, fuck” said he in a disappointed voice. He checked the time on his telephone. “Yo, I knew you were a disappointment, Helen. Fuck. I did hope you'd come through for me, but now I'm not sure why. You're just not like that. You talk the talk, but that's about it. When it comes to putting your money where your mouth is you're just a little scared girl.”

By this point the shivering turned into trembling. I was beyond control, my throat dry and tight, my eyes going blind from the tears. I was shaking my head left to right. I wanted to tell him how much he meant to me, I wanted to tell him he was the only man I cared about. I wanted to tell him that I just needed some more time. I'd do it for him. For him I would.

But I couldn't speak. I was staring at him, tears starting to roll down my cheeks. I was unworthy of looking into his face, the failure staring back in silence. He was right. I was a worthless cunt. I was a waste of his time.

David never punished me for anything. I deserved my punishment, oh, how I deserved it. I deserved to be slapped right there on the spot. Slapped like a little girl acting obnoxiously in front of her parents, or a prostitute acting up in front of her pimp. I deserved to have my hair pulled and to be forced to my knees, to have my face shoved into the urinal right there. But, David never punished me for anything. He never cared enough to punish me, never cared.

I looked at the floor. I closed my eyes, then opened them again. It didn't get any cleaner. I started lowering myself slowly. For him. For him, I will do it. I didn't deserve him, but he didn't deserve me refusing his orders.

David noticed the change in my attitude and mumbled approvingly. “That's more like it, sweetie, show me you can be a good girl.” He seemed pleased that the situation was getting firmly under his control. “But first, I want you to take your shoes off.”

I looked at him in puzzlement for a second. He nodded reassuringly, smiling at me, all his impatience and anger now just a distant memory. He made a gesture with his hand, encouraging me to take my shoes off. I was wearing pointy, sexy high heels, just for him. The shoes he pointed out in a shop's window one day and said ‘These are the shoes for a true whore. The one that's true at heart'. I bought them the next morning and the next evening I had one of the strongest orgasms in my life. True at heart.

These shoes had higher heels than any shoes I ever owned before. They were not particularly comfortable or easy to walk in. Wearing them made me feel very self-conscious, the first few days I was barely able to walk the streets because I imagined everyone's eyes on me. They make me look like a whore, I kept telling myself.

I remember the salesgirl at the shop while I was trying them on. I couldn't believe how calm and businesslike she was. Because I was breathless and hot in the face. I knew I was blushing as the unknown sensation was overcoming my whole self. I was no stranger to wearing high heels, yet my feet were never arched this way, my bottom was never so high up, so firm, my legs never looked this long. I couldn't stop eyeing myself in the mirror as my heart kept drumming with excitement. A whore. A true whore. That's what I kept repeating to myself. I stayed in them after I paid and walked all the way home rather than taking a taxi, despite them being rather uncomfortable. My panties were so wet after I reached my apartment from all the looks I got that I had to fight the urge to phone David straight away. This was supposed to be a surprise.

“Come on, sweetie” David's soft voice brought me back to the present, “take them off”.

The weather was getting warm. I was walking around with no stockings on for a couple of weeks already. All I had on besides the shoes was a thin golden chain around my left ankle. I detested the idea of stepping on the men's room dirty floor with bare feet. But I made the decision. For David. I first took my left shoe off. The cold, wet tiles made me shiver all over again. I removed the other shoe. I felt strangely vulnerable standing barefoot on the floor of one room where I had no place being to start with.

“Come on, love, I'll take care of those”, David took my shoes with a smile and put them aside. “Go on, go on, keep us entertained”, he waved.

Shaking where I stood I knew what I had to do. He explained it all to me beforehand, while we were sitting at the restaurant's table and eating vegetarian salads. I knelt on one knee, rolling my skirt up to avoid it getting dirty as much as possible. Thankfully, it was short to start with.

“That's a good whore, Helen. Now get down on the floor”

Oh my God. He called me a whore. I was barefoot in a public toilet, kneeling in dirty water next to a urinal and the man who would not be my lover called me a whore.

The shivers didn't subside but kneeling on the tiles and holding onto the urinal I was more able to control myself. How long were we in the toilet already, anyway? It seemed like ages even though it probably was not more than a minute. How long before someone walks in? How long before David is pleased and we can go?

“Come on, Helen, be a good girl now. You know you how much you wanted this.”

I do? Do I? Did I want this? Did I want to be taken to a fine dinner in a suburb restaurant, have two glasses of red wine while listening to David's enchanting voice and then be taken to a dirty toilet and humiliated like the cheapest prostitute in the world? Did I want this?

He put his phone up, looking at the display. He put his other hand on his groin and started to massage the bulge clearly visible through the fabric of the trousers.

Did I want this?

I looked at the urinal. I saw where its white face turned yellow from shame. From having thousands of customers piss in it. I saw a wrinkled pubic hair in there, somehow stuck and stubbornly resisting the stream of water.

Did I want this?

I knew. He was right. David was right. I knew I wanted it. I knew, because my panties were so wet even back there in the restaurant, I was afraid there would be a spot on my skirt. Because merely kneeling down on the floor almost made me orgasm. Because he knew what I was. At heart. A dirty slut. A true whore. Wet from humiliation. Wet from shame.

As I slowly positioned my face inside the urinal I heard the sound of zipper opening. I closed my eyes and brought my face down. My nose touched the cool surface of the urinal's insides. With my eyes closed, the smell was occupying most of my mind. The smell of urine. The smell of male piss. Generations of male piss on top of each other, right there under my nose. It was intoxicating. It made my head spin. It should have made me want to puke in disgust. Instead, dear Lord, forgive me, it made me horny. It made me horny with shame, horny with humiliation and pure desire to be fucked. I heard the clicking sound mobile phones make when taking pictures. I wanted this.

I turned my head back so David could get a picture of my face wet from water. Wet from stale male piss. I looked over my shoulder, back at him, as he was taking another picture, his left hand slowly stroking his erect penis. I was wet, my cunt dripping with the desire to be fucked. I looked over my shoulder back at David. David… Oh, David, my love. Why don't you fuck me?

“Come on, sweetie, let's see some action now” said he, breathing heavily.

“Baby…” I whispered, “Why don't you fuck me? I am so horny and wet. I need your cock so bad. Come on, baby, why don't you give it to me? Please…”

David masturbated slowly. He made a gesture with his other hand:

“Come on, get your face back in there, Helen. Show me what you got. Come on.”

I turned to face the urinal once again. Another tear rolled down my cheek but it didn't matter any more, my face would be wet in a matter of seconds.

I leaned forwards, I buried my face into the urinal. The smell overcame my whole being once again. But this time around I didn't just breathe in deeply. This time around I placed my face onto the cold surface and extended my tongue.

“Oh, yeah, whore, oh, yeah, do it”, David's voice was deep and soft as he got closer to me to get pictures. His breathing was fast, his words bouncing up and down as he accelerated the strokes. “You are such a whore, Helen. Such a dirty fucking whore.”

This was too much. I was never humiliated in this way, never brought so low. I couldn't take it any more. Despite the instructions he gave me in the restaurant, I reached between my legs and started touching myself. My panties were so wet they were sticking to the smooth skin around my cunt. They WERE my second skin. Touching myself through them brought me immense pleasure. Until David slapped my arse:

“Stop that right now, Helen. You know you are not allowed to masturbate.”

I knew. David… When will I stop being a failure and become worthy of you?

“I am… sorry… I couldn't stop myself… I am sorry, David…”

“Stop yakking, cunt, and show me how you clean that urinal with your tongue. I didn't come here to listen to you talk.”, David was masturbating again, my apologies just fuelling a stream of insults rolling down from his tongue. I made him hot and hard. I made you hot and hard, David.

His phone made more of those clicking noises as I licked the inner side of the urinal. I cried silently, the tears flowing without spasms or loud noises, as I cleaned the piss, lapping like a dog. Every few seconds I'd bury my face in water at the bottom but then go again to licking the urine. I looked for the wrinkled pubic hair in there and collected it with my tongue. I positioned my face so that David could see what I was doing as I swallowed. Then I continued licking as his breathing got louder and louder.

“Oh, God. Oh, you fucking whore, lick that piss, clean that fucking thing, I want to see it shine after you're done. Come on, you slut, you toilet slut, do it!!”

And he made more of the pictures as I obeyed, trying to lick all of the yellow off, eager to please him, eager to make him happy.

“That's it, slut, you know where you belong. You'll get better at this with time. Oh, yes… Oh, yes… Oh, God! Oh GOD!! OH, FUCK, HELEN, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, YOU DIRTY WHORE, HELEN!!!!”

I felt gushes of his semen fall on my hair as he was shouting in orgasm. David was cumming on me. David was shooting his cum all over his whore's hair as his whore continued licking the urinal in the men's room. Another clicking noise. And then another. Breathing slowing down.

He was done. He came and that was all that is important. No one walked in. And now it was over. I started lifting my head up and away from the dirt.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, where the fuck do you think you're going?” David pushed my head gently downwards. “There's more on the menu, sweetie.”

More? More on the menu? I couldn't possibly tell what he had in mind but he wanted my face back in the urinal and that's where it belonged.

“That's a good girl. Stay like that.” I could hear him click and whirr with the phone and adjust his position behind me. “Just like that”

A hot stream of fluid hit the back of my head.

“Awwww, fuuuuck!!!!”, exclaimed David, rejoicing in his relief, triumphant in my humiliation, every little filthy detail of it. “Come on, turn your head a bit to the side. That's it, that's a good slut.”

He aimed with his penis and pissed in my face. I kept my eyes tightly shut to keep his urine out. To keep the image out. To keep my tears in. This will be over, it will be over soon, it's almost over, Helen.

Nobody ever did this to me. I wouldn't let anybody do this to me. Only David. And not even David told me he'd do this. He never mentioned pissing all over my face and hair after he already humiliated me beyond all limits I could imagine. He was using me. He was using me selfishly like he ever did, using me as I was full of shame, helpless, broken and horny, my God, so horny, so dirty, so wet and horny. He had me where he wanted me. So he decided to piss all over me.

“Agghhh, fucking shit, MAN, what a whore you are, Helen. What a WHORE you are.” He kept repeating that word. He kept repeating that word as my stomach muscles convulsed with every repetition. He stepped back, mumbling to himself, presumably putting his dick back in place and tucking himself in.

“You can touch yourself now, whore. I know how wet you must be right now. God, isn't that fascinating?” I could hear him move behind me but my mind was now focusing on one thing only. “Oh, wait, did I say ‘fascinating'? I meant disgusting. Yeah, yeah, that's the word I was looking for. Dis-fucking-gusting. A toilet slut all wet from being pissed upon. Nice one, Helen, nice one. Get on with it!”

My mind was focusing on one thing only, as I buried my hand between my thighs and felt the swollen labia under my fingertips. I found my clit and started nervous, quick circular motions. I extended my ring-finger and pushed the fabric of my panties in. I managed to get almost half a finger up my cunt before the fabric stretched to its limit. It didn't matter. I was cumming. I was cumming like a whore David knew I am from the first minute he laid his eyes on me. I was cumming with my face in the urinal, moaning into its porcelain ear, kissing its porcelain lips. I was cumming, violently thrusting my hips onwards, trying to fuck my fingers through my soaked panties. I was cumming, my hair and face wet from David's semen and piss, cumming in front of him, giving him what he wanted to see. A whore unable to control itself. A slut he found in me and dragged to the surface screaming. A slave begging to be enslaved. A soul begging to be freed. All that, at the tip of my fingers, twitching, hot and slippery.

I came like a bitch for David but it could not, would not be enough. I couldn't stop myself. I had to cum again. Please, I have to come again.

I used my fingers on me, stroking my clit, and fucking my cunt so wet and slippery from my own juices. I moaned in a low, harsh voice, trying to keep it down as pleasure kept building up and up and up, threatening to destroy whatever was left of me there. I was nearing it. I was getting close to my second orgasm and I was scared as I furiously fucked myself with my fingers. I was scared of losing control but I couldn't stop myself. I moaned and groaned into the urinal.

And then.

“Lady?”

No. No, please no.

“Lady?”

Please, no, God, please no, no, please, don't let this happen, please no, please God.

“Lady, are you feeling alright?”

God, no, please, no.

So close… I was so close.

“Lady, is there something wrong? Want me to call a doctor?”

No no no no no no no no no no no

Like a reel of film slowed down to that ridiculous speed that makes people in it float through the air comically. Unable to break away. I turned around.

A fat, balding men in a blue jumpsuit, mobile phone in his hand. Puzzled look on his face.

No David anywhere in sight.

Please God, no.

I leapt to my feet but the film reel refused to roll any faster.

God, why? Why?

David is gone. The door. Where is the door?

Left. Right. Left again. I started to run. He kept talking. Confused, fast talk. No words I could understand. The door. Its frame was frozen in front of my eyes. Impossible to reach and infinitely far away. I ran towards it but it kept the distance.

In one long, eternal breath I broke through the door and ran through the restaurant, blind with tears and layers of red in front of my eyes. I had no idea where to run. I moved through tar, every step taking whole lifetimes. I caught glimpses of surprised faces, men, women. No, no, no, no, God, why? No, please, no.

I made it to the street and kept running, my breath burning my lungs with every step. My bare feet made short, sharp noises against the concrete. My shoes. My slut shoes. I left them behind. Lost. Forever.

Just keep running. Just keep running.

And then I realised I was near the parking lot. And then I realised David was sitting on the bench in front of it. He made a comical gesture as if to protest because of me talking so long to arrive. My shoes, my slut shoes were resting on the bench at his side.

“You sure took your sweet time, sweetie”, he said, getting up. “Come on, let's get into a car, you look a mess.”