The Homecoming

Two nights before he was due to go home, the routine was shattered. Derick didn't come for him. Doris did. She unchained him from the hearth and led him by a leash. He was forced to navigate his way up the narrow, creaking stairs to her bedroom. The room was surprisingly feminine, cluttered and cozy, with faded floral wallpaper and a thick, patchwork quilt on the large bed. She made him kneel in the center of the worn rug.

Then she began to undress. Her bulky clothes hid a surprisingly powerful, curvy body. She had little fat; she was solid, built of strong muscle and sturdy bone. Her breasts were large and heavy, tipped with surprisingly large, dark nipples that stood out in the cool air. But it was when she removed her final layer of clothing that Eamon's breath caught. Between her legs was a thicket of hair, the bushiest he had ever seen, a wild, dark forest that was both intimidating and strangely compelling.

His cock, still uncaged, twitched at the sight. Doris noticed and smiled, a slow, predatory curve of her lips. She lay back on the bed, her legs falling open, and began to play with herself. Her fingers, the same calloused ones that had caused him so much pain, now moved with a practiced, sensual grace over her own body. She pleasured herself in front of him, her eyes half-closed, her breath hitching. He was forced to watch, a voyeur to her private pleasure, his own arousal a painful, humiliating ache.

The door creaked open, and Derick entered. He was naked, his thick body already erect. Doris didn't stop. "He's ready for you," she said to Derick, nodding at Eamon.

Derick strode over and ripped the bit gag from Eamon's mouth. "Get me ready, pup," he growled, shoving his cock towards Eamon's face.

The command was clear. The humiliation was absolute. He was to be the preparer, the fluffer for the man who had tormented him. With tears of shame streaming down his face, Eamon took Derick into his mouth, his movements clumsy and reluctant. He did what was required until Derick, grunting with satisfaction, pushed him away.

Eamon was then forced to bear witness as Derick took Doris. It was raw and primal. Derick fucked her mouth, her cunt, and then her arse, his powerful body pounding into hers, filling each of her holes with his seed. Eamon watched, his stomach churning, a mixture of revulsion and a twisted, unwanted envy.

When Derick was finished, Doris rose from the bed. She stood over a large stainless dog bowl on the floor. With a series of deep, muscular clenches, she let Derick's seed drip out of each of her used holes, the thick fluid pooling in the bowl. Then, legs spread wide, she bent her knees and began to piss, a steaming, golden stream that hissed as it hit the bowl, mixing with the other fluids. The room filled with the sharp, acrid smell.

She turned to Eamon and removed the head harness. Derick grabbed him by the hair and forced his head down, pushing his face into the foul concoction. "Clean it up," Doris commanded. "Every last drop."

They made him lick the bowl clean, the taste of their combined fluids a bitter poison on his tongue. He gagged, he retched, but Derick's hand was an iron clamp on his head, forcing him to continue until the bowl was spotless. Only then was he allowed to sit up, his face smeared with their mess.

Doris sat on the edge of the bed, her legs spread. She looked at him, her eyes dark with satisfaction. As he knelt there, broken and defiled, she began to touch herself again, her fingers moving slowly, deliberately. She brought herself to a final, shuddering orgasm, her eyes locked on him the entire time, a final, silent assertion of her absolute power over him.