VIII
I rested for a few moments, thinking about what had happened to me over the past few hours. I was bound to a wooden chair, able to move only my arms, my legs tied so that my shaved pussy was splayed wide open.
I thought of the cruel things she had done to me - slapping me, binding me, and making me drink her piss. I thought of the unkind things she called me - bitch, whore, and slut. I also thought of the ways she'd humiliated me. She'd not only had a man fuck my tits, and cum on my chest, but she made me clean his cock with my mouth.
Then I though of the exquisite pleasures she had shown me. I remembered the glorious taste of her pussy. I recalled the electric touch of her fingers on my tits, and the wonderful sensation of her tongue flicking my clit. In my mind I replayed the waves of pleasure coursing through my body.
It was then that I realized that I wanted to serve this woman forever. I also knew that I didn't really care for Robert. It was then that I decided that when Mistress returned, I would tell her that I had decided to stay with her. I could think of nothing I would rather do than be her slave.
I shook myself clear of my reverie and started studying the books she had given me. One of the books was a treatise about marriage. Included in the book was a discussion on how to keep a man's wife from straying. It said that the only way to ensure a wife's faithfulness was by using a chastity belt.
The other book was a pornographic story. At one point in the novel a woman's husband finds out about her infidelity and puts her into a chastity belt. Both books had drawings of men fucking women in various positions along with a few drawings of women in chastity belts.
The drawings of the women in their belts were very simple, and without much detail, so I decided that I would start from scratch. By this time it was nearing noon, and the pressure on my bladder was increasing. In my attempts in trying to keep from peeing, I kept squirming which had the effect of rubbing the rough rope on my body. My nipples were becoming especially chapped. There was, however, not much I could do to ease my discomfort.
Just about the time I felt I couldn't hold it any longer I heard a key scrape in the lock. The door opened, and instead of Mistress, a young, about 16 years old, Negro man walked into the room.
"Who . . . who . . . who are you?" I stuttered.
"I'm Vincent. May is my aunt. She sent me by to keep you company." He walked over to me and looked me over. "You're more beautiful than May described."
"Thank you, Master."
"I'm not your master, I'm just Vincent. You must be hungry. Would you like some lunch?"
"Yes, I would, but first, I've got to go to the bathroom. Could you please untie me?"
"I'm afraid not, dear. May specifically told me that you need to learn self control, and that I am not to untie you. She did say that I could loosen your bonds, though."
He unwrapped the rope from my chest, leaving a single wrap around my chest so that I could not lean forward. When he finished, he touched my now bright red tits. "These look sore."
"Please don't hurt me," I begged.
"Don't worry dear." He caressed my hair. "May sent me because she knows she can trust me. I can't say I won't touch you, because I already have, but don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you."
He went into the kitchen to fix lunch. His words, along with his touch, were strangely comforting. In a few minutes I had relaxed enough that my bladder was once again foremost on my mind.
Suddenly I just couldn't hold it any longer and the spigot opened. It sprayed everywhere, and I hurried to cover the books.
The humiliation of being bound naked in my own dining room, spraying myself with my own piss struck me and I started to cry.
Vincent came into the room. "What's wrong?" He took the situation in stock in a moment. He knelt next to the chair, threw his arms around me and hugged me. "Shhhhh, don't cry. It's okay dear. Don't cry." He knelt there for five minutes, gently rocking me whispering comforting words into my ear.
Finally I composed myself somewhat and quit crying. "Thank you, Vincent."
"Are you going to be okay?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Can you keep this up?"
"Oh yes. I think I love May. I've never meet anyone like her. I'm trying so much to please her."
"Believe me when I tell you that you will never please May. Just when you think you've satisfied her, she‟ll move the finish line. And don't expect her to love you back. Many men have fallen in love with her and she's broken every one of their hearts."
"I don't care. I can't get enough of May. I want to be with her. I want to love her."
"Well, good luck." He stood and returned to the kitchen. He returned with a towel along with a sandwich and a glass of milk. He started cleaning up the mess I made.
"Maybe I shouldn't have any lunch," I said.
"Why not?"
"I don't want to pee myself again, and I certainly don't want to a . . . a . . . a . . .," I stuttered, unable to explain.
"Yeah, I see what you mean. But you need to eat. I have a feeling you'll need as much energy as you can get. May should be back soon. Go ahead eat."
"Okay, thank you."
Since I couldn't reach my mouth, He had to feed me.
"Do you work for May?" I asked.
He laughed. "No, no I don't work for May. I do live in her house though. I go to high school, I'm a senior."
"What does May do?"
"May will explain it all to you in due course. There is one I'll tell you now. May is in charge. You'll meet Virgil, he's May's sort of aaaa . . . errr foreman. He's got a big head and he thinks he's in charge. He'll keep pushing, and one of these days things are going to explode between him and May, and mark my words he'll lose."
I finished the meal while he sat and watched. I had never been one for small talk, and it seemed that he wasn't either. I finished my sandwich, and he cleaned up.
"Thank you, Vincent. That sure hit the spot."
"Show me what you're working on."
"May wants me to design a chastity belt for myself. At first I thought we could make it from fabric, but the more I considered about it, I realized that we'd have to make it from some sort of metal." I showed him some sketches I had made. "None of these seem right, however."
He turned one of the pages over, "What's this?"
"I was doodling; it's just a sketch of a hand."
"It's very good."
"It's okay; I'm not all that good." Suddenly, however, an idea came to me. "Let me have that, please."
Vincent handed me the sketch. I took it and drew a few lines on it. Then I made in into a slight "V" shape, and quickly sketched in a crotch.
I had forgotten Vincent was there. "Yes," he said, "That's it. That's beautiful."
"Thank you."
I spent the next hour or so refining and perfecting the design. Vincent made a few suggestions, all excellent. After finishing the drawing, we sat and talked a little.
A slight itch deep in my bowels grew into that "gotta shit" feeling. That feeling slowly grew into the urge to shit. I squirmed as much as I could, and when the pressure really started to build I looked at Vincent and begged, "Vincent, I gotta go, bad, please untie me."
"I'm sorry, I can't help. Like it told you, May gave me specific instructions not to untie you, especially if you need to go to the bathroom. I'm sorry."
I couldn't hold it any longer, as the turd started to emerge from my asshole, I started to cry. Vin-cent walked behind me and hugged me.
"Sshhhhhh, don't cry. It'll be okay."
His words and his touch comforted me. I heard the key in the door, and May entered.
"Damn, what stinks?"
"Me, Mistress, I had an accident."
She walked over and looked down at the chair. "I guess you did, you filthy slut. Did you come up with any designs for your belt?"
"Yes, Mistress," I showed her the drawing.
"Slave, you are good. This will be beautiful." She turned to Vincent. "Come with me." She led him out the door. She returned about five minutes later.