Always Time for Wickedness

Oct 22, 2013

‘Why?’ you might ask, was I to be found filling my domestic slave’s shoes to the point of overflowing with my warm, fresh house champagne in the dungeon last night?  Well the answer is that as a Mistress my time is extremely valuable and every second counts. Admittedly I am a Mistress with a voracious appetite in many things.  I love to keep fit, I love to eat, and I live to torment. So naturally, although I am a control freak who knows I can always do better than anyone else, I still occasionally allow the odd wretch of a male to do the odd basic job for me. Handing over this control is not however an easy feat, especially when the wretch in question is so easily befuddled by simply adding two tasks together that I find that neither of them is completed to my satisfaction.  Ask him, for example, to fetch my coffee and hang something up and the result is that cup gets left on the side and the clothes get forgotten, What, you may ask, is the slave doing? Well the answer is simply dribbling, drooling and lusting over my seamed stockings with which he seems to be utterly preoccupied. And, if my slave is constantly wasting my time, then two can play the time-saving game after all.


One of the many demands on my time is – just like all of us – the need to periodically go to the bathroom through the course of the working day. Sometimes, of course, there is a slave requiring a watersports’ session, but that is not always the case. It seemed fitting therefore that I should use my owned domestic subbie’s footwear yesterday as a handy receptacle for a bladder-full of hot piss, thereby saving me the time that it would have taken to walk to the bathroom downstairs.  His face was a picture as I told him to take off his shoe - and then handed it back to him a few moments later full of warm pee, along with the instruction to hurry to empty it in the bathroom before it started to leak all over my floor.  His left trainer was, I found, surprisingly waterproof and was just the correct size to hold a Mistress’s full load without spilling a drop.


Once I had perfected the art of pissing into his left shoe, it seemed only natural that I should also use his right shoe as a handy receptacle on the next occasion when I felt that nagging little sensation telling me that I shouldn’t put off a visit to the bathroom any longer.  Accordingly, my slave was soon left with two soaking wet shoes and with the prospect of a soggy drive home once he had finished all of his domestic chores for the day.  He may have felt that his piss duties were over for the day – but he would have been mistaken. Seeking to be as cruel as I could be, I waited until he had just finished one of his regular tasks of mopping clean my dungeon floor before announcing that I needed to pee once again. With no remaining, dry footwear available, the wretch was reduced to kneeling on the floor, trying to catch Niagara Falls in his cupped hands and failing miserably.


I had to admire the ingenuity of his frantic attempts to drink as much warm piss as possible from his cupped hands but, of course, he couldn’t prevent the flood from spreading across the floor as it poured forth in a seemingly endless stream. The result was that he was soon back on his hands and knees mopping up the floor once again and licking up the house champagne from all those awkward little corners where the mop does not easily reach. I left him scrubbing everywhere clean with the dire threat of a severe beating if he failed to make my floor spotless once again.  I am hoping that lessons such as these might improve this slave’s concentration and make him more useful as time goes by. I do worry, however, that he is slow to learn and seems to need repeated teaching: it’s almost as though he enjoys such treatment!

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