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Chapter 4 part 5 A Submissive Female of New York City

Chapter 4 part 5
A Submissive Female of New York City

He found a Middle Eastern take-out near the hotel. Kafka, falafel, and French fries, complete with sauce and salad, seemed a good match for what he had in mind.

Not until they reached the hotel's revolving door did he put the leash on Sue. After whispering instructions, he pulled her inside, her carrying both bags.

Sue unzipped the dress and pulled it down to her waist right there in the hotel lobby. Her white bra was tightly drawn against her bulging tits. Not only did she look like a prostitute, but a particularly brazen one.

There were four men and two women already in the elevator when they entered. No sooner had the door closed than Sue dropped the dress, revealing white garters.

Phil yanked on the leash and started making out with Sue in the elevator. Of the women, one looked annoyed, but the other seemed intrigued. All the men had broad grins.

When they got off, Phil took the bags and jerked the leash down, forcing Sue to all fours. He walked his dog all the way to their room, to the consternation of the maids they passed.

The door of the room next to Phil's opened. It was the same man who Sue had stripped for yesterday. Astounded, he gawked at her, now shamelessly on her hands and knees. When they reached his door, Phil let go the leash to fish out his key. Sue stood up, took the other man's face in her hands, and kissed him. He was touching his lips, staring at her, as they entered Phil's room.

Phil did not shut the door as Sue shed the last of her clothes, nor as he chained her up again. The two maids had joined the man in the hallway, staring at them through the doorway.

"Close the door," he commanded.

Sue crawled over to the door, looking up at the astonished onlookers, eyes twinkling, and nudged the door shut with her head.

"Get the dog bowl," he ordered. Still on all fours, she trundled off to get it, holding it in her mouth as a dog would. Phil began tossing pieces of food into it. "Don't use your hands to eat," he commanded her.

Phil luxuriated as he ate comfortably with fork and knife in the desk chair, watching his slave groveling in the dog bowl. It was harder for her than it might have been for a real dog, but this only aroused Phil more. She ended up with food stains dripping on her face.

Now, slave, he said, wash the bowl then fill it with water to clean your face. He never got tired of seeing Sue bent low on the ground, her ass rising in the air.

Once clean, she undressed him with her teeth without another word. She paid him his respects, prostrating himself on the floor to kiss his feet, crawling under him to kiss his ass, and back again to kiss his hard cock.

"But for now," he went on, "fetch me a drink."

Sue crawled over to the bag, pulled out the large bottle of Diet Coke, and prepared him a glass, complete with ice. He sat down on the couch, and she curled up on the floor, kissing his knees.

You have work to do, cunt. He jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom. They had bought vodka, citronella oil, and lemon juice, which when mixed makes a highly effective disinfectant — one that is safe to lick.

Phil kept leering at her, on her hands and knees cleaning his bathroom. It wasn't dirty — no one had used it since housekeeping did their pass — but a shackled naked woman doing that most demeaning of tasks is truly a sight for sore eyes. Take that, Andrea Dworkin, Phil thought spitefully, watching Sue hum to herself scrubbing the sides of his toilet, her chains clinking, her bare ass in the air.

He went out to pour himself another drink, but Sue scampered after him like a rabbit. "Don't do any work, my lord. I must serve you." She poured him the drink and looked hopefully at his cock.

"I hope it tastes like Diet Coke."

Phil almost dropped the glass. She winked at him and crawled back to the bathroom. He felt his heart thumping with anticipation, the butterflies gathering in his stomach.

Was this really happening? Phil still had trouble believing it. His memory flashed back to when he'd first started talking to Sue, and she'd floated this idea. He'd almost ended the conversation, so appalled had he been at the concept. Yet slowly but surely, Sue had worn down his objections.

"I'm ready, master," she sang out.

Phil took another swig of the drink and tried to steady himself. He had always been rigidly puritanical about the toilet. Even as a boy, he'd preferred to use stalls rather than letting others see him at the urinal. Now he was going to—

"I'm ready to be your piss whore, my lord," Sue called out, impatience in her voice.

He went into the bathroom. It was spotless, not a hint of dirt anywhere, shining brightly. The floor smelled delightful, a mix of citrus scents and liquor.

"I have something for you, master," said Sue, unable to repress the enormous grin on her face. She held out a pair of transparent plastic bags. "Put these on your feet."

They weren't plastic bags, he realized, they were overshoes. So that he could step in—

Sue picked up the dog bowl and looked at him expectantly.

Phil had lost his erection entirely. He had the feeling most people get when about to give a speech. He put his hands on his cock and aimed at her chest.


As a young boy, his mother had scolded it into him. Don't urinate anywhere except in the toilet. Those inhibitions cannot be simply willed away.

"Are you having trouble, master?" asked Sue.

Phil ran out of the room and headed for the Diet Coke, drinking it straight out of the bottle. He drank and drank till he could drink no more, almost finishing all two liters.

"My lord," said Sue when he returned, "maybe you should look at the toilet, not at me." If he stood by the wall, aiming at the toilet would only hit her.

It worked.

The stream of his urine struck her in the chest. It was a whitish, almost transparent stream, not the dark yellow of early morning. But it was piss. It was disgusting. It smelled. Phil would never think to let such filth touch him, and he would carefully wash his hands after going to the bathroom. But Sue was taking it proudly. He could not deny the look of erumpent joy in her face. He had not seen a woman so completely, unutterably happy in a very long time.

"Put it in my face. Please, master."

A purist would have upbraided her for impertinence, but Phil was no purist. He pissed on her face. He was defiling her, dirtying her, making her a residue for his filth. Animals mark their territory, their property, by spraying it. Phil felt like an animal now not conscious, of values not conscious of ethics, conscious only of his own passions. She was female, he was male. Her purpose was to serve him. The more dirty and deviant she was, the more he desired her.

She had closed her eyes, but she was smiling, a sweet, joyful smile that made his heart leap. In her abasement she had found glory; in abnegation had come redemption. Phil's cock grew rock-hard again, making it harder to aim. He was so excited that he could not stand still. His squirms hit her in the forehead. They soaked her hair. They even struck her on the eyelids. But nothing fazed her. Nothing could erase the look of bliss on her face.

Then her jaw dropped.

To be continued
Written by nutbuster (D C)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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