Kink Drink

Author: Max Black

Chloe and I were in a Master / Slave relationship. It was early days and she was learning the dynamic and the next lesson would be ‘watersports’ or as I liked to call it ‘piss-play.)

When I suggested the idea as a process she seemed repulsed, which did not surprise me.

The fact she was so refined and elegant made a difference to me in my position. I had occasionally observed the inverse proportional aspect of kink psychology and knew this would be more powerful a method of control. The whole idea was to turn the punishment into the reward. I had always found the idea of liberation appealing and what better way to liberate someone than through slavery. (Consensual)

It was incongruity of personality over performance that appealed to my own nature. Someone so well-groomed and confidant would succumb to such degradation turned me on both mentally and sexually the two being quite hardwired together for me.

She was wearing a cocktail dress and very high heels, her dark raven like hair tied upwards and that pristine face reflecting a life of luxury, entitlement and almost a Nietzschean superiority complex. She was equally bemused by my rough East London manner as I was insulted by her privileged disposition.

She liked my firm hands on her body but it was my need to control her that lit her up like a Christmas tree, my need to command her and force her into new areas of kink that she was uncertain about, that she felt drawn to explore. Moth, flame and all that jazz.

I’d tied her up a few times, we had played with various erotic foods, we had indulged in some mild punishments and psychological sadism. She had a love hate relationship with my crop but when I first told her about drinking my piss she seemed conflicted.

This reaction was predictable, it all started when she walked into me in the bathroom, I was actually using the toilet standing up as a hard stream was directed into the bowl.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were in here.’

‘I don’t care, get on your knees and open your mouth.’

She looked horrified and then in an almost flicker I saw the look I wanted, a subtle curiosity. I had planted the idea. She left me alone while waiting outside and the throughout the whole evening I could see her conflicted nature spilling out in her awkward behaviour.

Over the next few weeks I always made a reference to this, as if watering a seedling and letting it sprout.

It did.

A few months later she herself brought the subject up.

‘Have you ever done that before?’

‘What are you referring to?’

‘That! You know, that thing, get on your knees, open your mouth thing.’

I smiled at her affectionately, knowing the roots had taken hold and a flower was about to bloom.

I whispered, ‘Do you mean making my partner drink my piss?’

‘Yes.’

She looked apprehensive as though I may judge her.

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Did they like it?’

Out of all the questions she chose that one. ‘They learnt to love it Chloe.’

Now her eyes widened, and ears pricked up, I had her attention.

‘Tell me about that?’

I looked deeply into her face and met her stare, ‘Would you like to learn?’

I could see the resistance in her eyes, but it was all fuax, a social construct as the idea felt curious to her at a deep level and she began to absorb it as something quite possible, ‘Yes,’ she said coyly, ‘I think I’d like that.’

So for a period of a few weeks I pissed into her wine glass, just a tiny shot at first and then I would fill it with a beautiful sparkling white wine, or deep red one depending upon inclination and mood. Sometimes it would be a Frangellico over ice if I felt inclined towards mercy. Each session we met I would increase the dose until it became 50% and she always without fail commented upon the distinctive flavours. Eventually she drank it straight with so much enthusiasm it made me hard.

Diet influences everything so I became acutely aware of how my piss would taste, and if I wanted Chloe to be uncomfortable or she displeased me I would just alter my diet accordingly.

Each time she would sip from her wine glass, which was an elegant champagne flute, as though attending the opera after-party, she actually made connoisseur type comments upon the taste, negative at first but after a week mostly positive.

I encouraged this when the comments were positive by affectionate words and sensual pleasure. A soft stroke of her breasts as my finger languidly caressed her nipple.

There were variations.

Often I would get her to masturbate while I watched her down shots. I would fuck her ass while she would have to drink a big pint glass. I would put a collar and lead upon her and walk her on all fours to the big bowl. She would have to lap it up and lick her lips appreciably.

The juxtaposition of the humiliating with the pleasurable would play out in confusing yearnings for her. If I had eaten asparagus she would know she was being punished and as she took mouthfuls I would hold her nose and lift her head back, making her gargle before swallowing.

All in all through behaviour modification increasingly Chloe would appear to develop a taste for it. She informed me this was because it pleased me but also it also felt so intimate. Often she would anticipate my need to urinate, fall to her knees, open her mouth expectantly. 

Chole became quite the piss slut and I often indulged her or denied if circumstances demanded.

One of the things she enjoyed was me pissing on her face and breasts and then fucking, the messier the better. Chloe began to develop an almost addictive passion and this pleased me. She became obsessed and this pleased me further. I had so much power over her through my urine, my kidneys felt worshipped. It fed my need for power over her and control, we were both very happy in this situation. After play she always felt unbounded energy, confidence and strangely free, as though transcending the taboo did actually free her. Possibly from some restricted psychological entrapment, but also the mental construct she had placed upon the idea had been surpassed and it would soon be time for something new.

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Watersports: Things You Need To Know

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Vampires, Burlesque and External Torture: Musings on Forniphilia