Flush Pt. 04

[Previously published in written form under the title "The Flushing."]

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Click Here to listen: .mp3 format or .ogg format. (6 min/mp3)

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I don't have to wait long. I had nearly forgotten all about the audience in the door of the bathroom. But suddenly I am surrounded by the reverberations of footsteps on tile, crowded by warm bodies. Having finished my impromptu performance, it seems that my usefulness as a willing receptacle is more in demand than ever. I hold as still as I can as load after load is blown in my face, in my mouth, in my nose, on my breasts and in my hair. Sometimes one at a time, sometimes from multiple angles simultaneously. Some shoot from a distance. Others grab my loosening crooked pigtails and cum directly down my throat. I swallow as much as I can, trying not to cough at the thick goop clogging my nostrils or gag at the cocks forcing their way down my exhausted throat. I have no idea how many loads I've swallowed or been coated with. I tried to count but got lost somewhere around eleven. I suspect some of the men may have cum on and/or in me more than once, but I really couldn't be sure. As the frequency of cum splatterings begin to subside, they are replaced by warm, almost refreshing, streams of piss. I am drenched from every angle, covered head to toe, and down my throat as well.

But suddenly, it stops. I seem to be alone. Panting, coated inside and out in the piss and cum of countless strangers (or... were they strangers?), I proudly hold my position with every bit of dignity I deserve as the well-used human urinal and cum-bucket that I have become. And I know that is what I am now. There is no escaping it. It is a permanent part of my identity. After tonight, for the rest of my life, wherever I am, whoever I meet, whether they are old friends, acquaintances, co-workers, or strangers, I will have no way of knowing who has or has not used me for that purpose. I must simply assume that they all have. I just hope that I have done my job well.

Again, I feel the draft from the door opening against the cold sticky crustiness covering my skin, the reverberations of footsteps on tile. But familiar footsteps this time. They are yours. My untouched pussy gushes with joy at your arrival. You gingerly remove the headphones but not the blindfold.

"You are a dirty, dirty girl." I revel in the deep, commanding tones of your living, unrecorded voice.

"Yes, Sir." My lips are thick and sticky with drying cum.

"You were very useful tonight. Did you like being a human urinal and cum bucket for a bachelor party, you dirty little whore?"

"I always like to serve you. Thank you, Sir, for allowing me the opportunity to be of use. I hope my service was satisfactory, and that you will continue to use me as you see fit."

"Good girl."

My grin of sublime pleasure at this compliment is cut short by another frigid flushing. This one is longer and more thorough than the first. I am determined to maintain my urinal position until I have been granted permission to move, but I cannot stop the shivering. The only thing preventing my teeth from chattering right out of my head is my gaping, coughing, spluttering mouth as it is sporadically filled with torrents of chilled shower water.

"Th-th-thank you, S-s-s-sir! M-may I as-s-sist y-you in anyth-thing els-s-s tonight-t-t-t?"

"Take off that blindfold and go clean this place up. I want it spotless by the time I wake up." I can hear each sticky footstep as you stride out of the bathroom. Removing the sopping wet piece of cloth from my eyes with numb fingers, I stumble to my feet unsteadily. With a flash of intense satisfaction, I briefly note the pristinely untouched porcelain toilet. I have no idea how long I spent kneeling on those hard tiles, arms clasped behind me in submission to your will. The blinding morning light assaulting my unused eyes gives me some idea. Squinting around the room at the piles of beer cans, pizza boxes, overturned folding chairs (so many of them!) and confetti smushed into the carpet, I glance back toward the location of my transformation. On the bathroom door is a sign that reads:

PLEASE HELP YOURSELVES TO THE HUMAN URINAL

INSTRUCTIONS FOR USE:

PLEASE PISS AND/OR CUM IN MOUTH OR ON EXTERIOR

FACE FUCKING IS PERMITTED

FEEL FREE TO USE PIGTAILS AS HANDLEBARS

I realize two things:

1. I really have my work cut out for me, and

2. I haven't been given permission to put on any clothing."

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