Breaking and Entering - Watersports Pissing Bondage.
By John Martin
Final Warning: This is a strong story depicting enforced watersports, scat (defecation), bondage and torture. It is not for the sensitive: if you think you might be offended you must leave now.
Tracey had been watching the house, on and off, for weeks. The car was
always parked in the driveway overnight. But not tonight, a Friday. They
were almost certainly away for the weekend. She rang her friend Sharon
to tell her the news, to warn her to be ready to do a job, and to meet
at Tracey's at around 3:30am. Everything was set.
They were an unlikely pair, thrown together by circumstances and
necessity. Tracey, 19 years old, tall, world-wise and athletic, had got
into thieving by receiving stolen goods from her brother and selling
them on to her friends, no questions asked. He was in prison now;
neither could remember their parents who had them taken into care when
Tracey was only three. Life was tough, and Tracey had to do he best she
could. She was determined not to go on the Game, even she had her
principles. But doing the odd bit of breaking and entering seemed easy.
She'd done dozens of jobs now - videos, money, anything that could be
lifted - and liked having cash around.
Sharon had just turned 17 and was already a wreck. She'd been doing
crack for over two years now and desperately needed money all the time
to keep her habit going. Slim, blonde and petite, she was once a beauty,
but not any more. She smoked pot when she could afford it, had dabbled
with heroin (miraculously she didn't get hooked), and had a 2 year-old
kiddie. She never knew who the father was, it could have been anyone.
Tracey had taken her under her wing 6 months earlier on the condition
that she helped her get rid of stuff. Gradually, Tracey wanted more and
more, and now insisted she came on jobs with her as well. That way she
could lift more.
They arrived at the back of the house - still no car in the drive - and
everything looked quiet. It was a detached house and the back was well-
shielded from the neighbouring houses by thick shrubs and trees. Just
the way Tracey liked it. A quick tap on the kitchen window, a turn on
the handle and they were in. This was going to be a doddle.
Dave Garrett awoke suddenly. He listened but could hear nothing. He
made to shake his wife before remembering that he was on his own for the
weekend; Karen had taken the car down to Kent to see her sister that
afternoon. It was probably just a cat knocking a milk bottle over. He
turned over, bunched the pillow up, and tried to sleep.
In the room below, Tracey already had the video out. She looked around
the room and couldn't find much else worth nicking. The answerphone
perhaps; and maybe some CDs. Everything else was too big. There had to
be some cash somewhere. Tracey was in no great hurry - the house was
empty (or so they thought) - and she even fancied having a bit of a
party. There was a well-stocked drinks cabinet in the living room - why
not? Sharon was getting anxious. She was still new to this and preferred
to get in, grab the stuff and get out. "Aw, come on Trace, let's get out
of here. I'm shit-scared", said Sharon, making no effort to keep her
voice down.
Dave sat up. This time he was SURE he could hear voices downstairs.
There was no doubt about it, he WAS being burgled. The phone was
downstairs and all he could do was listen. But what if they came
upstairs? He couldn't just stay there, surely? He decided the best plan
was to get up, grab his old cricket bat from the back of the wardrobe,
and wait behind the bedroom door. Armed and ready. He moved across the
floor as quietly as he could, carefully took the bat out, and waited.
Within seconds he could hear footsteps coming up the stairs. They
weren't man's steps at all; and only one? He was puzzled. Perhaps
it was his wife? Maybe there'd been a problem on the way down, perhaps
her house keys had been stolen and she had to smash a window to get in?
The footsteps approached the bedroom door and Dave's heart was
pounding. He gripped the bat, his palms now sweating profusely. In the
darkness he could make out a figure enter the room. He could only really
see a silhouette of a small woman with a good figure, but that was
enough. The long blonde hair clinched it; it had to be his wife, Karen.
"God, love, you nearly frightened the shit out of me. What the hell are
you doing creeping around like that?" He dropped the cricket bat out of
relief and turned to switch the bedroom light on. He wasn't the only one
in the room, literally shit-scared. Sharon realised with horror that the
house wasn't empty, and that she'd go down for months if the guy put the
light on and saw her. She panicked.
Dave put the light on, and turned round. He thought he heard something
and noticed a piece of wood touching him on the shoulder, pushing. Then
the bed appeared to tip up. He looked down and the floor seemed to be
coming towards him. For some reason, his head twisted around to the
right. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Within seconds he was out
cold on the floor in a crumpled heap. Sharon had whacked him as hard as
she could on the side of the head with his own cricket bat. "Bloody
hell, Sharon, what the fuck have you done?", Tracey said peering down at
the 'dead' body. "You've only gone and killed the bastard. OH MY GOD!".
In fact she hadn't and Tracey knew very well she hadn't, she just liked
to wind Sharon up. But he was out cold and it would be nearly ten
minutes before he was to come round.
"Let's get out of here!", screamed Sharon, "I think I've shit myself."
"No!", said Tracey, not liking being told what to do by her protégée.
"There must be some cash in the house, and he'll have credit cards.
Maybe we can get the PINS out of the bastard as well? He hasn't seen us,
right?". Sharon nodded, almost close to tears now. "Right then", said
Tracey, trying to reassure her, "Let's stay calm and get the most out of
this. Leave this to me, I've got an idea". Sharon still wasn't happy.
"Oh Trace, I just want to get out of here, I really have shit my
panties." Tracey gave her a reassuring cuddle. "Don't cry pet, take your
jeans and panties off and we'll get you cleaned up", she said, glancing
down at the heap lying near her feet. He looked pathetic, in his
wincyette cotton pyjamas.
Just then an evil smile played across her coarse features. "And
anyway", she said to the 'body', giving it a kick, "I've got plans for
YOU."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The two young women busied themselves during the next few minutes: it
was like a military campaign. Tracey decided they were going to have a
bit of fun. They noticed a couple of large, solid looking hoops on
either side of the bed's headboard. Ironically Dave had installed them
himself for some mild S&M games which Karen liked (but he wasn't really
into himself, he did it to please her) in which she liked to be 'tied
up' with ribbons while Dave tickled her into 'submission' on her nipples
with a feather duster. But Tracey and Sharon had no games in mind.
First they stripped him naked and carried him onto the double bed. They
then used the cord from the white dressing gowns marked 'His' and 'Hers'
- how cute! - to firmly tie his wrists to the hoops above the bed. Next,
they needed something to blindfold him with. Tracey remembered she was
wearing a pantie-pad (she was near the end of her period), so they put
that over his eyes - messy side in, of course - and tied it in place
with an old pair of tights, from the household dirty linen basket. They
found some 2" wide Elastoplast in the bathroom cabinet, so they stuck
that down over his mouth. The 'body' was still out cold.
Meanwhile, Sharon had taken off her jeans and shit-filled panties, and
was heading towards the bathroom to clean herself up. Tracey stopped
her. "Where are you off to? You really don't have a clue do you?". Their
victim was still dead to the world and helpless, so Tracey led Sharon
across to the wardrobe and opened it up. There was a whole selection of
very expensive looking mens' suits. Tracey took one out and looked at
the label; 'Giorgio Armani'. Very nice. She took the trousers off the
hanger and handed them to Sharon. "Here you are gal, wipe your arse on
that. Only the best for you!" They both giggled and Sharon dutifully
obliged, tossing the shit-streaked trousers in the wardrobe when she'd
finished.
Time for a party, so Tracey went downstairs, while Sharon kept an eye
on her charge, to find some booze. The 'body' was still breathing
shallowly through his nose, which was just beneath Tracey's used pantie-
pad and his wife's old tights. Perhaps this was the reason that
Dave's cock slowly began to stiffen, even though he was out cold. Sharon
gazed at it with wonder and giggled. She was feeling a lot better now,
and was beginning to enjoy this. She leaned forward and took his cock
into her mouth, and slowly began to give him a blow-job. Not for HIS
benefit, of course, but for hers. She liked sucking cock far more than
straight sex.
Meanwhile, Tracey was in the kitchen with the fridge door open. There
was a large bottle on the middle shelf covered in coloured wrapping
paper, with a label attached. "To Karen, my darling wife, on our 5th
Wedding Anniversary". She unwrapped it; it was a bottle of champagne!
She reappeared upstairs to find Sharon working away furiously at Dave's
cock. She'd almost done with him, and Tracey duly waited until she had
before announcing the good news. "Oh darling, we simply must have
some champers!". They both giggled and opened the bottle with a loud
'THONK'. The cork hit the ceiling, bounced off, and fell down onto
Dave's stomach. Tracey put the frothing bottle to her mouth a took a
huge swig, trying to keep pace with the rapidly expanding liquid.
Eventually she handed the bottle over to Sharon who took an equally huge
gulp - she'd never tasted champagne before in her life. Some came out of
her nose; they both laughed and looked across at their victim, still
erect but unconscious.
Tracey hadn't had a fuck for ages - not with a real non-battery
operated cock anyway - so she immediately took off her clothes and leapt
onto the bed. She straddled the 'body' and slowly tried to guide his
cock into her moistening pussy. Seeing Sharon having a go at him had
been quite a turn-on for her. But something was in the way. Then she
realised: in her excitement she'd forgotten that she still had a tampon
up there. She reached down and pulled the white string and the little
red mouse fell out. She tossed it carelessly onto the bedside table and
had another go. She slowly sat down on him and her eager pussy hungrily
swallowed his cock whole. She pulled out a little, then sat on him
again, and slowly starting to develop a rhythm, giving out low moans of
pleasure. Meanwhile Sharon was observing all this across the room in a
chair with growing excitement. She was breathing heavily now and was
working her finger in and out of her equally well lubricated pussy, legs
wide apart in the air. Last one to orgasm's a sissy. It was a close
thing, but Sharon got there slightly sooner than Tracey!
Sharon watched Tracey from the chair, her legs still wide open and
moisture dripping out of her hot, blonde pussy, as Tracey's beautiful
round arse bucked up into the air, and then came slamming viciously down
onto the cock. "Yes,...YES,.. YES!!... Aaaeeeooooowwwww!". With one
final thrust a powerful orgasm ripped through every nerve of Tracey's
body and she fell forward, tired and satisfied. Her round breasts easily
engulfed his head as she lay there exhausted. It was a few moments
before she realised that his nose was firmly buried in her damp, sweaty
cleavage and she was actually suffocating him! That wouldn't do at all,
not yet anyway: she still had plans for the 'body'.
She sat up and, after a few moments, un-straddled him and his limp cock
plopped out. As usual she felt a brief but intense feeling of
disappointment, as if someone had stolen her favourite toy. She skipped
across to Sharon, grabbed the bottle and took another long swig of
champagne. "Come on gal, we still have work to do. Let's see if we can
find some money or credit cards". They opened a couple of drawers and
within moments had nearly everything they wanted.
A few minutes later, Dave slowly began to regain consciousness. The
blow to his head had been taken mainly on his left cheek, which was
beginning to swell. His left ear-lobe was split and was still bleeding
slightly. He had mild concussion and could hear a continuous ringing
sound in his left ear. He couldn't see either: he was beginning to panic
when he realised that something was covering his eyes, he had not gone
blind after all. He could feel that his wrists were tied and there was
an overwhelming feeling of pressure on his chest and legs. His cock felt
like someone had rubbed the head with sandpaper. Slowly, it began to
dawn on him that he had been raped. There was also a disgusting smell
coming from in front of his face.
Tracey and Sharon were sitting on him. Tracey's arse was almost
swallowing his face as she sat high on his chest, facing towards the
foot of the bed. Sharon was facing her with her weight just above his
knees. His legs were between hers, pressed tightly together so that he
couldn't move. Both of them were now naked: fucking and frigging was hot
work. They were using his stomach as a table, busily going through his
wallet and papers looking for anything valuable. They'd found 135 pounds
in cash and four credit or debit cards; not bad going! And his passport.
Sharon read out loud, "David George Garrett. British Citizen. Place of
Birth: Southampton. Date of Birth: 7th August 1961". Tracey smiled. "Oh
god Trace, have a look at his photo, it's hilarious!" They both burst
out laughing, oblivious to their helpless victim underneath with 22
stone pressing down on top of him. Tracey's buttocks wobbled as she
giggled, brushing his chin, and Dave gave out a low moan. He could
hardly breathe. "Trace", said Sharon, "I think he's back. Look. . ."
Tracey looked down over her shoulder and realised that he was beginning
to come round. She gathered up the valuable things, turned round, and
plonked her arse clumsily down onto his stomach. Dave felt her weight
and let out a moan as she nearly winded him.
She peeled the Elastoplast off his mouth and stuck it to the headboard.
She held up a plastic card and started to read from it, "National
Westminster Cashpoint. Now then, David George, you're going to tell us
the PIN number of this little card aren't you?". She lifted up her huge
arse high in the air and then let it drop down cruelly, with a vicious
thud onto his chest. A cracking sound pierced the air as she managed to
break one of his ribs. Dave opened his mouth and cried out in pain. He
shook his head and tried to tip her off, but to no avail. Tracey saw a
packet of cigarettes and a lighter on the bedside table. It was quite a
posh lighter, so she picked it up and tossed it over to Sharon, still
sitting on his legs.
"Here you are Sharon, let's see if we can have some Great Balls of
Fire!". Sharon immediately understood, took the lighter and lit it,
adjusting the flame to 'full' so it was almost like a blowtorch. She
brought the flame down his belly nearer, nearer to his cock: a couple of
his pubic hairs caught fire. "Aargghh. Stop. PLEASE, STOP", he begged
them. "We just need the number, big boy", as Sharon made the flame
briefly lick the end of his glans. "AARGHH!!! STOP. ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT.
5643. For God's sake STOP!". Sharon flicked the lighter off. "5643 eh?
You are telling the truth aren't you? You wouldn't be making that number
up by any chance, David George?". Tracey looked back at Sharon and
nodded.
Sharon lit up again and applied the flame, this time lower down. A
faint burning smell wafted up into Sharon's face as his foreskin started
to roast; she giggled in pleasure at his pain. Dave was in agony and let
out a blood-curdling cry as his body bucked and writhed in a futile
effort to make them stop. Sharon gripped his legs even harder, as a
small squirt of her pussy juice dribbled out onto his leg. "STOP!! I
SWEAR, I SWEAR, it's 5643 FOR CHRIST'S SAKE STOP, I'LL DO ANYTHING".
Tracey nodded again and Sharon flicked the lighter off. "Mmm, you'd
better be telling the truth. We know all about you now, remember that.
And we wouldn't want your 'Darling' wife coming to harm would we?". Dave
was sobbing now, out of agony and humiliation.
It wasn't long before they'd extracted the other two numbers they
needed from him. It's amazing what intense pain can make a man do! By
now they had nearly finished the champagne, and Tracey was getting a
little anxious. Much as she'd like to stay longer at the party,
she felt it was time for them to leave. But she didn't want him
screaming out and disturbing the neighbours. He had to be properly
silenced this time, the Elastoplast on its own wouldn't do. She looked
around the room for something suitable. "Sharon, what did you do with
your panties?". Sharon gestured into the corner of the room. Tracey
ordered her to bring them over. Meanwhile Tracey's eyes fell onto her
used tampon on the bedside table. Perfect!
She leaned over him, her large erect nipples brushing against his
sweating face, and carefully picked up her used tampon by the string.
Tracey made a scratching gesture to Sharon with her nails and nodded
pointedly at his balls. Sharon nodded and passed her the panties, which
still had two small brown sticky turds attached to the gusset. The smell
was revolting. "Okay, Sharon get ready, I think you know what to do. .
.when I say so". Everything was ready. "NOW!". Sharon took hold of his
balls and squeezed hard, digging her long sharp fingernails deep into
his scrotum. Dave opened his mouth and let out a terrified shriek of
pain. Then Tracey quickly let go of the string and dropped the brown-red
tampon into his mouth. Then she pushed the gusset of Sharon's
shit-filled panties straight in afterwards. And kept on pushing
relentlessly till they were completely inside his mouth. She peeled the
Elastoplast off the bedstead and quickly taped the whole shitty mess in
place. Dave started wretching, but knew that if he was sick, he would
probably drown in his own vomit. He tried to stay calm. Tracey looked at
her handiwork admiringly! Dave was nearly passing out; the taste was
unbearable.
"Well done, Sharon, that was spot on. And don't be embarrassed about
shitting yourself. I've done it myself. To tell you the truth, I could
do with a dump now." She smiled and winked at Sharon, and then squatted
over Dave's face, her backside immediately above his nose. She seemed to
be concentrating hard, and pushing, pushing. Slowly, a sticky brown turd
started to ooze out from her anus and she made a final adjustment to her
position. It grew larger and longer and dangled menacingly over his
face, almost touching the tip of his nose before plopping out of her
backside. Onto Dave's face. Sharon could see the whole thing and let out
a yelp of joy. It stuck to his nose before slowly sliding down his cheek
onto the bed.
Sharon realised that she'd never really 'finished' herself, and so took
up position over his cock. Both girls looked at each other, giggling,
concentrating, and continued to dump all over their victim until they
were empty. A few small, brown golf-ball sized presents plopped out in
rapid succession from Sharon, and fell onto his cock before coming to
rest around it. It was like a bowl of shit fruit. Tracey farted in his
face and a brief squirt of diarrhea hit him on the forehead and dribbled
into his hair. They both laughed! Then Sharon pushed, and a long fat
sticky turd oozed out of her arse and dropped down. It lay over his cock
making him look like he had two. Then it started to slide down his
thighs onto the satin bedsheets.
"Pass the 'loo paper', darling!". Sharon leapt over to the wardrobe and
chose another expensive hand-made suit of Dave's and tossed the trousers
over to Tracey', who promptly wiped her sticky arse with it. She was
almost sorry he was still 'blind', thanks to her pantie-pad blindfold,
because she wanted him to see her wipe her arse on his clothes.
"Mmm, much softer than Andrex, don't you think?" as they carelessly
dropped the shit-stained garments onto Dave's chest.
Sharon was now standing over Dave, legs either side of his body, and
was gazing down on him, helpless. She almost felt sorry for him. If only
he hadn't been in the house, all this need never have happened. But she
was secretly glad he had been in, his degradation had been fun! She was
quite tipsy now and rubbed her pussy; she needed to pee badly. To
Tracey's delight and surprise, Sharon made no effort to use the
bathroom. She just stood there, took aim and 'fired'. An arc of yellow
pee erupted from her beautiful, young pussy and landed on Dave's face,
exactly where she wanted it to. She played it on his face a while before
moving the jet down his chest and thoroughly soaking his shit- stained
Armani trousers. She'd never peed on a man before and became quite
aroused. Eventually the evil smelling torrent curved down before
becoming a few drips which fell onto his belly. Dave knew what they were
doing to him and just wanted to die. Surely there could be no more
humiliation?
No sooner had Sharon finished peeing on him than Tracey took up a
similar position and became even more generous. But this time she
squatted down, closer to his head, positioning her pussy only inches
from his face, and fired her stinking hot piss straight up his nose.
"Happy Anniversary 'darling', here have some champers. It's a bit warm
I'm afraid!", she said, laughing. Her cruel pussy nearly drowned him,
but she saw he was in trouble, and so finished off by 'only' pissing on
his cock. The jet broke up some of Sharon's huge sticky turd, turning it
into a yellow-brown puree of shit and piss. Meanwhile, Tracey's used
tampon and the cotton gusset of Sharon's old panties, were beginning to
expand and fill his mouth even more. With all the pressure, a turd was
beginning to inexorably slide down the back of his throat. He was going
to have to deliberately swallow it if he was going to continue to
breathe.
Sharon soon found a drawer containing clean women's' panties, so she
chose a pretty red silk pair and put them on. They both got dressed and
picked up the cash, cards and PIN numbers. They went into the other
bedrooms and found a genuine Rolex watch, some more cash and a jewellery
case. Time to go. As they headed towards the stairs they glanced through
the bedroom door at their victim; still firmly bound up, blindfolded, a
tampon-and-used-panties gag firmly pushed into his mouth, and completely
covered from head to foot in their hot stinking shit and piss. "Sorry
we're leaving you like this, David George, but we've gotta split. It's
been fun, we must do it again sometime!". They tossed their heads back
and laughed. Dave felt wretched, and let out a barely audible moan of
frustration, anger, humiliation, and terror. They had completely broken
his spirit. But surely they wouldn't just leave him? Not like that?
The girls went downstairs still laughing and joking, took the video,
answerphone and some of Dave's favourite CDs and left the house by the
back door. Dave's wife was still not due back for nearly 40 hours. He
tugged in terror and blind panic at his wrists, but couldn't move an
inch. There was nothing he could do, he was just going to have to stay
like that until Karen returned.
The smell of their excrement was becoming overpowering now. Underneath
the panties-pad blindfold and Karen's old tights, his eyes did something
they had never done before in his adult life.
He started to cry. - The End -
Copyright 1997 by John Martin. All Rights ReservedBack to John Martin's Stories Index
