Humiliation

Before I even stopped the engine Sir was out his side and around to mine. He opened my door and grabbed my hair. I quickly turned the key and set the brake, then held on to his arm to follow my hair out. He forced me to kneel in place. The gravel bit into my knees through my jeans.

“I am going to piss on you,” Sir said as he pulled out his cock.

Oh no! It is not like I have never been peed on before. I think it feels nice… and it feels naughty… both at the same time. But those times I was in the tub and naked. This time I was fully dressed. I usually carry changes of clothes when I visit Sir, but I hadn’t on this trip. If he peed on me, I would have to wear those clothes all the way home. I looked up at him. He was holding his cock and repeated his intent.

I knew I could not (would not) tell him no, so I leaned forward and took his cock into my mouth. I started sucking fervently while I started to pull my arms out of my shirt and jacket. I tossed the jacket aside, then backed off Sir’s cock for a moment to pull my shirt over my head. I continued to swallowed his cock while I undid my belt and pants. Taking off jeans while kneeling is a challenge, but the threat of wearing piss soaked jeans is quite motivating.

Except for socks, I was now naked. The gravel was now digging into bare knees. I was cold. It didn’t matter. There was no doubt. There was no fight. This wasn’t humiliation. I was serving Sir. I hadn’t even said a word. I had merely removed my clothing because I had to.

I stopped sucking and looked up at him again. Then I looked down at his boots. I waited for the hot stream to hit me. The boots turned and walked away.

Then, and only then, did the burn of pure humiliation bloom.

gravel


 

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