Previous chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen
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“As I see it, Miss Tarrant,” said Dr David Fredericks, “your pissing problem is made up of two components. The first is psychological – that you are reluctant to admit that you have a pissing problem, and that you are, in fact, a piss slut. And the second is physical – that your body is entirely too willing to piss in inappropriate settings. In order to treat you, we have to treat both these problems.”
Allison flinched at hearing herself called a piss slut again. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t have some sexual fetish for piss. All of this was because of things that Ciaran had made her do. But on the other hand, she had gone along with it. Most women didn’t find themselves in problems like this – having to comply with a man to stop him revealing the disgusting things she had done. Only Allison.
“I want you to get comfortable with the idea of admitting that you’re a piss slut, Miss Tarrant,” said Dr Fredericks. “Not to anyone that would compromise your life – don’t worry. But you do need to reach an accommodation with the idea. So I want you to do three things for me in this regard. The first is that every day you are going to dial two random numbers – two people you’ve never met – and when they pick up you’re going to say, ‘Hi, I’m Allison Tarrant, and I’m a piss slut.’ Wait to hear their response. If it’s a question, I want you to answer it honestly. And then you may hang up.”
Allison felt herself breathing quickly. She couldn’t tell strangers she was a piss slut – she just couldn’t! But she knew that Ciaran was going to make her do it. She could either say it to strangers – or he would expose her to people she worked with.
“Secondly,” said David, “whenever myself or Mr Boyd here call you on the phone, I want you to answer your phone with the phrase, ‘Hi, it’s Allison the piss slut here.’ Can you do that for me?”
She blushed. “I don’t know…” she mumbled.
“I need you to do it, Miss Tarrant,” said David, “or we’ll have to take more extreme measures.”
Allison didn’t know what “more extreme measures” were, but they scared her.
“Okay,” she said.
“Very good,” said David. “And thirdly, whenever you start any document on your computer – an email, or a report, or anything – I want you to type the words at the top ‘My name is Allison Tarrant and I am a piss slut.’ You can go back and delete them when you are ready to send the document to other people, but not before. Typing the words will help you accept their truth, and thinking about them so you remember to delete them before sending will keep them in your mind.”
Allison shivered with fear at the thought of accidentally sending an email to someone in which she confessed to being a piss slut. She didn’t like it at all, but…
Perverted little slut.
You need a man.
“Yes, Dr Fredericks,” she said.
David smiled. He noticed that her legs had started moving together defensively as she contemplated his humiliating instructions, so he stared at them pointedly, until Allison got the message and obediently spread her legs again to give him a clear view of her wet fuckhole.
“Now for the physical aspect,” said David. “We need to help you control your ability to piss. We need to teach your body that it can say ‘no’ to accidentally releasing your bladder. And I have two strategies for that.”
He passed her a short black stick, a little less than a foot long. It was made of hard plastic and had metal knobs sticking out of one end.
“When you are going to piss on a toilet, Miss Tarrant, I want you to completely undress first, and film yourself so I can see your progress. You are to hold this device against your clitoris as you try to piss, and as soon as your bladder relaxes enough to release some urine, I want you to press the button on the device.”
“What will it do?” asked Allison nervously.
“It will give you an electric shock,” said David. “It will usually make your bladder muscles clench and stop you pissing. Wait until you resume pissing, then shock yourself again. After two shocks, you can allow yourself to urinate normally.”
“Shock… my clitoris?” said Allison. “No! I can’t… I won’t…”
Ciaran put a hand on her naked shoulder.
“Allison, if you don’t accept this private treatment, then we’ll have to raise your issue with Horrocks, Clinton and Quayle, and get you company treatment for your pissing problem,” he said. “Although, seeing as you’re a contractor, they might just fire you.”
“But…” said Allison.
“Don’t you want to fix yourself, Allison?” asked Ciaran. “Don’t you want to get better?”
Allison was so confused and humiliated that for a moment she forgot that she didn’t think she needed to be fixed at all.
“Yes…” she breathed.
“Good girl,” said Ciaran. “Then do as the doctor says.”
“Now, in terms of *inappropriate* urination,” said Fredericks, “what I want you to do is that when you feel that happening, I want you to rub your pussy.”
“What?” asked Allison.
“Rub your pussy, Miss Tarrant,” said Dr Fredericks. “Masturbate, if you are able to. Otherwise just grind something against it, or hump the edge of a table, or whatever you can get away with. Sexual arousal will swell your urethra partly closed and make it more difficult to piss. You’re going to train yourself to get a little aroused when you’re in danger of pissing in public, and that will stop you from actually doing it. You should think the sexiest thoughts you can think of, too.”
It was embarrassing – but on the other hand, Allison didn’t intend to wet herself in public, ever, so it shouldn’t be an issue. She nodded.
“Excellent,” said Dr Fredericks. “Allison, if you look behind the couch, you’ll find something I prepared for you.”
Allison turned and looked behind the doctor’s couch. There was a large litter tray for cats there, and a cute cat ear headband.
“Why don’t you give your new system a practice, Miss Tarrant?” said David.
She felt mortified. He couldn’t be suggesting….
“He’s a specialist, Allison,” said Ciaran. “He’s seen this before. Go and put on the headband, then squat, and piss, and rub your pussy. Show him you know what to do.”
“No,” said Allison. “Please…”
“Miss Tarrant,” said David, “you are paying a thousand dollars per half hour for this appointment, and I am quite prepared to keep you here until you piss for me.”
Allison was shocked. She hadn’t realised that she was paying so much – or paying anything, really. She had naively thought that Ciaran was handling it. She could afford it, but…
(And meanwhile Ciaran smirked. He was splitting what Allison paid fifty-fifty with David, and his portion of the profits would be re-invested into further torturing and conditioning Allison. It would be particularly sweet to degrade her using her own money.)
Allison tried to think.
Dumb big-titted baby.
Perverted little slut.
You need a man.
These men were trying to help her with her problem. And she had no choice really. She had been sitting there spreading her legs for the doctor. She had pissed in front of Ciaran before. Was this so much worse?
She got off the couch, went to the litter tray, put on the cat ear headband, and squatted. She didn’t see why the headband was important, but it did kind of fit the litter tray theme.
Ciaran and David followed, and David filmed her on his phone again.
“What do you say when you ring people on the phone, Miss Tarrant?” asked David.
“Hi, I’m Allison Tarrant, and I’m a piss slut,” said Allison, blushing.
“Good girl,” said David. “Now piss.”
She relaxed her bladder – and as her piss began to flow, she began to rub her clitoris.
David was right. Her bladder’s first reaction was to clench shut. She took her hand off her cunt.
“Don’t stop,” said David. “Keep rubbing. Keep playing with yourself until your bladder is empty.”
Allison was confused. But if masturbating stopped her from pissing, how would her bladder ever get empty?
And she was being charged a thousand dollars every thirty minutes.
She made an effort to piss despite the feeling of her fingers on her clit, and she found that she was able to. She relaxed her bladder and pissed into the litter tray as she fingered her pussy. It felt humiliating, and perverted, and gross – but it also felt good.
She didn’t really think about the fact that she was being filmed, naked and masturbating, as she pissed into kitty litter – or what would happen to her life if the video was ever shared publicly.
When it was done, Ciaran threw her cum-soaked blouse and her cunt-clamp to her.
“Get dressed, and go and kneel on the footpath next to the car,” he told her.
“Can’t I have more clothes?” she protested. “I’ll be in public.”
“That’s why you’re going to kneel,” he told her. “No one will notice you’re only wearing a blouse if you kneel. Anyway, do you want to be seen standing around waiting outside a treatment clinic for pissing disorders?” said Ciaran. “Kneel, and the car will hide you.”
She didn’t look sure, so Ciaran added, “If you’re not kneeling when I come out, you’ll be walking home. Leave your purse and I’ll use your card to pay for you. Don’t forget to clamp your cunt.”
She jumped, hurriedly pulled on the blouse, winced as she clamped her pussy mound shut with the bulldog clip, and ran out of the office, leaving her purse behind. Ciaran fished out her credit card, and David ran up a bill for her. Between them, they charged Allison a further thousand dollars on top of the already exorbitant cost. What was she going to do, complain publicly about her pissing treatment?
“God, I can’t believe she agreed to shock her own pussy with an electric prod while pissing,” David laughed. “Is she stupid?”
“She wasn’t when she started,” said Ciaran. “But my plan is making her more confused with every day – and she’s cute when she’s confused. Will the treatment you’ve laid out actually do what you said?”
“I doubt it,” said David. “If she zaps her cunt every time she tries to piss on a normal toilet, she’s going to find it harder and harder to piss under those conditions at all. She’ll probably start subconsciously avoiding going to the bathroom when her bladder is full – leading to more incidents of her wetting herself in public. And touching her cunt whenever that happens is going to train her to fetishise and eroticise her own humiliation.”
He laughed again. “Once you see her start having trouble using bathrooms, you can probably buy her a kitty litter tray like this for her office, and she’ll actually thank you for it.”
David sent Ciaran a copy of each of the videos he had filmed, and Ciaran left the office.
Downstairs he found Allison kneeling obediently on the curb, pressed against the car, clearly terrified that someone would see her. She looked like a pet waiting for her master to return, and Ciaran made a note to himself that she would look even cuter with a leash.
“All right,” he said. “You know the drill. Take off your clothes and put them on the passenger seat, and then get in.”
Allison did as she was told without further protest, eager to avoid an argument that might draw attention to her on a public street, even if that meant quickly stripping naked and then sitting nude in Ciaran’s car.
She was coming along nicely, Ciaran thought. It was a sign of good things to come…
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