Story: Workplace Culture, Part 20

Chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen | Nineteen

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While Alison waited for the workman to attend to fix her electrics, she remembered one of the other components of her training.

She didn’t want to do it.  She should really have done it when she woke up.  Ciaran hadn’t picked her up on it, or asked about it.  Maybe he wasn’t serious about it.

Except he said it would help her.  And if she fucked up and wet herself again, he would ask if she had done all the things she was supposed to.  And if she hadn’t… he would be angry.  And he would be right.  It would be her fault.

After all, there must be something wrong with her.  A normal, successful businesswoman – like she had always thought she was – didn’t need medical treatment for a pissing disorder.  She didn’t piss nude in a litterbox in her therapist’s office.  She didn’t wet herself in the kitchen, and then rub her own face in the puddle. 

Ciaran was just trying to help her.

Dumb big-titted baby.

Perverted little slut.

You need a man.

If Ciaran said this would help her.  So maybe it would.

She took her phone and dialled a random number, with an area code in her city.  The first try, the number wasn’t connected, and the same on the second, but on the third try someone picked up.

“Hello?”

It was a man’s voice, maybe in his forties.

“Hi, I’m Alison Tarrant,” she said into the phone, “and I’m a piss slut.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Is this a joke?” the man said.  “What does that mean, you’re a piss slut?”

She had to answer honestly.

“It’s not a joke,” she said.  “It means I have a piss fetish, and I get aroused from wetting myself.”

“That’s disgusting,” said the man.  “You’re disgusting.”  And he hung up.

One down. 

This was good for her.  It was helping her accept her problem, so that she could get better.

She dialled another number.

“Fernway Logistics,” said a young woman.  “How can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Alison Tarrant, and I’m a piss slut,” said Alison.

“Ew, gross,” said the woman.  “Are you for real?”

“Yes, I’m really a piss slut,” said Alison.  “I wet myself in the kitchen this morning and masturbated while I pissed, and then I rubbed my nose in the puddle of piss to train me to be less of a piss slut.”

The woman hung up.

Alison was shivering.  It felt so gross to say these things – and saying them to strangers made them more real.  Those were really things she had done.  What was wrong with her?

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Ciaran, in his house, watched all this on the cameras.  He watched the complete humiliation on Alison’s face as she confessed her behaviour on the phone.  Then he watched her go to the fridge and get out the orange juice again, and pour herself yet another glass of piss-and juice, and drink it.

Soon her tradesman would arrive.  He had been tempted to send Dave – after all, it was Dave who had broken her appliances – but Alison had already had enough interactions with Dave at the office to recognise him.  And so Ciaran had enlisted one of his other friends.

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Alison was taken aback by the tradesman when he arrived.  He was big – nearly seven feet tall.  And he was black. 

“Hi, I’m Johannes,” he said.  “I understand you have electrical problems.”

It wasn’t that Allison had anything against black men.  It was just that her mind had been twisted up so much recently – and she had had to suck Ciaran’s cock, and go nude, and shock her cunt, and piss on her kitchen floor – that when she saw him, she couldn’t help but think what black men in porn did to white women.  She had a momentary fantasy of this huge man pushing his dick into her gaping cunt…

She shook her head, trying to dismiss the image, and took Johannes to the kitchen and lounge to show him the TV and kettle.

“Should be simple enough to fix,” he said, and began to examine the outlets and appliances.

Allison retired to her bedroom and let him work.

After about ten minutes, she heard him approaching her bedroom, presumably to report.

Just then, her phone rang.  She looked at the caller ID.  It was Ciaran.

She answered – and then froze.

She remembered what she was supposed to do.  And Johannes was standing in her bedroom door, looking at her.

“Alison,” said Ciaran on the phone, “isn’t there something you’re supposed to say?”

She went bright red.

She spoke quietly – but she knew Johannes could still hear her.

“Hi, it’s Alison the piss slut here,” she mumbled.

“Good girl,” said Ciaran.  “Is the workman there?”

“Yes,” said Alison.

“Oh good,” said Ciaran.  “He’ll look after you.  Just do whatever he recommends.”

And he hung up.

“Yes?” said Alison to Johannes.

He didn’t react to having heard her call herself a piss slut.

“It’s a feedback loop,” he said.  “You’re getting feedback from metal in your house that’s causing the shorts.”

She blinked.  “What do you mean?”

“The doorknobs and hinges of the interior doors,” he said.  “They’re what’s causing it.  And your front door lock.  I’ll remove them.”

Alison didn’t understand.  How could hinges on doors possibly be causing electrical shorts?  It seemed insane.

Dumb big-titted slut.

You need a man.

God, she felt so stupid that she didn’t understand something so simple.  Johannes was saying it like it was the simplest thing in the world, but Alison didn’t even begin to understand it.  She’d never had any skill for repairing things.  She didn’t really understand electricity.

But Johannes did.

“Okay,” she said.  “Do what you need to do.”

And then she watched as Johannes took a screwdriver and began to remove all the internal doors of her house.  Her bedroom door.  Cupboard doors.  The bathroom door.  The toilet door.  He took each door out in the backyard and left them in a pile.  Soon there were no internal doors in the house – no way to close herself in any room of the house.

And he took the lock off the front door, and Alison abruptly realised there was now no way to secure the house or keep people out.

This seemed like a really bad idea.  But Johannes was so matter of fact about it, like it was a normal thing to do.  And Ciaran had said to do what he said.  It must be her who was stupid.

She poured herself another glass of orange juice as he worked.  This orange juice brand tasted so interesting – almost salty.  She was quite enjoying the taste.

Once Johannes finished with the doors, he went to work on the electrical sockets.  And Alison became aware of an inconvenient fact.

She needed to piss again.

She began to walk by instinct towards the toilet – but there was no door.  To try and use the toilet, she was required to strip nude and spread her legs and hold the shock rod against her clit.  And if Johannes walked past at any time he would see her.

She couldn’t do that.

She would try to hold it in.

But half an hour later, Johannes was still working, and Alison’s bladder was bursting. 

She desperately considered her options, and settled on one that was slutty – but probably safe.

She went to the kitchen and got a very large glass from the cupboard.  Then she went to the bedroom, and stood in the corner that was hardest to see from the corridor.  She worked her panties down her thighs, to her ankles, and then stepped out of them.  She held the glass against her pussy, and relaxed her bladder.

It felt slutty to piss in a glass, with a stranger just in the next room.  It felt sluttier still to rub her clit as she did it, as Ciaran and Dr Fredericks had told her to do.  She felt her nipples hardening and her face flushing as she teased her clitoris and pissed.

And then her bladder was empty, and she was lowering her skirt and lifting up the cup full of piss.  She was beginning to consider whether she could get the glass to the bathroom and pour it down the sink without Johannes seeing – except she suddenly realised Johannes was coming up the corridor.

There was nowhere to hide the glass before Johannes appeared in the bedroom doorway.

“Are you done?” she asked.

He didn’t reply.  Instead he looked at the glass in her hand. 

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “I didn’t hear you come into the kitchen and pour a drink.”  He paused, and then said, “Is that beer?”

“No,” she said, quickly.  “It’s, uh, apple juice.”

She could hardly tell him it was a glass of her urine.

“Well, don’t let me stop you having a drink,” he said.

She froze.  She tried to formulate reasons why she wouldn’t take a drink of this large glass of “apple juice” that she had just implied she had poured for herself.

No reasons came.  Her brain felt cluttered with fog.

Dumb big-titted baby.

Perverted little slut.

You can’t do it.

And horrified, she found herself raising the glass to her lips, tipping it up, and pouring a swig of her own piss into her mouth. 

She expected it to taste foul – but it wasn’t terrible.  A little like orange juice.  She swallowed quickly.

“Is it good?” asked Johannes.

“It’s so good,” agreed Alison.

“That’s great,” said Johannes.  “Okay, you can keep drinking while I show you what I’ve done.”

He showed no sign of moving immediately, so Alison took another sip of piss from the glass and swallowed it.

“Mmmm,” she said.

What made it worse was that her cunt was still wet, from playing with it as she pissed.  It felt twice as slutty to be drinking her own piss while she was aroused.

Johannes moved out of the way and made an “after you” motion.  Alison had to walk past him, and then walk ahead of him back to the kitchen.  With him behind her, she had no opportunity to tip out the glass.  She took another drink from it to keep up the pretence.

He had replaced her kettle with a new one.  The new kettle was pink, and had a Hello Kitty design on it.

He had replaced the television, too.  The new television was a little smaller than her old one, and pink.  It was on – and playing on the screen was what appeared to be rape porn.  A crying, nude, big-titted woman was being gang-raped by six men.  Her mouth and ass were simultaneously plugged with cocks.

“What… is this?” she said.

Johannes looked at her, and didn’t immediately answer.

Nervous, she took another sip of her piss.

“The TV turning on and off is bad for your electrics,” he told her.  “You must leave it on.  This is a screensaver, to prevent burn-in.  It will play when you aren’t watching anything else.”

“But it’s…” said Alison.  And she didn’t know what to say. 

“It’s just cinema,” said Johannes.  “It’s a screensaver, you don’t have to watch it.”

Alison tried to grasp the idea that there would be rape porn playing 24/7 in her living room.

“I have removed the power switch, so you can’t turn it off by accident,” said Johannes.  “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” said Alison, reflexively.

“Why don’t you finish your drink, and then we can discuss payment?” said Johannes.

Alison looked at him.  But he was silent, waiting.

There was nothing to do but drink her piss.  Mouthful after mouthful, as Johannes watched, until the whole glass was empty.

“Good girl,” he said, when she was done, which she thought was a strange thing to say, but…

Pleasing men feels good.

And it did feel good.  She felt a little shiver of happiness, knowing he had praised her for drinking all her piss.

“Now,” he said, “would you like to pay with your mouth, or your cunt?”

She blinked.  “Sorry?”

“You can pay with your mouth, and also three thousand five hundred dollars for my work, or you can pay with your cunt and it will be only one thousand.”

Those costs were ridiculously high for the amount of work he had done.  And – her mouth?  Her cunt?

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“When Mr Boyd rang me, he said you were a sex worker,” said Johannes.  “He said you would pay with trade.”

“That’s – that’s not right,” she said.  “That’s not what he said.”

“I did this work on the basis that you were going to let me fuck you,” said Johannes.  “You had better let me fuck you.”

He looked menacing now.  Alison took a step back.

“If you don’t think this is right, you can call Mr Boyd,” said Johannes.

She could.  She could call Ciaran and get him to fix this. 

Except if she called him, she would have to say, “Hi, this is Alison the piss slut.”  And if Johannes heard that again, he would surely put two and two together and realise what had been in the glass.

She couldn’t bear that shame.  But if she didn’t ring Ciaran….

Dumb big-titted baby.

You need a man.

Pleasing men feels good.

“Okay,” she said, in a small voice.

“Okay?” said Johannes.  “Mouth, or cunt.”

Choosing to suck his dick instead of fuck him would cost her two and a half thousand dollars.  She didn’t even have that much money in her account.  What would he do if she sucked his dick but then couldn’t pay him the rest of the money?

“Cunt,” she said, defeated.

Johannes didn’t bother to undress her.  He just pulled her into the loungeroom, and bent her over the loungeroom couch from behind, so that they could both watch the rape porn as he fucked her.  She stared at the crying bimbo on screen as man after man jizzed on her face and tits, and she felt Johannes cock slide into her cunt.

It was as huge as she had imagined.  It hurt.  She whimpered.  And then he began to fuck her.

He wasn’t using a condom.  She could feel his warm skin against her pussy.  She was having unprotected sex with a strange man, in her loungeroom, with her own piss in her belly and rape porn on her TV screen.

She orgasmed.  And, some time later, she orgasmed again as she felt him spurt his seed into her, and then pull out.

She wished she could just stay there, not have to make eye contact, and pretend this had never happened.  But she had to get up and, smiling, swipe her bank card on his payment machine, and pay him a further thousand dollars.  It made her feel like *she* was paying for what had just happened – paying him to rape her.

And then it was done, and Johannes was gone, and Alison was alone in her house with a stranger’s cum dripping out of her fuckhole.

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