The Power of Words

Warning: This post deals with watersports, in addition to the actual topic of the post. If the idea of a woman peeing on a man makes you squeamish, this is the post to skip.

If you want to keep on reading, follow the link:

So, I spoke about our last scene in glowing terms earlier this week, but I mainly focused on the first hour, which consisted of a lot of pain-play. As I mentioned in that post, the scene went on for another couple of hours, filled with yummy sex and pain.

The climax of the scene was —

(You know what, let me take a brief moment to say, “scene” is a new word for us. My wife started using it after browsing some private FemDom forums. She started using that word to describe our BDSM sessions. And I think I may have used it in my blogs before that, but before my wife started using it, we just called what we did “sex,” even if the particular session in question involved barely any sex at all and instead a lot of S&M or other stuff. I just realized how “scene” has crept into our vocabulary.)

Anyway, the climax of the scene was one where my wife asked me what I wanted, because I’d been such a good boy. And so I said that I’d really love to go down on her, and then right after she climaxed, have her piss on me. I don’t know why that seemed like such a hot idea, in hindsight — I think it was the idea of her having this explosive orgasm and then just relaxing and *GUSH* and I’m right there in the path of it. Nothing really hits my “property” buttons like being marked by piss or by being held onto while she pegs me. Both acts are just, on some level, major taboos for me back when I was vanilla, and yet having them done now is so wonderful.

And so, since I had been such a good boy, and since Mistress had had several orgasms and had beaten the hell out of me, she agreed. We got out our shower curtain, laid it on the bed, and I went down on her. And very quickly, she reached orgasm. And then I waited. After a minute, she explained that she had a hard time relaxing enough on her back, and didn’t want it to get all over her anyway, so she asked if she could crouch over me.

And I said, “Whatever you want.” And so we switched, and I was on my back, and she crouched over me, and she told me to start masturbating, and while I did, she started talking the cruelest, most wonderful way to me…very dominant, very sure of herself.

“I’m about to piss on you. I’m going to mark you. You’re going to carry my fucking mark. And I’m going to piss into your mouth. You’re going to drink my piss, and everybody will know that you did. No other Mistress will have you, no other woman will take you, because after this, you’re mine forever. You will never be clean again after this, I’m marking you inside. Mine. Are you masturbating? Are you going to come for me? I’m almost ready. Nobody will have you ever again. All mine. Nobody will want you, because no matter what happens, you’re mine now. Mine. Oooh…”

And then she pissed, and it hit my face, and I opened my mouth, and I took a swallow, and I gagged. I mean, it wasn’t bad — but it’s one of those things where, given the choice, I probably wouldn’t do it again. I didn’t like the taste, I still had a slightly sore throat from my flu the previous week, and it was just a bit unpleasant.

But she kept talking, about how I was hers, how I had to drink, how it was filling my mouth and she loved it, talking about the sound it made and the sight of me, ordering me to come, and I did, explosively, all over the bed.

And here’s the thing…when I look back on that scene, it’s incredibly hot. As nasty as drinking piss was for the first time in my life, as much as I wouldn’t want to repeat it, I’m an aural person. I get off on words. And what my wife said as she drenched me, as she dominated me with her voice, as she held me down with her words and crushed my spirit, was possibly one of the hottest things ever. I mean, I need that voice. I need words. I need to hear her intent, hear her talk to me like I was a possession, hear her talk about what she’s feeling. It takes a scene that’s a 5 and turns it into a 10. It takes an act which I kinda hope we never repeat and turns it into fodder for masturbation. I get weak in my knees thinking about her voice, and the look on her face — disdain mixed with arousal, tinged with cruelty.

My wife, when she does talk dirty, is an evil beauty. She talks exactly how a Mistress should talk if she wants to get me off the maximum amount, with the minimum amount of effort. My wife, however, doesn’t think she does the talking dirty thing very well, so she tends to hold back. This is the irony of my sex-life — my wife is probably the best talker I know. When she opens her mouth, I become a little tiny bowl of Jell-O, just shuddering in delight. The way she pitches her voice, the way she looks at me, the way she holds herself — and especially, the things that she says: absolutely, 100% perfect.

I’m at my happiest when she talks — when she gives a play by play as she beats me; when she talks about what I am — a dog, a slave, a pet, a bitch; when she orders me around; when she talks about how much pleasure I give her. I need that voice — I need that presence, manifested through words. It does so much with so little. We don’t use a lot of lingerie, we don’t rely on roleplaying, but that voice…those words…I’m just wrapped around her finger when she talks.

I need to figure out some way to emphasize talking more, communicating more, because her voice really does go right from ears to my genitals.