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Domination of teenage girl (aggression, scat, w/s, feet, tramp, beating, young/old, biker, cop, humiliation)

Standing in front of my full length mirror I sighed at how small my old cheerleading outfit seemed; it was a little tight around the chest bit it still fitted OK. Seeing my hair straigtheners had cooled I quickly dropped them in the drawer. When I got them for my seventeenth birthday last week I had no idea they’d get so much use. I recalled my conversation one hour ago with my boyfriend, Darren. A thrill of hurt and excitement ran through my body as I heard his tones: unusually blunt and angry. Hardly able to get a word in edgeways as he told me to make myself look nice, put on my old cheerleaders costume (of all things!) and meet him down the park at 10pm. This gave my enough time to really make my shoulder-length blonde hair look gorgeous, and apply gentle quantities of make-up to my youthful face. I loved to look good for him so I really pulled out all the stops. And yes, OK, there might be a bit of guilt there, too.

Twenty minutes later I was standing in the park, by the small public toilets as I promised. Looking wistfully at the graffiti-covered swings I used to play on as a girl. Then played on as a teenager when I met Darren, bottle of cider in hand. And Darren’s brother, last week. My mind quickly turned from the subject.

Suddenly I saw Darren standing behind me. My heart jumped, a combination of the shock of his sudden appearance and the little flutter I still get when I see his face. But his face was hard and cold tonight, my smile faltered. He couldn’t have found out?

He took my wrist. Not playfully as he normally does, but hard. I looked up at him questioningly.

“I spoke to Andrew” came his words as my whole body sank, feeling an invisible crushing force almost pushing me to the ground. My lip quivering and my head shaking slightly as I imagined the pain of losing Darren. I thought back to last week when I met his brother Andrew here. Darren didn’t show and, in the drunken stupor, I ended up going down on Andrew. I closed my eyes, trying to block the memory out.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Was his follow-up. A forced calm in his voice, but I could see the anger in his body.

“I’m so sorry… I love you so much” choking up I just couldn’t say anything else.

A slight edge to his voice now, “Are you going to make it better?”

“Yes!” I cried as he yanked on my wrist and led me towards the gents toilets. A wave of relief rushed through me, being with him in there seemed like such an easy escape. I held my nose as I stood in the tiny toilet – just one urinal and one cubicle – it obviously hadn’t been cleaned recently. But I didn’t care. I just wanted to keep Darren.

Darren looked down at me in the harsh lighting the toilet offered. “You’re going to pay, Holly. You’re going to stay in here tonight. You’re going to make everyone that comes in love you. Do you understand?” My head was nodding slightly without really thinking – I had to do whatever he wanted, I couldn’t lose him because of my stupid mistake.

“Get on your knees” he instructed, harshly. Before many fond memories could return to me I saw him yank a pair of handcuffs out of his jacket pocket. Kneeling down he cuffed my hands together, behind my back, and around one of the water pipes running vertically directly next to the urinal. He picked up my handbag and rummaged around, pulling out my lipstick. I looked up blankly as he crudely seemed to write a message on my forehead with the lipstick.

“Remember what I said. Whoever comes in here, make them love you. Do it, and I’ll forgive you. Got it?” My head nodded, slightly sadly, still feeling the crushing guilt. He dropped my open bag next to me and left.

The automatic lights shut down a couple of minutes later, leaving me in the near pitch black and trying not to mess up my make-up by sobbing gently at what I had done.

Suddenly I heard dragging footsteps approaching, half blinded as the bright lights turned on. As my definition of vision returned I saw an old tramp stumbling past my eyes. He pulled his pants down and sat awkwardly on the toilet. Whatever his clothes were they were now the colour of dirt, his skin slightly blackened through lack of washing, as was his grey, unkempt beard and long, sweaty hair. His eyes studied my uniform, my position and lingered over whatever words were written on my forehead in lipstick.

Without using the toilet he got up, still looking at forehead, and lurched forwards towards me. I couldn’t help myself recoiling and holding my breath. In a slightly shaky voice he asked “Toilet’s not working” he picked up my handbag “do you mind?”

Everything inside of me wanted to scream ‘No!’, to chastise him for being a disgusting old man. To walk out of there with disdain. But my strongest feeling was my sinking guilt, and Darren’s words playing over in my mind.

“OK” I whispered. The tramp picked up the bag, lowered the toilet seat and placed the bag on the seat. Pushing his foul trousers down again he lowered his ass over my opened bag and, with a gush of air, squeezed a turd, slightly out of my view, into my handbag.

I bit my lip to avoid a flood of tears as he gave up his search for toilet paper and shambled over towards me. He looked at the out of order sign hanging over the one sink in the toilet, and then glanced at my forehead again.

“Need to clean my hands. Open, miss” he mumbled as I closed my eyes and opened my mouth a little. Before I knew what was happening I felt a thrill of revulsion as his filthy, black fingertips had pushed past my lips. Trying to busy my mind as he pushed his hand right into my mouth, running his fingers and palm over my tongue. Trying not to gag as he wiped what tasted like a combination of piss, dirt and sweat inside my mouth. He cleaned both his hands. I tasted the foul paste in my mouth but felt my heart lift a little.

The tramp examined his dirty fingernails and re-entered my mouth. He shoved his hand right to the back of my mouth and started wiping his fingernails on the back of my throat. My gag reflex took over and locked down, over and over again, onto his fingernails. My body panicking. He smiled and moaned before withdrawing.

The tramp was surprisingly gentle as he pushed my arms towards the floor, my body following. Before I knew it I was in the strangely uncomfortable position of lying on my side. As I adjusted to this new view of the world the tramp busied himself removing his busted trainers and sweaty socks. I heard a dripping somewhere in the distance as he stood, in silence, wrinkling my nose against the smell of his dirty feet just inches from my face.

“Need my foot clean” the tramp mumbled, looking at my hopefully. As Darren’s smiling face entered my mind I closed my eyes, stuck out my tongue and almost smiled.

I don’t know how long the tramp wiped his filthy feet on my tongue. I let my mind wonder to happy times with Darren as his filth unloaded onto me. The dirt transferring from him feet onto my cheeks, onto my tongue and in his mouth.

“Toes please” he mumbled meekly. I opened my eyes to see his feet were much cleaner, but were face with who-know-what between his toes and with his ragged uncut toenails.

Thinking of Darren I pushed my tongue between each of his toes, trying to ignore the revulsion with which my body reacted; lapping up the dirt and dead skin, occasionally something chewy ending up in my mouth. As he stuck each of his toes into my mouth I sucked on them like they were Darren’s velvety penis, sucking out the dirt from under the nails. Liking to do a job well I also munched on each toenail, gradually biting it away and swallow it down until the tramp was evidently happy. He gently helped me up into an upright position; I wasn’t silly enough to think he was done with me.

As expected the tramp’s greasy trousers came down again. As he turned around I saw his dirty, hairy and fat ass. This time I couldn’t help letting some tears escape as he suddenly grabbed a handful of beautiful blonde hair. That bastard was actually using my hair to wipe his ass! I blocked my nose to the smell as my hair was returned to me dripping with his; his ass still not properly clean. I bit my lip again as he stayed in place.

I saw the tramps hands reaching round and pulling his flabby, hairy cheeks apart. “Clean please” me mumbled with a bit more confidence. I closed my eyes, not being able to take the horrific sight of his flabby ass covered with hair, streaks of shit and dripping with sweat.

Eyes clamped shut I stuck my tongue out and licked, over and over, the full length of the tramps anal beard. Tasting the sweat, shit and occasionally gagging on a hair as I cleaned it thoroughly. My tears were mingling with his sweat as I moved towards his asshole, licking away the remainder of the fresh shit that hadn’t ended up in either my handbag or on my hair. Then using my teeth to prise the crusted shit from around his asshole, presumably from the last time he did not wipe. I kept swallowing the foul mixture left in my mouth as he lifted his trousers and turned around.

The tramp was smiling now as he looked down at me. I saw his erect cock towering above my head, above that his grey-haired gut flowing over. He pushed his cock into my mouth. An odd taste spread through my mouth, something other than the dirt, sweat and old piss. As he heaved backwards and forwards into my mouth I found he was working free several crusts from his cock, picking up speed as I swallowed them.

The tramp suddenly stopped, his cock still in my mouth, obviously seeing if I’d be willing to pleasure him. Thinking of Darren I started to work my mouth backwards and forwards, deep-throating the cock of this stomach-churning old man. He relaxed into it a little, allowing me to do my best to make him spunk in my mouth. My eyes glanced up, seeing him pick at his body. He leaned back picking his nose deeply; I carried on pleasure his ancient cock. His finger went to his belly-button and scraped out some of the fluff and sweat; I carried on, trying not to look. Suddenly I noticed a little spurt in my eye. The tramp was squeezing some of the sores on his gut, a trace of blood and pus hitting my face.

I stopped sucking the old man, almost ready to tell him what I thought of his grossness. He smiled as I stopped sucking and held out his hand; I saw it covered with his snot, blood, pus and whatever came out of his belly button.

“Eat” he giggled stupidly. Closing my eyes, tears flowing, I licked the gross concoction from the end of his hand, and in a flash his cock with back in my mouth. His hips thrusting forwards as he fucked my face.

After a few minute of my mascara running he suddenly cried out, his body arching over me. I closed my eyes and imagined Darren’s sweet seed shooting down my throat. But instead something solid hit the back of my throat. I started choking and flailing as a solid wad of congealed old-man-cum hit my throat. I cried out for water as I choked on his sperm. Kindly, he put his cock back in my mouth and started to upload a long stream of foul-tasting piss into my mouth. I gratefully swallowed it all down, dislodging the wad of ancient cum and swallowing that too.

As he finished he smiled, wiping the piss from the end of his cock on my uniform, before zipping up and leaving without a word. I couldn’t help noticing he walked with a little more confidence as the light went out.

I didn’t know how much time passed before I heard a motorbike pulling up in the park, and strong, hard footsteps entering the toilet.

The man glanced briefly at me as he unzipped and started pissing into the urinal, inches from my face. The man must have been well over six feet and dressed in leather riding gear, with massive black boots. He piss seemed to last for ages, its force allowing a bit of splatter to land on me; he smirked. Once or twice he aimed his cock in my direction, my face getting a full blast of his stinky, hot piss.

The biker stood back and examined me. Sparking up a cigarette he seemed to be running something through his mind.

“So, I hear you’re a cheating whore” he grunted as he eyed my forehead.

I nodded sadly, “But I’m trying to be a good girl now.”

“Still, cheating whore” he snorted, flicking dead ask onto my face. He dragged on his cigarette a few more times before sticking it in the urinal with the others; the cigarette hissed as it was put out by old piss.

“Open wide” he was standing over me, threatening. I opened his mouth as he dropped the cigarette butt into my mouth. Gagging at the taste of piss and ash and swallowed hard, letting it into me.

“Good whore”, he approved. He stood over me as he hocked back into his throat, gargling and making foul noises. His head over mine he let out a massive wad of spit and saw it drool onto my face, and smirked coldly as he watched it dribble sickeningly down the length of my face.

“Good, good” he said as I didn’t flinch. He took one of my few lengths of hair that was not covered in tramp shit and yanked it up. I yelped out as I felt it pulling at my scalp. He smirked again, yanking it once more; I tried to stop myself this time. He took my hair – watching closely for my reaction – and put it up to his nose, blowing his nose hard on my lovely hair. I smiled weakly as the snot covered hair was returned to me.

“It’s possible you may be purified yet”, he growled. “Lets see if you can take your punishment like a good little girl. Removing his leather gloves he slapped me square across the face with his huge hand. I screamed out a little in shock as I felt the sting.

He looked angry, and started beating me across my tear-covered face. Stupid! (SLAP) Shit-eating! (SLAP) Worthless cunt! (SLAP) Piece (SLAP) of (SLAP) useless (SLAP) fucking (SLAP) meat!

Fully wailing now at the onslaught I was careful to stay still. The shock brought me tears, but with every slap I knew I was becoming a better person. Making it up to Darren.

The man reached down and ripped at my uniform, exposing my heaving breasts. Reaching around, he yanked my bra apart so my large but firm breasts were left hanging in open view. The biker stood back slightly.

“Walking in here” the biker spat, “I got something on my shoe. Now how grateful would you be if I allowed you to be my doormat?”

“Very” I replied, wanting to make him love me, for Darren.

“Good” he snorted. Lifting up his massive, dirty black boots I saw a fresh dog-turd mashed into the underside. He roughly shoved the sole of his boot onto my left breast, with an evil smile he started running it up and down my breast. Wiping the dog shit onto both my tits. Using them like a doormat to get the stubborn stain onto. I tried to remain composed with the shit mashed into my boobs.

The biker then thrust his heel hard onto my chin, making the back of my head painfully hit the wall. “Get it all out you useless piece of crap!” I quickly obeyed: getting my tongue and teeth into the many treds on his sole. Prising the shit out and swallowing it, taking the dirt from the ground and the oil from his bike pedals onto my tongue and into my mouth.

Once the biker was satisfied he put his boot back on the ground. He undid his belt, dropped his leather and smashed his firm but against my face. Pinning my head to the wall. He bent over so his clean asshole was pressed right up against my mouth.

The biker let out a derisive laugh as he let a fart rip right into my mouth, filling my mouth up with the horrible stench until I breathed it all down. “Now” he continued, “make out with my asshole. French kiss it like your most cherished lover.”

The imagery took hold of me. I pushed my tongue right into his asshole as I would Darren’s mouth and swirled it around the walls deep, pretending I was kissing my Darren.

The biker seemed to tense up and, before I knew what was happening, he had pushed a foul, stinking turd right into my mouth. I lay back against the wall in shock as he got up and looked at me, laughing. Spotting my hesitation to swallow the disgusting shit, he took a hold of me face violently. Clamping my mouth shut and plugging my nose with his big fingers. My eyes darting around in fear, he laughed again and spat messily into my eyes. As my eyes stung I closed them and concentrated, swallowing his turd right down before I ran out of breath.

“Now, don’t you look a state?” he asked loudly, I imagined what I must look like. “I wouldn’t let my cock anywhere near your mouth, the state it’s in. You need a cleaning.” He met the toilet cubicle in one slide and rummaged around. He returned brandishing a toilet brush in a holder. He placed the holder to the ground.

The biker grabbed my face, forcing my mouth open. He picked up the toilet brush, holding it over my head. I could see the formerly white bristles were a sort of dull yellow, bits of old shit caught in the bristles, along with a hint of dried up vomit.

“Open wide!” he yelled as he violently rammed the brush into my throat. All I felt were the harsh bristles stinging my mouth as he rammed it out and in, practically fucking my face with the loo brush.

“That’s better. But you must be thirsty.” He raised the toilet brush holder to my mouth and poured. Dutifully I drank the foul water. Combinations of old toilet water, horrible piss and lumps of shit and vomit.

“Good slut” he muttered, now happy to get his cock out. I gasped at it’s massive length and width. He unceremoniously guided it to my mouth and started pushing it in. The width of the veiny meat meant I had no room for manoeuvre in there and he kept pushing until he reached the back of my throat. Watching his face as I started gagging uncontrollably onto the end of his cock. He seemed partially excited by the massaging effect of my gagging throat on the end of his cock, but also keen to watch the tears, fear and panic in my eyes.

He started to fuck my face violently, with no relent, like a man possessed. I sobbed as I gagged and had my head bang against the wall in equal measure.

Suddenly he stopped and looked down. “Do you want me to stop?” A little gag. “Blink if you want me to stop.” I instinctively blinked. His fist came crashing down onto the back of my head. I cried into his cock, but he was already fucking my skull again. He stopped again, looked down and repeated the question. I tried with all my might not to blink, only the thought of how proud Darren would be of me stopped me blinking.

The biker withdrew from my mouth, wrapped his hand around my throat – squeezing it tight. I was aware of his big hand jerking his cock above my face as I struggled for breath. The biker took two steps back and continued to jerk, as I caught my breath. He grunted loudly as his spunk flew across the toilet: splattering the floor, my legs, my breasts and my face. “Owned”, he muttered.

I slumped back, cum dribbling down me as the biker picked up his things and left without a word, stopping momentarily to hock a wad of spit on my face.

As the bike sped off I heard Police sirens. Bearly conscious of what was going on around me I lulled from side to side. Before I was aware of anything else a Policeman was cutting the cuffs behind me, being careful not to touch me, and I slumped forward.

Looking up at the fat, old Policeman I instantly started to undo his trousers. The cop whipped out his truncheon and struck me on the neck, making me slump to the ground.

“Shit,” he mourned, “I thought you were a victim. I didn’t realise you were part of this sex game. Hell, you probably organised it!” I mumbled incoherently in response.

“Look at the fucking mess you and your friends have made in here! Fucking clear it up, tramp!” She shoved me roughly to the cum on the floor left by the biker.

I quickly started to lick up the cum from the piss stained tiles. I’d never realised how quickly cum gets cold and congealed.

“And that urinal is degusting. Tell your friends this is a no-smoking building!”

My non-cognisant head went straight into the urinal. Drinking up the cold piss and munching on old cigarette ends, and swallowing down a wad of pubic hair that had been blocking the drain. As I cleaned I felt my body lightening, the guilt subsiding a little.

“Fuck! This toilet is gross!” cried the cop.

Dutifully crawling into the cubicle I ran my tongue around the rim of the bowl, cleaning up the pubic hairs and piss. Getting my head right in the bowl I made sure the skid marks, old and dry, were fully gone. Finally I stuck my head behind the bowl and lapped up the drunken puke deposited the night before.

I was suddenly aware of being led towards the Police car, bag on my shoulder, and being pushed into the back seat.

I looked out of the window, seeing the park of my childhood getting smaller as the car sped towards the Saturday-night heaving cells of the local Police station.

If you like this story and like RP, my YIM id is 'vontratte'