A Sick Night Out

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One Saturday afternoon, I am told that I am going to disgrace myself. Ma’am tells me that we will be going out together that evening. As usual for our evening soirees in public, I have my identity stolen. The ritual begins: my body is waxed, my cock is locked away to prevent any unsightly bulges from appearing, I am dressed in lightly coloured and figure hugging feminine clothing, and the look is completed with make up, wig and breast forms. Finally my heeled boots are slid onto my feet. I am blessed with prominent cheek bones, green eyes, long slim legs, naturally curvy hips, a washboard stomach, and a luscious peachy ass. I look promiscuous and convincing; comfortably convincing enough for the half cut idiots we will meet this evening to want to touch me up.

Before we go out, Ma’am prepares a large meal for me: the usual. A variety of leftovers are tossed into a food processor uncaringly, and blitzed to a pulp. As a garnish Ma’am laces the jug of green slop with laxatives, and orders to me drink. I drink it down, being careful not to smudge my lipstick, or dribble down my clothes. My meal weighs so heavily on my stomach, it feels as though my core is laden with liquid mercury. Ma’am feeds me a litre of gassy beer to wash my meal down with, quaffed with speed. Ma’am asks me, “Do you feel queasy yet, my pretty little slut? Is that whore bladder all full?” I nod, and Ma’am knows that we are ready.

We walk into town, it’s early evening, and the neon bars and pubs are filling with yobs. Pressure was building in all parts of my body; the bowel cramps had already started, my bladder was starting to scream, and the gurgling and queasiness in my stomach was growing. Ma’am could see me fidgeting, the discomfort growing, and selected a quiet pub that was half full with early drinkers. I was ordered to sit in a dark corner, whilst Ma’am went to the bar. “Shake your little ass for the men, dear. Let them think it’s attractive now. You’ll show them what it’s really worth, soon enough.” I could feel small group of men perving on my ass as I tottered across the room. Ma’am ordered the drinks, and brought them across on a tray. Ma’am had ordered a mineral water for herself, tayland porno and a selection of drinks for me. “You’re going to drink until your last little brain cell shudders and dies, my dear. You have one minute to finish each drink. I’ve taken all this trouble to refresh your thirst, as if you deserve it, so you had better finish within the time limit or you’ll get the cane.” Ma’am dug into her handbag, and removed her stopwatch and a padlock. She reached down under the table, tenderly brushing her bright red nails over my cock cage, before fastening the small padlock to my belt and the zip of my indecently tight light blue jeans. I knew what this meant; no toilet use.

My heart started pounding, and a feeling of helplessness and nihilism took over. I became determined to get this job done quickly, efficiently, with maximum shame if necessary.

First drink: cold sweet cider. I picked up the glass, raised it to my bright red lips, and poured. I opened my throat, and allowed the acidic liquid to fill my stomach. Within 10 seconds it was gone. A group of teenage girls stared. “I bet they’re wondering if you take cock so easily,” Ma’am purred, “my little cunthole.”

One down, nine to go.

Second drink: tequila. It was a double shot, no salt or lime. I pinched my nose, and poured it down. Burning, followed by gagging, followed by bowel cramps. “Aw,” Ma’am sympathized at my grimace. “Not a very good start. How do you expect to finish with such a pathetic effort? Suck it up and drink, buttercup.”

Third drink: cold lager. Feeling determined, glass to mouth, open throat, I let it slide down. Half a pint down, with slight dribbling of amber beer down my cleavage. “That’s it, my dear… show them your excuse for tits. You can’t even get being a woman right.” Ma’am sipped elegantly, re-crossing her legs. The lager chokes me with gagging and queasiness. I swallow, suppress the acid rush in my stomach, and take two long draughts – beer gone.

Fourth drink: single malt whiskey, straight. Lift glass, empty in mouth, swallow. Burning throat, burning stomach, lasting for minutes. “How are you feeling, my stained little tecavüz porno whore? Is your tummy aching? Sloshing? Heaving? What a worthless excuse for a hole, if you can’t even take what I put in it…”

Feeling nauseous, now intense bladder desperation, and close to uncontrollable bowel cramps. One glimmer of hope – I feel light-headed, slightly intoxicated. My shame is evaporating.

Fifth drink: respite, straight vodka. It goes down, clean and easy. “Yes, that’s my good hole,” Ma’am encourages.

Sixth drink: the black stuff. Time limits are now irrelevant. I am a drinking machine. The viscous black liquid disappears down my gullet, my stomach swells further, a rush of desperation hits my bladder. I feel piss leaking into my knickers before regaining control. I look down at my crotch. A small wet patch has appeared in the tight denim. I gag again, and double over as another intense bowel convulsion hits. “Feeling uncomfortable, dear? How unfortunate. I feel fine. Perhaps if you weren’t such a shameless drunk…” Ma’am smiled. Her medicine was working.

Seventh drink: sweet sickly rum. I dry heave as I lift the glass to my mouth and the smell hits me. The acoustics in the room are changing to my perception, a general din now. My eyes are glazing over. I sit back in the chair, and slump. My stomach churns, sickness is rising – this is a bad position. I lean forward onto the table, sucking in air, elbows limp. I breathe deeply, and swallow it down. I sit up and look at Ma’am, pleading. “Do you think you’re finished, quitter? Don’t be a bigger disappointment than you already are.” She mercilessly nods to the drink. I pick up the glass and swallow, full of resentment. Immediately I know I’m done. Bile rises, the room is spinning.

I stand up suddenly, bang my knees on the table, the sound of glass tumbling. Half of the bar turns and stares. Standing up suddenly feels alien. I am aware that I am staggering slightly. The guys are no longer perving on my ass, they are staring at the piss stains trickling down my thighs. A wave of sobriety spreads through the bar; I am the only intoxicated person here. A bowel cramp tombul porno hits, I clench my ass cheeks, and stagger towards the door. I stagger outside onto the pavement, cold evening air hits me, my bladder goes into shock. I grab the padlock and zip in vain; it’s too late. An uncontrollable jet off warm piss sprays into my tight jeans. Dark patches spread. Simultaneously I lose control of my bowels. I feel shit crackling, filling my white panties. It feels never ending; I feel wetness spreading down, and shit now filling and overtopping my panties. It stops. The feeling of relief is palpable but temporary. My jeans are entirely soaked, piss has trickled into my boots, and my toes are swimming. My panties are now heavily laden with warm shit, and I am aware of a large brown stain appearing down to my knees. I look around and realize that Ma’am has had a front row seat for this show; I have pissed and shit myself outside the main window of the bar. I see faces looking on, some aghast, some in awe.

I stagger around the side of the building, desperate to be away from gazing eyes. I feel piss and shit squelching inside my clothes, and a dreadful smell rising. I find a dark alleyway, and walk away from the main street. I see dark mounds in the alley, and stagger towards them. I stumble and collapse in a heap, surrounded by trash. I feel moisture from the black trash bags soaking through my clothes, and become aware of the smell of rotting food and the human waste inside my knickers. The rancid smell hits the back of my throat, I can almost taste it. I wretch, heave, and feel vomit rising. I lie there, unable to raise myself to my feet, as vomit pours out of my mouth. It runs down my cleavage, lumps collect and alcohol infused liquid saturates my vest. Unable to bear the feeling of lumpy vomit pooling inside my clothes, I sit up and uncontrollably puke all over my piss soaked jeans. When the sickness finally stops, my entire outfit is covered in vomit. I am sitting in a pool of puke. But I am empty.

Ma’am knows where to find me. She walks down the trash alley a short time later, finding me dripping with vomit, a total disgrace. I know I didn’t finish my drinks, and will be punished. “Well, well. Now you’re showing your real worth, cuntstain. Once pretty, now revolting. Look at you, disgusting and useless. I should just leave you here for the garbage men to pick up in the morning. But you’d like that too much, wouldn’t you, you little shit?”

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