I towered over her. She sat on the white tile floor, I stood on the ledge that kept the water in the shower. I forced her keep her bra on. That bra that was not part of her uniform. It would wash.
My piss danced across her chest, her face, and into her open mouth. She had been instructed to watch my cock as I pissed on her.
She tried. She really tried.
I could tell it was too much for her when I was only half-way through my bladder. I decided to keep going – no point in showing mercy when you’re trying to train someone to be a piss drinker.
My stream continued to falter slightly as my arousal made me hard and made it difficult to aim. Eventually, I finished. She didn’t move. Her eyes struggled to follow my cock as she breathed a sigh of relief. I love it when she thinks we are finished.
I knelt before her, and looked into her eyes. They shone with unrealized tears. She wouldn’t look at me. Couldn’t.
There was still piss in her mouth.
“Look at me.”
She didn’t try.
“LOOK AT ME!” I shouted.
She did. The struggle to stay calm made her shoulders shake. She was close to breaking, but I had to keep pushing. I had to know.
“Close your mouth. Don’t swallow until I tell you to.”
Trembling, she inched her jaw closed, but never made it. At the last crucial second she coughed and spat piss back at me. It splattered across my white dress shirt and the floor of the shower. She immediately started sobbing, wordlessly.
I stood up, took off my shirt, balled it into one hand, and knelt back down.
“You couldn’t do it?” It wasn’t a question.
She shook her head. Her sobbing slowed and her body trembled, waiting for the strike that would come. She tried to keep looking at me, but her fear kept putting her eyes to the floor.
And the strike did come. Hard. She spit piss onto her master’s shirt. Intentional or not, that sort of thing is deserving of stern punishment.
But it would come later.
I grabbed her chin and slowly tilted her head up, her eyes to meet my own. I took my crumpled shirt and wiped the tears and piss and sweat from her face. Gently, because that is what she needed in that moment. I took off the offending bra and threw it and my shirt in a crumpled ball on the floor. She would get it later. And hand wash it too.
Her eyes changed, softened, relaxed. No longer the deer in the headlights, she was now a docile and domesticated thing, her normal self.
I pulled her forward, onto my shoulder, and petted her head, told her that I was proud of the effort, that I would punish the infraction soon, and that we were done with piss training for the night. She said nothing and I said nothing more.