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Peeing on the Peeper

By: adoration



My wife Barbara, a trim 35-year-old, had informed me that morning of a poolside party she was throwing for four of her friends and she wanted me to "stay out of the fuckin' way".

I do what Barbara, a brunette real estate millionairess with a stunning 36-24-36 figure, tells me. I'm five years her junior and a personal trainer, but I've got no doubt who runs our home – and it sure as hell ain't me!

Barbara sells palaces around Beverly Hills that are homes for the mega rich, and while I work for some of those affluent people, a glance at our pre-nup agreement should leave you in no doubt as to who's the boss in our house!

On the morning of the party, I arranged towels by five recliners, as Barb had told me four guests were expected. I checked that the poolside fridge was freshly stocked with wine, beer and soft drinks, then made myself scarce.

As it was a stinking hot summer's day, I settled down in the den with a filthy magazine, wearing just a little thong. As I say, I'm a personal trainer and I practice what I preach. I've got a trim, well-muscled body, all over tan, and I've got a pretty trim muscle down there, even though I do say so myself. It's just under nine uncut inches and I've never had any complaints.

Not that I put it about, since although my wife is the boss, the once-a-month sex session she allows me is always sensational.

Soon sounds of women's laughter came from poolside and I decided to creep upstairs and look down on the scene – a little look never did anyone any harm, right? Wrong – but I wasn't to know that.

In our large bedroom, I could peep down on poolside. Our pool is totally secluded. We live at the top of one of those Beverly Hills ridges and no one can look down on us.

By the pool, I could see Barbara, of course, wearing a sexy little red bikini and high heels. Her four guests were all similarly dressed – itsy-bitsy bikinis and high heels, a combination that really turns me on!

Anyway, I was peeping down, when out the corner of my eye I spotted a bunch of women's underwear on the bed – they'd obviously changed up here before going down poolside. I checked out a nice pair of black satin panties, just a quick sniff. Oh shit, they smelled good! Then I picked up a little red thong.

As you will have guessed by now, that was what got me into trouble. I placed the lovely black pair on my face, then pulled down my thong, stepped out of it and rubbed the little red item over my swiftly rising cock.

Well, time flies when you're having fun, as they say, and I must have let my mind wander because the next thing I knew, I heard a voice I was very familiar with barking at me like a machinegun going off.

"And what the fuck do you think you're doing?" snapped my wife, who had crept up just behind me. I hadn't even seen her leave poolside!

I spun round and stammered: "Er, I, well, you see ..." Then my voice trailed off.

Barbara was glaring at me, her fists bunched on her hips, her lovely tanned figure gleaming, her 36-inch breasts heaving.

"Oh shut the fuck up, you stinking pervert," she snapped, "it was a rhetorical question. I can fuckin' well see what you're doing, you disgusting piece of shit."

I began to remove the black satin panties from my face, but was halted by Barbara's staccato command: "You can leave them on your face, and keep that fuckin' thong on your cock, mister. I want them both in place when I show you off to the girls, you perverted little cunt, you!"

I tried to protest, but when Barbara's pissed you don't win, so I shut up.

"Get yourself downstairs, you arsehole," she yelled, grabbing me by the ear and twisting it. "I had come up for a piss, but you've got me so pissed off I'm going to pee on you, you pathetic bastard!"

And that was how I was marched off down to the poolside, where my emergence from the downstairs lounge onto the large deck above the pool attracted a sudden, stunned reaction from the four ladies, sitting around on recliners enjoying drinks.

"Look what I found upstairs, girls," called Barbara, as she led me down to the quartet. "My husband Tom – he's fuckin' aptly named because I found him upstairs perving on you, and look what he's wearing!"

A lovely, large black woman stood and walked over. She was, I later discovered, 36-years-old and had purchased a very expensive property with the help of my wife a month previously.

She held out her hand and shook mine: "Hello Peeping Tom, my name's Keisha. I trust you like those panties of mine you're wearing. Nice and smelly, are they?"

I didn't know what to say, but a reply became unnecessary when a tidily-built little blonde, at 25 as I was to discover the youngest of the group, bounced over, and laughed at my discomfort.

"Hi, Peeper," she grinned, "my name's Carmel, I'm the office secretary and I see you like my thong. Well, you can keep it, only please, keep wanking. You were wanking with it, weren't you?"

I gulped, then nodded as Barbara barked: "Answer Carmel, you rude prick!"

"Now I'll introduce you to the two ladies whose panties you obviously discarded," said my wife, again grabbing me by the ear and painfully dragging me over to the two women who had remained seated on their recliners during Keisha and Carmel's introductions.

Barbara indicated a big, blonde woman, her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail as Helga, who I knew from the name was another millionairess, like my wife, thanks to real estate sales. She was wearing a skimpy little black PVC bikini, which was straining deliciously at her magnificent 40-inch breasts. Silicon jobs, as I found later, not that that mattered.

"And this is Ro, our office manager," said Barbara, introducing me to a 38-year-old brunette, with pert little 34-inch breasts, only just covered by a bikini that was really just thin strips of material.

The introductions over, I now earnestly hoped that I would be allowed to disappear back into the house, but Barbara was having none of it.

"Since I found him perving on us and doing disgusting things with our underwear, I've decided to punish him," said my wife. "I had gone inside for a piss, but now I'm going to use this piece of crap instead."

Keisha laughed: "You mean he's pissed you off so you're going to piss on him?"

Barbara nodded: "Exactly. I'm bursting for a piss, but first I've got to get him ready. Keisha, take him over to that trampoline and hold him there till I get back!"

The big-busted black woman – and when I say big, I'm talking 40-inchers - placed a tight grip on my shoulder and marched me across to the trampoline, set in one corner of the patio, which I often used for fitness workouts.

We stood in the hot sun for a few moments, then Barbara returned holding several pairs of pantyhose. "Up on the tramp, you tramp!" she snapped, laughing at her own joke.

I climbed up on the trampoline, feeling ridiculous, with Keisha's sweet-smelling panties still on my face, Carmel's tiny little thong still on my cock. "On your back," barked Barbara, and I lay down on the hot black material of the trampoline's mat.

My wife then tied my ankles and wrists to the four corners of the equipment, so that I was spreadeagled and helpless. When she had finished, Barbara turned to the group and announced: "I'm going to piss on him in a minute, but first I'm going to get a video recorder – Carmel, can you operate it?" The 25-year-old nodded.

"And I'm going to get my digital camera," said Keisha, "I want a record of this, too." The other women indicated that they too, would fetch their cameras and also get pictorial evidence of my punishment.

A minute or two later, Barbara came out of the house and instructed Carmel how to operate the camera. The others were standing by with their digital cameras for further records of my humiliation.

My wife then kicked off her high heels, pulled off her bikini bottom and clambered up onto the trampoline. Standing above my face she gave me a clear view up her shaved pussy, her pubic hair cropped back so she was almost hairless.

Then she squatted down and pulled Keisha's panties from my by-now sweating face, and threw them on the tramp beside my upper torso. She was so close, I could smell the magnificent aroma of her sex.

"And now, you disgusting pervert, it's punishment time," she sneered. "I'm gonna piss on your face and your pathetic cock and balls – and you're gonna thank me for it, OK?"

I nodded and mumbled "Yes, I understand, darling". Barbara then felt behind her and pulled Carmel's thong from my stiff cock. Then she moved down until her pussy was just above my genitals.

Suddenly I felt a warm flood as a strong stream of her urine splashed over my boner. She must have relieved herself for almost 30 seconds before stemming the flow. Then she knelt and crawled up until her steaming snatch was above my face.

"Thank me with a kiss," she hissed, and I raised my head from the mat and licked her sex trench, tasting the strong saltiness of her urine that had lingered on her piss flaps.

Then I spluttered as Barbara again let loose another spurt of piss, this time directing it all over my face, over my mouth, my nose, my eyes – which I had grimly shut – and my forehead.

"Thank me!" she snarled, as her stream dropped to a dribble, before stopping entirely. I ran my tongue along her sex, once more tasting the salty tang of her piss.

Now that she had finished her pissing, I had hoped for some release from my humiliation, but that was not to be. Barbara then squatted over my piss-saturated cock and balls and ground her crotch against me.

With a sudden awful realisation, it then dawned on me that Barbara was going to present me with her pussy once more for more adoration. I wasn't wrong. Her gleaming groin came up to my face and she grabbed me by the back of the head and pulled me into her pussy.

"Now fuckin' thank me properly, slut," she ordered, and I ran my mouth, lips and tongue all over her piss-drenched pussy. As I did, I was ashamed to feel a stirring in my groin – I was getting erect!

It was a sight not lost on the four-woman audience.

"Fucking hell," I heard Keisha remark, "he's cracking a fat, Barb!"

My wife continued her graunching on my working mouth, but grunted: "What a pervert! Well, now we know this turns him on, he's in for some piss big time!"

Soon my lavish attentions to her pussy produced the usual effect and Barbara groaned and panted her way to a noisy orgasm – good job our pool's secluded!

After she climbed off my face, Barbara informed her friends: "I'm going for a dip. Keisha, he had your panties on his face, so you can have him next, Carmel you go after her, then Helga and Ro, you can finish him off."

Keisha smiled at me from her position by the trampoline. "I'm not ready to piss yet, darling, but I'll give you a little treat. Isn't that nice of me?"

I looked at the statuesque black woman as she peeled off her bra, to reveal not only big breasts, but possibly the largest nipples I've ever seen on a woman. She then stepped out of her bikini bottom to display a crotch shaved to leave just a mere frosting of tightly-coiled pubic hair.

Keisha then picked up her black satin panties from beside my sweating body, before carefully rubbing them all over my cock and balls. "There," she said, soothingly, as she arranged them back over my face, "nicely freshened up, eh? See, I promised you a little treat, Mr Peeping Tom."

And the women all laughed as they saw my cock standing stiff up from my groin.

"Judging by that cock, you like the piss perfume," said Keisha, then the four women went back to their chairs and fixed fresh drinks. They all appeared to be big drinkers.

I lay back and sweated in the heat of the California sun, the piss-smeared panties providing me with a cock-raising perfume.

It looked like I was going to be in for a long afternoon.

To be continued. 

Peeing on the Peeper Ch. 02



I must have been lying on the trampoline wearing Keisha's piss-soaked panties on my face for some 20 minutes, when the big black woman returned, beaming down at me and holding a large glass of foaming lager. Apart from her high heels she was naked.

"Hi Peeping Tom," she smiled, "one more bottle of this lovely lager and I'll be ready to pass some of it on to you - you like lager, do you?"

I nodded from beneath her black panties, acutely aware that my nearly nine-inch erection was physical proof that I liked more than lager!

She walked away, her beautiful big buttocks swaying, her brown body gleaming, leaving me spreadeagled, strapped down and sweating in the hot California sunshine.

About 10 minutes later, Keisha again stood up and I heard her say: "Time for my performance on the peeper, girls. Lights, camera, action as they say in Hollywood!"

My wife, Barbara, also nude now, save for her high heels, picked up the VCR and Helga, Carmel and Ro - all still clad in their horn-inducing bikinis - picked up digital cameras and walked over to my position of bondage.

Keisha kicked off her shoes and clambered up onto the trampoline. From between my thighs she did a couple of bounces for my benefit, her massive boobs bouncing around erotically, her pussy clear to my gaze. I had a feeling that soon, it would be much closer!

After several bounces she halted her leaping and squatted down, her pussy hovering above my genitals. "OK girls," called Keisha, as Barbara filmed the occasion, "cock and balls or mouth?"

"Cock and balls," said Carmel. "Mouth," said Ro. "Cock and balls," said Helga. "Mouth," said my wife.

"It's a tie - two each, so I get a casting vote," said Keisha, squatting lower so her pussy lips were lying on my hard shaft. "Or shall we leave it to the slave?" she added, dragging out my torment. "What do you say, Peeper?"

I struggled to think of a reply and the best I could come up with was: "Whichever you prefer, Keisha."

Keisha roared with laughter. "Ain't you just the fuckin' diplomat, Peeper!" she shouted. "Well, I'll tell you what, since you can't make up your fuckin' mind, I'll piss on your cock and balls - and in your mouth! How's that?"

I nodded. "Lovely, thank-you, Keisha."

But the superbly-built black amazon had still not finished dragging out the agony of suspense before she pissed on me! "But where do I piss first, Peeper?" she asked. "Your mouth or your cock and balls? And give me a fuckin' answer this time, you cunt!"

"My cock and balls," I said, my voice falling to a whisper.

Still Keisha was not ready! "Louder," she shouted, "let everyone hear, this is being filmed!"

"My cock and balls, please, Keisha," I yelled.

And still she kept me in torment! "Beg me for it, say how much you want it, say it's turning you on!"

Then I totally humbled myself. On the videotape you can hear me pour out this torrent of pleading and begging: "Oh please, Keisha, I beg you, please piss on my cock and balls, I love you and your piss, it turns me on so much to think that you're going to pee on me, pretty please, piss on me, pleeeease!"

Keisha's response was crushing: "Don't overdo it, you fuckin' peeping pervert."

And then I felt a warmth engulf my groin area as she loosed a strong stream of piss over my cock and balls, thoroughly drenching me there. Then she moved up knelt just above my face, her snatch smelling strongly of urine and sex juices - she was aroused!

"Now clean me before the second course, Peeper," she ordered, and my tongue snaked out and licked the strongly tasting piss flaps, before diving between them to lick and lave in adoration at her steaming pussy.

When I had completed my task - all of which was filmed by Barbara from close range - Keisha commanded: "And now you may beg me for the rest in your mouth by telling me how much you want to drink my piss, you fuckin' pathetic perv!"

Once more I humbled myself before this strong-thighed temptress: "Please piss down my mouth, darling Keisha, please, I just adore your wonderful nectar, I love it, piss down me, please, please piss down me!"

At this point on the tape you can clearly hear my black domina snigger. And then: "OK, you asked for it, Peeper, here it is - open wide!"

And a strong stream of yellow fluid jetted from the lovely woman's dark snatch. I gulped it down, hardly tasting the saltiness as it poured down my throat, before I had to gulp back on the flow, thus spilling some urine, which dribbled down my chin. It was a spillage not lost on Keisha!

"You're gonna pay for that spill, Peeper," she said, ominously, when she had completed emptied her bladder. "Now clean me, fuck face."

After I had licked at her tangy twat for some moments, Keisha then lowered herself to my groin region and this time rubbed her lovely big breasts all over my still-drenched cock and balls. Then she presented the piss-smeared, gleaming globes to my mouth for me to lick and kiss to cleanliness.

The five ladies then returned to their loungers and for a few minutes the conversation centred round how Keisha should make me pay for spilling some of her urine.

The chat opened with Helga, the PVC-bikini clad blonde pointing out: "It was a disgraceful performance - he claims to love your precious nectar, Keisha, then he fucking spills it. That's the height of disrespect."

My wife chimed in: "Of course he must pay for that disrespect - and since we're having a piss party, it must be a piss-based punishment."

The office junior, the lovely 25-year-old Carmel, then came up with the suggestion that found most favour: "Look, Keisha, you're going to pee on him again, aren't you?"

Keisha nodded: "Several times, honey."

"Well," Carmel continued, "make the next one a total drink job - piss it all down his mouth, don't shower his cock and balls or anywhere else. Just make him drink it!"

Keisha laughed. "Carmel, honey, sometimes I wonder why you're still the office junior! Hey, Peeper - ya hear that?"

"Yes, Keisha," I called from my place of bondage.

"Well, whaddya think?" asked the black domina.

"Er, I think it's an excellent idea," I answered.

"Hold on a minute," said one of the others, Ro, the pertly-breasted 38-year-old office manager, "how do we know he's not going to spill more of your tasty golden stream the next time?"

But my wife had the answer for that: "Because I'm going to pop into the kitchen and find one of those plastic funnels I use during cooking. We'll make him hold it in his mouth and Keisha can piss into the funnel. That way - no spillage!"

"Perfect," said Keisha, "what a great idea."

"And," chimed in Carmel, "you can order him to block the end of the funnel with his tongue. That way he can keep it dammed up till you're ready to give him permission to drink it!"

"Fantastic," said Keisha. "I could keep him waiting 10 minutes, 20, even half an hour! That would really make him sweat!"

"You'll have a job making him wait half an hour," laughed Helga.

"Why?" asked Keisha.

"Because there'll be others waiting in line for their turn to piss and the way my bladder's feeling, a few of us will have a job holding on for that long!"

There was a ripple of laughter, then Carmel spoke up. "All that talk of peeing has me busting for a piss. Barb, you said I could go after Keisha since the perv was wearing my thong on his cock?"

My wife nodded her head.

"Well, it's time I had a piss," said the 25-year-old, who moved over to the trampoline. "Don't bother to film me," she laughed, climbing up onto the tramp, "I'm very camera shy!"

The blonde stood in the gap between my thighs and slowly peeled down the bright red string bikini panties, but kept her bra on. She had lovely long legs, bronzed and tan, but I could see from her pussy that she was a natural blonde, her semi-trimmed snatch being veiled in a light golden covering of pubic hair, bright pink labia lips peeping from the thatch.

"Now Keisha was a lady, she offered you a choice of cock and balls or mouth, didn't she?" the office junior smiled, looking down at me with a big grin on her features.

"Yes, Carmel," I replied, warily.

"Well I'm not such a fuckin' lady. You're gonna get it everywhere, Tom, you perverted peeper," she warned me.

Carmel then proceeded to give me a golden shower which demonstrated not only how much piss she could hold in, but also what fantastic control she had over its delivery!

She began by squirting a thick, strong stream over my semi-stiff cock and balls for about 10 seconds. The wonderful warmth of her spray caused me to become erect almost instantly. Then she stood astride me hips and directed another 10 second stream over my abdomen and belly.

Her next target was my upper chest. Then she turned and presented me with a great view of her trim, kissable little arse and let five second bursts drench my left, then my right thigh.

Finally, the office junior lowered her arse until it was nearly touching my face, with her face pointing down my body towards my feet.

"The last little drop, Peeper," she hissed, and then let go her final stream of the session all over my face, drenching my cheeks, my forehead and my hair in a strong final golden shower.

After she finished, Carmel plonked herself down firmly on my face and rubbed her crotch all over my face, marinating her pussy with her own urine, and making me lick her to a climax.

At the conclusion, when Carmel rose from my cock-stiff body, there was a round of applause from the women who had watched the performance from their recliners.

Then I heard my wife and saw that she was standing beside the trampoline and had recorded Carmel's golden shower extravaganza with her VCR.

"Wonderful, Carmel, a fantastic performance," said Barbara with enthusiasm, "and I've got it all on film!"

Carmel laughed. "Well, I was so engrossed in what I was doing with your perv of a husband, I guess I didn't notice. Well, whatdya reckon Barb? Is there a place in Hollywood for me?"

The women laughed, and Barbara chuckled: "Carmel, that's a question I think we should ask your co-star. OK, Peeper, what do you think - will Carmel make it on the silver screen?"

I had to admit it was a tour de force of urination. "She's wonderful, darling," I told my wife, "she can piss on me any time."

Carmel leaned over and kissed me on my piss-stained mouth. "I fully intend to, Peeper," she told me, "I fully intend to!"

To be continued... 



Peeing on the Peeper Ch. 03



I lay in the hot sun, my piss-stained body aching at my long-enforced bondage on the trampoline when I heard raised voices from the five women attending the poolside piss party.

One, who I took to be Helga, the big-busted strict-looking blonde millionairess real estate saleswoman, announced: "I can't wait any longer, I've got to piss on him. It is my turn, correct Barb?"

I heard my wife respond: "Correct, Helga, then Ro goes last - if she can hold out that long!"

Then I heard Ro, the 38-year-old office manageress, add her 50 cents' worth: "Cripes, I dunno about that, Barb. I swear my bladder is fit to burst, all the piss it must be holding."

Helga laughed, then said: "Hey, Barb, what say Ro and I double team him? We can both work the Peeper over at the same time? Whaddya say?"

Carmel, the office junior, chimed in: "Fuckin' great, it'll make a great addition to that piss film you're shooting, Barbara!"

"Fuck, you're right," said my wife, "as long as you two whores can time your deliveries. Wanna try it?"

"Honey," I heard Helga add, "if we don't, I swear I'm going wet my panties here and fuckin' now!"

"Let's go, then," said my wife, to peals of laughter from the assembled piss party, and the five women, my wife holding the VCR recorder, the other two non-pee participants their digital cameras, advanced on my bound body.

I turned and watched as Helga, the stunningly-built big blonde peeled down her bikini panties to reveal a totally shaved snatch. Ro, smaller but equally nicely stacked, although smaller breasted, slipped out of her bikini bottom to display a brown-haired pussy, with a thick thatch which completely masked her piss flaps.

The two women climbed aboard the trampoline and stood above me, displaying one completely shaved snatch, one hairy pussy.

"Right," said Helga, "what say we both give him a facial first?"

"Sounds great to me," said Ro, "but for fuck's sake let's get on with it, or I'll drench him right here and now."

"Right," said Helga, "I'll take the reverse face sit position, you kneel opposite me, pussy against pussy - go!"

Then the two lovelies lowered themselves so that I was inches from two pulsating pussies, the nudity of Helga's snatch facing down my body, her mons pressed firmly against the hirsute region presented by her office mate's.

"OK," said Helga, as I inhaled the glorious sexual aroma wafting down from the two pussies, "are you ready to go?"

"Stupid fuckin' question, Helga," I heard Ro announce from above me. "Get the fuck on with it!"

"Right," said Helga, "on my count from five. Five, four, three, two, one, zero - piss him off!"

And with the words "piss him off" both women let go with the urine they must have been holding onto for the best part of an hour or more. The streams from both were huge, spraying in great cascades over my mouth, nostrils, eyes and forehead, the stinking spray splashing loudly as they released their lovely loads onto me.

"Now stem the flow!" I heard Helga call, after some 15 to 20 seconds had passed. This was easier said than done for the two drenching dominas, but within another five seconds or so the streams dried up and then ceased completely.

"Now thank us, Peeper," Helga ordered, and I raised my piss-perfumed face from the trampoline and traced my tongue from her lovely cunt, across her steaming piss flaps to her clit, then across to the matted, steamy thatch of Ro's brown hair, running over her thick labia, before dipping into her weeping cunt.

"And back!" ordered the office manageress, when I had reached her cunt, so I licked and lapped again through her piss-sodden hair, over her clit and on to Helga's totally bald quim, tasting more piss as I delved back to her cunt.

"Now for his cock and balls, then we can face sit him some more," said Helga after my second passage across the pussies of the double-domme team.

The duo then squatted above my cock and balls - a cock, I might add, which was extremely stiff thanks to the humiliating but hugely arousing experience I had just undergone. After another 5-4-3-2-1 count-down from the big-busted blonde, I was again treated to a double drenching of urine as the pair completed their bladder-emptying task.

Next, Ro, then her partner in punishment, pressed her pussy and ground it against my piss-perfumed cock and balls before placing it against my mouth for oral adoration. Then they were done.

Now, it was time for me to abase myself even more before the lovely quintet. As my wife completed filming my latest ordeal, I called out: "Barb, I really need to piss now, I can't hold it back much longer, I have to go, please!"

Well, as you water sports connoisseurs out there will have already realised, this was merely another opportunity for my piss punishers to add to my complete debasement!

"Oh god, I'm gonna have to film this," said my wife, returning to the side of the trampoline. "Keisha, be a darling and get up there and lift his legs up, we'll make him piss on himself."

The women roared with laughter at the next predicament I would be placed in, and Keisha walked to the foot of the trampoline and untied the bonds that kept my ankles spread wide at the bottom of the exercise equipment.

Then the naked beauty climbed onto the tramp and hefted my legs up and draped them across her broad shoulders until my body was shaped like the letter "L", with my cock facing down towards my upper body.

Barbara walked to the head of the trampoline and called out: "Hold his cock so you can direct his stream, Keisha!"

The naked black bird took my shaft between a thumb and forefinger and pulled on it slightly. "I'm aiming for his fuckin' face, Barb, that OK?" she asked.

"Sounds fuckin' perfect to me," replied my wife. "OK, Tom, are you ready to piss, you peeping pervert?"

What could I say? My bladder was aching from trying to retain all the piss I had accumulated during my ordeal, added to the fact that the last time I'd gone to the toilet must have been shortly after breakfast, which had been hours ago. "Ready, darling," I replied, as I felt the inevitability of my release swelling in my loins. "Right," said Barbara, "I'm filming now, so let it go, you pathetic piss-drinker!"

I tried to relax to allow the flow to start, but something held me back. Then Keisha, pushing me up using her shoulders on my calves, put her other hand onto my balls and stroked them gently. It did the trick!

I looked up, appalled but fascinated as I saw my prick lips part and then my piss hole was pouring urine down on my face, splashing me all over the cheeks, nostrils and mouth.

Next, Keisha pulled my foreskin down slightly, baring the helmet and this intensified the stream, making it narrower but stronger. This time she directed the flow across my pectorals, then all over my chest and belly, the flow striking my navel and forming a waterfall which cascaded down my upper chest again.

After my total debasement, Keisha announced: "Crikey, it's stinking here now. Time we gave him another kind of shower, Barb!" And with that she went to the corner of the large pool area and found the garden hose.

Turning the tap on, the busty black beauty then sprayed water all over me - warm at first, from the water stored in the rubber hose, then gradually becoming cold. The clean up over, Keisha then announced: "Time to fetch that funnel, Barb, I feel another piss coming on!"

When my wife had returned she handed Keisha a red plastic funnel and picked up the VCR again. "How much does this hold, darling?" Keisha inquired.

"Just over a pint, I've just measured it," said Barbara.

Keisha stepped to the head of the trampoline and began to undo the stockings which pinned me down onto the exercise equipment. "Judging by the way he's lapping this punishment up, I don't think there's any chance he'll try to escape," she said, as she freed me.

When I had been released, I rubbed some circulation back into my wrists, then Keisha, who had been kneeling alongside my chest, her body naked and gleaming in the bright sun, handed me the funnel. "Pop this in your mouth and grip hold of it with one hand to steady it," she ordered.

I did as I was told, then Keisha squatted so that her pussy was in line with the funnel. "Now block the end with your tongue, Peeper," she instructed, "I want no drinking until I give the word, OK?"

I mouthed an OK which sounded like some form of affirmation. Then, filmed by my wife, Keisha jetted a strong stream of piss into the funnel's bowl. Soon, the liquid was nearly at the top and Keisha controlled her flow.

"Take a couple of sucks, slave, then block it again," she commanded, and I swallowed some of her glorious warm nectar. "Good boy," she commented, and resumed pissing until the bowl was again nearly full to overflowing. A few dribbles of urine splashed into the bowl, then she was done.

After climbing from the tramp, Keisha smiled down at my predicament and ordered: "One small swallow, and re-block the tube." Again, I obeyed.

Keisha laughed at me, stroked my now stiff-again cock and walked away. "I'll let you know when you can have more drinkies, slave," she said, over her shoulder. "Until then, just lay back and relax."

Which was easy for Keisha to say, but hard to do as I lay in the hot sun, my body rapidly drying in the warmth. I was acutely aware that above me, blocked only by my tongue, was about a pint of Keisha's piss waiting to be drunk. But my hard-on gave away my masochistic delight at the degradation I was undergoing!

Finally, after what seemed like hours but, I was later informed, was only 20 minutes, Keisha returned and allowed me to drink down the rest of my liquid lunch.

And so the afternoon rolled on, woman after woman either pissing all over my naked body, or making me drink from the kitchen funnel, until, as afternoon merged into evening, my wife and the women went inside.

Later, as I heard cars drive away, Barbara returned, naked save for her high heels, and allowed me to join her for a swim in the warm waters of our lovely pool.

When we climbed out of the water, Barbara told me: "Into the house darling, take a shower, brush your teeth and have a nice cleansing mouth wash."

I ran inside, and after cleaning up in our en suite bathroom, walked naked into the bedroom to find my wife lying back on the bed, wearing nothing but a little shiny pair of red satin crotchless panties! Wearing a pair of crotchless panties was her signal to me that sex was permitted!

I climbed onto the bed, lowered my face to hers and kissed her on the mouth, then pushed my quivering cock into her damp pussy, sliding it strongly up her cunt in one smooth thrust.

"There, darling," she smiled up at me as I moved up and down in her cunt, "aren't you glad I caught you being a naughty Peeping Tom, Tom?"

"Very much so, darling," I responded, kissing her again.

"And tell me, which of my friends made you the horniest?" she said, sweetly.

"Well," I replied, pondering her query. "They're all very attractive ladies, but Carmel is a deliciously fiendish little minx. She'd make a superb dominatrix!"

Barbara laughed: "Yes, I think she'd be much better at it than as the office junior. So she was your favourite, then?"

I shook my head. "No, darling," I replied, "I have to say that the gorgeous Keisha takes the pride of place there."

My wife eyed me knowingly. "Exactly, your cock always betrayed you when it was Keisha doing the domming, darling," she said.

"So it's a good job I've invited her back here tomorrow for a more exclusive piss party - just her, me and you," said Barbara.

I thought I was going to come there and then, but I quickly gained control of my pulsating penis.

"And next Saturday," Barbara continued, "she's invited Ro, Helga and Carmel around to her place for anther piss party."

Once more I had to fight back an ejaculation.

"Keisha's daughter, Alysha, will be there," said my wife. "You'll like her, she's a 20-year-old version of her mother, I met her when I sold Keisha her new house."

Again I was fighting a strong urge to shoot!

"And Carmel's bringing her younger sister, I don't know her name, but she says she's a lovely little blonde, good body, aged 19 or 20, I think she said."

By now my cock was throbbing like a pneumatic drill!

"Is there anything they need us to take to the party?" I asked, if only to take my mind off the awful pressure I felt to shoot a great load of spunk.

"Keisha says not to bother," laughed Barbara, "she says the girls will have plenty of piss for you!"

And that did it for me. I came.

To be continued...



Peeing on the Peeper Ch. 04



Sunday dawned hot and sunny and I re-stocked the poolside fridge, while Barbara prepared food for her guest, the stunningly-built black woman, Keisha.

The large-breasted 36-year-old millionairess who had recently purchased a Beverly Hills property that my wife had on her books, was due to join us for a rather more exclusive piss party poolside than I had endured the previous day, when five of Barbara's friends and colleagues had ganged up on me.

I had just finished my poolside chores, when the phone rang. "Get that Tom," instructed Barbara, "I've got my hands full with some savouries."

I picked up the poolside phone extension and answered: "Hi, Tom here."

A voice I recognised from the previous day sent thrills down my nearly nude body – I was clad only in a posing pouch, for maximum suntan effect.

"Hi Peeper, it's me Keisha. I hope you're nice and thirsty?"

"Oh, hi Keisha," I said, trying to maintain a steady voice. "Yes, Barb's not allowed me anything to drink since breakfast. I'm parched."

A deep chuckle came down the line. "Have to see if I can do something about that, eh, Peeper?"

"Yes," I replied. "Barb's busy in the kitchen, by the way, can I help?"

"Hope so," said Keisha. "I was going to come around this afternoon for a select little piss party with Barb."

My heart sank. She couldn't make it!

Then it leapt again, as the caller added: "Only, I was wondering if I could bring my darling daughter, Alysha. She was going to the Angels double header this afternoon, but her boyfriend had to cancel, he's had to fly to Vegas on business."

"I'm sure that'll be fine, just let me ask Barb," I answered, almost sprinting up the wide steps at the back of the house and into the kitchen where Barbara was hard at work.

"It's Keisha," I told my lovely 35-year-old real estate millionaire saleswoman wife, "she wants to know if it's OK to bring Alysha around with her."

"Sure thing, tell her that'll be fine," said Barbara and then, after shoving a tray packed with chicken vol au vents into the oven, she stood up and said: "Here, gimme the phone, I want to talk to her."

I passed the receiver over to my wife. "Hi Keisha," said Barbara, then when the pleasantries had been exchanged, Barbara made some remarks that had my cock bursting in its little posing pouch.

"Say, Keisha," Barb began, "Tom's never met Alysha, right? What say that when you arrive he doesn't get to touch her, not to shake her hand, not to take her bag, not to hand her a towel – no contact at all.

"Then, when he's in position on the trampoline, and Alysha's ready for a piss the very first contact he makes with her is when her pussy presses onto his mouth and he's made to drink her golden nectar! Imagine, the first time they touch and it's for her to piss down his throat!"

There was a short pause, then Barbara laughed. "She likes the idea? Cripes, Keisha, she must be as big a fuckin' domme as you are!"

When the conversation was over, Barb said to me: "Look at that, you filthy pervert, you're hard just thinking about it, aren't you?"

I had to agree, after all, the evidence was poking out in front of me!

"Right, get those stockings we used yesterday and get on the tramp," ordered my wife. "I'm going to have a shower, so you can tie your ankles down, and get out of that pouch, I want the first sight Alysha gets is you naked with a hard on!"

I hurried out poolside to carry out instructions and had my ankles bound and was lying back naked on the warmth of the tramp, when – some 20 minutes later – my wife came out of the house, dressed in high heels, a bikini bra and no bottom.

She stepped to the side of the trampoline and smiled approvingly at my erection, I've got an eight and three-quarter inch uncut cock, which I'm rather proud of. I'm also proud of my superb physique. Being a personal trainer to some of the rich and powerful in Hollywood meanst that I have to maintain a great body, and even though I'm 30 pushing 31, I think I do a pretty good job.

Barbara then proceeded to take the remaining four stockings, tied one each around my upper thighs, just below my crotch, then used the remaining two stockings to tie my wrists to the thigh restraints, thus pinning my arms by my side.

"Perfect," she smiled, leaning over and giving my rampant cock a swift kiss. "See you soon."

I must have lain in the hot sun for about half an hour before I heard the sound of laughter coming from the back of the house. Then three women came clip-clopping down the steps towards me.

"Hi Peeper," called Keisha, and I saw the statuesque black woman laughing down at me. She was naked, save for a pair of blood red leather high heels, her breasts glistening, their nipples erect, her pussy dark and very inviting.

"I'd like to introduce my dearest daughter, Alysha, who's heard all about your kink – say hi, darling." And with that, the 36-year-old super-rich bitch stepped back and pushed a smaller version of herself to the side of the trampoline.

"Hi Peeper," said the 20-year-old honey. Unlike her mother, Alysha was at least clothed – well, that's if you can term the items she had on her breasts and midriff clothing!

Her sensational breasts – later I learned they were 38s! – were "covered", and I use the word in the loosest possible sense, by two tiny bright red PVC triangles, which were just large enough to cover her nipples and areolae.

The rest of the bra, if such a term could be coined for such an erotically tiny garment, was made up of slender red straps going around her torso, and up from the tops of the triangles and over her shoulders.

At her midriff was an equally scandalous scrap of material, also bright red PVC, which gleamed over her prominent pudenda. The triangle here barely covered the sides of her piss flaps, which appeared to be straining to force their way out of the material to reveal themselves between her glorious brown thighs.

"Hi, Alysha," I replied.

"And tell me, is that cock the nine inches that I think it is?" she asked, teasingly.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Alysha," I tried to joke as I drank in her voluptuous beauty, "but it's only eight and three quarters."

The 20-year-old grinned down at me. "Oh what a pity," she cooed, in a mock sympathetic voice, "'cos I make it a point of never fucking anyone who's under nine inches."

Then she went to stroke my stiffy, only to have her hand slapped away by her mother. "Don't touch him," Keisha hissed, "the first contact is your piss flaps on his mouth, remember?"

"Oh, sorry, mom," the dusky beauty said, "I clean forgot. But speaking of piss, I'm really busting. Can I go soon?"

"Sure, honey," said her mother, "but first I've got a little present for Mr Peeper here. You got that bottle, Barb?"

"Shit," said my wife, "I forgot it, I've left it in the fridge. I'll just pop back upstairs and fetch it." And with that she left me alone with the two black beauties.

Keisha took my erection in one hand and started to stroke me, rubbing my foreskin down almost to my ring, which caused some copious amounts of pre-cum to drip onto my abdomen.

She was still giving me a slow jerk-off, when Barb returned with a bottle of Coca-Cola, only the contents weren't the usual dark colour, but a rather strong yellow.

"Here you are, Keisha," said my wife, handing the bottle to her friend, "and I've brought a beer glass for you to pour it into." Barbara then hoisted the VCR onto her shoulder and began to film my first humiliation of the day.

Keisha took the Coke bottle and poured a long draught of the liquid into the glass, till it was almost full to the brim.

"I thought of you this morning as I had my first piss of the day, darlin'," said Keisha, looking down at me. "And I thought how nice it would be for me to make a gift to you of my first piddle. Now, wasn't that kind of me?"

I nodded. "Very kind, thank-you very much, Keisha," I answered.

"OK, baby," she said, placing one strong arm behind my neck and pushing me up, while with her free hand she brought the piss-brimming glass to my mouth. "Take a nice long swallow, but don't drain it," she commanded.

I sucked down a couple of mouthfuls of her strong-tasting salty piss. Then Keisha fed me the rest. Next she emptied the last half a pint or so of her overnight pee into the glass and ordered me to quaff it all down in one chug!

When I'd finished, the big black woman gave me a long, lingering kiss on my mouth, then turned to her daughter: "There you are, Alysha, look at his cock!"

Alysha did and gasped. "For fuck's sake," she stammered, "he's still got a fuckin' erection. This guy's a piss perve!"

Keisha laughed: "Exactly, darlin'. Now do you want to ease the pressure in that beautiful big bladder of yours?"

"Do I fuckin' what," said the youngster.

"OK," said Keisha, "only remember his first taste is your pussy pressing on your mouth and the stream of your piss, gottit?"

"Gottit, mom," said Keisha, as she pulled away the laughingly brief bikini bottom and climbed onto the trampoline, being careful to avoid any bodily contact with my pinned frame.

The luscious 20-year-old then placed her feet by my shoulders, still being careful not to touch me with her feet. Barbara was faithfully recording the event.

Then Alysha lowered herself into a squat, so that her pussy was inches from my face. Her piss lips were thick and full, and her entire pussy was encircled by an almost black ring of shaved back hair.

I was gazing intently at this glorious vision, when Alysha's pussy came into contact with my lips. With an instinctive, reflex reaction I opened my mouth and tasted the warm salty stream as the young woman released the contents of her bladder down my throat.

The stream was strong and I gulped to accept it all, managing – but only just – to keep the contents within my mouth. Alysha strained to relieve herself completely and later, I was informed by Barbara, the piss flow lasted for something like 45 seconds!

At the finish, Alysha told her mother: "Oh fuck, mommy, that was the most wonderful piss I've ever fuckin' taken, it was so cool."

"Cool for you, darling," laughed Keisha, "but somewhat warm for the Peeper, I think!"

Alysha then shifted herself slightly on my face and then informed me: "Well, Peeper, I'm here now, so I may as well enjoy myself. Bring me off, you fuckin' piss pervert!"

And I did, revelling in the tangy tasting pussy slithering over my mouth and face, until I was able to bring the lovely young dominatrix to a powerful and noisy climax.

The rest of the afternoon continued with the three women enjoying pissing all over me, on my face, on my cock and balls, then rubbing their snatches against my drenched body before raising their pussies to my mouth to receive oral adoration.

Finally, after about four hours of piss fun, I was released and after a cooling plunge in our pool, we all went into the lounge, where Barbara inserted a tape of the previous day's piss party for Keisha and Alysha's viewing pleasure. For me it wasn't pleasure, it was piss paradise!

An early dinner was the vol au vents and a green tossed salad, washed down by many glasses of Moet et Chandon champagne, although Alysha, being the driver, abstained, contenting herself with Coke.

The next day, I finished my only two appointments before midday – one stunning Hollywood star insisted on starting her work outs at 6.30 in the morning, the next was a 10am job – so I was home by 1pm. Just as I let myself into the house, the phone rang.

I picked it up and heard a deep, golden voice: "Hi Peeper, it's Alysha – remember me?"

How could I forget? A woman whose first contact with your body is her piss flaps on your mouth isn't someone you forget in a hurry!

"Oh, hi Alysha," I replied, trying to sound as natural as a 30-year-old can who has allowed a 20-year-old woman to piss down his throat! "Wazzup?"

She laughed: "Oh, I'm just driving around, I'm near your place and I need to piddle. Can I pop in?"

Could she "pop in"? I was nearly drooling!

"Call me back in one minute, Alysha, I need to check something."

She hung up and I immediately speed dialled my wife's mobile.

"Hi Tom," she said, "I'm trying to clinch a deal, make it fuckin' quick."

"Alysha's just called, she's in the neighbourhood and she wants to come round and piss me – is that OK with you, darling?" I asked, begging her to say yes.

"Fine," said Barbara, "but just piss mind, no hanky-fuckin'-panky." And she hung up.

I stood by the phone, sucking in deep breaths, praying for it to ring. One minute, two, then – finally it rang. I snatched at it: "Alysha? It's fine, come on over."

I dashed upstairs, stripped and pulled on one of my favourite Frederick's of Hollywood satin thongs, a red number, my cock straining stiffly against the shiny fabric.

Back downstairs I was just in time to answer the doorbell's ring and let Alysha into the house. She looked stunning! Her straight black hair shone lustrously, her breasts were bunched up in a vivid yellow halter top, her gorgeous arse and pussy equipment were encased in tight, gleaming black leather hot pants. She wore knee-high boots.

I almost groaned as she stepped into my arms: "Fuck, Alysha, you look good enough to eat!" "That, I am sure, you perverted old Peeper, can be arranged," she laughed, kissing me sweetly on the mouth. Hers tasted like milk chocolate and mint.

"Where shall we go?" I asked, taking her by the hand.

"Upstairs, in your shower, then we can take a shower after I've given you a shower, if you catch my drift," she grinned, and we walked upstairs.

Once in the bedroom, Alysha sat and unzipped her boots, pulled off her yellow top to reveal her bare breasts, then stood to shuck off the hot pants. That left a tiny little black thong, which soon joined the hot pants on the floor.

I pulled off my thong and then took her by the hand and we walked, me stiff-pricked and cock-drooling, into the large shower cubicle in the en suite bathroom.

Alysha's hands pressed on my shoulders and I sank to my knees before her perfumed pussy, its lovely strong feminine odour wafting against my face. Then, without warning, she let go a blast of piss, which splattered against my mouth, nostrils and forehead before cascading down my upper chest and running in rivulets down my belly and onto my cock and balls.

The strong stream finally dried up as I managed to gulp some of her divine nectar down, then I went to work, licking and sucking at her sensational snatch. From above me I felt her switch on the tap and soon warm water was spraying all over our bodies.

I stood and took a bar of soap and began to lather her body, then mine, washing the piss from my face. I then ran my hands over over her lush young body, wiping the soap all over, then watching it rinse away.

As I did Alysha transfixed me with a smile, grabbed my cock and guided it to her water-drenched pussy. I dipped slightly at the knees, then felt my hard-on driving sweetly up her satin-like cunt. Then her mouth was on mine, sucking and nibbling at my lips, then whispering: "I lied about nine inch cocks, Peeper!"

It took only moments for me to come, then we cleaned up again and I knelt on the damp shower floor and gave her a slow licking to orgasm.

After we'd got dressed, I told her: "We'd better keep this our secret, kay Alysha?"

"Whatever you say, Peeper," she smiled and soon after she left with a cheery wave and a "See ya!"

The next day, a Tuesday, I was again home by midday, and lounging by the pool in a posing pouch when the phone again rang. It was another golden brown voice, dark, rich and full of promise, only this time it wasn't Alysha, but her mother.

"Hi Peeper," she drawled, "it's Keisha. I'm driving around with Alysha, we've been on a shopping spree. Since we're in the neighbourhood, what say we pop in. Alysha tells me you're always up for a spot of pee in the middle of the day."

I gulped, then thought of my wife. "Well, I'd better check with Barb," I said, but Keisha was way ahead of me.

"I already have, Peeper," said the 36-year-old millionairess. "She says it's fine, have fun."

"OK," I said, eagerly, "see you when I see you."

I'd only just got inside the house, when Keisha's Mercedes parked in the large circular driveway in front of my wife's mansion. Keisha and Aklysha stepped out, Alysha again in her yellow top and leather hot pants hooker gear, Keisha in a gleaming white leather jump suit. Both looked superb and my cock started to strain at the posing pouch.

After I'd ushered them in, Keisha spotted my penis problem. "Oh look at this divine little posing pouch, Alysha," she laughed. "Isn't it cute, look how it bunches the Peeper's equipment! So sweet!"

Alysha laughed and stepped beside me. "And so fuckin' unnecessary," she smiled, pulling pouch away from my groin, letting my hard-on jut forward, stiff as a board.

"Come on Peeper," she said, grabbing hold of my ball sac, "let's go – same venue, one more lady!"

Upstairs, the two women stripped off, while I discarded the totally superfluous posing pouch.

Then Keisha eyed me with a stern look. "Alysha tells me you know how to use that thing," she said, pointing at my stiffness. Then she stepped into my arms, kissed me slowly on the mouth and whispered: "Show me, Peeper!"

And with that she fell back onto the bed, still grabbing hold of me. As she fell, the black vixen spread her legs, and I lay on top of her full, firm body and guided my cock up her velvet smooth cunt. What a cunt!

As I started to hump her, Keisha smiled and kissed me. "Now, I prefer being on top, Peeper, move over!"

Grabbing her lush bum, I turned her until the big-breasted beauty was on top of me. Then she rose to a kneeling position and bounced up and down on my cock, her 40-inch hooters bobbing and swaying in an erotic shimmy.

"There's one more place for a pussy to go, Alysha," the mother informed her daughter. "See if you can find it!"

Alysha needed no further inviting, and was in a flash seated on my face, my nose stuck against her tight anus, my tongue at work on her moist cunt and lush piss flaps.

This must have continued for about two or three minutes, when I got the fright of my life!

"Thanks ladies, that will do very nicely!"

It was, of course, my wife.

Keisha pulled off my cock, its helmet now pink and on display as the confines of her cunt had pulled my foreskin back to the ring. Alysha similarly dismounted my face.

There, standing beside the bed, clad only in bra and panties, was my wife, Barbara, holding a little digital camera.

"So you couldn't fuckin' help yourself, eh, Peeper?" she snarled, landing a stinging slap across my cheek, as I struggled to sit up and pull back my foreskin to cover my wet cock helmet.

"I, er, I, er" I struggled to come up with some explanation.

"Oh shut the fuck up," snapped Barb. "When Alysha wanted to come around yesterday, what did I tell you? I said piss is fine, but no hanky-fuckin'-panky. And what did you do?"

A silence hung in the air as the two black women, arms folded beneath their lush breasts, stood staring down at me.

"You fucked her, didn't you?"

I lowered my head. Words seem futile.

Barbara continued her tirade: "Alysha came round here yesterday as part of a test to see whether you could keep your fuckin' cock out of her and you fuckin' failed. You tart!"

Then she went on: "Today Keisha came round with her to confirm our fears that you are not only a pervert but a fuckin' philanderer. And I was close behind with my trusty digital camera.

"And what do I find?"

I tried to avert my gaze, I was shamefaced.

"I find that not content with fucking the daughter, you're also into the mother. Is there anyone in Beverly Hills you haven't fucked?"

I tried another explanation. "Well, darling, you see ..."




Peeing on the Peeper Ch. 04



But Barbara snapped me silent. "Yes, I fuckin' see, you perverted philanderer. I see you with your cock up my friend's cunt, you two-timing piece of shit."

Then she went to her side of the bed, sat down, picked up the bedside table phone and punched in a number.

There was an eerie silence in the bedroom as we could all hear the number ringing. Then a voice answered.

"Hi, said Barb, "is that Domestic Dungeons? Fine, may I speak with the Leather Man."

A man's voice came on the line. "Hi," said my wife, "this is Barbara, you may remember I called in this morning to discuss the possibility of you installing a torture chamber in the basement of my Hollywood home.

"Well, I've had a good think, and it's no longer a possibility,"

My heart leapt! Then the man's voice could be heard.

My wife laughed. "Sorry, when I said it's no longer a possibility I must have mislead you.

"It's just that this morning I wasn't quite sure. Now I'm very sure.

"I definitely want you to install a torture chamber!"

To be continued. 



Peeing on the Peeper Ch. 05



The Leather Man from Domestic Dungeons parked his vintage AC Cobra in front of the house and I opened the door to let him enter. I had been instructed by my wife to wear only a thong for his Friday afternoon visit.

A tall, swarthy man in his 50s, wearing a bright white shirt, black leather trousers with a black leather waistcoat eyed me with amusement. "Nice, I love thongs," he said, in a deep western drawl, while clumping into the house in his highish-heeled dark brown cowboy boots.

"I'm here to see the beautiful Barbara," he drawled, then leered and fingered his pencil-slim black moustache. "You lucky young fucker, you! I bet she's sensational in the sack!"

Ignoring his disgusting comments, I asked him to follow me and led the way to the kitchen eating area, where Barbara was enjoying a cup of coffee. "Nice buns," commented the Leather Man, clumping along behind me.

I stepped back and ushered him into the kitchen. "The Leather Man, darling," I announced and the dungeon maker walked to Barbara's table, bent over and planted what he probably thought was a courtly kiss on her proffered hand.

"Please take a seat, Leather Man, or may I call you LM?" asked my wife, who was actually fluttering her eyelashes at him!

"Peeper, fetch the Leather Man a cup of coffee," she snapped and the caller took a seat.

"Call me Lash, ma'am, that's my nickname," said the visitor, accepting a large mug of piping black coffee from me. "Now, what is it you're lookin' at, ma'am? A nice little room to keep naughty ol' hubby here in line, eh?" Barbara grinned: "Precisely, I'm looking for something really comfy for me and my friends, and something really uncomfortable for the Peeper here."

Leather Man took several swigs of his coffee and squinted at me. "What'd he do?"

My wife sighed, and indicated I should replenish her mug. "He started off as a Peeping Tom - typical, since his fuckin' name is Tom," she told the man. "Then, when he was punished by me and my lady friends for being a peeper it became obvious he was a piss freak."

Leather Man looked at me with new interest. "Wow, a piss slave! I've got some young boys who'd love to spend some time with him. OK, why the torture chamber?"

Barbara grinned. "Well, it appears that on top of his piss fetish he's also into fucking one of my best friends, and not only that, but her fuckin' daughter, too!" she told him. "So I've decided to make him pay for it."

Leather Man looked at me once more. "You lucky young slave," he grinned. "Well, ma'am," he announced, swilling down the rest of his coffee, "show me where you want it, tell me what you wanna pay and I'll work out what equipment you'll need and do the sums."

We all trooped down into the basement beneath Barbara's mansion. In a dark corridor, she opened a door, flicked on a light and illuminated the main room in our basement. It was almost empty, save for two old sets of golf clubs, a past it work-out bench and a long discarded lawn mower.

Leather Man paced out the length and width of the basement and said: "It's roomy, I make it about 40 feet by 30 feet, nice high stud. I can make this into a torture chamber fit for a king." Then he looked at me. "How many people you gonna have playin' around with him in here at any one time, ma'am?" he asked.

Barbara did a count in her head. "Let's see, there's five of us ladies, plus one daughter, plus one of the lady's sisters. That's seven and the slave makes eight. Do we have enough room?"

Leather Man nodded. "Sure do, in fact you could probably have a party of about a dozen ladies for Peeper here, ma'am - you lucky ol' devil," he grinned at me, lasciviously.

"It's just that I need to know how much furniture we need for spectators before I get around to decidin' how much torture equipment you'll need. I reckon two nice leather couches, opposite each other on the long walls, and possibly four easy chairs.

"That'll seat 10 ladies in the audience while you've got two workin' on the slave, ma'am," said Leather Man. "Now, what kinda' torture gear we lookin' at?"

Barbara looked a little blank. "I've really no idea, I'm in your hands there, Lash," she smiled.

"Righto, ma'am," he said. "If I wuz you, I'd go for a portable floggin' frame, a pillory, a floggin' bench, a torture bench - and you still wanna play water sports with 'im?"

"Definitely," said my wife, nodding her head firmly, "I want him to have some pleasure down here."

"Well, I suggest a little paddlin' pool, room for him and about three ladies to piss on 'im," said Leather Man.

"Then I'll work out how many whips, floggers and paddles you're gonna need, plus some cock and ball torture stuff and a couple of electro torture devices - you're gonna want to give him electro torture, I take it?"

Barbara looked confused: "Is it safe?"

Leather Man nodded. "Sure is, there's a new toy on the market - you'll need two, of course - which can give him sharp shocks on his cock and balls and on his anus but which won't do any permanent damage. I've got one subby who likes to play that way for hours!"

"Why two?" asked my wife.

Leather Man looked at me, a sort of "We know why, don't we slave?" look, then back at my wife.

"Well, see, two's perfect 'cos you can have one work on his cock and balls, while the other works on his arse and, er pardon me, ma'am, his chutney chute!"

"Oh, I see," said Barbara, obviously relishing the idea.

"Right, ma'am," said Leather Man, "I'll do a preliminary tot up, then get back to you with my quote. By the way - what about the walls?"

Barbara had an answer for that one: "I thought rather lush, red velvet drapes would be ideal."

"Sure would, ma'am," said Leather Man, "it'll make the place sexier'n hell. Nice lush pile carpet, black to contrast?"

Barbara agreed.

"A mirrored ceiling and smart spotlight lighting, 'kay?" asked Leather Man.

Barbara nodded, then ever the businesswoman, asked: "Can you give me a ball park figure?"

Leather Man pursed his lips. "You're not aimin' to stint on the details, are you, ma'am?"

Barbara agreed: "Money no object."

Leather Man did a quick mental sum: "Say round $125,000 to $150,000, what with labour."

Barbara said: "Sounds very reasonable, Lash."

"Oh, there's one way you kin get a discount, ma'am," said Leather Man, with what looked like a leer.

"Really?" asked Barb, with one of her fetching smiles.

"You could let me play around with Peeper here a coupla days while I'm supervisin' the work," said Leather Man.

I recoiled in horror, but my wife saved my proverbial bacon!

"Sorry, Lash," she smiled, "but the only things going up his arse - chutney chute, as you so wittily put it - will be the electro shockers and my dildo. This one's a lady's plaything."

Leather Man looked at me, obviously disappointed, but still with a leer and laughed: "You lucky little ol' slave."

Barbara and her new gay friend left, I switched off the light, and followed them upstairs. At the door, Leather Man again deposited what I was sure would be a slimy kiss on my wife's hand and said he'd be back with an accurate quote and if all was acceptable would start work on Monday - three days away!

Closing the door, Barbara smiled sweetly at me and said: "I'm going upstairs for a lie down. Be up there in five minutes - all this talk of torture and electro shockers, and paddling pools has made me quite randy!"

I checked the kitchen clock carefully - Barbara hated me to be early almost as much as she hated to be kept waiting - and when four minutes had ticked by I walked slowly upstairs into our master bedroom.

Barbara was lying back on the black satin sheets, face up, crotchless panties in lurid red framing her pretty little pussy, a hint of brown hair surrounding her snatch.

I threw off my thong and knelt on the bed, my erect cock pressing against the slippery satin and traced my tongue over the pussy that controlled me.

Barbara let out a small sigh as I sucked on her clit, then lowered my mouth to her cunt, which was weeping a flood of sex juice and tasted like nectar - not like her pee nectar, but nectar nonetheless. I switched lower, flicking down some of her fluid to the entrance to her anus, reaming around its brown tightness and making it moist and musky.

"Fuck me!" I heard my wife call, in a husky, throaty cry and I raised myself and pressed my quivering cock lips against her cunt, then drove forward, at the same time planting a perfumed mouth on hers and kissing her with unashamed, abandoned lust.

"You randy old philanderer," she smiled, "you're absolutely adoring all this, aren't you?"

I looked down at her lovely suntanned face and big red lips and paused in my thrusting.

"I don't know about the electro stuff," I said, "it all sounds a bit scary."

"Balls," smiled Barb, "I saw your cock in that thong while Lash was talking about the way two dommes can work on one slave at the same time. You were nearly coming in your pants, you randy old prick!"

I lowered my mouth to hers again and we smooched, until Barb insisted on a positional switch. When she was in the dominant position, she pushed herself up so her arms were straight and I ran my mouth over her lovely 36-inch breasts, nibbling and sucking at her pink nipples, which stood out on her globes like organ stops.

Soon the attentions from my mouth and the thrusting of her pubic bone against me, combined with the pressure of my stiffy in her cunt, began to work its usual magic and with a cry of "Yes, yes," Barbara soared to her climax.

She collapsed on top of me, burying her face on my well- developed pectorals - look, I do body building, I'm vain, OK? - when the phone started a shrill ringing.

"Get it, hon," Barbara panted, "I'm too excited to talk."

I picked up the phone, grunted a "Hi, Tom here" and there was Keisha's sweet-as-honey voice purring.

"Hiya, Peeper, how're ya doin'?" said the sultry-voiced vixen.

"Oh, hi Keisha," I replied, "I'll put Barb on in a moment, she's catching her breath."

Barb leaned over, pressed the loudspeaker button and signalled for me to pass her the phone.

"Hi Keisha, sorry about that, but I've just had the Peeper provide his orgasm delivery service. How's it hanging?"

Keisha's voice came over the loudspeaker: "Thought I'd call and find out about the Leather Man's visit."

Barbara: "He's giving me a final quote on Monday and can have the work done in a week."

Keisha: "And - and? How is he?"

Barbara: "Oh, a disappointment. I mean he's yummy, but I'm afraid he prefers little boys - well, maybe not so little. He'd far rather get it on with the Peeper than with me."

Keisha: "Quelle fuckin' dommage! Still, as the French say, c'est la vie. Now about tomorrow at my place, bring a sample of piss in a bottle, enough to fill a wine glass."

Barbara: "Sure, hon, but why?"

Keisha: "We're gonna have a blindfold taste testing, just like those wine buffs. We'll have glasses of wine - oops, piss, lined up for the Peeper, he'll drink each one down and then say which domme's piss it was."

Barbara: "Sounds like great fun, he's stroking his cock thinking about it, the old perv!"

Keisha: "And Peeper?"

Me: "Yes, Keisha?"

Keisha: "We want to do this properly, so you read up overnight on all the fuckin' stupid terms those wine fuckers use - you know, bouquet, nose, length, back taste, all the crap."

Me: "Yes, Keisha."

Keisha: "See you two tomorrow - make it about 11. Byeee!"

And the connection was cut. Barbara then stared at me, a look of wanton lust on her face.

"Oh I'm just so randy again, Peeper, all that talk of a wine tasting for you has made me wet again. Down you go, boy!"

And with that I returned my eager tongue to her pussy once more, licking and sucking on the juices that had arrived since Keisha's call.

"Now fuck me," ordered Barbara and I rose to press my cock into her slippery smooth cunt. Within moments she had issued another directive: "Roll over!"

I did as bidden, then, after a few perfunctory thrusts on my stiff shaft, Barbara lifted her breasts to my mouth, her arms stretched straight and commanded: "Orgasm me!"

Again I sucked on her tasty titties until she shrieked "Fuck me, Peeper, fuck me" and came to another climax on my sweating, heaving body.

My wife lay on my chest for a few moments, then pulled off me, rising to plant her pussy inches from my mouth.

"All that talk of the torture chamber, the piss tasting test and those two orgasms has got me bursting for a piss, Peeper.

"It's time you checked out my piss again - if you get it wrong during the taste test tomorrow, you'll fuckin' pay!"

Barbara then prepared herself for my "refreshment", sliding her snatch over my lips for a moment, before rising slightly from my lips.

"OK, Peeper," she snapped, "do as the dentist says!"

I opened wide.

To be continued...



Peeing on the Peeper Ch. 06



The home that my wife, Barbara, had sold to the millionairess Keisha was a sumptuous mansion, set well back from the road, with high fences and a security gate. It also had a large swimming pool and various more shallow "conversation" and paddling pools.

Barbara drove her massive Bentley Arnage into the area in front of the house. I was seated beside her, naked but for a bright red rubber cape which covered my arms, upper torso down to my buttocks. I looked and felt ridiculous in it, which was, of course, Barbara's intention.

We entered the house, to find Keisha, the beautiful black 36-year-old with the 40 inch bust and her daughter, Alysha, aged 20 and with breasts only an inch or two smaller than her mothers, lying on loungers by the pool, both wearing scandalously brief bikinis.

The two black women planted kisses on Barbara's cheeks and as my wife disrobed to reveal her lovely 35-year-old body clad in an equally scandalous bikini, Keisha smiled at me: "Hi Peeper, that rubber cape must be awfully hot?"

I nodded. "It is, Keisha," I agreed.

"Well then, you'd better keep it on," she laughed, then turned to my wife and asked: "The wine sample, darling?"

Barbara smiled and took a bottle from her equipment bag. "Freshly vinted this morning, darling, so I'm afraid it will need some time to mature!"

"Alysha, take this bottle inside and give it a number, then pour it into the glasses alongside ours. Oh, Barbara, everyone can come except Ro, who's got something she can't get out of, so it's just six of us."

When Alysha returned from the house, she was accompanied by the 25-year-old office junior Carmel, who had proved she had a really fine style of domination during the previous week's piss party at our place. With her was an equally pretty blonde, who was introduced as her sister, Rachel, aged 23. Both were wearing shiny little PVC bikinis.

Rachel's manner of greeting me was to thrust her hand beneath the hem of my cape and stroke my eight and three-quarter inch uncut cock. "Pleased to meet ya, Peeper," she grinned, running a finger inside my foreskin and flicking my piss slit with her nail.

Soon the group was joined by the statuesque Helga, the big-busted woman who, like Barbara, had made millions in commissions through her real estate sales in Beverly Hills.

"Right," said Keisha, when the six dominas were all assembled, "let's go inside and get Peeper here started on his wine tasting!"

And with that they all trooped into the house, leaving me to follow on, sweating and hot in the ridiculous rubber cape.

Inside in the sumptuous lounge, was a coffee table with six large wine glasses containing liquids in varying degrees of yellow – some bright, vivid yellow, some water-like.

The women arranged themselves on a couch behind the coffee table, and Keisha and Alysha settled down in large easy chairs at each end of the couch. Keisha then announced the rules of the wine tasting.

"Right, ladies," she said, "you will notice that each wine glass has a metal tag around the stem with the numbers 1 to 6. Peeper will first drink down about a third of each glass, making comments on the way as to the vintage of the urine, its suitability for bottling, its taste and so on.

"The second tasting will be another third of the glass and this time Peeper will tell us who's urine is in which glass. Alysha will note his selections, which will be compared with the master chart later. The third tasting will drain the glasses and the Peeper will then award bronze, silver and gold medals. There will be prizes for the winners."

Barbara had a question: "What happens if he gets some of the selections wrong?"

Keisha smiled: "If he gets all six wrong, then it's 60 strokes of the lash – 10 for each incorrect answer – plus a penalty of 60 extra strokes. If he gets five wrong, it's 50 strokes, plus a penalty of 50, and so on.

"There's also an added twist to his punishment, which will be obvious as soon as we all assemble in the torture chamber downstairs."

There were murmurs of excited approval from the other five women, then Alysha raised her hand: "He's never tasted Rachel's piss. Isn't it rather unfair to expect him to recognise it?"

A good point, I thought, standing in front of them, still sweating in my ridiculous red rubber cape.

My wife butted in before Keisha could answer: "That's simple, Alysha. Since he's never tasted Rachel's piss it should be the easiest for him to detect – it will be the one he's never experienced before, so he should get her piss identified no problemo!"

"Right," said Keisha, "time he got tasting. OK, Peeper, take a swallow of piss No 1!"

The glass was dark yellow in colour and I gulped down about a third of it. The salty, strong-smelling urine had been slightly chilled and I made what I hoped were the sort of comments wine buffs often come up with.

"An intensely fruity wine," I said. "It's got a lovely rich colour and I'd say it was several days old. This one's a keeper."

The next was in direct contrast. It was almost the colour of water, having a mere trace of urine yellow, which did nothing to detract from the strong taste.

"A cheeky little wine," I observed, "and a recent vintage, I would suggest. Eminently drinkable right now but not without bottling potential."

The women were giggling as I paraded through the wines. One I found "a rich Chardonnay in colour, a lovely big fruity wine". Another I found "a keeper, to be laid down for some days".

This, of course, was all just to amuse the women, who were, at times, "pissing" themselves with laughter at my descriptions, if you'll pardon the phrase, although I think it's somewhat appropriate.

Next came the round I was dreading. The identification. How the fuck was I going to pick which wine belonged to which domina? Sheer guesswork, that's how.

I sampled wine number 1, the deep yellow one. "I think this is Keisha's," I said. The lighter one: "This will be Rachel's." For the third I ventured: "I think this is Helga's." The fourth, the really big, fruity Chardonnay-type, I said: "Alysha's." The fifth, I opted for my wife. And the sixth, therefore, left only Carmel.

"Now pick the medal winners, Peeper," ordered Keisha, after her daughter had jotted down my selections in the "blind" tasting.

The first wine, the deep, rich coloured one, I gave the silver medal. One of the lighter wines – number two – got the bronze, and the supreme award I gave to the fourth wine.

Keisha stood and smiled at me, still sweating like a pig in the rubber cape. "Ladies, a round of applause for our wine expert," she said, putting her hands together. The other five joined in.

"Now Alysha, pass me his identification picks and I'll announce how he's done," she said, as her daughter handed over the sheet on which she had jotted my selections.

"Right," said the busty millionairess, clearing her throat and preparing to read out the results.

"Wine number 1 was my own piss, according to the Peeper," she said. "In fact, I'm afraid it belonged to Carmel's sister, Rachel. Oh dear, Peeper – one wrong."

"Wine number 2 was, according to our wine expert, Rachel's. Well we know that can't be right – it was, in fact, Carmel's. Not looking too good for you, is it, Peeper?"

Was I expected to comment? Keisha ignored me, anyway, and moved on: "Peeper said he thought wine number 3 was Helga's. Sorry, Peeper, I'm afraid it was my piss. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!"

"On to wine sample number 4, which the Peeper said he thought came from my darling daughter, Alysha."

Keisha paused, then smiled at me: "Fuckin' amazing. You got one right, Peeper!"

"The fifth wine you said came from your lovely wife, Barbara. Well, if there's anyone here who's piss you should be able to identify if should be your wife's, eh Peeper?"

I nodded, shyly, feeling stupid still enshrouded by my cape.

"Oh dear," said Keisha, looking mock mournful. "Sorry, Peeper, it was Helga's! You can't even identify your wife's piss, eh?"

"And so we come to wine number 6, which you said was Carmel's. Well, that can't be right, can it Peeper?"

I nodded. "No, Keisha," I whispered.

"Precisely, because it was Barbara's! Oh fuck, Peeper, you got one right and five wrong. I make that 50 strokes of the lash, plus 50 penalty strokes. What does that add up to, Peeper?"

I mumbled: "100 strokes, Keisha."

"Speak up and shout it '100 strokes of the lash, Keisha'," the lush black beauty snapped.

"100 strokes of the lash, Keisha," I almost yelled, much to the amusement of the assembled domination group.

"That's more fuckin' like it, Peeper," she said, after I had humbled myself before the group.

"Now to our award winners," said the Mistress of Ceremonies. Carmel, you win the bronze medal and here's your prize."

Alysha stepped forward and presented the young blonde with a bottle of Moet et Chandon champagne.

"The silver medal goes to Rachel," said Keisha. "Quite a little family affair, isn't it?"

Alysha handed the 23-year-old a bottle of Dom Perignon champange.

"And the supreme award, the gold medal, goes to my dearest daughter, Alysha," said the busty black woman. Alysha waved a bottle of vintage Krug above her head and everyone applauded.

"Now we'll move on to the punishment section of the afternoon's entertainment," said Keisha. "If you'd all like to have some sandwiches and some drinks, Alysha and I will get Peeper here prepared downstairs, and then we'll call you all downstairs for his 100-stroke flogging – plus his extra little surprise."

The black beauties escorted me, still sweating in my cape, down to the basement level of the large house. There, a room set in the middle of a long corridor had been equipped sparely but luxuriously with two couches, a couple of easy chairs, a refrigerator, all draped with lush red velvet curtains. The carpet was thick pile and obviously expensive.

But none of that really registered with me for a while. What did, was a wooden flogging frame set in the middle of the torture chamber. It consisted of two triangles made from brightly polished wooden posts, the triangles joined together at the base and the tops by two wooden bars.

Set into the corners of the triangular frames were straps, at the bottom for my ankles, at the tops for my wrists. Keisha ordered me to remove the ridiculous red rubber cape, and I stood nude before the two bikinied black women. Despite of what was in store for me, my penis was stiffening into hardness.

I was then strapped into place, until I hung at a 45 degree angle to the floor. It was then that I noticed a small stool which had been placed beneath my semi-suspended body.

"Right, you will be the first flogger, darling," Keisha told her daughter, "so fetch the trident. I think it will be amusing to see how he reacts to that."

While Alysha was selecting the implement of my punishment, Keisha then wheeled a high metal stool across until it was in place just behind the stool. On it stood a large transparent plastic container, much like they have in office drinking fountains. It was full almost to the brim with a deep yellow liquid.

From the bottom of the container, a transparent rubber tube with straps at the end, was hooked onto the plastic, its end pointing to the ceiling so it did not leak the container's contents onto the carpet. This, quite clearly, was what Keisha had been referring to when she spoke of my "extra little surprise".

Keisha unhooked the end of the tube and brought it to my mouth. "When I strap it around your head, block the flow with your tongue, Peeper," she said. I did so and the tube was soon firmly strapped into place around my head.

"Right, you chat with him Alysha while I fetch the rest of the gang," said Keisha, who then departed.

Alysha stood in front of me, her black skin gleaming in the strip lighting of the chamber, her body erection-inducing in its beauty. She was holding a whip with a foot-long leather hand grip, which then had a further two feet of lash.

One foot from the tip, the lash branched out into three strands, each strand ending with a heart-shaped flap. This was obviously the trident and from where I hung it did not look very loving!

Alysha traced the trident softly, caressingly down my bare back until I felt the tips flicker over my buttocks. Then the other five women entered the torture chamber.

"Right, ladies," Keisha announced, "take a seat while I explain what we're going to do."

I heard the other four women sitting down on the two couches from where they would have a superb view of my chastisement.

"OK, for his 100 strokes we'll go in alphabetical order," said Keisha, standing alongside her whip-wielding daughter. "That means that first Alysha will give him 10 strokes, five on his back, five on his buttocks in whichever order she likes.

"After each stroke is delivered, Peeper here will suck on the tubing and count 'one thousand, two thousand, three thousand' and then he will re-block the tube again. He will be drinking down a special cocktail of piss stored with him in mind during the week by my daughter and myself. I estimate it will take about 100 sucks or so for him to drain the container."

There were murmurs of approval from the assembled group of dominas. Keisha moved on: "You will have noticed the stool. I have been told my experts that when a slave is flogged it is so much more of an exciting experience for him if he endures it while sporting an erection. Something to do with flood flow.

"So the next person in line to flog him – in this case it will be Barbara – will make sure he's erect during the administration of the lash! If she thinks he's getting flaccid, she will halt the flogging until he's hard again.

"Any questions?"

There were none, so Keisha announced: "OK, Alysha, he's all yours."

A hush fell over the group, the only sound in the room was the low hum of the air conditioning and my harsh breathing. Barbara sat on the stool and took my testicles in one soft hand, then pulled my cock down to her mouth and began to suck on me.

Then the trident whistled through the air and made a "Kerrrrrack" noise on my shoulder blades, followed by the noise of Alysha calling out "Suck!"

I felt a warm glow suffusing my back, and then I sucked and counted slowly to three as I drank down the powerful piss.

"Kerrrrrack" and the trident left its triple imprint across my buttocks, this time. Barbara still sucked on my cock.

After Alysha's 10 strokes had warmed my back and bum, Barbara took over the flogger, and the blonde office junior Carmel seated herself on the stool.

"Hold on Barb," she called, before my wife could deliver her first blow, "I'd like him a little harder." And then she began to expertly fellate me until, after a minute or two, she pulled back and announced: "All yours, Barb."

The trident whistled down on its painful path, then "kerrrrrrack" and Barbara's batch was set in motion. "Suck!" she yelled, and I drank down more of the tangy, salty piss.

After Barbara, Carmel wielded the whip while the statuesque Helga fellated me, then Helga whipped me, while Keisha did the honours on my cum-dripping penis.

My next fellatrix was Carmel's younger sister, the blonde Rachel, who worked her wonderful ways on my prick while the black woman flogged me, and to complete the six-woman flogging exercise, Rachel wielded the whip, while Alysha sucked on my cock.

By the time Rachel had finished my back and buttocks were burning from the attentions of the wicked trident, but my cock was still hot and hard. 

"OK, Alysha," said her mother, after Rachel had done her best, "he's all yours again."

"Hold on, Keisha," I heard my wife speak from her place on one of the couches. "He's got another 40 strokes to come, which means Alysha, myself, Carmel and Helga get to flog him again."

"Yep," said Keisha, "that's the way my math works it out, too."

"Well, it's a little unfair on you and Rachel, isn't it?"

Keisha smiled: "I don't mind, I don't know about Rachel."

But Barbara was like a dog with a bone, she wasn't going to let this one go!

"I suggest you and Rachel finish him off with 10 strokes each, which means he gets a total of 120 strokes. Now, Peeper here can't speak, 'cos he's plugging that tube, but I think I can safely say I'm speaking for him when I say that he'd welcome a final 20 strokes from you and Rachel, making it fair for everyone.

"Agreed, Peeper?"

Well, what could I say? I jerked my head up and down in approval and then Barbara sat on the stool, said "He's still stiff, Alysha, away you go" and once more the trident was flailing through the air. "Suck!" came her shouted command.

Again I suffered from the stinging trident, again I sucked more and more of Alysha and Keisha's piss down.

While Barbara was once more flogging me, she paused in her work to remark: "Hey girls, I've been thinking. I know we call him Peeper, which is appropriate seeing as how his first name is Tom, but I've got another name for him."

Keisha, from behind me on the couch, called out: "OK Barb, we'll buy it. What is it?"

"Sucker!" shouted my wife in glee.

The raucous sounds of women's laughter rang out through the torture chamber. But even so, it couldn't drown out the sound as the trident once more bit into my shoulder blades .......

THE END