3 comments/ 10335 views/ 1 favorites Yellow Sea By: rikkitampa2014 The gig paid $125 and the script, such as it was, called for me to wear nothing but pantyhose. And I had to supply the pantyhose--which cut into my profit by over 3%, after tax. I found a pair of size Queen 2 nude sheer-to-waist pantyhose at a nearby store and arrived carrying nothing else, not even a wallet. I didn't trust these people. Do you trust complete strangers you meet on Craigslist? The address turned out to be somebody's two-level townhouse. The "director," who met me at the door, had a tousle of black hair and a cropped black beard that was beginning to fleck grey. He looked a little like a young Martin Scorsese—though the comparison probably ended there. As I climbed the carpeted stairs behind him, pantyhose packet in hand, he asked if I'd remembered to drink plenty of fluids. He sounded like a doctor. In fact, I'd been chugging down beer, and then water, since eleven o'clock this morning. My bladder was about to burst. It hurt to walk, to climb. I asked if I could use the bathroom. "NO!" The director ("Call me 'Jake.'") told me to undress and watched with folded arms as I did so. I was so nervous, and needed to pee so badly, my penis had gone into full defensive turtle-head mode. I felt self-conscious about it, and embarrassed. Wasn't he probably looking for somebody with bigger "equipment"? Would he fire me on the spot (in which case my earnings would be -$3.85)? My fears were unfounded, however. Once I was standing fully naked in front of him Jake said: "Nice body. You look just like your pictures." I felt myself blushing. My whole tall, slender pale body. "Thanks," I said. Jake refolded his arms. (Was he getting an erection?) "So you like to dress?" "Sometimes," I replied shyly. "I see you paint your toes. Nice feet, by the way." Another blush. Another soft-spoken thank you. I was sitting on the corner of the bed now, dipping my turquoise-painted toes into the sheer left foot of the pantyhose. "Too bad you don't have tits," Jake continued. "Shemales are hot. Hottest thing in the industry. Ever thought about it?" "Tits?" looking up. "I know a doctor that can fix you up. Nothing too radical. Especially with your build. Nice set of B-cups...," Jake's hands now hovering close to his chest, "...with your long girly legs? Mmph. Lot of money in that, dude." For you or for me, I thought. I'd rolled the pantyhose up over my knees. I rose and pulled them up to my waist. They fit like a dream. A warm second skin. Yummy. God, I loved pantyhose! Jake's arms had refolded. His dark little eyes seemed fixated on my still-tiny thing tucked down in the see-through crotch of the hose. I felt embarrassed again. "Four thousand dollar gig, I think," Jake continued. "Something like that. Guy calls himself a cosmopolitan? Cosmetician? Something like that. Got a license and everything..." I'm standing there pantyhose nude thinking: Cosmetician. Isn't that somebody at the department store who gives out makeup advice? And he's got a license—Oh, good! "Follow me," Jake said with a wave, breast augmentation discussion abruptly over. He led me into a rather spacious, well-lit bathroom. Straight ahead was a granite countertop with a pair of porcelain sinks. Expensive fixtures. Over to the left: a walk-in closet. Just outside of it, about three feet apart: a pair of umbrella-backed stage lights. They were turned off. In the upper righthand corner: a spacious tiled shower. Next to me, a toilet in its own little room. Between the two: a Jacuzzi not much bigger than a bathtub. Rounder than a tub, and deeper, but not much bigger. A Jacuzzi for two, I figured. "Get in," the director said rather coldly, pointing. As I stepped over the tall side of the built-in Jacuzzi my overtaxed bladder gave way, a little. I looked down at the tiny wet spot on the lower front of my nude pantyhose. I was about to burst. The blinds above the Jacuzzi were open, and sunlight was streaming in. I looked out—at a brick wall across an alley-way. Well, at least no one could see in. "Turn around," the director said. "Face me." His tone, as with all great directors I guess, had turned authoritarian. I obeyed. In the brief interim of my turned back, another guy had entered the bathroom. He wore jeans and a black tee-shirt and carried a shoulder-camera, which he set down on the granite counter. In a holster on his wide leather belt was a light meter, which he removed and took a reading. He turned on the stage lights, blinding me briefly, before tilting each of them toward the ceiling. "How long till you're ready, Ron? I got a guy here that's about to burst." Ron, the cameraman, held up two fingers. Either that or he was making the peace sign. TWO MORE MINUTES! The thought screamed inside of me. I'm already leaking urine. Can I hold it in that long? The director said, to me: "OK, soon as Ron tells me he's ready I give the countdown and you let loose, OK? Pee in the tub. Ron'll move in for closeups. Just stand still, legs slightly apart and let it flow. OK?" I nodded. Pinched myself in the pantyhose. Hurry, PLEASE! "Ready, Ron?" Ron, camera mounted on his shoulder, gave the thumbs up. A man of few words. "OK," the director said. "Three...two...one and...ACTION! "And don't look at the camera!" Jake added. I wasn't. Not anymore. My head had rolled back. My open mouth emitted a prolonged, urgent "Ohhhhhh!" This was better than orgasm! A warm rain was falling below. It was running down the insides of my thighs beneath and through the porous nylon. But most insistently, it was plummeting torrentially from my crotch. It hit the plastic base of the Jacuzzi with a loud clatter, which echoed around the high walls. It was splashing on my stockinged feet. I was standing in it—a fast-forming puddle of pee. My stockings were soaking it up even as it was raining down through them. "Oh!" I cried again. The overwhelming relief had momentarily taken my breath away. "This is great shit," Jake said, from a safe distance. My head rolled forward again and I realized the cameraman, Ron, was now only a foot or so away from the side of the Jacuzzi. He was in a crouch and appeared to be shooting me from the belly down, lens taking in both the outflow and the pool forming around my feet. It went on and on. I fixed my eyes on a point of the repeating pattern of the wall paper across the bathroom and started silently counting the seconds: One Mississippi, two Mississippi...I got up to around 45 before the flow began to slow, eventually turning to a dribble. Ron continued shooting until there was nothing but yellow afterdrip, like the "rain" from the leaves of a tree after the storm has passed. The pool around my feet was shallow, but it had spread to the far oval reaches of the Jacuzzi. I must've peed a gallon. At least it felt that way... "OK, cut!" Ron pulled back and the director came forward. "That was great. Excellent. Now I want you to sit in it?" "Sit in...?" I looked behind me for some reason. "Yeah, sit down with your knees up, facing this same way." I looked behind myself again. How was I going to do this without...? I decided to put one hand on either side of the tub and lower myself to my knees. Which, after all, were already drenched in urine. From there I sat. With a splash. Now the pee was on my sides, my arms, some even got on right hand. "Face this way," the director said again. And in the process of doing so I made yet more ripples in the shallow yellow pool. "That's a lot of fucking piss," Jake added, peering over the side. "Good job, man." A third—I mean a fourth—guy burst into the bathroom. This was not a cameraman. Or a director. This guy was naked. And aroused. Partially so, anyway. He had a beautiful large sausage cock that tapered to a smallish head. I could almost taste it. Would I get to? Did the script— "Smells like fresh piss in here," he said, with a grin. "Imagine that. Hey, Milkbone, whassup?" "You know." The director bumped playful shoulders with his naked actor. "You got a big load for me?" "I been savin' it up." "Good. You stand in front of him, here. Ron? You stand over here to his right, OK? Kinda get a side view? Both Milkbone and our boy here in the tub. Make sure you're getting the piss in the bottom, too." Ron came forward and adjusted his lens. Milkbone stood over me stroking his beautiful white meat. He had tattoos. Lots of 'em. None on his penis, however. "And Milk, do some kind of intro. You know what to say." "You got it, J." "Everybody ready? All right? Three, two, one...Action!" As I say, "Milk" was standing above me stroking his cock. Which led me to believe—hope—his cum would soon be raining down on me. But no, he grabbed hold, pointed his long hose at me and said: "You the pantywaist slut I been hearing about? You like being my toilet? Hunh, bitch? Well I got a big load for you, slut, so get ready..." And out it came. A barely arcing, focused stream of hot piss. It hit me in the chest, forcefully. "Raise it up. Hit him in the face with it," Jake directed. Milk's forceful stream bounced off my face now. Went up my nostrils. Pelted my eyelids, my eyes starting to burn. When it found my lips I opened them. His pee filled my mouth, quickly. I spit it out, the cupful of hot piss splashing between my legs. Meanwhile, the pool I was sitting continued to rise. I'd put my steadying hands down on either side of me when I opened my mouth, and now the mini-lake of urine covered the tops of my hands. However, either Milkbone hadn't consumed as much beer as me, or he had a smaller bladder, because his stream started to fade out a good twenty seconds sooner than mine had. In fact, I had lean forward to continue to receive my face bath. After it slowed to a dribble, and then stopped, he shook his wilted penis over me like I was urinal. Which I was at the moment, those dying droplets softly pelting my face. Immediately, Milk went from pee mode back to cum mode. Stepping sideways to the left he silently started stroking his cock again, the rosy head glossy with urine. A fifth guy entered room. It was getting crowded. He was fully dressed. But he came forward undirected by Jake and took his place where Bone had just stood. New Guy: "What do we have here?" Bone: "Oh, that human toilet I been tellin' you about. You got a load for him?" New guy (dropping his pants): "Fuck yeah, dude. I been drinkin' beer all game watchin' the day [sic]." Bone: "Cool. Give it to him. Or should I say [inaudible]." New guy: "Take this, you fuckin' pantywaist." The new guy had a beautiful cock as well. Thinner than Bone's, but the base of his rosy head only slightly larger that his six inch shaft, which had a uniform diameter from stern to stem. He too started out stroking himself, before taking aim and letting go his stream of beer piss. His was less forceful than Bone's but his aim proved truer. He hit my face on first shot and, after a minor correction, found my open mouth like one of those squirt guns at a state fair. I was the clown's mouth, I guess you'd say. Once again I let it completely fill up before I spit it out. And once again I could not help swallowing a salty little of it. "You getting all this, Ron? You got all three of them in frame?" Ron shifted slightly more forward. I sat in the piss pool, burning eyes blinking, as the new guy's pee stream quickly diminished, while, to his left, his nude buddy stroked his magnificent meat, which was hard again now. Jake: "OK, you guys know what to do now, right?" No one answered. Which I guess, as in Thomas More's time, could be taken as assent. Even as pee still dribbled from his penis the new guy switched to jack off mode. I sat there in what must by now have been an inch of piss—mine, Bone's and the new guy's—blinking up with salty eyes at two beautiful engorged cocks. Inside two stroking fists. "Simultaneous if you can, guys." Again, no response. They were pros and I guess the direction was, to them, intuitive. Like operating an iPhone. The new guy was the first one to, shall we say, give way. His head arced back and he moaned. His penis was at two o'clock. He was ready, or near ready. I leaned forward, tentatively opening my mouth (it was like operating an iPhone) and making more ripples—waves—in the shallow ocean of piss in which I sat, waiting. Another moan, new guy. Then Bone chimed in. "Move closer together guys. You got all this in frame, Ron?" No answer. From anyone. I'd glanced over at Ron, to my left, who was leaning over the tub a little further now that there was no danger of getting splashed with urine, when the first loop of sperm flew. It hit the right side of my face—my cheek—and I quickly revolved my head and opened my mouth. Wider. It was the new guy cuming. But Bone quickly followed suit and I had sperm flying at me from two angles. Some of it hit my face. Some fell short. Some found my mouth. I swallowed—but could not taste the sweetness for the dried residue of their urine lining my cheeks. "This is great!" Jake shouted, leaning in. "Closeup of her face, closeup of her face!" Her? "Fuck! I shoulda had you wear makeup. That woulda been so cool. The piss washing it all away? Then their cum?" The last hurrahs from the boys landed harmlessly in the pool of piss. I looked down. At a few globs of sperm floating like tiny white islands on the Yellow Sea. "Thanks guys," the director said, somewhat dismissively. In their depleted place he knelt down. It was just me, the director and the cameraman again. "Can you get hard for me?" he asked. To this submissive point the thought had never entered my mind. I shrugged. "I think so..." "Good," Jake said, rising and stepping back, out of the splash zone. "Stand up, OK? Stand up and face Ron. Go to work." Ron too was backing away. Who could blame him? As I got to my feet the piss drained from me as if I were rising out of a bath. I WAS rising out of a bath. The pee had gone cold. I shivered. I started out by playing with myself, rubbing myself, in the piss-soaked pantyhose. It surprised me how quickly I got hard. "Pull the pantyhose down." I did. To mid-thigh. My meat was not rock-hard, like the pros, but it would do. After all, wasn't I supposed to be a sissy? A human toilet? It was over quickly. Silently. I watched—the camera watched—as my sudden semen plummeted thickly to the surface of the Yellow Sea, below. More tiny white islands afloat. "This is great shit. Perfect. Cut!" There I stood. The urine of three men dripping from me. The sperm of two men dripping from me. My own cum dripping from my flaccid hole...But there was no time for reflection. Or dejection. "Ron? Get this shit outta here. These people could be back any minute." My piss-cold body stiffened. These people? WHAT people? Were we in this house illegally? Did the owners know what was going on in their absence? "You? You unscrew the drain and then, you know, 'fore you get out, kinda wash it down a little. Then you can jump in the shower and clean up. Hurry up, though." You = me. The director left the bathroom. Ron gathered up his stages lights and camera. I was alone. There was no towel so, after my quick hot shower (what a relief!), I had to dry my tall body off with a pair of monogrammed hand towels. Not ideal. The wet pantyhose I stuffed into a waist basket, under some tissues. And sanitary napkins. ($3.85 down the drain.) As I dressed in the bedroom the silence below became ominous. Had everybody left the house? Was this a screw-job? Had I been ripped off? But as I reached the bottom of the stairs Jake, the director, entered stage left from another room. The town house's kitchen, I think. He handed me a white envelope. "I put a little something extra in there for you. Great job, today." He patted my back. "Think about that boob job. I'll make a note to send you a link to my friend's website. A boob job and he can also write you a script for estrogen. That's what most of my gurls are on. Four thousand bucks. But you'd make that up in, I don't know, six or seven gigs. Shemales are hot, dude! Think about it. Also, think about a name. A stage name. Now let's get the fuck outta here." Out on the street, and alone, I opened the envelope. There was an extra twenty inside. That brought my take to $145. Minus the $3.85 for the urine-soaked, ruined pantyhose. Even so, I could buy two weeks' groceries for that. Plus I'd gotten the opportunity to "star" (it was already going to my head) in a soon-to-be-released porn film. Far fucking out! I was flush. As I headed to the nearest bar, I kept thinking of stage names. Goldfinger? No, taken. Trite. Yellow? What's yellow? A bird—a pigeon—flew overhead. A yellow bird? A canary? Canary? Dick Canary? Yellow Silk The Shogun rested in the bath closing his eyes. The steaming water was fragrant with the apricot scent of freshly harvested osmanthus blossoms. He felt his tired muscles begin to relax. The hours on horseback and the continuous battles were taking their toll on his warrior body. Around him, he could hear the soft shuffle of his attendants, moving as flowers in the gentle breeze. Women ready to provide for his every need or desire were always on hand during his bath, and afterwards. In his youth, he had considered his father's bathhouse an extravagant waste. The house was separate from the castle. It was built over a natural hot spring allowing for the bath to be filled at will without waiting on fires and servants. The path to the bathhouse was paved and covered to provide shelter from rain and snow. Now, a man in his thirties, he understood the necessity of this luxury. His newest attendant, Sakurasou, was standing in the corner watching him closely as she had each time he bathed. She had come to him not as a gift from a family seeking favor. Instead, he had rescued the young woman from a vicious attack. Had he been but a moment longer, she would have preferred death to salvation. She did not act as the other attendants, never pressing forward to demand his attention, but he always knew where she stood in the room. The connection between them was always present in his awareness no matter how spent he was. He did not use her as he used his favorites, the roses among his attendants, who knew how to stroke, caress and massage his body to complete satisfaction and relaxation. Though she was of age, she remained innocent and unspoiled. He desired her but, if he was honest, he feared what the connection might grow into should he allow her access to his body. He was a warrior, a leader of Samurai; he did not need to risk distraction. He raised his eyelids slightly and focused his intense glare on her. She was holding something in her arms. She did not usually do so. In the past months, she had stood as a statue, arms to her sides, head slightly bent, watching him. Now, she held a folded fabric with no discernible pattern that had been primitively dyed with bold colors. Camellia red faded to chrysanthemum yellow. A hint of magenta pink reminded him of the cosmos growing outside the formal gardens in the open fields to the south. He imagined unfolding the fabric and laying her down upon it in that field. He would unfold her petals as easily as he unfolded the cloth. Stroke her until her nectar flowed. In the bath, he felt oiled hands move along his manhood in practiced rhythm. He had stiffened in response to thoughts of his little flower. The well-cultivated rose took it as a sign to act on his needs. He allowed her to continue while he gazed through heavy lids at Sakurasou, imagining it was her dainty fingers around him. He felt himself tensing, readying to release his seed. He stood and thrust his member in the attendants waiting mouth. Working through his release, her lips soft petals on his stamen. Finished, he opened his eyes and noticed his flower moving toward him, unfurling the beautiful rainbow colored cloth in anticipation of his exit from the bath. He could not allow her to touch him right now. He would be rough and demanding. He wanted her too much. If he took her as he wanted, now with no prior instruction or preparation, he would be no better than the heathens that had attacked her all those months ago. He had no desire to crush his delicate flower. Instead, he turned from her and stepped into the waiting arms of his oldest attendant allowing her to wrap him in yellow silk. As he walked out of the bathhouse, taking the attendant with him for the evening, he turned his head and over his should told the young woman "You will study with Ume." She looked down quickly, but not before he saw the rising tears in her eyes. She did not understand that she needed to be prepared. He would not take her in the bath as he did his other servants. She would be revered and give him sons one day as soon as he could be assured that his warrior spirit would not bruise her gentle soul. Yellow Slave Confession I am never satisfied. Plain vanilla sex bored me a long time ago. I 'wore out' the missionary position by my early teens. And then, I found women boring by the time I turned twenty. Certain guys were a real turn-on for me. But it was awhile before I had the courage to venture out to gay scenes, and it took even longer for me to come out. When I did, I wasted little time. I hooked up with various guys, one on one. In my 30's, I discovered orgies. And finally got invited to some wonderful parties. We would have a dinner, then sit around and chat awhile. Then the clothes came off, and the games began. Often there would be a hot tub at the party. So several of us would end up in the tub, playing with each other. Some would get off and add milky film to the water. I experimented with fucking and sucking and getting sucked and fucked - all in a group environment. It was all great fun. But there were times that I craved a different kind of excitement. So I would go to the local gay cruise area. There I would find a wide variety of guys, from young to old. Sitting on bare ground in my underwear, sucking some guy off and giving him relief was a real thrill. I usually got hard, and was able to jack off. There were times there that someone would simply walk up to me, kneel, unzip my pants and take my cock in his mouth and suck me off. That was always a nice bonus. In the summertime I enjoyed these places. But not very many guys were into watersports. They just seemed to want to get off and get gone. When the weather gets colder, the Adult Bookstores and arcades are the only place to cruise anyway, for me. So it only seemed natural for me to try out one of those unique and magical places - the restroom inside an Adult arcade. The guys that go in there are already horny and want some kind of sex. Just seems natural for something to happen in the restroom. One time, after taking a piss, I simply pulled my pants all the way down, leaned up against the wall opposite the urinal, and played with myself. After a while, a guy came in, and saw me. I simply said to him, "Hey, I'll take that piss." So he unzipped it, and aimed at me. Soon a hot, pungent stream of piss arced out and splashed against my legs and cock. It felt exquisite! I was wanting to piss on myself, too, but had none. I got an erection instead. "Piss in my mouth," I managed to say. He aimed the last of his piss-load at my face, and I opened wide to swallow every drop. "Feel better? How about a suck now?" I said. "Sure, why not!" So he stood over me, and fed me a delicious 8" cock. I sucked it for all I was worth, and it soon spurted out a nice load of cream down my throat. I enjoyed swallowing every drop, even licking his head for the last of the load. Another guy had come into the restroom, and was watching. He had to piss, so he drenched me all over too! He just left without a word. Over the course of a couple hours, I got drenched a few more times, and swallowed two more cum loads. I finally jacked myself off, and shot all over my piss-drenched stomach. I soon exited out of there, hoping the guy behind the counter would not notice my pungent yellow condition! From then on, I was hooked. I paid for many tokens, but used few. Quite often, I would simply give away my token cards. It was enough to get to that cool, gritty floor, sprawl out on there and make myself available to any and everyone to "use". I had a few who sucked me good, kneeling over me on that cool bathroom floor. Usually after a session the floor was left a lot dirtier than I had found it. Sometimes the floor was already smelling of ammonia and dried cum, so I knew that I was not the only one. Now, just going into one of those places gives me an erection. It is difficult for me to take a piss, because I get so aroused that the stiff erection prevents it. Now I am in my sixties: You can have the bars, the dating scene, Craigslist, Grindr, and all the rest. Give me a hot scene in an adult bookstore bathroom any day. I'll be there this weekend. Probably next weekend too, and the weekend after. Maybe even the weekdays too.