****
Laura is young, big-breasted, energetic, has bright pink hair, and identifies as a lesbian. Her friends call her “Kitten Tits”, but she asked to be identified as Laura for this article so that the final publication would appear under internet searches for her birth name. She lives with two other girls her age. Slavetoy, who was once called Erica, is an attractive, submissive girl who seems to worship Laura, waiting on her approval for literally everything that she does. Laura says that Slavetoy used to be her girlfriend but had been demoted to “pet”, which she says suits her better. The other girl, Candy Twat, formerly Taylor, is a lithe, petite blonde, who spent the entirety of my time with Laura completely naked, blushing furiously, and rubbing her clitoris. I am told Candy Twat is Laura’s girlfriend, but she acts more like her unwilling slave.
Laura’s house is not like most people’s houses. The first thing one notices upon approaching it is that the front yard has a direct view into the master bedroom. There are no curtains, and the large window frames the bed like a pornographic video. As we walked towards the house from the park, I saw two boys, maybe 15 years old, standing on the footpath staring at Laura’s house, and some distance away an older man equally entranced. The reason became clear as we came close – Slavetoy and Candy Twat were engaged in a passionate naked 69 on the master bed, exchanging uninhibited cunnilingus in full view of the street. I watched as Candy Twat appeared to publicly orgasm from Slavetoy’s tongue, and wet liquid visibly spurted onto Slavetoy’s face – was she squirting? – and then Laura led me to the front door and we went inside.
The inside of Laura’s house is, if anything, even more confronting. The carpets and walls are colored in suffocating shades of feminine pink. It gives the impression of being inside a strip club crossed with a schoolgirl’s bedroom.
The centerpiece of the living room is the TV, which is on, and showing explicit fetish porn of a bound woman having her breasts caned. Laura explains that the TV is always on, and always showing images like this. She says that sometimes the things on the TV replay in her dreams, and she wakes up wet and horny. Above the TV are two large canvas prints, one showing an extreme close-up of Laura’s aroused vagina with semen leaking from it, the other displaying her visibly bruised breasts after a man has recently ejaculated on them.
Many of the items of furniture have large dildos protruding from them. Laura sits on a couch featuring one of these, and unabashedly slides the phallus into her vagina as she sits. I hear a quiet buzz as it starts to vibrate inside her while she sits on it. I take a more traditional chair. Shortly afterwards, Slavetoy and Candy Twat come crawling out from the bedroom on all fours, both completely naked. Both choose to kneel on the floor rather than use the dildo chairs. Candy Twat blushingly fingers her groin as she kneels.
Laura instructs Slavetoy to fetch drinks. She apologizes to me, that because I am a “bitch” she can only offer me urine or sperm to drink. I am taken aback and politely decline. Slavetoy soon returns with three wine glasses full of what the smell and color confirm to be warm urine and passes them out to the girls, who sip from them as if it is champagne. Laura explained that the urine was from a mixture of men, dogs, and horses, as sadly they just couldn’t get men to piss in their mouths often enough to satisfy all their needs.
“I hated drinking piss at first,” she tells me, “but as I learned my place in the world I came to like it more and more. Now it just seems so natural than a dumb lesbian slut like me would drink urine. All women should drink it. It makes my pussy wet and it reminds me of what a fuckpig I am. I feel weird and nauseous now if I drink normal-people drinks.”
I watch the girls drink the urine – Candy Twat still playing with her pussy as she drinks – and I’m disgusted but fascinated. Laura seems so happy and content like this, degraded and debased. How was this possible?
I ask if I can get my own drink – of water – and Laura says I can, so I go to the kitchen. I notice three dog bowls laid out on the floor, labelled “ERICA”, “LAURA” and “TAYLOR”. They seem to have the residue of what appears to be dog food in them. I pour a glass of water and return to sip on it.
Laura takes me on a tour of the house. It’s a brief tour. I’ve already seen the bedroom and the kitchen. She points me at the bathroom and the toilet but tells me I can’t use them. “They’re only for visiting men,” she says. I ask her how she toilets, and she tells Candy Twat to demonstrate.
As I watch, Candy Twat crawls to the backdoor of the house, opens it, and crawls out into the backyard, still naked. The backyard is neat and attractive, but I note the side fences are exceptionally low, giving a clear view from the neighbors’ yards. In fact, an Indian man next door is watching these proceedings with interest.
As I watch, Candy Twat turns, still on all fours, to give the neighbor a clear view of her groin. She begins to masturbate more energetically, her fingers pumping in and out of her vagina, and then she starts to urinate. Piss spurts from her pussy and runs down her legs, pooling at her knees and soaking the grass. Clearly aroused, she lowers her head until her cheek is pressed into the dirt and her breasts are being tickled by the grass blades. Urine flows until her bladder is empty, and then a few moments later she orgasms, her whole body shaking.
She lies like that for a moment, recovering, then staggers to her feet. She licks her fingers clean, then transfers them to her vagina, scoops up more of her juices, and licks them clean again. She repeats this until she appears to be satisfied with the dryness of her groin, and then walks to an outdoor shower, turns it on, and washes. Laura tells me the shower only offers cold water. “Bitches don’t deserve comfort.” When Candy Twat is done, she comes back inside, wet and shivering, and Laura rubs her dry with a towel.
“Do you toilet this way every time?” I ask Laura as we return to the couch.
“No,” Laura says. “A lot of the time we piss in each other’s mouths. In fact, none of us can orgasm now from a bitch’s tongue without pissing on her face. It’s a conditioned reaction. We orgasm, and then we just start pissing. It’s good because a lesbian who licks out another girl *should* be degraded by being pissed on. Or we just wet ourselves in public like stupid little babies. It doesn’t really matter how we toilet as long as it degrades us and makes us remember we’re disgusting fuckpigs.”
“Our car smells like piss all the time,” she told me later, “because one day Slavetoy and I wet ourselves in it because we’re stupid and whorish, and then a boy who fucks us sometimes said that seeing as we’d already ruined the car we should keep pissing in it every time we use it. We’re not allowed to wear clothes while we’re inside it, and when we get out at home we have to kneel on the road next to it and press our noses into the pissy seats and masturbate until we cum. Sometimes our neighbors watch us do that.”
***
For someone who identifies as a lesbian, it soon becomes clear that Laura has a lot of sex with men. And this, she tells me, is the secret that all lesbians are hiding.
“I’ve always wanted to fuck men,” she says. I’m on her couch, and she’s kneeling at my feet, naked. She’s starting blankly at the abuse porn on the television, and almost absentmindedly working her fingers in and out of her vagina as she squeezes her breasts with her other hand.
“I’ve always wanted to fuck men… but I didn’t want to consent to it. I wanted them to rape me. And so I cockteased them. I dressed like a big-titted slut, and I pretended to be friends with them, and I hugged them, and I hoped that one day one of them would just push me down and use me like I deserved. And when that didn’t work, I started fucking girls. I became a lesbian. I kissed pretty girls in front of men, and made out with them, and… I just got used to it.”
She looks up at me. Her face is blank, filled with a mixture of confusion, arousal and guilt. I have the very clear sense that if I leaned down and kissed her right now, she would melt, and become a submissive little toy for my pleasure.
“I didn’t know how to stop. I didn’t know how to tell men that it was okay, that even though I said no, even though I pushed them away, it was all right to just violently force me, and fuck me, and breed me, and degrade me. My lesbianism was just to entertain them, to attract them, to keep me wet and horny while I waited to be raped.”
She looks at me and says, “You know, you’d be more comfortable with your panties off.”
She is right. I’m on my third glass of water and it’s very hot in Laura’s house, and I allow Laura to reach under my skirt and slide my panties down my legs and over my high heels. She goes to throw them in a corner. “Please,” I say, stopping her. “I don’t want to lose them.”
She nods, and gently parts my legs. Then she pushes the panties up inside my vagina, forcing the lacy fabric into my sex hole, until only a small glimpse of pink fabric peeks out. I am surprised by how wet I am. It doesn’t occur to me to question what Laura is doing. Of course, I should store my panties in my vagina. It seems so natural. I think how nice it might feel to store my car keys there as well, that big black fob on the keyring pushing past my cunt-lips…
“Lesbians generally fall into four categories,” Laura is telling me. “Lesbian sluts are like me. Our whole lesbianism is just like a mating display. It’s designed to attract men and get them to rape us. That’s what we want.”
“The second category is lesbian bitches. They’re the worst kind. They use their lesbianism as a way to hurt men, to deny them sex. They’re often… feminists.” It appears to physically hurt Laura to say this word. “The only way to deal with lesbian bitches is to hurt them and rape them and degrade them until they’re crying, and then do it again every day until they learn their lesson.”
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