David Fredericks was not, of course, a specialist in women’s bladder control problems.  He was, in fact, a contractor, who worked alone in his fifth-floor office on complex matters of budgeting and auditing, where he very rarely entertained guests or visitors of any sort.

 

But when Ciaran Boyd had called him and explained that he was working on a project - a very special project involving Allison Tarrant, the feminist man-hating bitch who had ruined Madison Prim, the firm at which David had once worked, David was only too happy to help out.

 

David had spent much of yesterday giving his office a makeover to disguise it as a specialist medical clinic.  He had changed the sign that greeted visitors arriving on the fifth floor from the elevator to read “The Naughty Girl Bladder Control and Disobedient Urination Clinic”.  He had made up a range of vividly explicit pictures of women urinating, each one bearing the text “Is this you?  Get help!” beneath it in a professional medical font.  One showed a woman squatting to piss in a litter tray like an animal.  Another showed a woman in a business suit with a large wet stain visible on her crotch.  A third showed a naked woman pissing on all fours at the beach.  A fourth showed a naked woman pissing and masturbating as she stood in the centre of a crowded train as other passengers looked on in horror.

 

Ciaran had provided that fourth image because he said that it would “speak to Allison”.  David didn’t know what that meant, but he loved the idea of the bitchy prim HR consultant who had terrorised his former workplace being forced to look at such a lewd image.

 

But the woman who entered his office that day with Ciaran did not look like a terror.  She was blushing bright red, and looking down at the floor, following submissively a couple of steps behind Ciaran as though she were his secretary - or slave.  Her hair was tousled in a distinctly unprofessional way - and there was a large, wet visible cum stain on the front of her blouse.

 

David felt his cock harden to see this beautiful woman so visibly humiliated.

 

“You must be Miss Tarrant,” said David, extending his hand.   Allison shook it, nervously.

 

“I’ve heard a lot about your bladder problems,” he continued - enjoying the way her blush deepened to a mortified crimson.  “But I’ll get you to tell me about it yourself.  Come through to my office.”

 

Allison followed him from his reception area to the office, gazing with wide, disbelieving eyes at the pornographic images on the wall.  If David had displayed anything like that at Madison Prim, Allison would have had him fired - but now she had no choice but to accept it without comment.

 

His office featured a desk, an office chair, and two couches.  David sat on one couch and indicated for Allison and Ciaran to sit on the other.

 

“Thank you for making time for Allison, Dr Fredericks,” said Ciaran.  “This is obviously a very humiliating condition for her, and one that needs urgent treatment.”

 

“Of course, of course,” said David.  He *did* have a doctorate, but in economics, not medicine. 

 

He looked at Allison.  “Tell me, Miss Tarrant, in your own words, what the issue is?”

 

Allison blushed again, and looked at Ciaran.  But Ciaran gave her no assistance.  She would have to answer this question herself.

 

Of course, Allison didn’t think she *did* have an issue.  She had wet herself one time, because she was locked in her office and had no way to get out.  But on the other hand, she had admitted to Ciaran it was her own fault.  In fact, she had written a formal document admitting that she had a bladder control problem - largely out of panic in response to Ciaran’s suggestions that otherwise she would have to admit to having a piss fetish, or being a sex offender.

 

And Ciaran would be angry with her if she didn’t try her best at this appointment.  She was grateful that he was letting her deal with this quietly, rather than telling his co-workers about how she had pissed herself at work - or exposing any of the other indiscretions she had come to be involved in over her time at Horrocks, Clinton and Quayle.

 

“I… have a pissing problem,” she said, quietly.

 

‘What was that?” said David.  “Speak up.”

 

“I have a pissing problem,” said Allison, louder, blushing.

 

“Well, of course you do,” said David.  “That’s why you’re here.  But it’s good that you accept it.  Self-realisation is the first step on the road to treatment.  Tell me, what made you realise you had a pissing problem?”

 

“I wet myself at the office,” said Allison, staring at the ground.  

 

“And what did you do about that?” said David.  “Did you immediately get changed?”

 

“No…” said Allison slowly.  She hadn’t had the option of getting changed because she had been locked in her office.  But she couldn’t say that.

 

“So what did you do?” asked David.  “Did you clean it up immediately?”

 

“No,” said Allison again.

 

There was a long silence.

 

Ciaran spoke.

 

“You sat in it, didn’t you?” he said.  “You sat in your puddle of piss until I caught you?”

 

Allison nodded, tears in the corners of her eyes.

 

“And then what did you do?” prompted David.

 

“I took off my clothes…” said Allison.

 

“In front of me,” interjected Ciaran.

 

“... in front of Mr Boyd,” said Allison.  “And I mopped it up using my shirt and bra.”

 

“I see,” said David.  “I have to say, I treat a lot of women here, Miss Tarrant, but that is one of the sluttiest things I have ever heard.”

 

Allison looked mortified.  She looked like she wanted to crawl in a hole and escape from her humiliation.

 

“Was this the only incident of… non-traditional pissing?” David went on.

 

“Yes,” said Allison.

 

Ciaran frowned.  “Don’t lie, Allison,” he said sharply.  “What about the car park?”

 

Allison squirmed.  It wasn’t fair.  Ciaran had *made* her do that.

 

“I… took off all my clothes and pissed in the corner of the work car park,” she said slowly.

 

“What else?” said Ciaran.

 

“And I… took off all my clothes to ride in the car to this appointment,” said Allison, “and put them under me on the seat in case I couldn’t control myself and pissed.”

 

David nodded.  He had heard the gist of this from Ciaran, as part of their preparation for the appointment, but to hear the bitchy girlboss Allison admit to such disgusting conduct in front of him was another matter entirely.  He felt his cock hardening at her humiliation.  He wished that he could fuck her - but Ciaran had warned him that he wouldn’t get to use her that way today.  Although the future was another matter entirely.

 

“Take off your clothes,” he said.

 

Allison jumped.

 

“This is a medical appointment, Miss Tarrant,” he said.  “I need to inspect your body.  Take off your clothes.”

 

Allison looked at Ciaran again - seeking help?  Or permission?  But Ciaran only stared at her.

 

And so that once-prim bitch Allison Tarrant stood, and began to remove her clothes in front of David.

 

Her full, soft tits were exactly as he had hoped, and the fact that she so clearly didn’t want to show them to him made them all the more erotic.

 

He got a surprise when she removed her skirt, however, to see her cunt clamped painfully shut by a black bulldog clip.

 

“What’s this?” he asked.

 

Allison spoke in a small, humiliated voice.

 

“It’s to stop me pissing,” she said.

 

“You can remove it for her,” Ciaran said.

 

David stood, and walked to Allison, and put his hand on the handles of the clamp.  He looked into her eyes, knowing what was about to happen, and then removed the clamp.

 

Taking a clamp like this off hurt a lot more than putting it on.  Allison’s eyes widened as the blood rushed back into her tortured pussy lips.  Her mouth opened and she made a beautiful, agonised, high pitch squeal.

 

“Good girl,” said David, and to his delight, Allison simply accepted the demeaning praise.

 

Next he took out his phone and photographed her.  Allison flinched, but made no attempt to cover herself.  Did she really think this was a normal medical procedure?  Was she that stupid?  Or had Ciaran fucked with her brain so much already that she would ignore her common sense and think that a bladder specialist would photograph her nude body with his personal phone?

 

Once he had enough photos of her exposed body and her pouting, unhappy face to satisfy his masturbation requirements over the next week, he moved on to the next phase of his ‘inspection”, by lifting his hands to her breasts.  She made no move to stop him, and so he squeezed them - first gently, running his thumb over her nipple, making her shiver as it hardened to his touch - and then hard, deliberately hurting her, crushing her tits in her hands.  She squealed, and her body shook, but she still made no move to protect herself.

 

“Very good,” he said, as if he had learned something important.  “Bend over the desk, Miss Tarrant.”

 

She did as she was told, bending over, ass out, and David put on a nitrile glove from a box on his desk.  He would have preferred to do this with his hands bare, to feel skin-on-skin, but some pretense of medical professionalism was necessary.

 

He stood behind her and ordered her to move her legs apart slightly, and she complied.  He took his phone and snapped some more pictures of her ass and cunt.  Then he reached under her and felt her pussy - first feeling the whole mound, and then parting her pussy lips and running a gloved finger from her clitoris down to her fuckhole.

 

“You’re wet, Miss Tarrant,” he observed.  “Are you always wet like this?”

 

“No,” said Allison, presumably still blushing.

 

“Ah,” said David.  “Then what is special that makes you wet today?  Is it the feeling of showing your pussy to men?  Or the memory of how you behaved like a piss slut?”

 

“Um…” she said, not knowing how to answer.

 

He found her clitoris again, and pinched it between his fingers, making it squeak.

 

“Which is it, Miss Tarrant?” he said.  “You like showing off your pussy, or you get wet from being a piss slut?  Or are you always whorishly wet?”

 

He pinched her again to encourage her.

 

“From… from showing off,” said Allison, picking what she thought was the least-worst option.

 

“Good girl,” said David.  “It’s good to admit it.”

 

He traced his finger back and forth over her clitoris a few times, to reward her for her compliance, and then pushed two fingers deep into her fuckhole, as deep as they would go.  He heard her gasp, and make a slutty little moan, and then he began to finger-fuck her for a few moments.  Not long - just long enough to establish dominance, and to let her realise that she *liked* being finger-fucked by a man she didn’t know in front of Ciaran.  

 

Then he moved his fingers up and pushed one into her anus.

 

She squeaked, and wriggled, but he was right behind her and she was trapped between him and the desk.  His finger was lubricated with her cunt juices, and he again pushed it as deep as it would go, before crooking it slightly in a beckoning motion.

 

She made a little, incoherent high-pitched noise.

He wiggled his finger in her anus some more, eliciting further noises.

 

Then, abruptly, he withdrew his finger, grasped her shoulder, pulled her upright and turned her around to face him.

 

“Open your mouth,” he told her - and when she did, he pushed his fingers into it, depressing her tongue as he made a show of looking inside.

 

They were the same fingers that had been in her pussy and her ass, and he loved the flinch and look of disgust on her face as she realised she was tasting herself.

 

“Very good,” he said finally.  “Miss Tarrant, you may take a seat on the couch with your legs spread.”

 

There was no reason her legs needed to be spread other than that he enjoyed the sight of her pussy.  Allison did as she was told.  Her arms trembled, and she clearly wanted to cover her tits and her pussy, but they remained by her sides.

 

“Do you want to be fixed, Miss Tarrant?” asked David.

 

He knew she did not.  Every part of her face and body suggested fear and humiliation at the concept of being “fixed”.

 

She looked at Ciaran.

 

“Well, I can hardly see how you can continue in your job if you keep pissing everywhere, Allison,” said Ciaran.  “Tell the man you want to be fixed.”

 

She looked like she might cry.

 

“Yes,” she said quietly.  “I want to be fixed.”

 

“If I am to fix you, you need to accept what you are,” said David.  “Let me hear that you know that you are a piss slut, Allison.”

 

She took a deep breath, her breasts heaving prettily.  

 

In her mind, Ciaran’s hypnotic suggestions were becoming louder and louder, threatening to drown out her other thoughts.

 

 

This man was going to help her - help her do what she couldn’t do - stop her being a perverted little slut.  She needed him.

 

“Yes,” she breathed.  “I’m a piss slut and I need to be fixed.  Please help me.”

 

“Good girl,” said David.  “Well then - let’s get started, shall we?”

 

(TO BE CONTINUED)