In a dimly lit room, there she stood: the latex-clad Italian mistress, her eyes locked onto Slave Maz Morbid kneeling before her. He was encased head-to-toe in gleaming black latex, with a bold 'TOILET' sign emblazoned across his chest. His face was hidden behind a pair of heart-shaped glasses, giving off an air of desperation as he awaited his mistress's orders.
"Doctors orders, piscio boy," she snapped, her voice filled with authority. "Drink more of my healing piss."
Maz shivered in anticipation, his heart racing as he realized what was about to happen. The mistress moved closer, her shiny nurse uniform hugging her curves as she towered over him. She snapped her fingers, and Maz immediately knew what to do. His face already flushed from excitement, he bowed his head in submission and opened his mouth wide.
With a sickening squelch, a warm, ******ful stream of golden urine poured directly into his waiting mouth. It tasted sweet yet tangy, and Maz couldn't help but gulp it down eagerly. His cheeks bulged with the volume of piss, and he swallowed as fast as he could, desperate not to miss a single drop.
The mistress continued to release a steady stream of urine onto Maz's helpless face, watching with delight as the liquid splattered against his masked features. Her aim was impeccable, directing the flow straight into his mouth while ensuring that every drop dripped down his chin and onto his latex-covered body.
Maz didn't dare move or speak, his eyes locked on the mistress's as she emptied her bladder fully. Every drop of piss was like nectar to him, a precious substance that she alone could provide. His belly distended with the flood, making it difficult for him to breathe as he was filled to capacity.
When at last the stream subsided, Maz's glasses fogged over with splatters of urine. He gasped for air, his chest heaving as he struggled to take in the sensory overload that was crashing over him. The mistress watched him with amusement, her foot tapping against his chest in a slow, deliberate rhythm.
"You're a good boy," she purred, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Now clean yourself up."
With a heavy heart and an aching bladder, Maz knelt there in submission, wondering when his mistress would deign to give him permission to relieve himself. And thus the cycle of humiliation and pleasure continued, fueled by the deep-seated masochism that bound Maz to his mistress.
