Pierced

[BabyAnna]

Fellatio is a loving tender treat, a gift involving soft lips and a willing tongue, teasing, tormenting and eventually giving release to a lucky man.

Getting face fucked was nothing like that.

I don't know when my drink was spiked but I can guess who. I woke up when he splashed cold water on me, looked down, saw him using a small towel to dry my pubic mound.

It was bare.

I flinched, tried to bring my arms around to stop him touching me there. They hardly moved, pressure on my wrists, preventing me drawing them from behind my back.

The movement drew his attention, made him look up, smile at me. "Ah, you're awake," he told me, as though I hadn't noticed. "Let me finish up here and we'll get you comfortable."

I spoke too, in my mind. The actual sounds I made were grunts, conveying none of my words, not telling him to stop. Not asking him what he was doing or why. Not even asking why my mouth was full, and why trying to talk made my tongue sore.

My tongue was sore. Another thing I hadn't noticed. The grunts might have turned to a pitiful whine.

He looked at me curiously then his face cleared. "Ah, the piercing," he said. "I'll finish up and fetch you a pain killer."

Piercing? What piercing? Wait, my tongue? He'd pierced my tongue? Why - and what with?

Those thoughts were hidden from him, didn't distract him from what he was doing, kneeling between my widely spread legs. I hated that position, hated having him there, hated the vulnerability it made me feel. I was vulnerable too; he was fully dressed now but that wouldn't take long to change; I was just seconds away from being raped.

He didn't rape me, not then. Arms under my thighs, lifting me, a hand swinging across and beneath me. He lowered my legs again, ignored my heels kicking futilely against his back. Reaching down he pulled something up around my hips, clothing of some form. Plastic covered?

He was putting me in a diaper!

I looked at him in confusion, my kicking paused while I tried to think through what was going on. Ok, it was clear what was going on, he was pulling the front of the diaper between my legs, using it to cover the mound he'd just shaved bare, hairless for the first time in many years. What wasn't clear was why.

He spoke again, telling me why. "I," he said, pausing, emphasising himself, "control you. I control your actions, I control your whole life. You're in diapers to remind you that I control whether you even go to the toilet." He wasn't gloating, threatening, laughing, just calmly sharing how he viewed our situation. "I choose whether to change you when you're wet," he added, "I control your comfort."

That didn't sound good.

"Now, let's get you more comfortable," he said, and got up from between my legs.

He left the room, giving me my first chance to take stock, look at where I was, how I was dressed. It was a normal living room, a couch, TV, various electronics and some shelves, books and a vase, some ornaments and a picture. I couldn't see the picture clearly from my position on the floor, turned my focus to myself. 

That proved quick. I was wearing a diaper and nothing else. Well, something around my wrists but I couldn't see that. I wriggled my fingers, tried to see if they could inform me but could reach whatever was there, stopping me moving my arms. I struggled to sit upright, the diaper making it strangely hard, stopping me closing my legs fully and adding a thick layer I had to overcome.

He re-entered the room as I made it, walked over to me, crouched down beside me.

"Good, you're sat up already. That'll help," he said.

Help what?

"I'm going to remove the gag," he told me, "so that you can take a pain killer. You can take the pill, wash it down with a glass of water, get a break from whatever discomfort your tongue is causing, or you can try and talk or scream or shout and get the gag straight back in. Is that clear?"

I nodded.

"Good. Are you going to be a good girl?"

I hated him for that. Bad enough to force this situation onto me, now he wanted me to admit that doing what he wanted was 'good'. I didn't nod.

"No pill then," he said, shaking his head at me. "Last chance. Are you going to be a good girl?"

I blushed, closed my eyes and nodded my head. I wouldn't be helping myself by sitting here in pain but didn't want to see him enjoy his little win.

His hand on my chin, holding my head steady. The sensation of something happening with my mouth, fingers brushing my lips, a tugging sensation. Cold air reaching my mouth.

I closed my mouth. Swallowed the saliva that had been building up, almost gagged at the plastic taste of whatever he'd had in there. Then looked at him in shock, opened my mouth again.

The gag went straight back in. He'd been ready, and my question became grunts.

"Now now," he said, "You promised to be a good girl."

I had, but that was before I'd tried to swallow, felt something on the top of my mouth, a stud in my tongue. I hadn't forgotten he'd pierced my tongue but feeling it was a shock nonetheless. Not least because of where I felt it. Tongue piercings are near the front of the tongue, seen teasingly when the mouth is open, a seductive promise possible by sticking your tongue out, revealing it past your teeth.

I couldn't do that with this one. It was in too deep, must have been two inches along my tongue, maybe more.

The confusion on my face seemed to amuse him. "Found the stud?" he asked.

I nodded, wrinkled my brows in a puzzled frown at him.

"It's not for show," he said, "It's for my pleasure."

I thought about that, and didn't like where those thoughts took me. For him to get pleasure from that stud meant being that far into my mouth. Maybe further. I shivered.

He grinned.

"Let's try again," he said, pulling the gag from my mouth once more.

I swallowed again but didn't try and speak, just enjoyed having my mouth closed. I opened it again as he put a pill to my lips, let him push it in. A glass held to my mouth, tilted, cool water filling my mouth. I swallowed it, the pill with it, then another mouthful. The glass was drawn away from my but I followed it, unexpected thirst needing to be satisfied.

He laughed at that but brought the glass back, let me finish it.

Moments later the gag was back in. I hadn't tried to speak but he didn't want to give me the chance. Instead he used my shoulders to lower me back to the floor and rolled me over onto my stomach.

"That's a very cute look," he said, a firm slap on the padding covering my bottom making it clear which look he liked. It didn't hurt, physically, just the reminder of what I was wearing, what that meant.

It made me think about that, made me realise my bladder was ready for release. Another thing I hadn't noticed.

Not something I had time to worry about, instead trying to track what he was doing to me now. He'd reached under my shoulders, lifted my upper body off the floor and was now dragging me across the room. 

"There," he said, "Now, lets get you turned around."

He picked up my ankles and pulled them with him as he walked around me, swivelling me on my bottom. My eyes widened as a wooden chair came into view, its seat around the height of my eyes. I looked up at him in confusion.

He didn't notice, or didn't care. Maybe both. His focus was on fastening my ankles to the back legs of the chair, leaving my legs spread uncomfortably wide around its front legs. Getting the second ankle fastened made that worse, as he pulled me right up to the chair, its strange curved cut-out at the front now against my face, making me close my eyes.

"Thought that might be a bit high," he said, walking around behing me. "Come on, up we go."

He reached down as he said that, lifted me, and I felt him kicking something in under me. As he released me again I found it was a padded cushion that raised me higher, enough that my chin was now just above the height of the seat.

I pulled my head back, looked at the chair now that I could see it better. It was a sturdy wooden chair, but with a curved cut-out in front and, I could now see, a hinged section that could swing around in front of it, leaving a hole a few inches wide in the seat at the front of the chair.

I already knew the seat was the right height for someone sat on a cushion in front to rest their chin on it. Now I realised they wouldn't have a choice, if their head was placed at that height in the cut out at the centre, and the front of the chair swung into position, clipped into place. It was like a pillory, but holding the head upright rather than facing down.

This would leave someone sat in that position facing the crotch of anybody sitting in it. He tugged me into position, fastened the curved wooden bar behind my neck, and sat there in front of me, his crotch brushing my nose. That was his next target, gripping it with one hand and pulling it painfully up. I opened my mouth to gasp with the pain and his other hand pushed something into it, prevented me closing it again. 

Obviously I tried struggling free. My ankles had a little flex, letting me change the angle of my knees, but I couldn't get them free, couldn't move away from the chair. With him sat in it I couldn't move the chair either, although with my neck in that wooden embrace I'd have had to go with it. My arms remained tied firmly behind my back, wrists together, stopping me even reaching the diaper I knew was wrapping my freshly shaved body.

All I could do was watch in horror with a sense of inevitable doom as he unzipped his jeans and pulled out his flaccid penis. He reached down beside the chair and picked up another cushion, pushed it back behind him so he could comfortable sit right up against my distended jaw, allowing his penis to rest inside my unwillingly gaping mouth.

I'd guessed we'd end up like this, after finding out about the piercing, but was confused anyway. He made no attempt to make me lick him, arouse him, just lifted his legs onto the table behind me, leaned back and turned on the tv. Actually sat there drinking beer, his cock in my drooling mouth, otherwise ignoring me.

I tried talking to him, the thing holding my mouth open and the thing inside it preventing proper words. He didn't try and interpret them, didn't respond, just watched TV. Had another beer.

That reminded me of the drink I'd had earlier, the coffee I'd had with breakfast. They'd finished with me, wanted back out, and I didn't think he'd gone to the effort of diapering me, tying me up and fastening me into this chair just to let me go to the toilet now.

So yes, of course I did. I sought relief for my bladder, as that was the only thing I could control. Hot humiliation as hot liquid spread around my crotch and my bottom. Strange sensations as the padding wrapping those swelled. 

He must have noticed. "Have you wet yourself yet?" he asked.

My blush was the only reply he needed.

His response wasn't verbal, made itself known in my mouth not his, as he started to get erect. The drool had made my mouth very wet, now my tongue could taste him making it wetter, his body generating lubricant it didn't need.

We sat there a while longer, the warmth down below cooling off, becoming a damp clammy feel. I wondered if he'd take it off if I asked, if he'd insist on replacing it with another diaper. At least that would be clean, dry.

The football finished, he turned the TV off and turned his focus to me. 

"How's your diaper?" he asked, "Do you want a change?"

My face must've been a picture. Disgust at having him in my mouth, distress at being in a wet diaper, desire to be taken out of it, horror at being changed into a clean one, humiliation at him knowing all those feelings and not wanting to show them. 

The semi erect penis in my mouth revealed I'd shown them, and its increased rigidity told me he liked that I had those feelings, liked being able to force me to experience such humiliation. I tried to pull back, avoid choking on what was now entirely filling my mouth, tried again to bite down on it. All that did was make the piercing rub him from underneath, make my lips gently brush against the base of his shaft.

He liked that, started rocking back and forth. My neck trapped in that wooden embrace stopped me moving my head away, whatever he'd put between my teeth prevented me from stopping him, and that stud in my tongue, so far back in my tongue, did its insidious job, arousing him as he thrust repeatedly into me.

I sat there helpless, a plaything for his entertainment, unable to respond or react even as he put his feet back on the floor, gave him better traction for his thrusts. Now his pubic mound was bouncing off my face each thrust, his hair scant protection from what felt like being hit in the mouth every second. If being hit in the mouth included several inches of penetration and a ball sack bouncing off your chin.

As his orgasm approached fortunately the thrusts were shorter even as they were quicker. My drool kept him sliding easily between my lips and the painful bumps from his crotch had pretty much stopped now. The weird sensation of him rubbing against the piercing had not, was intensified, made me realise how effective it was - at both its jobs. It was there to arouse him, and it was doing just that, but that meant me being penetrated, humiliated, taking him deep into my mouth, and I was doing that, whether I wanted to or not.

Maybe in other circumstances I'd have wanted to. Give him a blow job, but with me in control. I wasn't in control here, I was his fuck toy, and he was face fucking me now with increasing pace. 

In a blow job you can control when orgasm happens. I had no control here, knew it was imminent but not when, was breathing in at just the wrong moment.

I choked, spluttered, my mouth suddenly full of a thick salty taste, and the drool dripping down my chin was suddenly joined by another liquid - and not just my tears which had finally come, at the moment he did.

A couple more thrusts and he stopped, leaned back in the chair, his breathing calming as his penis softened. It was still in my mouth, occasional little pulses, more liquid that I didn't want on my tongue.

I just sat there, staring at the pubic hair that had been my sole vista for over an hour now, hot with anger and frustration at my helplessness and feelings of humiliation. I didn't move; couldn't move, couldn't talk, my mouth still gaping and plugged.

A minute later he finally spoke. "Ah, that's better," he said, "my bladder is bursting and I was never going to be able to go with an erection like that."

I looked up in panic. Was he planning to..? No. He was getting up instead, his penis sliding from my mouth, leaving a trail of stickiness down my chin and on the seat of the chair before he stepped over me, dragging it up my face and across my hair. 

I shook with rage at this treatment, on top of everything else he'd done, but he ignored me, took the hateful device from my mouth and I could finally close it, swallow all that drool, everything else in there. While I was doing that he was unfastening my ankles, then released my neck from its restraint.

I would've collapsed then, fallen backwards onto my bound arms, but he was stood there, held me up. Reached below my arms and pulled me upright, held me steady until I'd got me feet below me, remembered how they work, fought through the pain of blood flow returning to them and finally stood up without needing his help. 

He was taller than me, my head reaching only his shoulders. That made his next action easier, one arm wrapped around me, just below my shoulders, the other pulling the front of my cold sodden diaper out so he could flop his still wet penis over the top, dangling down from my belly button into the diaper.

I knew what he was about to do before he did it but that didn't lessen the shame. As his hot urine soaked my skin, made my newly shaved area sting, caused the diaper to swell further I wept in raw distress. He'd pierced my tongue, pierced my mouth; now he was piercing my dignity.

The emotion overwhelmed me and as I rested my head against his shoulder I finally allowed him his well earned victory, needing his strength to hold my collapsing body as ripple after soul searing ripple of violent orgasm flooded through me, even as he continued to flood my diaper.

Later, while he was finally changing my soaking diaper, I looked up at him and asked shyly, "When's the next match?"
 

[Babypants]

I'm surprised that no one has posted a review.  A typical Anna ending, but intense from start through the penultimate paragraph.  Well done.

[BabyAnna]

Well, most readers never comment, I suspect only a subset of DD story forum users are interested in sexually explicit stories involving adults, and a very small minority of those will appreciate first person fellatio.

So thank you for the kind words, and don't worry about the lack of comments. I'm not

 

[Pampered Pet]

Being one of that minority of users who enjoy sexually explicit stories, especially when they have non-consensual themes and aspects of BDSM in addition to diapers, I thank you for this story. I just stumbled across your writing and am now eagerly consuming the rest of it.

[KnoxKiddo]

I'm not sure how I'm just now discovering these Anna stories, but holy moly, I can't get enough! This is amazingly written.

[Cute_Kitten]

This was an intense one. You always set the scene well and pull readers right in.