Content notes: bondage, D/s, watersports, tattooing
Editor’s Note: This story is a sequel to “The Gambling Countess,” which takes place in Southampton in 1983. Myra is a young trans woman who has moved to Severton Manor, where she will be serving Countess Eleanora. Myra has just completed her initiation, which included performing cunnilingus on the Countess. Read on to learn what happens next.
“A toast, to the maid who was elegant,” Eleanora said, her glass turned up in the air. “Cheers!”
Myra took the other glass from the tray. It was small, so it would be finished in one or two gulps. Myra locked eyes with the Countess, matching her grin, and the two of them knocked back their glasses.
It was then that Myra heard a gasp. Myra’s eyes looked up at the Countess, who for the first time was not looking at her, but at the other, silent maid in the room. Raquel had gasped. For the first time since Myra arrived, she’d heard one of the two maids make a sound.
“I will attend to that later,” Eleanora said. “But for now, let’s get to the heart of the matter. I would like to propose a gamble.” The words hung throughout the air, almost as if they were Eleanora Aradia’s intent all along and the rest had been a prologue.
“Um…excuse me Countess but…I’m not particularly well-versed at card games…I lost quite a bit of money back in the day.”
“Oh no my dear, not that sort of gamble. You won’t have to touch a single card.”
“I’m pretty bad with dice games, too. I always bet too much and don’t know when to quit.”
“Oh, no no no! I think you misunderstand my intentions. This isn’t a gamble with toys on a board. This is a gamble with your body as the piece.” She interlocked both of her hands beneath her chin, resting them as she looked down on her new maid.
“…my…body…?”
“Yes.”
“On what grounds?” Myra asked. She was confused. What gamble?
“Dissolved into that glass you just drank was a loop diuretic. A harmless drug, really, so don’t be alarmed. What that means is, it makes you have to relieve yourself. More crudely, in about fifteen minutes to a half hour, you will have to pee very badly. This gamble is about if you can hold your bladder for an hour or not.”
“You drugged me?!” Myra shouted. She realized this very thing was what made Raquel break her silence and gasp before. She knew the diuretic had been placed in the drink. She may have even been the one to place the drug in the glass and made sure that was the glass placed in front of Myra.
“As I said, it is completely safe. If you turn down the gamble, you will just need to pee soon, and we’ll make sure your fluids are replenished.”
“You mean, I can turn it down?”
“Why, of course you can! A gamble is no fun if I force you. I may be your new Mistress, but a forced game is no fun for either party. The greater the risk, the greater the reward, and there’s no risk in forcing someone to play along.”
Myra pondered the questions rolling across her mind. She barely had time to think, this was all hitting her so fast.
“That’s…a gamble I’ve never taken before,” she said. “So, what’s the risk and what’s the reward? What are we betting?” She began to think perhaps it was in her best interests to play along.
“If you win, I will pay you all the room and board, plus the salary you would’ve earned at the end of your time here, at the rate of four years worth. You won’t have to clean a single bathroom again. I’ll send you packing with the money and your things. You can keep the maid dress, too, as a parting gift.”
Myra couldn’t believe what she was hearing. That was to the tune of well over a hundred thousand dollars, an unbelievable sum of money. It was possibly more than she’d ever made in her life. It was a risk that was, indeed, worth the price of playing alone. There was only one caveat…
“…and if I lose…?” She asked, afraid to know the answer.
“Then I get to place my mark on you.”
Myra didn’t know what to say. The marks on the thighs of Priss and Raquel. That was what she was referring to. She must’ve proposed this wager or a similar one before, to both Raquel and Priss. And both times, she’d won.
A free four year’s lump sum buyout versus a small tattoo on her thigh. The Countess was rich, but she would lose a new servant. The tattoo was relatively small, but tattoos are permanent and hard to remove. Eleanora was right. This was a beautiful gamble, filled with an appropriate amount of risk for both parties.
“First, let me hear the full terms of the game, and I’ll accept.”
Eleanora’s eyes brightened at the answer. “Here are the terms. You will have your arms hung from the ceiling above you. Those same cuffs will be hung to a rope. Your job will be to hold your bladder for a full hour, the time kept by that hourglass in Raquel’s hands. Raquel will serve as referee to judge if you relieve yourself of any liquid at any time. Me, I will be allowed to use anything in this room to coax it out of you. I will not hit or hurt you in any lasting ways, though some light impact toys may or may not graze you. If you last the hour, you win. If you relieve yourself, I win. Simple enough?”
Myra tried to hide her grin. A side effect of her hormones was having to pee a lot. As a result, she’d gotten extremely good at holding her bladder at times when she had no bathroom. It was a gamble she’d win. The Countess was beautiful and breathtaking, but the money was just as alluring. Either way, even losing with the tattoo, she’d still be winning, as she’d have played the Countess’ game on her own terms. Perhaps this was what she’d meant by being initiated.
“I accept.”
“Good girl, I knew you would! What fun we’ll be having tonight! Raquel dear, please bring Myra over to the wet area and get her set up, won’t you?”
Raquel gripped Myra on the wrist and pulled her over to a far corner of the room where the floor turned to porcelain, with four shallow slopes dipping down into a drain from all sides. It was a part of the dungeon set up specifically for watersports. It was as if a urinal were made into the corner of a room.
Raquel slipped Myra’s clothing off one piece at a time and then clipped her to a rope hanging above. As she did so, Myra thought of all the times clients in the past had asked her to do watersports. It was a rather common fetish, and so she was no stranger to peeing in front of other people. They really got off on it, watching her wet herself, watching her struggle to hold it in. Most of them just wanted to be peed on. She wondered if the Countess held that same fetish as well and if she would one day ask to be peed on.
Myra had been peed on quite a bit in her time. It was a rather popular humiliation tactic, so she’d become well acquainted with the strange liquid, growing to like the peculiar salty scent and taste. It was not a fetish she particularly held, but it was a fetish that she would fulfill for her lovers and clients who asked.
The Countess moved over to the wet room, taking a place at Myra hanging, her tip toes dangling to stretch and grasp the floor. She placed two jugs of water down on the ground, probably for Myra to drink at the end to quench her thirst. “Raquel, start the timer.”
Raquel flipped the hourglass over, the blue sands slowly flicking down as they began to rain towards the bottom. She placed it on the ground outside the porcelain of the wet area, but it was close enough where Myra could see. And thus, the game had begun.
For the first few minutes, they two of them stood still, looking at her. Raquel knelt in front of Myra, eyes widened as they fixated on Myra’s naked girlhood. It was the same stare that had first creeped her out when they’d met in the foyer. Her eyes were viciously locked, obeying the Countess’ orders to referee the gamble. Myra wondered if such an obedient doll could be an impartial judge, but she had to trust in Eleanora’s love of the game.
As she was surveying Raquel, she began to hear a loud glug glug noise echoing throughout the room, like bubbles forming below water. She looked up to see what the noise was, and she saw Eleanora Aradia di Volterra, the Countess herself, chugging back one of those water jugs like she’d never seen water in her life. Glug glug glug. That was when it all painfully clicked, and she realized what she’d gotten herself into.
The Countess said she could use whatever means necessary, and Myra had assumed she meant some form of corporal punishment. Hitting, beating, etc. But that was not what she had in mind at all. The Countess was going to pee on her.
Her legs tensed up at the thought, and in the moment, she realized she already needed to relieve herself. She locked eyes with Eleanora, who’d already finished half the jug.
“Seems like you finally get it. I’ll let you in on one more secret. Yours wasn’t the only drink that had the diuretic. Hehehehe!”
The Countess moved towards her as Myra gulped. She had been swindled before the game had begun, a victim of her own arrogance. All she could do now was hold out as hard as she could and sprint to the finish line.
Eleanora placed her hand on Raquel’s head for balance, treating the obedient girl as if she were more an armrest than a human being. For all the humiliation, Raquel didn’t flinch for even a second, a gesture that told Myra such arrangements were a common occurrence. She leaned all her weight onto the silent girl, then lifted her leg in the air like a dog.
Using two fingers in her other hand, she spread her pussy lips and leaned as far forward as possible. Within seconds, a warm yellow liquid began to trickle down onto Myra’s leg, trailing down across her feet and then into the drain. The bathroom smell brought a new energy into the room, a rift that made the gamble more real. Myra clenched her bladder muscles at the smell, and for the first moment, she really felt she wanted to pee.
As the trail of piss waned, Eleanora backed up and laughed. “Please excuse me, I know it wasn’t very ladylike, but I was feeling a bit thirsty. Raquel, are you parched? How about you, Myra dear? All this really has me wanting to replenish my fluids. You know, they say your pee should always be clear, and if it isn’t you’re not drinking enough water! The pee trickling down your leg just now was a bit yellow, so I assume I’ll need to watch it more! Here, Raquel honey, please take care of yourself, for me, darling.”
She held out the other jug, offering it to the obedient maid. Raquel instinctively rose, taking it in her own grip, eyes still fixed on Myra’s girlhood, and brought the opening to her mouth. She chugged it like a fratboy to beer. That girl was one to be weary of. At this point, she felt more dangerous than the Countess.
Bubbles glugged in the large glass jugs as Eleanora and Raquel downed nearly half the contents in a minute or so. The sloshing tune of the liquid caused Myra to squirm at the sound, rubbing her thighs together to try and distract her from the pressing matter down in her bladder.
“C’mon, Raquel dear, we just got this new urinal here, don’t insult me by not using it!” The Countess was clearly having fun, and despite it all, Myra was happy to be fulfilling her job.
Raquel and Eleanora moved forward, the Countess lifted her leg once more as Raquel lifted her skirt and push her underwear to the side. The two of them relieved themselves on Myra, a deluge of piss across her lower half.
And with it, Myra almost broke. However, she held onto herself as hard as she could, scrambling to visualize anything but running water. As the piss streams ended, she troubled a look at the hourglass. The sands of the hourglass swirled down like snow, cascading in a cosmic bluish purple. Halfway. She was almost there.
“How are you doing, dear?” The Countess asked.
“…never better…” Myra grunted.
“Well, how about a drink to pick you up?”
As if from out of nowhere, Raquel produced a small glass jar from inside her maid outfit. If Eleanora tried to make her drink, she’d spit the water out. She couldn’t afford to drink right now. However, Eleanora placed the glass jar on the floor, and Myra’s heart sank. The Countess, prideful as ever, squatted over the cup.
Once again, Myra heard the sinister dripping sound of piss as Eleanora’s bladder unleashed into the glass below, filling it up nearly to the brim. Myra groaned. She looked at the hourglass. A quarter left. She was so close to winning — she needed to grin and bear it.
Eleanora grabbed the glass, then approached Myra. She raised it, then trickled the contents across Myra’s mouth and face. Myra held out for half the contents, but after that, she broke. A hard stream of piss poured down her leg, and Raquel’s hand raised into the air to call it. She’d played a hard game, but she’d lost.
Strangely enough, she smiled. It was the most fun she’d had in years.
Art by Laura Lee Benjamin
The Countess smiled with satisfaction. “So now that fealty has been properly pledged, I believe it is time for you to be blessed by my exquisite mark. It will adorn your flesh so well.” She caressed the thigh where the mark would go. “Raquel dear, please get the equipment. I’ll get her down. Don’t worry, Myra dear. I’ll be sweet and gentle when I stick my needle in.”
Myra laid with her back on the bed where she’d serviced Eleanora. Next to them was a tray which held a black ink, as well as a strange handled instrument that looked like a brush. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t much of a big deal. Three or so inches of skin comprised less than a percent of her body, and of course, the ink would fade with time in the days after she left the Manor. If anything, it could become a strange badge of honor.
The small wooden rod looked like a brush, but it felt like steel wool against the skin each time it poked its needles into her thigh. With each thrust, her leg became more and more indistinguishable from Priss and Raquel’s, a process that took well over an hour. As the Countess worked her gloved fingers, the symbol began to form.
Myra had known what the symbol would be before it had even been stenciled. A plus sign, with three lines below it. A curious mark. Plus three, it seemed to read. She was the third, whatever that meant. A curious rune for a curious woman.
She watched as the black ink glistened beneath the refracted sheen of her sweat. The red, irritated skin around the marking burned, a pain she could only describe as endlessly scratching a sunburn, or instinctively picking at the new raw flesh beneath a scab.
“What does it mean?” Myra asked.
“Something special,” Eleanora said, eyes glistening. It didn’t seem she would get a more direct answer.
The black ink bloomed up beneath the blood the Countess kept wiping off. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought the Countess was turned on at the process.
“I like to believe souls can pass between beings. When I’m being tattooed, it brings me pleasure to think as if the artist’s very essence is imbued into me through every poke of the ink.”
“Ah! I didn’t think I’d ever get a tattoo until today.”
“The ancient Greeks believed that all emotions and illness came from the excess or absence of liquids in the body. Humors, we called them. The Greek word was chymos, which roughly translates to juice, sap or even more tantalizingly, flavor. Obviously, nowadays, this way of thinking has fallen by the wayside in favor of ever increasing modern medicine.”
“I think I learned something like that in school. Something about bile…”
“Yes, they believed it was blood, yellow bile, phlegm and black bile. They were wrong. But here’s the interesting part. As hundreds of years passed by, their hypotheses were slightly vindicated. Hormones and neurotransmitters, dopamine, serotonin, all of these breaking scientific discoveries on the origin of emotions and illnesses have just built on conjectures from over a thousand years ago.”
“I never thought about it that way.”
“You should know most of all what the presence of a simple liquid chemical can do for the body. Just think of those vials of estrogen you shoot up with. I have employed enough women like you to know the importance of such things. Minor fluctuations in the endocrine system that can cause earth shattering, life saving changes.”
“I wasn’t told you were an expert in endocrinology.”
“Oh, I’m not at all. But any good philosophical woman facing the boredom of life will naturally devour any information she can get. The books are there in my library, if you would ever like to read them. You’ll have the time.” The completed rune glared up at Myra, the bloodied skin already beginning to form a scar.
There was something beneath this manor, simmering under the surface like a secret worth knowing. The more Myra turned it over in her head, the more it itched. The Countess was terrifying, but at the same time, she was not unreasonable. She had never once lied, and Myra was sure it was possible to win the gamble, if she had listened properly.
The proper winning move would’ve been to never take the gamble in the first place. The option had been presented to her. It was her own arrogance that had been her undoing. The blood smell blacked out Myra’s entire mind, just like the curious ink seeping into her flesh to forever stain it at that very moment, a crossing it seemed she could not return from for some time.
