The John

Thick, lewd gulps drummed the space between them, the sound so wet and bloated that Jack couldn’t help but keep his eyes trained upon the bobbing Adam’s apple of the elephant’s throat. With a trunk coiled around the now near-empty beer can, downing the last dregs of sapid ale, he finished the last mouthful with a heavy swallow proceeded by a triumphant belch. The noise came from his chest, rumbling and reverberating so loudly that Jack could feel it in his bones as he knelt there, the short distance between himself and the male immediately stained with the stench of putrid alcohol. The can crumpled with a snap, tossed absently across the room with a flick of the trunk, the thug stroking his gut and groping his unashamed crotch with the courtesy of a pig as he stared down at the naked human shivering upon his floor.

Salao glowered at the human as he savoured the last lingering taste of his beer, clearly enjoying the sight of Jack struggling subtly under the rope that bound his arms behind his back and forced his body to fold upon itself. Cords connected the bar between his ankles to the parachute snug around his sack, pulled taut so that any movement made him wince and squirm in exquisite, prolonged pain of having his balls so tenderly stretched. An anal hook had been crudely slid into his ass long before the bar and parachute had been introduced, perhaps one of the first things Salao had done to him the moment the elephant had got home from work – after their little spat, that is – and looped through its end was another rope guiding up and following through with tying his wrists behind him and secured to his collar keeping him utterly immobilised – ignoring the mild writhing. To add salt to the wound of humiliation though were the new additions of the hooks that dug into Jack’s nostrils, pulling his nose back so that though Salao may behave like a swine, the human now resembled one with his crushed, flattened nose. On top of this was the spider gag, metal prongs digging against his cheeks, the ring snug behind his teeth, his jaw forced wide and spittle drooling too freely from his gaping maw. He must have looked a sight to behold, mute and idle, squatted upon the floor on his knees looking thoroughly monstrous as his cock stood hard to attention. Jack had to admit, whatever the African elephant was up to, he was more turned on than he had ever been in the few short months they’d been together.

He’d say ‘dating’, but that’d be a misnomer. Salao was not the sort for conventional relationships, reflected in his penchant for unconventional sex, but he refused to be Jack’s ‘boyfriend’, and they were never ‘dating’ according to the bull. They were Master and slave, though Jack had tried effortlessly to change the name to ‘boy’ for the sake of his pride. But slave was what Salao had always called him and for some banal reason refused to even use his preferred name in public, deferring instead to his father’s name, John. Though it always burned in his ears and gut whenever he heard that name, he stayed and let the elephant continue to use him, passing it off as a price to pay for something he’d never felt anywhere else. His protests were always silenced by a gag sooner or later regardless. 

“Slave, look at me.” Salao’s voice was thick, deep, everything you would expect a man to sound like who looked as burly and thuggish as him. Coated in a forest of hair that sunk down his chest and across his swollen gut, joining the grove of his groin and staying as rough and coarse as wire. Even under the thin tank top Salao had left on, it did little to hide his physique nor his bountiful hair. His large ears drooped and flapped in the stagnant evening heat, relishing the hot summer air with the conditioning turned off. Jack was allowed it on during the day, supposing he were home alone, but when Salao returned it became his rule and his word. He cherished seeing the human sweat and squirm under the humidity, the stench of the elephant’s musk quickly filling the room, filling his lungs, until he was breathing the very male’s essence with every suck. Even Salao would have had to admit, that night was particularly brutal. Even he looked stifled in just his loose, well-worn boxers that hid nothing. Though dark, Jack could see his twitching manhood lying in the crook of one leg, his ample balls spilling to the side. 

Jack looked up, locking eyes with those of his Master. 

“I told you when you agreed to be my slave, what I say goes.” On any other day and Jack could have envisioned the elephant’s snarling tone, but today all he got was something placating, not quite defeated but bordering it. Pity, perhaps? Resignation? “And I told you two weeks ago that we were gonna start upping your duties as my slave. And you agreed to that, right?”

Jack nodded. It was technically true, some time ago there had been a discussion, one that had been marred with all sorts of gut-wrenching feelings, but had ultimately ended with him conceding to all of Master’s demands, negotiated out one by one.

“Now one of those duties was you becoming my urinal.” Jack shuddered at the word. He hated it. He hated the way Salao used it so casually, he hated the supposition that he would become the living toilet to this brute. Each syllable dripped in disgust. “I understand you ain’t done watersports before and it’s not your thing, you’re a good slave and you were honest. But we agreed you would try, and that you would train to do better for me, isn’t that right?”

Another nod.

“So when I come home, dying for a piss, and you’re there waiting for me on your knees like a good slave, what I don’t expect is for you to refuse me when I make to piss down your tight little throat.” Salao leant forwards, the lingering stink of lager swimming on his breath, “I don’t expect my slave to backtalk. I don’t expect my slave to disrespect his Master and start arguing with me. What I expect is that when I need to take a leak, the first words out of your mouth should be ‘yes please, sir’ followed by ‘thank you, sir’ once I’m done.”

Jack swallowed, as best he could though his mouth still hung open with his teeth clattering against the steel. He felt a hot flush of shame burn on his cheeks, a mild whimper escaping his throat as he wriggled before the looming elephant, shivers starting afresh as pudgy fingers reached out and grasped his jaw, angling his head so that the stormy expression of the elephant hung over him.
“We’re gonna have to fix that.”

Salao leaned across himself, fishing for something out of Jack’s view. But the soft crinkle of plastic, too smooth and yet tactile swishing with something wet inside, rang in his ears as the elephant lifted, or rather heaved within one mighty hand, a bag. Something medical, it looked as if it belonged in a clinic, hooked perhaps to an IV line dangling above a bedside. Inside however was not some inoffensive colourless liquid. It made Jack’s stomach turn as his eyes fixed on the swirling swill of dark amber fluid, ebbing back and forth as it rocked in Salao’s grasp. Though there could have been any explanation as to what was inside the bag, immediately Jack knew with a wrenching gut exactly what it was without even a doubt in his mind.

It was piss. His piss. From his very own bladder…

Salao had, from time to time, applied a catheter to his human slave. Jack had never understood why, judging it to be one of the elephant’s never-ending list of kinks that he liked to see his human lose control of his bladder as much as he liked watching Jack splutter on the elephant’s own, but nothing had ever come of it. The small amounts he had been leeched of were always taken away and never to be seen again, but it clicked into place as Jack knelt there, his breath rising in rasping wilts, as Salao toyed with the sloshing urine in his palm.

“This is your punishment. Three months of your own piss, slave. I was hoping we could do something special with it to commemorate your training,” Salao hunched forwards, his other arm yanking the feverishly struggling human towards him, “But it looks like it’ll have to be part of your training.”

Jack’s face, contorted by the nose hook and the spider gag, went wild with his eyes in some desperate plea for mercy. Guttural grunts rose from his throat but the elephant paid them no heed. With his slave right where he wanted him, unceremoniously he punctured the bag with a finger and aimed the ensuing spill over Jack’s head. A hand tugged viciously on the cord holding back his nose, and the flourish of stinging pain forced the bound male to tilt his head back even further, just as the wave of rank, stale piss flooded his mouth. He choked unapologetically, spluttering down his chest and neck as cold urine lipped across his face, the waterfall splashing down his front and bringing the stench of piss with it. 

Salao held the bag away, stopping the flow for now, though a quick glance confirmed more than half the bag remained. It was merely a taste that soaked into Jack’s skin, staining his hair, and slipping down his throat as he gagged on the taste. Months-old piss, there was no taste quite like it. Mild enough to know it wasn’t as potent as it could have been, but it stung all the same as it bleached him.

“If you waste another fucking drop, I’ll swap that hook in your ass for a speculum, and you don’t get to say when I stop,” Jack shuddered. Anything but the speculum, “Understand?”

Shivering under the cold piss, droplets dripping from his eyes, trickling across his face and racing their way down his bound form, he nodded. Anxiously he nodded. 

“Good, now swallow.”

So came the onslaught again, a torrent of his own urine brimming forth from a bag held aloft his gaping mouth, and bitterly, obediently, he greeted the first sloshes of piss with eager gulps. The flavour was dark upon his tongue, watery but rank, and though he swallowed and kept his gusto, there was not a second that he sought to enjoy. The bag was poured into his mouth, slowly now and with a steady stream, and with his jaw forced open all he could do was dutifully keep his throat going as he sucked down each and every mouthful that filled him. Soon his gut felt full, sick on the thought that he had just drunk his own bladder, stale piss now swilling inside him when moments before it had been outside of his body, and he squatted there flush with the shame of his action.

Yet between his legs jutted his hard cock, throbbing so much harder than he was sure had ever happened before, and he could feel himself needing to cum. Whether it was the weight tugging on his balls or the steel bulb grinding in his guts, he just felt a rising urge in his abdomen that he felt almost humiliated to have after drinking his own piss.

“Good slave,” Salao cooed as the last dregs of urine splattered against Jack’s lips. He squeezed the last of the bag until he threw it aside, tossed to the floor, and discarded without a thought. “Now let that be a lesson. You will always drink whatever I feed you, otherwise I will do something far worse than just your own piss.” The elephant rose from his seat, thick chest and swollen limbs towering him above the piss-soaked human. One hand stroked through Jack’s greasy, slick hair, now pungent with the odour of his own release, smelling very much like a urinal if anything at all. It was almost an endearing moment were it not for Salao’s other hand, smacking his blunt cock head against the rim of Jack’s gag. The elephant looked down with an almost impassive, frightening stare, so blank yet brimming with such ferocity that Jack couldn’t break away, whimpering as he stared up at his Master, uncomfortably shifting where he knelt. What now?

“Let’s get back to where we started,” Salao purred, thumb stroking over Jack’s cheek, “I still need to take a leak, and now that we’re both on the same page I think you need to fulfil your role as the John.” Jack shivered, his expression still begging for some kind of reprieve that would never come, resigned to the knowledge that even he knew there was no other way but to do the man’s bidding, just as he wanted him to deep down, “Now drink me.”

The torrent of piss started as just a trickle, muscles relaxing inside the bull elephant until the flood gates were opened and the dam burst. It swamped Jack’s mouth very suddenly, and frantically he hastened to keep up with the flow, gulping like a thirsted survivor having clawed their way from the desert. He drank Salao’s golden elixir of foul piss as if it were the most crisp, most refreshing water he had ever tasted in all his life, gurgled moans and tremors rocking through his body. There was a reason why he had tried to avoid the elephant’s fetish for so long, knowing full well it would sooner or later become his sole function to the man, but in the animal kingdom elephants are known for the sickliest pungent urine on the planet. The hybridisation between feral and man had done no favours for Salao. His piss was like sludge, thick and oily as if drinking paint that burnt the very insides of Jack as he swallowed as best he could. He could feel it sliding down his throat, bubbling into his stomach and swelling into what was already a bloated gut. Cries couldn’t break through the sea of piss that drowned him, as he became too full and beyond, struggling more and more whilst yet Salao’s bladder seemed endless as it let loose. Pitifully he leaned back, Salao pushing his member to slide down Jack’s throat until he could no longer even swallow, choking on the thick meat that just simply pissed into his body without him even choosing to wilfully drink the elephant. Jack gazed up at his Master, their eyes locking as one pissed down the other’s throat, and they stayed in that intimate moment where everything was as it should be. 

Jack was Salao’s John, his personal urinal, and that was all he ever needed to be.