Titcage (Chapter 3)

Around 11 am Claire felt thirsty. She had been working all day, and felt flushed and overheated from blushing so much at what she was looking at. She looked around and spotted a cool, inviting water cooler across the room. She got up and headed towards it.

‘Psst!’ said a voice. Claire turned and saw a thin, pretty long-haired teenaged blonde looking at her. The girl had an elfin, friendly face, a short wrap skirt and a button up shirt knotted under her medium-sized tits. Her tag identified her as Kitten, and according to her ID she was a B-grade fuck.

Kitten made a no-go motion towards the water cooler, crossing her hands across each other. ‘That one’s for the men,’ said Kitten. ‘We drink from the cordial.’ She pointed to another cooler, filled with red liquid.

‘Thanks!’ said Claire. She thought the prohibition was strange, but she liked the look of Kitten – she seemed friendly – and she appreciated the advice. She headed to the cordial cooler and poured off a plastic cup full of the liquid. It tasted strange, she discovered, but thick and sweet. Claire drank it all and then poured another cup to take back to her desk. As she watched, she was aware of all the men in the room watching her – or, more specifically, watching her tits. She blushed and sat back down, ready to describe the next naked whore the system offered up.

The cordial worked its way through Claire’s system, as she stared at a succession of embarrassing photos of naked sluts. About 90 minutes after she’d drunk the cordial, she became aware of a growing pressure in her bladder, and realised she needed to pee. It was almost lunchtime anyway, but she needed to go now, so she got up and headed for the toilets.

The toilet doors opened directly onto the open plan office, and were marked with the usual male and female signs, but the text was unusual. They read “girls” and “people”. Claire didn’t like the implication that girls weren’t people, but she entered the “girls” door anyway.

The room inside was a cool, and gently lit. Claire was immensely confused by it. It didn’t look like the toilets she’d expected. There were no stalls and no wash basins – just a large tiled room with a low bench at one end and some shower-style hoses and small indentations in the wall at the other. She turned around and left again.

She spotted Kitten’s desk nearby. ‘Hey,’ she said to Kitten, walking over to the girl. ‘Where are the toilets?’

‘Through there,’ said Kitten, pointing at the door Claire had just used.

‘No, that’s the showers,’ said Claire, whispering. People were looking at her and she felt her face starting to flush. She felt stupid being the new girl who didn’t know where the toilets were.

Claire had always been embarrassed by toilets. As a young girl she’d been mortified when her father had talked to her friends about how Claire sometimes wet the bed. And she’d never lived down having accidentally wet herself in fifth grade. She’d never been able to get past the idea that she was bad at pissing, that she was stupid and dirty because of it. It was enormously hard even to talk to Kitten about it now.

Kitten laughed. ‘They can be a bit confusing. Let me show you. I need to go anyway.’ Kitten reached down between her legs and adjusted something that Claire couldn’t see, and then got up and walked the blushing Claire back inside the ‘toilets’.

‘They don’t install actual toilets,’ said Kitten, inside. The two girls were alone in here, which Claire found helped. She was still blushing though. Kitten continued: ‘Women don’t need toilets and in any case they cost too much. There’s drains in the floor, so you just take off any clothes that are in the way and piss standing up.’

‘What?’ asked Claire, horrified.

‘It’s just like camping,’ said Kitten. ‘Oh, except don’t squat. You’ve got to do it standing up. Squatting’s unattractive and if the supervisors catch you doing it you’ll get in trouble.’ Kitten peeled off her short skirt and laid it on the low bench. Claire gasped. It felt wrong to be here with Kitten disrobing. It felt slutty and wrong. Kitten was wearing no panties underneath, and Claire blushed to find herself looking at Kitten’s shaved pussy. It was cute – exactly like what Claire imagined a perfect vagina to look like. And right through her clit, there was a small metal ring. It looked painful, but at the same time it fascinated Claire.

Kitten closed her eyes, blushing a little, and then slowly urine began to pulse and trickle from her twat and run down her legs. It pooled at her feet and then ran off to a nearby drain. Claire couldn’t believe she was watching another girl piss in front of her but it would be impolite to leave. She had no friends here except Kitten and she didn’t know what she’d say if she left – clearly what Kitten was doing was normal here.

Claire flashed back to when she was 14 and her father had come into the bathroom to find her peeing in the bathtub because the toilet was broken. Claire had already been humiliated even while she was alone, squatting in the cold porcelain tub and peeing, and it had been worse when her father had grabbed her, spread her legs, and starting spanking her still-piss-damp pussy. Claire had cried and wailed for hours and that night had lain awake thinking about what a dirty animal she must be to have deserved such punishment.

Now, Claire watched as Kitten pissed, entranced by the river of urine running down the girl’s beautiful leg. She watched until finally the flow stopped. When it did, Kitten walked to the wall, took down on of the shower hoses Claire had seen, turned it on, and rinsed her legs and cunt clean. She moaned a little as the water played across her inner thighs.

‘You’ll want to wear heels to work, like you are now,’ said Kitten as she washed, angling the water at her pussy. ‘If you wear socks they’ll just get pissy and wet. And you need to be careful with the hose or you’ll get your shirt wet. A lot of girls just get completely naked to be sure.’ She pressed the hose against her vagina and sighed contentedly.

‘This is weird,’ said Claire unhappily.

‘No, it’s no weirder than sitting on a bowl,’ said Kitten. ‘Soon you’ll wonder how you pissed any other way. Also, the washing off is just for your own comfort. The organisation doesn’t care if your legs are pissy, you won’t get in trouble for that.’ She turned off the hose and hung it back up.

‘What if I need to…’ said Claire, and stopped.

‘Shit?’ laughed Kitten. ‘Just stick your ass in one of the indents in the wall and poop. They’ll take care of the cleaning up.’ She put her skirt back on. ‘Good luck, honey,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you at lunch if you want?’

‘Okay,’ said Claire. When Kitten had left, Claire nervously took off her skirt and pulled off her panties and put them on the bench. Then she moved to stand right above a drain, spread her legs a little, and tried to relax. It took a while, but finally piss began to spurt from her vagina. Initially it arced out and splashed away from her, but soon it slowed to a trickle and ran down her legs. Claire felt strange and dirty and was just glad no one could see her. She kept worrying that someone would burst in and spank her cunt for being so dirty. She looked at her hairy pussy and wondered what it would be like to have a shaved beaver like Kitten. When she was done she rinsed off her legs and dressed.

At lunch she found Kitten in the small break room, alone. The break room was refreshingly normal, except for more of the omnipresent posters of nude women. It had a normal-looking fridge and cupboards and a table. Claire sat down next to Kitten.

‘Is your name really Kitten?’ she asked.

Kitten laughed. ‘No, it’s Sarah, but I’m called Kitten here. Well, actually my full work name is Slutkitten, but we mostly use the short names because it’s less distressing to new people like you.’

‘Slutkitten?’ said Claire. ‘But that’s so demeaning!’

‘It’s just a name,’ said Kitten. ‘It’s no different from sorority hazing or working at a Hooters bar or whatever. It’s just part of the way the organisation promotes itself.’

Claire looked at Kitten’s badge. It read “Tits: 32C, real. Cunt capacity: 1.2 litres. Milk production: None Fertility: N/A Fuck grade: C Rank: X”. ‘What does the stuff on your badge mean?’ she asked.

‘Tits are self explanatory,’ said Kitten, cupping hers. ‘To test cunt capacity they put a balloon in your pussy and then pump it up until you cry, and that’s your capacity. Milk production is for lactating women and it shows how much they express a day and how tasty it is. Fertility is how likely you are to get pregnant. They can test that but mostly they don’t bother unless you have a high rank or you’ve already been pregnant. Fuck grade is how satisfying you are to men when they fuck you. Rank is how high in the organisation you are – the closer to A the better. You can order around anyone with a lower rank than you.’

‘So fuck grade – how do they know what that is?’ asked Claire, scared of the answer.

‘Well, for me they made me give them phone numbers for my ex boyfriends and then called them to ask how I was in bed.’ Kitten looked uncomfortable. ‘I had to listen in. It was so humiliating I was in tears. They asked how easily I got wet, and if I liked it when they called me names, and if I got wet when I was abused. I had to hear my boyfriends say I was only adequate in bed, not good. He said I didn’t swallow enough of his cum and I didn’t agree with him that I was a whore. And then they gave me the C grade.’

‘What if you’re a virgin?’ asked Claire. She was a virgin.

‘Then you get a V for virgin, and you have to ask your first fuck to call the office for an interview when you finally get laid,’ said Kitten. ‘You sure have a lot of questions!’

‘This place is weird and embarrassing,’ said Claire. ‘I hate it.’

‘But they’re so influential!’ said Kitten. ‘They’re setting lawmaking policy all over the country! Don’t you want in on the ground floor?’

Claire felt close to tears. She just shook her head.

‘Well you can always just quit, I guess,’ said Kitten. ‘Which would be a shame. You seem nice!’ She reached out and gave Claire a friendly hug, and Claire hugged her back.

It felt good to be liked, but not so good as to make Claire forget pissing down her legs.

(To be continued…)