Last day with the pastor

The third day dawned with a fine but persistent snowfall that covered everything in a dirty and silent white. I woke up with my body in shambles: my ass swollen and sensitive, my wrists with red marks from the rope, my nipples raw from the bites and pinches of the previous night, and a general smell of raw sex, stale sweat, and dry semen that had stuck to my skin like a second layer. He was already awake, standing by the stove, reviving the fire with crackling wood. He was only wearing his work pants, his hairy chest and hanging belly shining with a fine layer of sweat despite the cold. He was smoking a Ducados calmly, looking out the small window at the falling snow.

He didn't say good morning. He only looked at me when I got up from the cot, naked and shivering a bit.

—Last day —he growled—. Today you don't leave here until I've really messed you up.

The phrase made me hard instantly, despite the pain. I got up slowly, the semen from the previous night still dripping down my inner thighs. He came closer, grabbed me by the nape of the neck, and smelled my neck like an animal.

—You smell perfect. Like a used whore. Don't wash anything today. Not your face, not your ass, not your mouth.

He pushed me to my knees in front of him. He pulled down his pants just enough to pull out his cock, already half-hard and smelling strongly of the previous night: dry semen, my ass, accumulated sweat. He put it in my mouth without warning.

—Start breakfast.

I sucked slowly at first, but he didn't have patience. He grabbed my hair with both hands and started fucking my face with deep thrusts. I gagged every time he reached the bottom, tears ran down my cheeks, drool fell from my chin and chest. He grunted dirty words between his teeth:

—Swallow, damn it. Clean that cock that's been fucking you for three days straight.

He came quickly, without warning: hot and thick spurts that filled my mouth until it overflowed. I coughed, swallowed what I could, the rest fell down my neck and torso. He didn't let me clean myself. He pulled me up by the hair and took me to the corner where he had an old metal bucket.

—Kneel down there.

I got down on my knees in front of the bucket. He stood behind me, opened my buttocks with his rough hands, and spat a large wad directly into the hole. He pushed it inside with two fingers, stirring as if he wanted to mix what was already inside.

—You're going to piss here. And then you're going to drink it all.

My bladder was full after the night. I started pissing into the bucket, the stream hitting the metal with a loud noise. He watched me from above, masturbating slowly while looking. When I finished, the bucket was almost full of hot, yellow urine.

—Drink.

He grabbed my hair and pushed my face towards the edge. The smell was strong, ammoniacal. I took a small sip, the salty and bitter taste m...