Unclean blessings

That evening, having been freed of her bindings at last, Chastity was relieving herself in the courtyard. The open air toilet with its wide views didn't really hold much embarrassment anymore, what with everything else she was doing. It was quite nice to be out beneath the sky for a bit, though the night breezes could start to dig in a bit, considering her lack of clothing. She idly wondered what would happen as fall and winter came along… would Father allow her and her mother to wear something then? Somehow, she doubted it. There wasn’t much point in worrying about it yet though.

Occasionally one Brother or another would wander across the courtyard. The teen was used to them staring. It seemed they considered the sight of her emptying her bladder as something of a performance art piece… or as a living public fountain she supposed. As a whole, she just ignored them and took her time. It wasn’t like wherever she headed to next would hold less chance of molestation.

Today though, one approached her with something on his mind. Chastity was used to this as well. She opened her legs wider, leaving a gap for him to aim for. Why it happened quite so often that she had to share this brief moment of peace, wasn't clear. The girl had a sneaking suspicion that there was, in fact, a much nicer lavatory somewhere on the premises that she and her mom weren't allowed to use. It was just another perverse, little quirk of her male commune-mates that they'd prefer to piss between her thighs when they got the chance.

She looked up at the masked stranger as he unzipped himself, trying to work out if she recognised this one. In her head she'd begun secretly trying to take notes of general body shape and any distinguishing features she could remember… difficult when the only skin she really saw of them was their hands and penises. This one had a rather thick and stubby sort of cock, with a single mole on one side. She'd definitely had that slathered against her cheek at some point previously.

“You look cold…” Came a husky voice, edged by the hint of a chuckle. “Here.”

Chastity had been thinking of a dismissive response, despite the rising goosebumps on her skin. When suddenly she felt a spread of warmth rushing across her chest. Looking down in utter and stunned disbelief, she watched a stream of golden liquid break against her breastbone and begin rivuleting down between her small breasts. The man was urinating on her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if the differences between her own torso and the back wall of a urinal were only really in the semantics.

She looked up at him with complete confusion in her eyes, but could draw nothing from that blasted face-covering. She couldn’t tell if this was some cruel joke, secret test or just some new everyday occurrence she'd been lucky to avoid until now. Did the man behind that mask find this amusing, or arousing, or just consider any woman he saw a potential fire hydrant for him to empty his bladder against? All she could think to do was sit back and let it happen, gripping the sides of the toilet bowl as the foul liquid splattered against and washed over her.

Another Brother entered the courtyard. For a moment, Chastity had a flash of hope that perhaps the first had really stepped out of line this time and would now be reported to Father…

Instead: “Oh. Are we pissing on her now?” exclaimed the newcomer, with clear delight in his voice. He too stepped forward and began unbuckling his robes.

Sure enough, Chastity soon had two more spouts of urine dousing her, as a third brother emerged from the woodwork to replace the one who’d finished. The situation had spiralled out of hand, yet she could see no way to escape it. The rules of her existence here seemed ever-changing and unknowable, with mother bowing to whatever the priest suggested and the Brothers taking every advantage they could find.

The eighteen year old felt more dirtied and disgraced than ever she’d been to this point, but had no grounds left to work on to know whether this was something she could even complain about. Perhaps this rinsing with men’s micturition was yet another holy ritual? Some cleansing act of devotion to wash away the sins in her? Even now she could already hear Father’s honeyed voice in her head, providing the sermon as she invented it. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on that, rather than the pressurised fluids striking her. Letting herself persuade herself that all of this was fine.