A College Town St Patricks Day When the Crowd Joins In Ultimate Humiliation – Did I Go Too Far?

As St. Patrick’s Day comes into view, and we’re all planning a long weekend, I started thinking about the day a few years back. I was in my junior year, and St. Patrick’s Day in that college town was already wild. But with the right submissive in tow, I had a feeling it would become legendary. I had been seeing him regularly for months—he was fearless when sober but became downright uninhibited when drunk. And tonight? We were both indulging in the chaos.

The bar was packed, pulsing with bodies drenched in green, the air thick with whiskey and the raucous sound of drunken revelry. He was already well past tipsy, swaying against me, eyes dark with lust and excitement. I leaned into him, voice low but firm, daring him: “Drink my piss right here.”

His pupils blew wide, and his drunken grin confirmed what I already knew. He would never say no.

Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees, tugging off his shirt as I lifted my skirt and slid my panties off. The music blared, but the crowd around us went silent for just a beat—then erupted into cheers as I let go, the golden stream splashing over his eager lips, his face, his chest.

Applause, laughter, and the clinking of shot glasses filled the air as he swallowed what he could. I finished and handed him another drink, watching him down it without pause, eyes dazed, covered in the evidence of his place beneath me.

Then I turned to the crowd. “Anyone else want a turn?”

His drunken brain processed my words, and I caught the flicker of realization in his eyes—wide, nervous, but tinged with unmistakable arousal. Six women—sorority girls, seasoned party-goers, and one older woman who looked like she’d been waiting for a night like this—stepped forward, giggling and shrieking as one by one, they took their turns.

By the time the last one finished, he was drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead, eyes struggling to stay open. But I noticed the telltale bulge in his jeans. Humiliated, objectified, and completely used—just the way he liked it.

Then came the interruption. A tall, confident stranger sauntered over, his presence radiating dominance in a way that was rare to find. He leaned down, voice dripping with amusement and challenge. “You want to fuck a real man?”

I tilted my head, considering. Then I reached for him, my fingers brushing against his thick, unmistakable length. My smile widened. “Sure,” I said, sliding my fingers into his waistband. “But go ahead and relieve yourself first.”

He didn’t question me. I guided him over just as the last woman stepped back, and before my sub even knew what was happening, I had the stranger aim. The warm stream hit him square in the face. He gasped, tried to wipe his eyes, and scrambled to his feet—only to slip, sending the bar into riotous laughter.

The scene was perfect, chaotic, and utterly depraved. I laughed, handed my sub one last shot, and turned away, leading my new companion out into the night.

I didn’t look back, but I knew he was still on his knees, soaked, humiliated, and painfully hard. And he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

As far as I’m concerned, I just gave him an experience he craved, even if he didn’t realize it. He’d always taken all the humiliation I could give him, ate it up like a hungry little bitch. Sure, this was probably more public than he was comfortable with. And maybe the videos that surfaced of his debauchery, taken by those in the bar, have caused him some troubles. He is still a devoted sub, in fact he just hosted me a couple weeks ago when I was in town again.

So, did I go too far? Leave your answer in the comments.