Slave Girl Emily

Author's note: Here's Chapter Five of "Slave Girl Emily." This is the second and last of what you might call the "defecation chapters." It contains one brief and (to my mind, anyway) intense scene of paraphilia. But you can skip it if you like! Just do this. When Karen says "this will be educational," use your browser's search function to find the word "coprophage." Start reading again there, and you'll learn (approximately) what went on without having to witness the scene.

Maybe you're asking why I wrote this bit of the chapter. Well, there's just one kink, apart from the obviously illegal ones, that I've never wanted to write about because it turns my stomach. I wanted to know if I could write about it - that's all. It was unpleasant enough that I don't think I'll do it again. But it also has a significant role in the story - so it stays.

The year is 2011. Emily is a college senior who's entered the BDSM lifestyle and become a slave to an older (thirty-five-year-old) man named Frederick. At the end of our last chapter she was (to all appearances) deliriously happy. But you can't have a sunshiny day without shadows. A little less sex here than in some earlier chapters, and a little more plot advancement. Tags: BDSM, Lesbian sex, Straight sex, Scat, Coprophagia, Urine.

Chapter 5. On loan

My whole body's thrumming; the probes and clamps torture my pussy, ass, and nipples. I'm too exhausted to raise my head; I can see Master only from the waist down. His trousers are neatly pressed, but I can see the bulge his cock makes: he's enjoying my torment.

"Oh!" It's a long, drawn-out whine. The orgasm's building inside me again -

Master turns off the machine, and I sob with frustration.

I still need to pee, but I can't with my pussy and ass stuffed. The room's gotten colder - my arms and legs are prickly with goosebumps - and the cold makes the pressure in my bladder worse.

I can see Master's feet as he walks to the cabinet, opens it, closes it, and comes back to me.

"Master, I - "

He gives me a stinging blow on my bottom - the slap echoes from the hard walls and floor. I recognize the pain: it's the paddle.

I love the paddle: the slap, the sting, the red marks it leaves. But now it detonates something in my bladder. I've never needed to pee like this . . .

* * *

"Daniel and Karen want to borrow you for a few days," Master said.

It was December 27. I'd gotten back to the city, and to Master, only that morning. The week with my parents had been full of lies and hedging. They thought I was living with a boyfriend, and that was fine with them - they were liberated parents. It was fine with them that he was a dozen years older than me, and they were glad he was well off - not that they put it so crassly. They wanted to meet him, of course, but I didn't think I could bear pretending to be his equal for their benefit. I said he was very busy and stayed vague about what my life with him was like. I could tell they were worried about me but afraid to push too hard for information. They were afraid to tell me, too, that they didn't like my hair, clothing or makeup. They could barely conceal their dismay at the extravagant tattoo I'd gotten over several days between the end of term and Christmas: a rose vine climbing my back and twining about my neck, around my right side, and up between my breasts.

It had been a relief to get back to a place where I could live honestly. We'd spent the afternoon playing, and now I was lying on his bed, head in his lap. He was combing my hair with his fingers, and until a few seconds ago I'd been calm and happy. Now I was tense and wary.

Master continued, "They're giving a big New Year's Eve play party, like the one you and I attended. They want you to help them get ready."

"Is that all they want, Master?" I asked. "Just some help?"

"No," he said. "They want to play with you too. And they want you to be their slave at the party."

"Will you be there, Master?"

"Yes, but you'll be their slave, not mine, till the party's over."

"You told them they could borrow me, then, Master?"

"Yes, I did."

"Do I have to go?"

"You have the right to refuse."

"But there would be consequences?"

He sighed. "Our contract doesn't say. But I'd be embarrassed and unhappy. Our relationship would be different - it's hard to predict exactly how."

I thought our relationship would be different anyway. "When you say 'play,' Master, do you mean just BDSM activities, or sex too?"

"Where do you draw the line between them?" he said.

"So you want me to have sex with Daniel and Karen."

"If that's the direction things take."

"I don't want to be a whore, Master," I said.

"I'm not selling your sexual services, Emily. I'm lending you to people you already know and have played with before. And I thought it would be good for you and Mouche to make friends."

I did want to make friends with Mouche. But I still had reservations, and I didn't want to make this easy.

"Master," I said, "you have a duty to protect me. Doesn't that include safeguarding my value as a slave? If I had to find another Master, he'd look at me differently knowing you'd passed me around among your friends."

"Daniel and Karen aren't just any friends," Master said. "They've been my closest friends for many years. I swear to you, Emily, that I would never lend you to just anyone. You don't ever need to worry about that."

I thought about what he'd said. I wasn't attracted to either of them, but they didn't frighten me, and Master was right that I'd already played with them.

"Condoms," I said.

"What?"

"No penetration without a condom," I said. "Or latex gloves," I added, thinking of Karen's fingers.

"Fair enough," Master said, smiling.

"When do I have to start?"

"Tomorrow morning. Their chauffeur will pick you up at ten. You'll return home with me after the party."

That's how I found myself standing in the foyer of the grand apartment on Park Avenue, holding a little bag containing some toiletries and a couple of changes of clothing, staring at and being stared at by a naked Mouche.

She whispered, "I'll take your coat," and hung it in a closet by the door. Then she glanced around to make sure we were alone, stepped to me quickly, pressed her body against mine, and kissed my lips. I held her briefly. Her kiss felt good, and she didn't smell like a toilet. That was a relief. I had to admit that all the peeing the night of Master's dinner party had been hot, but it had also been unsettling. I'd had to wonder if there was something wrong with me.

"You'd better come," Mouche whispered. "Mistress is waiting."

The room where the play party had been was now just a very large living room filled with ornate furniture. It had the feel of some Regency-era palace. Karen rose from a chair at the far end of the room and took her time traversing the distance from there to where we stood. She wore another brightly colored dress and held a black collar in her hand.

When she reached me, she said, "You'll be ours for as long as you're here. You may take your clothes off."

I was wearing jeans, a black T shirt, and sneakers. I had everything off in a few seconds, and Karen put the collar on me. She walked around me slowly, touching my breasts and belly, my shoulders, my face, my ass. When she came around to the front of me, she was holding a latex glove, which she pulled onto her right hand with a resentful snap.

She massaged my pussy and said, "You'll find us stricter than Frederick. We do not tolerate the slightest violations of our rules or the smallest hints of disobedience. We do not punish infractions with play."

In spite of myself, I was responding to her fingers. I didn't like her, but I could feel her authority. I concentrated on breathing evenly. She slid a gloved finger into me.

"You will take your meals on the floor, with Mouche. Like her, you will sleep on the floor in a room near ours, so you can hear us if we need you in the night. Failure to come when called, day or night, is a serious infraction. Any delay or show of reluctance in following our instructions is a serious infraction. You have no limits?"

"None that I know of, Mistress. My contract gives me the right to set limits if I discover them."

"We'll see about that," she sniffed. "Today you and Mouche will be packing up the things in this room. Mouche will show you what to do." She took her finger out of me and left the room.

"Don't worry," Mouche whispered. "There isn't nearly four days of work for us to do. And Mistress's bark is worse than her bite." She led me to a tiny carpeted room with blankets and pillows piled in a corner. "This is our room," she said. I dropped my bag, and we returned to the living room.

As we worked, Mouche talked about our job and the household. We'd be responsible for transforming the living room into a large playroom, packing up all the portable things. There were flattened cardboard boxes leaning against a wall and stacks of packing paper. Only at the last minute would a crew come in to do the heavy lifting, moving the BDSM furniture from the playroom to the living room and the living room furniture to compact storage in the playroom.

I assembled a box and wrapped up a figurine. Mouche said, "I usually do this by myself. I think they borrowed you just because they wanted you here."

They employed a cook who was in the lifestyle herself - a Domme with a submissive husband. "Sometimes she tries to treat me like her own sub," Mouche said, "but I can't serve anybody I don't love."

"You love Karen and Daniel?" Somehow what she'd said sounded strange to me.

"Oh yes," she said emphatically. "They're so good to me. They give me everything I need." Her gaze slid away from me and returned. "Don't you love your Master?"

Suddenly it seemed odd that I hadn't given a lot of thought to how I felt about Master. I venerated him, longed to obey him, and craved his approval, or at least his attention. And he'd told me there ought to be love between us. Was there a word for how I felt about him?

"Yes," I said, "I suppose I love him."

Karen bustled back into the room and harrumphed at the progress we'd made.

"Come, Mouche," she commanded. And then she said to me, "You'd better come as well, Famula, this will be educational."

She led us into a large and well-equipped playroom containing all the devices I'd seen at their play party, and in a corner, what looked at first like a large black metal chair. But after a second I saw that its seat was a toilet seat, under which a sort of funnel emptied into a cage with bars on three sides and a headrest under the funnel. Karen gave no instructions; rather, Mouche scrambled into position, head in the headrest, and waited patiently. Her mouth was perfectly aligned under the funnel.

Karen lifted her dress, hoisted herself onto the toilet seat, and let her feet rest on Mouche's torso, above her breasts. First Karen peed. Her urine fell through the funnel, and Mouche swallowed it without losing a drop. Then Karen leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs. I watched in horrified fascination, stomach queasy, as one of Karen's turds fell from the bottom of the funnel into Mouche's open mouth. I looked away then and concentrated on keeping my stomach under control till Karen stepped down from the toilet chair. She waited while Mouche got out of the contraption, then raised her dress and bent over. Mouche cleaned her crack with her mouth.

They both straightened up. Mouche looked at me mournfully. Her mouth was a brown mess.

Karen said, "Come here, Famula."

I walked to her with heavy feet.

She said, "Give Mouche a kiss."

I looked at Mouche, at the brown goo on her face. I couldn't move.

"You were eager enough to eat her cunt last time you saw her," said Karen. "Now she just wants a little kiss. It's a command from your Mistress."

A command

, I thought. I forced myself to take a step towards Mouche, who stood perfectly still. I leaned towards her, and she made no move towards me. Her eyes were wide and dark. My lips were an inch from hers, the smell of shit strong in my nostrils. She was still as stone. I closed the distance between us and touched her slimy lips with mine. The sickening smell caught in my throat.

I turned away, bent over, and vomited on the floor.

Karen said, "We seem to have discovered a limit for Famula. What do you think, Famula?"

I choked, "Yes." The effort of speaking made my stomach heave, and I vomited again. I said, "I think so."

Karen said, "Clean up, you two, and get back to work." She left the room.

Mouche hesitated for a second, as if she wanted to say something, then turned and snatched up a roll of paper towels standing next to the toilet chair, tore one off, and handed it to me. As I wiped my mouth, she took another paper towel and scrubbed her own mouth with it. Then she used more paper towels to clean the inside of the funnel and threw them away in a lidded trash can. She found two cloth towels in a cabinet and handed one to me, and together we cleaned up my vomit.

She led me to a little bathroom adjoining our room, and I watched as she knelt in front of the toilet, put her hand in her mouth, and made herself throw up. She went to the sink and spent a long time washing her face. Then she gestured me to the sink. While I washed, she rinsed her mouth repeatedly from a large bottle of mouthwash, spitting into the toilet. Then she flossed and brushed her teeth.

I got my toiletries from my bag and returned to the bathroom. I flossed and brushed, even though I was pretty sure I'd gotten no shit in my mouth, and washed my face.

We returned to the living room and went on with our work. After a while Mouche said, voice small and flat, "I'm a coprophage." She touched her fly tattoo. "Like a fly. You won't kiss me again. Nobody ever does."

I said, "Is it a thing you need to do?"

She worked quietly for a minute, maybe putting words together in her head.

"Everything that comes out of the body," she said, wrapping what looked like a very old book. "Piss, shit, sweat, cum. Even blood sometimes. Ear wax. I eat it all. Ever since I was little. I spent like half my life in psychiatrists' offices. When I got to high school they decided I was cured. Then when I left for college I went completely off the rails. I'd go to BDSM things and hook up with random people. I got sicker and sicker, and dropped out of college. Then Karen and Daniel found me."

"Doesn't it make you sick anymore?"

"Sometimes," she said. "But I think I must have just about every antibody in the world by now. And I just do it with Karen and Daniel anymore, so I don't get a lot of new germs. They make me throw it up. And they give me medicine that helps. They taught me to clean myself afterwards. And they don't give me their shit to eat every day, but just once or twice a week. Mostly as a reward. But I don't think it was a reward today."

We worked quietly for a little while longer, and then she said, "You see why I love them? They saved my life. And I like being their slave. They're good to me."

"Do they kiss you?" I asked.

"Nobody does," she said. "I'm unclean. I spread disease."

Master kissed me many times every day. Whipping me, ass-fucking me, or tying me in a knot, he'd pause for a kiss. I tried to imagine what life would be like without kissing. I didn't think I could bear it.

I'd kissed Mouche, and now the memory made my flesh crawl. I didn't want to kiss her again.

That evening, Mouche and I served dinner, and afterwards we ate ours from the same dog bowls we'd used at Master's dinner party. No one peed in Mouche's bowl tonight. While we ate, Daniel and Karen watched us and traded ideas for ways to use us at the New Year's Eve play party. They'd gotten excited watching Mouche go down on me at the dinner party, and ever since then they'd wanted to do something with the two of us.

"Tie them together," said Daniel.

"Yes, obviously," said Karen. "But how?"

"Let's see," said Daniel. "How about if they were side by side on the table, tied together?"

"Or bind them face to face," said Karen, "and make them kiss."

"One of them could wear a facial dildo," said Daniel, "and fuck the other's mouth. Or we could tie them in a sixty-nine and just let them eat each other out all night."

"Or a sixty-nine with facial dildos," said Karen.

"Sixty-nine with vibrators," said Daniel.

After Mouche and I had eaten, they took us to the playroom to experiment, posing and tying us up in various ways and having long whispered discussions while we held the poses. This wasn't very sexy. Mostly what we accomplished was to figure out that their ideas were impractical. They didn't leave us in any scene long enough for us to have fun. By the time we were done for the evening, I was bored, but also reassured. Bored because we had nothing much to do or think about, but had to let them move us around like puppets, and reassured because, despite their extravagant fantasies, they seemed to understand that there were limits to what they could make us do. It was fun for them to fantasize about tying us up and inviting all the partygoers to fuck us, but they understood that they couldn't get away with that.

After we were done in the playroom, it was time for bed. Mouche and I stood by as Daniel and Karen brushed their teeth, changed, and climbed into their big four-poster bed. Daniel said, "You two can go now." He smiled and added, "Do what you want till morning. We won't need you."

Back in our tiny room, we took turns washing our makeup off and brushing our teeth. Our blankets were twin-size, so it made sense to lay out two separate beds, side by side. But soon after we'd crawled in and said goodnight, Mouche scooted over to be closer though she kept her back to me. I started to feel the same stirrings I'd felt the night of the dinner party. What we'd been doing tonight had been boring and unsexy, but I'd been looking at Mouche's naked body all day, and the memory of her pale, fine features, dark eyes, and emaciated body excited me. I sat up and rearranged our blankets so they were over us both instead of between us, then lay down again facing her. I remembered her brown mouth and how she'd purged and scrubbed herself, so fastidious about the kink that would have made her an outcast almost anywhere but right here.

I thought about her open pussy and how I'd kissed her there, just once, briefly. I was ashamed that I didn't want to kiss her, and my shame aroused me, as it always does.

I touched her shoulder and whispered, "Mouche?" She rolled over and gazed at me, eyes wide and curious. Her lips were delicate and exquisitely curved, pale now in the faint light. She made no move towards me.

I said, "Kiss me."

She mewed quietly. We wound our arms around each other and pressed our bodies together. She smelled clean and fresh, nothing like shit or piss. The skin of her back was smooth under my hands. Her breasts were soft and warm against mine, her barbell piercings spots of cool hardness. But it was the kiss that mattered. My stomach lurched as my lips touched hers, but the revulsion passed in an instant, and I loved her hungry lips, her tongue searching inside my mouth, the way she breathed me in, devouring my scent. Oh, you can't survive long without a kiss! She held me so tightly she was flattened against me from thighs to lips, and her nails dug into my back. I thought we might grow together like trees planted too close.

I enjoyed her ardor for a long time, then gently pushed her away, down towards my breasts. She kissed my nipples, which were already swollen for her, and she slid down my body to tease my belly button. She lay between my legs and kissed my mound, nibbled my thighs, traced the outline of my labia with the tip of her tongue. She sighed and breathed heat and life into me, and I spread my legs wider.