Disclaimer: This work contains extreme scat scenes and general mysophiliac filth. All characters depicted in sexual situations are 18+. This story is porn with plot, more plot than porn, and occasionally gets into heavy subject matter such as abuse and suicide.
The castle was nearly deserted, and that suited Lyran just fine. She knew that there was no one in this tower, and no one was likely to wander in. Most of her family had gone down to town on some sort of business (quite possibly shady, but more likely boring) and had insisted on taking a large personal guard with them, but they hadn't even thought to invite Lyran, their
embarrassment
of a daughter, to attend.
Castle Lan was under-staffed by default, and a proper escort for the Lanovins required that they strip the castle down to the barest skeleton crew of loyal guardsmen, and that meant nobody but two men over at the gatehouse, and a single watchmen up on the keep. Someone actually had propped up a dummy behind one of this tower's arrow slits, to fool an especially stupid hypothetical enemy into thinking that the tower was occupied. Not that there was even the faintest chance of an actual attack.
The poor state of the castle's security was not ideal. As far as Lyran Lanovin, forth child (and blackest sheep) of the Deacountess of Lanovale was concerned, it was
great
. It meant that she had this whole tower to herself for the next couple of hours.
It would take an especially unlikely twist of fate for anyone to wonder where she was, too; she had been waiting for the Lanovins to announce an outing, and the previous night, she had snuck out onto the roof and had managed to pry loose a few shingles over the dining hall so the roof had started to leak (the woodwork in the ceiling had really needed work anyway. She had legitimately done everyone a favour by pointing out the roof's immanent failure before it collapsed), and nearly all the servants were now occupied with a large and complicated project for which few of them were qualified. She had covertly messed with a few measurements, so things would take longer, too.
All of that scheming, patience, calculated risk, and light sabotage. All to ensure that she got some privacy, and could reasonably expect to maintain that privacy for long enough to have some fun.
Filthy, filthy fun.
She had chosen a privy closet in the dawnward tower because it had a door that barred from the inside, it was extremely unlikely to be used by anyone, especially now (the gatehouse had its own privy closet), and any smell of shit lingering within the room after she was done wouldn't be considered odd.
And also, the window shutters were easily removable, the opening was large enough to wiggle out of, and in doing so she'd fall head-first to the courtyard below and die instantly upon landing. If Lyran's luck wound up being as abysmal as her mother insisted her tainted soul deserved (to paraphrase), and she wound up getting caught, then death was preferable to any renewed efforts to 'cure' her.
Thinking about the morbid little contingency in her plan was enough to make her hesitate. Was it worth the risk to keep doing nasty stuff like this? Then she chided herself for her hesitation, because the answer was a resounding 'yes', else she wouldn't have gone to all this trouble.
Her family, and her mother in particular, had done their best to beat the 'pervert' out of Lyran. Though they had left considerable scars (more mental than physical), her family's efforts had utterly failed to break her, and they didn't even realize it. Her will had won against the combined efforts of her whole family, and that was her grim triumph; that the person that they'd sought to destroy was too strong for them to truly break. And today, she would prove it! Again! And it would be really fucking fun, too! Why was she being a coward all of a sudden?
Because, despite her best efforts, all those beatings
had
had an effect on her. That was why. And that, itself, ought to be an additional motivator to proceed, because she
really
felt she needed to get over that!
She closed and barred the door, set down the things she'd brought with her, barred the door, and took a deep breath of cold air that already smelled faintly of her dirty body's odor. She smirked at that. Then she started to disrobe.
There were only a few places in the castle that were warm at this time of year, so she had been dressed for the cold. The dress she stripped off was a thick many-layered green and brown affair of reasonably good quality wool and linen, that was somewhat stained and grubby, but the fabric had a pattern that hid dirt relatively well. As she slipped the last of her clean-ish dress off, the air in the little privy closet grew thick with Lyran's previously faint unwashed reek. Her stockings and knickers hadn't been changed in over a year. They had been white when she'd first put them on, but they weren't anymore (especially not the much-darned soles of her stockings); they were now an attractive mottled greyish yellow-brown.
With delight, she took in deep breaths of her stink, savouring it and its nuances, heedless of the cold for now. She stroked the dirty cloth over her dirty skin, feeling how parts of her knickers and stockings were so saturated with skin oils and dry sweat (among other things) that they felt heavy and greasy. She loved the feeling of the utterly unwashed fabric against her skin, and how strongly she stank once she could let her smell free. She'd never bathed in her life; no one in Lanovale did, especially not the nobles, because it was their pride that they never looked dirty. Not even Lyran. Even though she wanted to.
What nobody seemed to quite understand about Lyran was that she
enjoyed
being dirty, and sought to be as foul as she could get away with being. That wound up being very dirty indeed, but still not nearly dirty enough. At least, not usually.
She folded up her dress, and laid it down on the stone floor. Then she sat down on it, spread her legs, and began to masturbate as she continued to enjoy the stench of her unwashed body. She reached into her stained underwear and stroked her hairy pussy. Ran her hands over her dirty flesh, which she lamented didn't actually look that dirty, despite all her efforts. Her body hair was sparse, her skin was a bit greasy, and with the occasional smudge of grime in places where dirt accumulated for whatever reason (such as her belly-button). Her long greasy black hair was done up in a complex braid, and she was going to have to leave it done up. She took off her knickers and stockings- there was black gunk between her toes and flecks of smegma in her pussy. Despite the chill air, she felt hot.
She plunged her fingers into her dirty pussy, heedless of deflowering herself, since her hymen was long-gone. (She had to forcibly suppress a sudden recollection of just what her mother had done to her once she'd found out about
that.
) She gasped in pleasure, eager to relieve her lusts. But also eager to go beyond just the pleasure that her mere fingers provided. She'd gotten good at sneaking a jilling when no one was looking. She'd gotten to the point where she found something exciting about the thrill of masturbating while no one else realized it, and that stupid cowardly little voice of 'reason' barely even butted in to tell her to stop. But here in privacy, finally, she got to properly indulge herself.
She stroked herself until she was on the verge of orgasm, and then finally released the turd she'd been holding inside her. The turd that she'd been storing, with difficulty, since breakfast. It had felt like a monster inside of her for most of the morning, and she was eager to set it free. She gasped in pleasure and relief as she finally was able to relax her anus, and as she shat, she rubbed her clit furiously. Still shitting, she grabbed a handful of the mess before it broke off, and slapped it onto her pussy, and then rubbed the muck into all her folds. Less than a minute of shitty rubbing later, and she orgasmed so hard she trembled, while poo continued to emerge sluggishly from her ass. She stroked her mucky pussy, and laughed a quiet laugh of nervous delight that probably didn't sound especially sane. She was still trembling from the thrill of finally getting to do this again. And she wasn't even close to done.
Lyran kept crapping; scooped it up with her hands, and smeared the lovely, warm, dark, creamy poo thickly onto her flesh. Despite her gleeful descent into deviant madness, she maintained the presence of mind to avoid getting any crap on the clothes she lay on. After all, that crap belonged on
her
.
She felt the poo in her bowels dwindling, and she eagerly plunged one finger, then a second, into her ass so that she could play with the remnants still inside her, spreading her fingers apart and stretching at her sphincter as she kept pushing the gooey remains of the turd out, relishing the sensations. Gods, she wished other people realized how good this felt!
She took that final little scoop of crap from her ass, plunged those two goopy fingers into her cunt, then thrust them in and out of her already soiled insides, depositing most of the crap inside herself. That wasn't enough! She gathered up some good-sized lumps of crap from around her belly and crotch, slopped it onto her pubic mound, then worked it into her mucky cunt with her fingers, one little bit at a time, until all that poop was inside her, a turd in the wrong hole. She kept masturbating, kept playing with her ass, and she came. She spread the filth upon her skin, stuck filthy fingers into her mouth and tasted the fresh crap on them (she could taste familiar notes of yesterday's supper), and she came. She toyed with her filthy nipples, she thrust her fingers in and out of her shit-filled cunt, and she worked the poo over every part of her body that she could soil without too much risk of getting crap on her clothes or in her hair. And she came, and came, and came. She was a wild, filthy beast who could only think of her deviant lusts! And those smug, scheming
mother-fuckers
she was stuck with as a family would never tame her!
She was dangerously close to losing track of time as she kept up her filthy self-pleasure, but she figured, by the time she finally tired (and by the time her various filthy holes were getting sore) that she'd been at it about an hour. Despite her attempts to keep them clean (which had been half-hearted at best), her clothes had acquired a few minor shit-smears, and she'd gotten some feces in her hair. Oh well, that would rinse out. She'd brought the stuff to clean herself up a little. But never mind that for now; she still had a good while to savour this experience.
