Deviant Mage Pt 02 Lanovale

Disclaimer: This work contains extreme scat, general mysophiliac filth, non-sexual violence, and some dark themes. All characters in sexual situations are over the age of 18.

The excrement-encrusted sexual deviant witch, who had once been known as 'Lyran' but who had thrown that name away, was lost. Not very lost, but still lost.

She had charged straight into the woods of the duskward mountains, not caring where she was going, just intending to put as much forest between her and Castle Lan in as short a time as possible, certain that someone was going to try pursuing her, but also pretty confident that she'd lose them.

The woods had started out sparse; in addition to being stunted from poor soil, dead fall was gathered for firewood in the forest this close to the tree-line, so there were no fallen trees, few branches, and everything had a look that suggested it had been picked bare. However, the brush had thickened as she had made her way further and further from the castle and down from Hethaltie's Plateau, and soon the forest became properly overgrown, so progress had slowed considerably at that point.

She deliberately chose a difficult path to follow, just to make it interesting for anyone trying to track her. So long as she kept going generally uphill, she was certain she wasn't going in circles, and that was good enough for her. She had plenty of food, and there weren't any dangerous animals in the woods around Lanovale (supposedly), and so she welcomed a day or so lost out here. Walking through the wilderness, being so utterly filthy without a care, made her feel wild. Perhaps a little savage.

She stopped as she approached a sharp drop-off. The mossy exposed mountain bedrock formed a crumbling cliff about ten feet high, which she peered down. As she stood there, observing the terrain below her, the fragrant cloud of her own stench caught up with her. Most of that cesspool muck had dried, but her hike had made her work up a sweat, and that meant that her own utterly unwashed body's odor had established itself nicely through the stink of other people's old piss-marinaded shit, and the combination was pungent and nuanced. Most people would likely describe it as the worst thing they had ever smelled. She

loved

it.

Her stink felt so powerful that she felt she ought to be able to see it radiating off her body and trailing away into the air as a noxious cloud, and the reality was a vague let-down. She wondered how many miles downwind she could be smelled. She was pretty sure that it legitimately

would

be miles if the wind was right. The thought of that made her feel giddy, and more than a little horny.

She sat down atop the drop-off, feet dangling down. It was raining gently, and the rock was damp. As she sat there, reveling in all the sensations of how utterly foul she now was, water obviously tainted brown started to seep its way down the cliff. She noticed, and she grinned a wicked grin, feeling the crusty filth tighten on her cheeks as she did so. She would defile everything she touched from now on.

She jilled her mucky pussy, getting off on her stench and the sensations of being gooey and crusty with filth, remembering what she had done in that cesspit, and all the while she thrust dirty fingers in and out of her pussy. The maggoty muck she had stuffed up her cunt down in the cesspool hadn't been all that viscous, so it had mostly leaked out of her as she walked, but her insides were still very much befouled, and that was how they were going to stay.

She pulled her fingers from her cunny to look at them, slimy and brown over the grime already upon them, and a single fly larva wiggled on her fingertip. She dropped the revolting thing down into her knickers. She cupped her hand and sniffed, practically huffing the smell of sewage and unwashed pussy, as she diddled her clit with her other hand. She barely had to fantasize as she sat there masturbating, because she was still living that fantasy. She was covered head to toe in excrement, and would never be anything close to clean again. She had luxuriated in the aged and maggoty shit and piss of a few dozen people (mostly servants), and some fraction of it would remain a part of her for the rest of her life.

With the powers she'd been given? She could

thrive

this way. And, despite how she figured she was the foulest human being that could possibly exist, she had ideas for ways in which she could befoul herself

more

.

She came hard enough that she couldn't stop herself from moaning, and she squirted as she came. It soaked into her crusty underwear, moistening the still gooey shit saturating them, one more bodily fluid on her to stinkily decompose. She lay there contentedly for a few minutes, the rain moistening the dry filth upon her body, a puddle of shit-stinking brown water spreading around her and trickling down the embankment.

She sat up. Fir needles and twigs were stuck to some of the patches of moist shit on her legs, ass, back, and in her hair. She pointedly did

not

clean them off in any way. She sighed in contentment, then wiped her fingers off on the front of her dress, smearing befouled pussy juices over the crusty fabric, really not cleaning her hands off whatsoever. She stood, and saw the brown puddle she'd left in her wake with a viscous her-shaped shit-smear in the center. Something about that struck her as hilarious, and she giggled to herself.

Still smiling a grin that probably looked a little crazy, she descended the cliff awkwardly, slipping a few times and ripping her dress. The once-fine garment would soon turn into a crusty rag at this rate. Good.

A few hours later (after several additional stops to pleasure herself, but also to eat), the sky was starting to dim. That meant it was mid-afternoon: sunlight in Lanovale didn't last long, thanks to the mountains on all sides. At the point that she noticed how late it was getting, she was walking up a gentle slope, the forest floor largely bare of vegetation but thick with rotten fallen logs that sprouted interesting-looking mushrooms, with immense trees surrounding her on all sides, which only provided a scattered view of the cloudy, gloomy sky above. Their trunks were so vast that she wasn't entirely sure how a person was supposed to chop one down, even though she had once seen trees as large as these being sawed into planks in the sawmill down by the Bridgefort.

She found herself musing about how far she was from civilization, and then it occurred to her that there was, before her, a large climbable-looking cedar tree. She had fond memories of climbing trees like it when she had been a child and she'd been dragged along on hunting trips. As with many behaviors deemed 'unseemly of a Lady', this behavior had been firmly discouraged after she reached a certain age.

Various memories of being lectured and switched came to haunt her for a moment, and she gritted her teeth and shook her head in an effort to make them go away. And then she started to climb the tree, mostly because she wanted a view, but also because of spite. It was just so

arbitrary

what was proper behavior and what wasn't, and that made it such a relief to just abandon

all

semblance of propriety and do whatever the fuck

she

wanted, and the more obscene the better! (Mostly.)

Her climb was easy; the branches were so close together that she might as well have been climbing a ladder, although broken-off twigs ripped more at her dress, tearing its filth-saturated cloth further. This was a process she outright encouraged with some deliberate clumsiness. She liked the idea of wearing tattered rags, and her filthy dress was still long enough that she needed to hike it up to properly run. Some strategic abuse ought to change that. She mused on what she might look like once the dress was properly torn to shreds.

She was actually rather surprised when she eventually looked away from the tree trunk, and saw Lanovale spread out below her. She wasn't actually that far from the farmers' fields. After her surprise faded, she found herself mildy disappointed; she had thought she had wandered

much

further away from civilization.

She stared down at the gloomy fields from three-quarters up the swaying cedar tree. It was a familiar vista to her, but she'd never seen it from this perspective before. And a detail immediately stood out to the filthy girl as being odd. Hard to miss it, really.

About a quarter mile downhill from where Lower Lanovul's boarder could roughly be considered to be, there was a fair being set up. It was in a cow pasture that always got designated as a fairground, and so it had the appropriate infrastructure (such as pens and a bidding stand for animal auctions). Something like fifty merchant wagons were scattered around that field in a rather chaotic arrangement, and roughly that many colourful tents were being set up amid them.

The filthy girl watched it for a while, and kind of wished she had a telescope. People were barely more than specks to her at this distance, especially with the rainy evening's encroaching gloom.

Okay, then. Those would be the merchants Dovian had mentioned were Duke Kesilbary's business, here to draw people in with the temptation of novel foreign goods and possibly entertainment, and they would wring as much wealth out of Lanovale as possible before they departed.

The filthy nameless girl had been hoping to leave all civilization behind for a while, but the Lanovale fields only looked to be about half an hour's walk downhill. And now that she saw them, they beckoned, and that wasn't even counting the fair. She felt like she ought to avoid that fair out of spite, but damn it, she actually kind of wanted to check it out. That sort of thing didn't happen often, it would be a waste not to at least experience the place (though she didn't exactly have high expectations).

If she was to check the place out, she'd need to keep a low profile, or else she'd be run out of the fair before she could blink. Could she do that? If she wore that rain cloak with the hood up (entirely justifiable considering the weather) then maybe no one would notice how exceptionally filthy she was. People would notice that she stank of shit, old piss and deliberately cultured body odor, but foreigners were all resigned to the idea that the people of Lanovale were dirty and disgusting hicks, and there actually were serfs that stank nearly as good as she did.

(She had fond yet painful memories of meeting several serfs (and one in particular) who had been particularly foul.)

Plus, nobody knew about her yet. She specifically intended to change that later, but it was best to take advantage of her anonymity while she had it.

It seemed that she had decided that she was going to the fair. Those bastards- tempting her with those bright tents and exotic wares. Maybe she ought to try stealing something.

She watched the fair being erected for a little longer, but then grew tired of watching the distant specks of people who were unloading carts and pitching tents, and so descended the tree. The shit on her hands had worn off, and was replaced with sticky cedar sap by the time she made it to the ground. She appreciated that, and she wiped her hands off in her hair, which mostly just got flecks of semi-dry excrement stuck to the sap. Downhill she went, towards the Lanovale fields, and mused on the sorts of things that might be at a fair like that. She'd been to five of them in her life, before she'd disgraced herself and lost her privilege to ever go to such places. It was entirely possible that she remembered those past experiences with the fondness of nostalgia, but she still remembered having fun.

Steadily, her thoughts turned towards more immediate concerns of what she might do when she reached the Lanovale fields. And those thoughts were full of the deviant lust that she was still in the early stages of training herself to embrace rather than ignore.

As she had expected, it took barely half an hour before she emerged from the treeline. It was getting late. The lights of both Upper and Lower Lanovul shined weakly in the distance, and quite a few windows were lit in Castle Lan, which loomed above the town.

That crappy pile of stone blocks looked squat and menacing in the gloom, silhouetted against the pewter sky, reminding everyone that they were vessels of the people who lived up there. The filthy girl, who was still alternately fantasizing about the things she might do now that she was free, and about the fair that she absolutely would attend tomorrow (as well as how the two might combine), tried to avoid looking at the castle. She was

slightly

interested in what was going on back there thanks to her, but she also gloried in the fact that she didn't actually have to care.

She had her shit-sense active, and she had already discovered just how long its range actually was- she was able to see a pile of ox-crap moldering by the side of the lane, three-hundred and six paces ahead of her. And also, once she arrived at the pile, that it was too dry to be any fun to play with. She picked up a handful of it and mushed it in her fingers, and it crumbled rather than squished. What was odd was that she'd had a very definite feeling that it would be so, as soon as she had sensed it.

Well, now she felt like she ought to find some dung to play with that was actually still fresh. The excrement covering her was mostly dry and patches of it were starting to flake off. If she wasn't diligent in her efforts, she might start to look

clean

again

.

Couldn't have that.

She carried on down the lane, a hedge on one side of her and a dry-stone wall on the other, and a drainage ditch alongside the path, flowing swiftly. She saw another cow pat by the side of the road, not far ahead. She had a good feeling about it, and spent the half-minute it took to reach the thing filled with a jittery eagerness. It was such a rush to know that she absolutely would do this thing, were it doable. Something utterly forbidden to her only a few days ago, now something she was deliberately training herself to do without a moment's hesitation, and it came remarkably easily.

And yes, the cow-pie that she came upon next was fresh, moist, and still even a little bit warm. She had known this well before coming upon the pile. She knew exactly how she knew it (magic, obviously) but it was a little disconcerting how she couldn't define any way that she had gained that information-

And she didn't actually care, right this moment.

She kneeled down, grabbed handfuls of dung and started stuffing them down her collar and into her top so that it coated her breasts and oozed in her scant cleavage. Her crusty winter dress was made from several layers of fabric, and she stuffed shit into the rips between layers. She hiked up her ragged skirt so that she could dump handfuls of ox crap into her knickers. Mashed handfuls of it into her crusty, still damp and sticky (and stinky!) hair. After a few minutes, she had ensured that every single bit of that large pile of dung was now on her, and she could feel its weight.

So horny she was actually panting, she went over to the dry-stone wall bordering the lane, found a section with some bushes to hide behind, and then started to fuck herself. She chided herself as she hid- didn't she

want

people to see her as the deviant she was? Well, yes, absolutely, but perhaps tonight was not the time to try that. Tonight was, instead, the time when she would stuff cow shit up her cunt. Tonight was the night she orgasmed another incredible orgasm in a day that had had many, rubbing her filthy clit while her cunt was utterly stuffed with the dung of a low beast, and while the fresh animal crap clung to her body on top of its existing crust and filled the air around her with an intoxicating stench. It was her stench now,

she

smelled like that, and always would, or even better!

She had an idea as she played, and she regarded the crap stuffed inside her with her supernatural shit-sense. She could see it, and from it she knew the exact shape of the inside of her cunt. Good to know. She regarded that foul log of cow crap, packed up her supposedly delicate, elegant noblewoman's pussy. She projected the idea of 'solid' at the dung, and then strained to push the wonderful, nasty thing out of her. She then grabbed it between her thumb and forefinger. The foul brown object, slimy with her tainted juices, emerged intact from her cunt, and she regarded it in the gloomy evening light, an object exactly the shape of the inside of her pussy.

She scraped some shit out of the inside of her knickers, slapped it onto the base of the pussy-turd, and imagined a cylindrical hand-hold on it. Exactly the thing she imagined formed. She held up the ox-poo-dildo, grinning lustily at it. She stroked it, feeling its texture. She tried to break it in half, and it proved itself to be reasonably strong. It would do nicely. She started thrusting it in and out of her pussy.

If what she had already done didn't count as deflowering herself to shit, then this certainly did. And she was doing it with animal shit! That felt even more taboo, like some sort of bestiality. This was a little bit like she was losing her virginity to an animal! The thought of that turned her on immensely, and she was already so aroused that she was trembling.

She heard the crunch of feet on the lane path. Saw the light of torches. Despite how she had been nearly to orgasm, she stopped, clamped her hand over her mouth, and tried to breath slowly, even though she had been panting with lust only seconds ago. It was agony to force herself not to make noise. The pedestrians were a man and a woman- a couple?- whose age she couldn't guess in the gloom. She saw how dirty and ragged they were, though. Could see how there was an odd artfulness to their filth.

As she watched the couple walk past her, she started to thrust the poop dildo in and out of herself again, trying not to make noise. To her delight, the smell of the pair wafted its way to her nose; these were two people who'd never bathed in their lives and who worked hard dirty jobs every day- their stink was far different from hers, probably more wholesome but still delightfully unclean, and she relished it. A lewd daydream emerged, unbidden, of getting caught by them, about just bending over and offering herself to a pair of strangers.

She started to thrust the dildo in and out of herself harder, making light slapping sounds. Part of her was aghast that she was doing this, but the mad part of her that she'd surrendered control to was excited by the possibility of getting caught, and thrilled at the idea of doing something so reckless. If they did stop to investigate, she would do exactly as she fantasized- and the very idea of that brought her to orgasm. And yet, in the moment, she found that she couldn't bring herself to be loud about her climax. She came quietly, with delightful intensity, but she did it with no sound other than heavy breathing and light squishing-slapping noises, which were lost to the ambient sound of falling rain.

Neither of the two obviously noticed her, and carried on without pause- the filthy girl watched them go as her orgasm faded, feeling relieved but also disappointed, that she didn't actually have the nerve to carry through with that wonderful, terrible idea. But, in the clarity after the orgasm faded, she had to admit that it was for the best that she hadn't actually drawn their attention. It probably wouldn't have gone nearly as well in reality as it had in her head. It would have just caused unnecessary complications for tomorrow.

But damn it, she'd nearly done it anyway. She wasn't sure whether to be concerned by that or proud of it.