Mouche

Fan smiled and said, "You ever ate a girl out before, Fly?"

Amanda shook her head. "No, Mistress."

"You can say, 'No, Fan.'"

"No, Fan."

"Ain't you the innocent one. Well, you better get yourself ready, girl. Ain't no training wheels on this nigger's cunt. Lay down on your back."

Fan rubbed herself to get her juices flowing and looked down into Amanda's dark wide eyes, so scared and excited, little breasts rising and falling, gazing between Fan's legs and feeling rather than seeing the glands secreting their slick fluid. The little submissive's hair was black and abundant, her lips thin but deliciously curved. Her face, so still and passive, filled Fan with so much pleasure that she leaned over and gave it a solid slap before sitting down heavily on it.

The shock of Fan's slap lasted only a moment: it was a far bigger thing when Fan sat on her face.

Amanda loved to lick her fingers when masturbating; now Fan's big wet sex smashed against her lips was a transcendent thing. Amanda opened her mouth and tried to lap up as much of her wetness as she could: she wanted to be flooded with Fan.

Fan's amply proportioned ass covered her face, and her anus squashed her nose: Amanda breathed deeply, taking in the musty, yeasty smell of it, imagining that she could catch some small whiff of the wonders inside.

Fan bore down and rocked, scrubbing sex and ass vigorously on Amanda's mouth and nose. The big woman pictured to herself the delicate, pretty face under her, and arousal burned in her: yeah, this girl was the ultimate fuck-toy. She repositioned herself into a squat so she could press her asshole down on the girl's mouth: she could feel her eager tongue wetting her.

Amanda was in heaven: she'd never felt this way giving Mr. Billings oral sex, or when he pissed or shit: this was a whole new order of pleasure, to be engulfed in this great woman's crotch, drenched in her sex, enfolded in her glossy bare ass! It went on and on, Fan being in no hurry, but patiently rocking, sliding, bouncing on Amanda's face till at last she came with soft and quiet moans.

Fan climbed off Amanda and regarded her with interest. "What you called, Fly? I mean your real name."

"Amanda."

"Amanda what?"

"Amanda Kaplan."

"What kind of name's that? German?"

"Circassian."

"What do you mean Circassian?"

"Circassia used to be a country, but it's in Russia now. A long time ago people thought Circassian women were beautiful, and men kept them as" - she groped for the word and found it - "as concubines. Sex slaves." Amanda hoped Fan wouldn't ask any more, since she'd exhausted her store of knowledge on the subject of Circassia and Circassians.

"Well fuck," said Fan. "You a Circassian slave, just like the old days. C'm'ere, babe." She hooked a finger into her collar and pulled her into the bathroom. "Lay in the tub, little slave girl," said Fan, and Amanda stepped in and lay down. Fan straddled her with her feet under her armpits, pulled her labia apart with long dark fingers, revealing the lovely pink inside, glossy with damp, and pissed.

Fan's stream was yellow and pretty, and it struck first between Amanda's breasts, warm and strong. Fan rotated her pelvis to move the stream upwards over Amanda's neck and chin, into her open mouth. Amanda stared, rapt, at Fan's gaping vagina, her tiny dark urethra, the piss gushing out of it, the clitoris above, the labia with its rings: she felt faint, it was all so beautiful. She gulped down the bitter, acrid piss, not wanting to lose any.

As Fan's stream slowed, it changed from a stream to a spray and wetted Amanda's whole face; then it was a trickle, dripping between her breasts: and her head was foggy, and the world seemed to fade around her: the only things that existed were Fan's dark thighs, her fabulous dark sex, which she was letting go of now, labia closing up, rings quivering.

Amanda gazed past Fan's mound, her smooth stomach, her breasts, to her strong black face, her gorgeous lips, her alert brown eyes.

Fan said, "I like you, slave girl," turned around, and squatted over Amanda's face. Amanda could sense Fan's arousal, her muscles working to push the shit through the narrow anal canal; she could see Fan's anus distend and widen. There was a moment of suspense. Would it be soft or hard? Would the end be pointed or rounded? Smooth or lumpy? How would it smell? Oh, how would it taste?

She had loved Mr. Billings's bottom with its lean cheeks and lightly downed anus: but she loved Fan's way more - hairless, the crack so deep, the dark anus perfectly round and so tight. Fan's urine squirted onto Amanda's breasts as she strained. Amanda watched Fan's anus open and waited.

Mr. Billings's shit would sometimes come slow, so she could bite off mouthfuls as he strained, and sometimes fast, piling up on her face. Fan's came fast, and it was soft and rich. It almost jetted out with a soft squishing sound, filled her mouth in seconds, and piled up on her face.

Fan emptied herself and turned to look at what she'd done. The girl was chewing and swallowing behind the wet brown pile, pushing Fan's shit into her with the fingers of both hands. She was twice as beautiful as before, with shit on her thin, hollow face: and what was that in her eyes, a sort of haziness? The bitch was in subspace, just from eating shit.

When the girl had gotten it all down, there was shit all around her mouth, like a child who's eaten a chocolate bar. Fan bent down and with a finger carefully scooped up the residue and gave it to Amanda to eat, and all the while she was gazing up at Fan with dazed and adoring eyes.

The girl was too good to be true. Fan grabbed her by the hair and hauled her out of the tub. She bent over, held her ankles, and said "Wipe my ass for me, Fly."

Amanda knelt behind Fan and licked her ass, face deep in her crack, loving the warmth and closeness, the smell, the taste, the feel of Fan's glossy anus on her lips. It was a little stretched, and she could dig in with the tip of her tongue to clean up the last smears of her shit.

Hard was lounging on the futon when they were done in the bathroom.

"You try her out, Fan?" he said with a grin.

"She'll do," said Fan. "What you want for her?"

"You know what I want, Fan," he said.

"What you pay for her?" said Fan. "I'll give you twice that."

"Never you mind," said Hard. "Dumb shit that sold her to me didn't know half what she was worth. You ain't got near enough money for this one. But you got somethin' worth just as much."

"You can't have him, Hard," said Fan. "You gonna abuse him."

"Lookit this girl. You ask her how old she is? She's eighteen fucking years old. When did you ever have a toilet slave that young? Your last one her tits was dragging on the ground."

Fan looked at Amanda with lust in her eyes.

"C'mon, Fan," said Hard. "You don't even like boys. When's the last time you took a dick just for the fuck of it?"

"I like him, and he gonna go real high when I find the right buyer. He real pretty."

Amanda watched them haggle. She'd never wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted Fan to buy her and take her home, but she knew better than to say anything: it wouldn't help. Besides, they were having fun bargaining, and why else had Hard brought Fan here but to sell Amanda to her? She stayed quiet, and hoped.

It took a good half hour, but finally it ended up exactly where they all knew it would, when Fan sighed and said, "Okay, you can have him. C'mon, Fly."

"I better go with you," said Hard. "You're one slippery bitch."

They waited while Amanda dressed and then trooped back to the subway. They rode several stops back towards the city and walked a couple of blocks through a neighborhood of dreary brick apartment houses. Amanda had no idea where she was.

They entered a three-story building and walked up to the third floor, where Fan let them into a plain but comfortably furnished living room. A slender, pretty boy of about Amanda's age or a few years older was sitting on the sofa watching TV. He looked up at them nervously.

"You going with Hard," said Fan. "Get your shit together."

"You said you wouldn't," said the boy.

"I didn't make no promises," she said.

"I can do what you want," he said. "I can satisfy you. I swear it."

"No you can't. Hard'll be good to you. Go pack up your shit."

"Listen, Fan . . ."

"Just do it."

He sloped off towards the back of the apartment. They stood around awkwardly till he came back holding an overnight bag and looking crushed.

Hard handed Fan the plastic bag with Amanda's things, but he was staring all the while at the boy.

"You gonna be all right," said Fan. "You go on now."

The boy said, "Fan, I'm - "

"Go on with you," she said, and turned away.

Amanda watched Hard leave with the boy. "Fan?" she said.

"What is it, Fly?"

"What's going to happen to him?"

"Sooner or later he gonna run. They always do. Hard one mean son of a bitch - he be always beatin' on his boys. He gonna be all right, though: don't worry your pretty head about him."

4. Love

Fan microwaved some frozen lasagna. Amanda hardly noticed what she was eating: she couldn't stop thinking about Fan's body and the gifts Fan had given her. The lasagna was flavorless and unappealing, and she ate little of it.

Over dinner Fan told Amanda her duties. "I got a toilet in the bathroom, and you gonna use that, but as long as you're here, I don't use it. You gonna be my toilet. You got that?"

"Yes, Fan," said Amanda. She liked saying "Fan."

"When you ain't being a toilet, you gonna be my sex toy. Anything I want you to do, you gonna do it."

"Yes, Fan."

It was late by the time they were done with dinner. Fan said, "We gonna do our bathroom stuff and go to bed." She took Amanda to the bathroom and took a shower with her. Amanda washed Fan's back. Being in the little shower stall with Fan's solid, fit body was exciting. She couldn't stop looking at her ample breasts with their prominent nipples and big dark areolae.

After the shower, Fan let her drink her piss again, this time standing while Amanda knelt between her legs. Fan brushed her teeth and made Amanda brush her teeth for a long time and use a strong mouthwash.

Amanda was still naked when Fan took her to her bedroom. She stared at Fan's breasts, numb with desire.

Fan noticed this. She cupped her breasts and said, "You like these, Fly?"

Amanda nodded.

"C'm'ere, babe, and give 'em a suck."

Fan's nipples got even bigger when Amanda sucked them, and Fan breathed heavily and held her head in place - not that Amanda needed her to: she was happy doing it, though she liked being restrained. Fan's hands were strong, and they made her feel safe, even when they guided her down slowly, over her muscled stomach to her mound and her sex, which was so wet.

Amanda lapped up the wetness and breathed in Fan's womanly fragrance, sensing the sustaining generosity of her body.

Holding Amanda's head firmly in place, Fan came, and she continued to hold her there till she was ready to piss.

Afterwards Amanda lay beside Fan in the dark, savoring the taste of her urine and masturbating with delicate fingers, so still and quiet that there was not the least possibility of disturbing Fan's rest when she came.

She drifted off to sleep then, feeling contented. She cared nothing for her freedom; she gave no thought to the loss of her possessions - her computer and books; it no longer seemed extraordinary that she'd been sold twice within twenty-four hours. Instead her last thought, before sleep embraced her, was of the rings in Fan's labia.

Amanda was happy with Fan for more than seven months, till nearly August. She herself rarely went out, though Fan often did, keeping irregular hours. One of the few times Amanda left the apartment was after Fan got a tattoo, an elaborate scrollwork vine that crossed her back above her buttocks. Amanda was fascinated, and begged Fan to let her just stare at it for a while. Fan was glad to show off her tattoo to her slave, and when she noticed that Amanda was masturbating while looking at it, she said, "You oughta get you a tattoo, Fly."

She told her the address of the tattoo parlor where she'd gotten her vine, but Amanda couldn't work up the nerve to go, even though it was just three blocks away. Finally Fan took her there herself and watched her get a tattoo of a fly above her left breast.

Amanda's troubles began - or, more accurately, resumed - on the day in August that Fan didn't come home. She went out, as she often did, after dinner on a Friday night. Amanda went to bed alone as she did when Fan wasn't in by bedtime. Usually, when that happened, she woke up beside Fan in the morning.

But on Saturday morning Fan wasn't there. She wasn't there that afternoon either, or that night. Amanda started to worry when she woke up alone on Sunday morning. She tried calling Fan's cell, but there was no answer, and the whole day passed without Fan returning her call.

There was food for several days in the refrigerator and cabinets - a lucky thing, since Amanda was now doubly terrified to go out - but her worry left her little appetite. Consuming her own waste was little comfort - it just made her miss the way Fan made her feel safe.

By Monday morning Amanda was beside herself. She was alone in the world, with no one to appeal to for help. She couldn't very well call her parents: how would she explain her situation? She couldn't call Mr. Billings, who had sold her. She had never made any friends either in California or at Fordham. In her desperation, she considered looking through Fan's things for Hard's phone number.

She was saved the trouble when Fan came home on Monday afternoon. She ran to her and threw her arms around her. "Fan," she sobbed.

"You still here, babe. That good," said Fan, who had a bedraggled look and an unwashed smell.

"Where have you been, Fan?" asked Amanda. "I was so worried!"

"Never you mind. Get us something to eat while I take a shower. Then we gonna play."

Amanda microwaved a frozen dinner, and when Fan came to eat she looked like her old self. After dinner it was fine to have Fan's generous body again: Amanda had been so afraid of losing all the wonders it produced for her.

In the bathroom a little later, lying naked on the cool tile floor covered with shit while Fan sat beside her and petted her black hair, Amanda was sure she'd never been happier.

"I love you, Fan," she said.

Fan was startled. She'd been preoccupied with her own troubles - having to drum up money for a bail bondsman, the necessity of hiring a lawyer, the uncertainty about her future - and she hadn't been thinking much about her slave. She'd missed her, of course, as you miss a possession you value, but only now did it strike her that Fly was her dependent, a person with needs every bit as important and urgent as her own.

Fan suddenly felt burdened by a sense of responsibility for Amanda, but warmed, too, by her humanity and her devotion; and Fan realized in a flash that she felt a similar kind of devotion towards her little submissive.

Fan said, "I got a treat for you," and led her back to the bedroom, where she laid her out spreadeagled on the bed, and tied her hands with soft cord to the headboard and her feet to the legs under the foot of the bed.

Fan slid two fingers into Amanda's vagina. She paused a few seconds, smiling, and then fucked her hard, shaking her thin body. Within seconds Amanda was writhing and moaning, not sure whether this was worse than the whipping or the best thing that had ever happened to her.

She sobbed, "It hurts, Fan, please," and tried to squirm away, but she could move only a few inches this way or that, and Fan was relentless, her long, powerful fingers so deep, her palm jamming hard against Amanda's clitoris while with her other hand she kneaded Amanda's shit-smeared breasts, pinching her hard, erect nipples and slapping her face, leaving shitty fingerprints on her cheeks.

Fan was all motion, looming over Amanda, grinning, showing her teeth. "No, please, Fan, stop," Amanda cried; but somewhere down below the pain happiness shone inside her. Whatever this was, it was for her, it was Fan, it had to be right. In spite of the pain, maybe because of it, Amanda's arousal was soaring, till when she said "Please, Fan," she didn't know herself whether she was begging her to stop or begging for more.

And then she knew it was more she wanted, and her breasts were heaving, and her pelvis gyrating, and she was seconds from orgasm.

Fan stopped, got off the bed, and went into the bathroom. Through the thin door Amanda could hear the shower. It seemed a long time before Fan came out again, wearing her white robe, which Amanda loved because it set off her silky dark brown skin.

Fan sat on the edge of the bed and said, "How many times a day you be comin', Fly?"

"I don't know, Fan."

"Three times? Maybe four? You be always playin' with your cunt."

Amanda was so unselfconscious with Fan that she hardly thought about it when she masturbated: it had become like twirling her hair or nibbling the end of a fingernail. "Something like that, I guess, Fan."

"Well, you ain't comin' no more today."

Fan left the room, and a few minutes later Amanda heard the television out in the living room.

"Fan?" she called, but Fan didn't answer.

Amanda wished she could touch herself to pass the time, but being tied up, she couldn't do it. She wasn't sure what time it was. She was starting to have to pee.

"Fan?" she called again, but again Fan didn't answer.

Amanda couldn't hear well enough to tell what program Fan was watching. Time passed, and the pressure in Amanda's bladder grew.

"Fan? I have to pee!" There was no answer.

It was getting unbearable. Amanda decided to pee on the bed. The mattress pad was waterproof, since their play was often wet, so it would do little harm.

Amanda's pee, puddling under her, was uncomfortable by the time she heard the television turned off. Fan appeared in the doorway.

"You a mess, baby," said Fan. It was true: she was caked with dried shit and lying in a puddle of urine.

"I had to pee," said Amanda.

"I gotta pee too," said Fan, climbed up on the bed, and straddled Amanda's head.

Fan only let Amanda catch a little of her pee in her mouth: instead of aiming right into her the way she usually did, Fan wetted her face all over. It ran off her and puddled under her head. Then she sat down beside her and rubbed her clitoris.

Amanda squirmed under her touch. "Fan?" she said.

"Hm, baby?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"I'm givin' you a treat, like I said, Fly. Ain't you havin' a good time?"

"I don't know, Fan." Amanda was confused. She didn't know why Fan was leaving her tied up and not letting her go to the bathroom, but she decided to trust her.

"You need to shit, Fly?"

"Yes, Fan. But I don't think I can go like this."

"Un huh," said Fan. She untied Amanda's ankles and lifted her legs up high. "See if you can go now," she said.

It took Amanda a while to move her bowels in this unaccustomed position, but finally she felt her anus stretch, and the shit slid out of her.

"That good, baby," said Fan, tied Amanda's ankles again, scooped some shit from between her legs, and smeared it over her thin body.

"That feel good, sweetie?" said Fan.

The shit was warm and slick, and Amanda liked the smell of it and the feel of Fan's hands on her body. "Yes, Fan."

Fan massaged her everywhere till Amanda felt herself reach a new pitch of arousal. If only Fan would touch her sex!

"Can I have an orgasm, Fan?"

"No, baby." Fan took her hands away and stood up.

"Please, Fan?"

"Don't want you never to ask for nothin' twice, babe," said Fan. She went into the bathroom and closed the door. Amanda heard the sink: Fan was washing her hands. Then she came out of the bathroom, crossed the room and left, turning off the light as she went.