Mouche

Mouche leaned over the toilet and put a finger down her throat. After she'd cleaned up, Fan took her home, and they went to bed together. Mouche lay curled up beside Fan, awake, thinking over the evening. After a time she allowed herself to cry, just a little bit, and then she went to sleep.

It wasn't hard to serve the men who came after that first one. She didn't love hairiness, muscular bodies, and other marks of masculinity, but she did like penises - such great things came out of them! One of her clients had a very large one, but she was disappointed to discover that a large penis didn't necessarily produce a lot of semen.

As for the morality of what she was doing, what business did Mouche have with that? She had never expected anyone to respect her, admire her, or think her a good person; she had long ago given up such niceties as self-consciousness, self-respect, and concern for the opinions of anyone but Fan. Fan wanted her to do this, and that was all that mattered.

She had little sense of the danger of coprophagia. There's little danger in eating your own shit, since it has only your own bacteria in it. And since Fan was healthy, there was little more danger in eating hers.

But when Mouche started eating the shit of random strangers, the danger increased. Fan was aware of this; that's why she insisted that Mouche throw up after every session.

Fan knew very well that this precaution was inadequate: she did it mainly to ease her guilty conscience. Still, she had argued herself into believing she was doing enough to protect Mouche's health, and so she was taken by surprise when her slave woke up sick one morning. She threw up everything in her stomach, and she wasn't able to keep anything down all day long. She was no better the next day, and in the evening she started to shit blood.

6. Karen

Fan was frantic - afraid her slave was going to die and just as afraid to take her to the emergency room, because Mouche had no insurance, as far as she knew, and she was sure a trip to the hospital would cost her everything she had.

And so, in an agony of indecision, she kept Mouche at home and tried to feed her water, tea, and broth; but she couldn't keep any of it down.

Mouche liked the attention, and she wasn't afraid of dying, but the cramps were incredible. She drifted in and out of consciousness and spent much of her time in a kind of fugue, not knowing quite who or where she was.

She was in a state like that when the great lady came to call. Mouche was dimly aware of a large woman in a colorful dress bending over her bed; behind her was a man in a three-piece suit carrying a briefcase.

The lady said, "Can you hear me, Mouche?" Her voice was loud and plummy.

Mouche groaned.

"She's very sick," the lady said. "You're not taking care of her."

"She gonna get over it. I been givin' her liquids . . ."

"She needs medicine, laxatives, enemas." The lady seemed to be preaching.

"How's this your business? Who you think you are, bustin' in here . . ."

"She's the solution to all your problems," said the man in the three-piece suit.

"What make you think I got problems?"

"You're charged with a felony," said the lady. "You can't pay your lawyer - and, by the way, he won't get you off, no matter how much you give him."

The lady was sitting on the side of the bed now, petting Mouche's forehead. "My, but you're a pretty little thing," she declared.

"He say he can get me off easy," said Fan.

"He's a fool and a liar. He'll end up with all your money and you'll end up in the slammer. My lawyers can get you off, and they'll do it for free. And I can fix things so you don't get arrested again."

"You slinging the shit. Ain't nothin' free."

"I don't want your money. I want her." The lady nodded at Mouche, who whined softly.

"She ain't for sale."

"Everything's for sale, if you can figure out the price. My opening bid is freedom and safety." The lady peeled the bedsheet down and examined Mouche's pierced nipples. "Lovely," she breathed.

"How you gonna do all this?"

"Most judges don't know anything about kink. They think it's just prostitution and perversion. I know one who understands, and my lawyers can get your case moved to her court."

"And safety?"

"I can get you a safer job."

"I ain't no waitress."

The lady had pulled the sheet the rest of the way down. "Lovely cunt," she said. "Delicate labia. You'd work as a domme. One who doesn't turn tricks on the side."

"Ain't no jobs like that. Maybe for white girls. Not for me."

"You want some token of my sincerity. Roy."

The man set the briefcase on a table, opened it, and took out five bundles of crisp, clean bills, each with a mustard-colored strap with "$10,000" printed on it.

"Fifty thousand, an acquittal, and safety. That's my final offer."

"How you find out about us?"

Karen shrugged. "People have been talking."

Mouche was no longer following the conversation: she'd gone to sleep. Fan stared at her for a full minute, thinking.

"You better be good to her."

Mouche woke up groggy and disoriented. She was in an enormous bed in a huge, ornately furnished bedroom. There were big windows on two walls, and sunlight streamed in through them.

With a little effort, Mouche recognized the lady sitting in the leather chair by the bed as the one who'd visited at Fan's place.

"Hello, dear," said the lady. "Are you feeling better?"

Mouche took stock of herself. She felt very weak, but the cramps were gone. "Yes, ma'am," she said.

"You may say 'Yes, Mistress,'" said the lady. "I am Mistress Karen."

"Did you buy me from Fan, Mistress?"

"I took over your care," said Mistress Karen, "and I am helping Fan to get past her legal problems and improve her situation."

Mouche studied the lady who had bought her. She was large, almost fat, and in her early sixties. She had a bulbous nose, a prominent chin, and a severe look.

"I love Fan," said Mouche.

"Of course you loved her," said the lady. "But she couldn't take care of you properly. I can. Now get some rest. Dr. Nystrom will be here in an hour."

Mistress Karen hoisted herself from her chair and left the room. Alone, Mouche thought about escape. But where could she go? If Fan had sold her, she wouldn't take her back again, and she was even less capable of taking care of herself now than she had been in January. She wondered where she was. She got out of bed. Her legs were so wobbly she almost fell, but she made it to a window. She was high above the city: below was a wide street with a carefully tended grassy median. Park Avenue. She made it back to bed holding onto the furniture and got in just as Mistress Karen returned with Dr. Nystrom, a blond man in his thirties.

He smiled and said, "You're recovering well, Mouche." She just stared at him.

"You had a parasite," he continued, "but it was easily treated. You'll be on your feet in a few days."

"Isn't that lovely, dear?" said Mistress Karen. "It's not hard to be healthy, if you take good care of yourself."

"Karen has many original ideas on the subject of health," said Dr. Nystrom with a smile.

Mouche studied Mistress Karen while the doctor examined her. She had on another brightly colored dress, a tent of a thing, and her belly and breasts swelled under it. Despite her age and size, she seemed bursting with vitality, perpetually in motion.

After seeing the doctor out, Mistress Karen came back carrying a canvas bag and a cup of broth. She sat in the leather chair while Mouche drank the broth.

Mistress said, "You'll be better soon. What will you do with yourself then?"

"You bought me from Fan. Don't I belong to you?"

"I didn't buy you, dear. We're not allowed to own people in this country. You can leave any time you like."

"Oh," said Mouche, disappointed. "I guess I don't know then."

"You're welcome to stay, and I'd like it if you would. When I heard about you, my heart went out to you, and I wanted to nurse you back to health. Now that I've invested so much time in you, I'd like to keep you healthy."

"Thank you, Mistress," said Mouche, relieved that she didn't have to go, but wondering why this woman thought her so interesting.

"Now turn over, Mouche," said Mistress, reaching for her bag. "It's time for your enema."

Mouche did as she was told, and Mistress Karen positioned her so she was on her elbows and knees.

"Anal health is essential to the well-being of the whole body," Mistress lectured as she fiddled with her apparatus. "You will have enemas regularly as long as you're here," she continued, inserting a lubricated tube into Mouche's anus and holding the bag high.

"The medicine the doctor is giving you is very effective," said Mistress Karen, "but the enemas will speed your recovery even more."

The warm liquid felt good, and Mouche sighed for the pleasure of it. But before a minute had gone by she felt tremendous pressure in her rectum.

"Mistress . . ." she began.

"I know, dear. Come to the bathroom."

Mistress Karen supported Mouche for the short walk to the bathroom. Mouche squirted into the toilet the moment she was seated. Karen peered between her legs into the dirty water. "Good," she said. "It's so very important to clean the impurities out of the system. Do you think you're finished?"

Mouche nodded, and Mistress led her back to the bedroom. "Back in bed now," she said cheerfully, and took a speculum out of her canvas bag. "I'd better have a look at that cunt. You can't be too careful with your health. Spread your legs."

Mouche lay patiently while Mistress Karen inserted and opened the speculum and leaned in for a close look. She sniffed at it. "Beautiful," she sighed. "We'll take extra special care of this. A healthy cunt is no less important than a healthy gut. Do you wear panties?"

"No, Mistress. I don't like clothing much."

"Excellent. Open air is good for the cunt. I myself never wear underwear of any kind. Now get some rest."

Over the following days, Karen continued to nurse Mouche, gradually feeding her more solid foods, supervising her medication, and giving her an enema every day. By the time three days had gone by, Mouche was feeling perfectly well and was impatient to be up and about; but Karen said, "You can't be too careful. We'll give it a couple more days." She didn't mention that she was waiting for the results of the HIV test.

Finally, after two more days, Karen said, "How are you feeling now, dear?"

"Very well, Mistress," said Mouche.

"You still look a bit weak and pale, but I'm sure exercise and a healthy diet will bring you up to speed."

"Thank you, Mistress."

"Stand up. Slowly now, take it easy - that's good. Now we'll take a little walk."

Karen led her slowly out of the bedroom and into a wide hallway that made a couple of turns before they arrived in a vast living room where a maid - a plump, round-faced woman in her thirties - was vacuuming among the antiques. She gave them a sunny smile, and her eyes swept down Mouche's naked body.

"That can wait, dear," said Karen, and the maid turned off the vacuum cleaner.

"This is Molly," said Karen. "I know the two of you will get along splendidly. Would you make tea, Molly?"

"Yes, Mistress," said Molly, and disappeared down the wide hallway.

Karen led Mouche to a corner of the room, where the marble floor was uncarpeted, and the only furniture was a worn green armchair with some kind of artificial leather covering - an incongruity among the antiques and ancestral portraits. Beside it was a battered side table.

Karen sat down heavily in this chair and Mouche stood uneasily, wondering what to do with herself.

"You have my permission to fuck Molly at any time you're both without duties. She's separated from her husband, poor dear: I fear he has rather conventional and illiberal views. Feelings of loss and stress can leave you open to colds and other illnesses. Kneel here," said Karen, pointing to a spot on the floor in front of her.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Sex is one of the best preventatives - luckily for Molly, since she has an extraordinarily high sex drive. Legs apart. Clasp your hands behind your head."

When she was satisfied with Mouche's pose, she went on, "Sex is one of nature's medications, but there are many." She cupped Mouche's left breast in her right hand and squeezed, chafing her nipple with her palm. "In ancient times, they used piss in medical recipes. Shit too. The popular belief that such things are unhealthy is simply untrue."

This was interesting. Mouche squirmed a little, liking Karen's touch, though she wished she could touch herself. As if Karen could read her mind, she leaned forward, reached between Mouche's legs, and inserted a finger into her. She fucked her gently and talked about natural medications and healthy practices. Ginseng, maca, ginkgo, exotic mushrooms - she had stocks of all kinds of natural medications, and she believed firmly that most women suffered ill health because of sexual deprivation. Between the talk and the stimulation, Mouche was getting more than a little excited.

"I myself haven't had so much as a cold for thirty years," Karen said grandly. "Ah! here's tea!" She withdrew her finger from Mouche's vagina and sat up in her chair.

Molly set a silver tray on the side table. It had on it one cup, a teapot, and a creamer and sugar bowl. "Cream or sugar, Mistress?" she asked with a smile.

"Don't tease, dear. You know I always take it straight," said Karen. "That will be all for now."

Molly gave Mouche a quick smile and left the room.

"Such a sweet girl," said Karen. "In the long run she'll be happier without him, but meanwhile it's up to us to help her through this trying time."

"Yes, Mistress," said Mouche. Her nipples tingled at the thought of sex with Molly.

Holding her teacup in her left hand, Karen returned to masturbating Mouche with two fingers of her right.

"Have some tea, dear."

Mouche looked at the tray again, more carefully this time. "There's no cup, Mistress."

"Of course not. Look at me, child." Karen sipped from her cup and set it down. Her eyes twinkled as she held Mouche's gaze. The girl was a treasure - so young and pretty, so trusting.

Karen held the liquid in her mouth and waited, counting the seconds - one, two, three - then suddenly yanked Mouche forward by the cunt, and with her pale face just three inches away, spewed her mouthful into her face. Karen shoved a third finger into Mouche and fucked her violently, shaking her whole body. "Little piss-drinking slut!" she snapped, and gave her cheek a resounding slap.

Mouche was too overwhelmed to answer. It registered instantly with her that Karen's tea was in fact urine, still warm and fresh. That and the savage masturbation rattled her, but it was the slap that made her face crumple and tears come to her eyes.

It wasn't the pain, but the shame: the way it took her straight back to to when she'd been barely nine, and her mother had slapped her, just like that, and stormed, "Just stop it! Why won't you stop?" as Amanda reeled across the kitchen and crashed into the refrigerator. Shocked by what she'd done, her mother collapsed to the floor and sat with her face in her hands. "Go to your room," she said wearily. "Just go."

And little Amanda, who wanted more than anything to obey her mother, had understood right then with childish certainty that her Silicon Valley parents would have lived lives of fairy-tale happiness if she could have been a good girl; but their lives were a horror because of her, and every day they regretted bitterly that she'd ever been born.

The emotion of that moment came roaring back like a freight train: her legs trembled, her breath came in gasps, tears ran down her cheeks with the piss and dripped between her breasts, which rose and fell with her rapid breaths, pierced nipples erect - arousal, somehow, rushing in with the shame.

Karen could see the pain and the raw emotion; and yet the girl waited patiently for more. Karen's happiness soared and swooped: she pulled her fingers out of Mouche's cunt and pushed them into her mouth, seizing a lock of her hair with the other hand and pushing her head back. The girl was prettier every second. Karen pried her mouth open and spat into her, then picked up her teacup and poured it over her face.

"Little piss slut," said Karen in a taunting voice. Without looking away, she fumbled for the teapot, found it, and held it above Mouche's face. "Open up, dear," she sang.

Heart fluttering, Mouche opened her lips and let Karen pour the contents of the teapot into her. Molly had filled it to the top: it overflowed Mouche's mouth, ran down her neck and back, and splashed to the floor. She swallowed quickly, opened for more, and drank till it ran out, misery rising with her need and arousal.

"All gone," said Karen. "Poor dear. Oh well, come and eat my cunt." She pulled her dress up and slouched back in her chair, pushing her bottom forward.

Karen's thighs were white, stout, and dimpled with fat. Her labia were thick and furred with gray pubic hair; between them, her mottled inner labia protruded in meaty folds. Mouche stared, appalled. Fan's thighs had been smooth and youthful, her labia darkly perfect, her shaved mound and rings so appetizing: to kiss her there had been so intimate, so beautiful. This old woman's sex was a horror.

Karen put a strong hand behind Mouche's head and pulled her down to her crotch. "I said eat me, Mouche," she commanded, and smashed her face into her sex. Mouche put her tongue out and licked from her opening up to her clitoris.

"Ah, yeah, babe, lick my clit," Karen moaned, holding her in place with two hands. Her moisture was slick and plentiful: Mouche savored the smell and taste of her - it was the taste of sex, but even more of this woman's immense power. That power had reached into an obscure apartment in Queens, into Mouche's life, and had ripped her away from the woman she loved. You had to submit to a woman like this.

Mouche kissed Karen's thick labia, her big clitoris, her wide slit where her vagina gaped under her urethra, from which salty, bitter drops were already starting to trickle into Mouche's open mouth. Above her, Karen was pulling her dress over her head: Mouche looked up past her belly and big white breasts with wide flat areolae, and into her face.

"Yes, dear," Karen sighed, piss gushing now. Mouche drank from her, lips sealed over her urethra. She watched Karen's face as she drank and didn't see Daniel behind her, naked except for a sock, which he was peeling off while balancing on one foot. He was still a fine figure of a man at sixty, and so fucking kinky! His cock was already halfway erect as he grinned into his wife's face, and hard as stone as he lubricated it from the tube he always carried in his jacket pocket for those occasions when one of the secretaries or interns paid him a visit in his office.

"Yes, darling," Karen whispered, hugging her knees to her shoulders, "the ass," and Mouche wetted her anus with her lips and tongue while Daniel, grinning wider, advanced and squatted behind her.

"Now, darling! Fuck her ass!" and Daniel wrapped an arm around Mouche's waist and pulled her up to her knees.

Mouche gave a little scream of surprise, then caught her breath as he pressed against her anus, then in. He was bigger than a finger - Oh God it hurt, and she screamed, a high, thin, catlike wail, so long she couldn't catch her breath, and she was losing track of everything in the world but the pain of it, his heavy breathing, and her own pounding heart.

It was all that Karen had hoped, the sight of her husband taking the girl by surprise and giving her her first ass-fuck: the pain and fear showed in her face - so fucking hot. This was the moment she'd been waiting for. She was proud of taking proper care of her bowels, eating a balanced diet with plenty of green vegetables. She hadn't been constipated in decades. Just a little push was all it needed, then relax her body and enjoy the sensation of her clean, healthy shit sliding through her sphincter, stimulating the sensitive nerve endings there. Karen had always loved taking a shit, and this was going to be the best shit of her life.