Mouche

"Now, darling, give her to me," she said, and Daniel seized the back of Mouche's neck and shoved her face into Karen's crack just as her anus was opening up and her soft, warm shit roped out of her into Mouche's screaming mouth.

It was more sensation than Mouche had ever experienced before: two sets of hands on her, the anal pounding, the powerful smell of Karen's shit, its heat, the wetness, the bitterness, the way it was coming so fast it filled her mouth instantly before Karen's anus closed again.

Karen sat up to look: Mouche's lips were brown, her eyes closed tight, the agony of the ass-fuck still printed on her face. But she was chewing that big mouthful of shit, swallowing it . . . Karen reached between her legs, found a little shit there, took it in her hand, and smeared Mouche's cheeks with it. Then she lay back, hugged her knees to her again, said, "Yeah, eat it, dear," and shat some more.

The pain was becoming bearable, and a hazy consciousness was returning to her. She was dimly aware of a fullness in her backside and hoped she wouldn't shit: she wasn't sure she could control it. She tried to concentrate on getting the last of Karen's second load of shit, trying to scoop it out of her anus with the tip of her tongue but really just spreading it around in her wide white crack.

"Fuck," said Daniel. "She's shitting on my cock." He pulled out of her, and she tried to squeeze herself shut before she made a mess, but couldn't do it. She felt a little wet shit escape her. "She's shitting," said Daniel with distaste.

"Put your fucking cock back in her," Karen commanded, picturing to herself her husband's cock plunging into a brown mess in Mouche's colon. It was too good: she rubbed her cunt and shat again, piss fountaining up as she strained it out, and this time she didn't stop till she was empty.

Mouche tried to eat it as it came out, but couldn't get it down fast enough: some fell on the marble floor. She had lost track of her own backside and wasn't aware that she was shitting till Daniel plunged into her again, plugging her up uncomfortably. Karen's body went out of focus and came back again, the reality of her strangely altered.

As if in a dream, Mouche caught sight of a thin blue vein beneath the pale skin of Karen's groin, and it seemed she was pulled right into her Mistress, through that vein, and whirled through the vessels and cavernous spaces of her body to bathe in all her miraculous fluids: to rush through the arteries with Karen's blood, filter into her kidneys and be flushed into her bladder, while at the same time she swam in Karen's stomach, was massaged through her intestines and squeezed into her colon, where she became Karen's shit. And finally she was evacuated into her own eager mouth - Mouche fed to Mouche through her generous Mistress's urinating, defecating body.

Something tore inside Mouche - a thin tissue of will that moored her own hopes and desires to her sense of self. She felt it go, knew it would never return, knew she belonged absolutely to Karen and was utterly in her power. And suddenly she felt light and free and alive, all her nerves lit up, body aflame with arousal. Karen's shit was soft, warm, and bitter - she savored it, and the sensation of Daniel's cock in her ass.

Empty at last, Karen plunged two fingers into her own cunt and fucked herself to an enormous, crashing orgasm as Mouche licked her ass.

"Daniel," she rasped as she regained her breath. "Suck him off."

Daniel pulled out of her, and she turned to him. She hardly saw him at all, except for his penis, which was hard and brown with shit. Karen lay a hand on the back of her head, urging her forward, and Mouche sucked him the way Fan had taught her men liked, running her hands over his thighs, buttocks, and belly and moaning as if with pleasure.

She did like it too, in a way: she liked cleaning her shit off him with her mouth, the silkiness of his skin as it slipped over the hardness beneath, the way he filled her mouth with his semen, and most of all obeying Karen. She sat back, holding the last of the shit and semen on her tongue.

"What a mess," said Daniel, looking with dismay at the puddle of piss on the floor and the piles of shit - some of it Karen's and some Mouche's. He liked an ass-fuck, but excrement was his wife's kink, not his. He decided to go take a shower, then track down Molly.

"You'll have to clean it up, Mouche," said Karen.

"Yes, Mistress," said Mouche, though she had no idea how to go about this.

"With your mouth, dear. Hands behind your back, bend down, and eat."

Mouche longed to obey. She'd failed to obey her parents, and she'd failed to obey Hard; she'd argued with Mr. Billings and Fan, not wanting to obey. But Mistress Karen was greater than any of them. This time she would succeed: she would never disobey Karen.

On her knees, she clasped her hands behind her back and took a healthy bite from the nearest turd. It seemed to her that nothing had ever made sense in her life before today - her being a weird girl that people laughed at, a coprophage, a torment to her parents, a scarcely human commodity - but all that pain and misfortune had been steering her to this place, this time, this magnificent Mistress whose greatness she could taste and smell in her piss and shit. Now Karen was picking up handfuls of shit and cramming them into Mouche's mouth. As she chewed, she felt a warmth down below. She reached between her legs and touched her clitoris with a white, narrow finger.

* * *

Who can say what love is? Some have called it the most noble of human emotions, while others think it a kind of mental disorder - an obsession or compulsion. In the case of Mouche, you could argue for the nobility or the madness with equal plausibility, and for my part, I don't know love well enough to say if she truly loved Karen, or Karen loved her.

But I can tell you this much. Eight years have passed since the events described in this story: Mouche is well into her late twenties, and Karen, now a widow, is approaching seventy. They've had their ups and downs, but they are still together, there in the vast apartment overlooking Park Avenue. Mouche still considers herself Karen's slave and toilet, and she's still sure she's in love.

As for the others: Karen's lawyer managed to get the charges against Fan dropped, and Karen found her a job at Mistress Shigemi's House of Kink, a high-end flog shop. She's got a submissive who's nice enough and shares her kinks, and she's glad she doesn't have to fuck men anymore. She still misses Mouche, but life is hard, and sometimes you've got to do difficult things to survive.

About a year and a half after he sold Mouche, Mr. Billings married a nice woman who felt the same way he did about the Catholic Church. Of course he's never told her about his time with Mouche or about his kink. He considers her attractive enough, and even a friend, but far from exciting. They have sex every couple of months. But often he lies awake at night, thinking of Mouche and wondering where she is. On those nights, he gets up quietly, so as not to wake his wife, and walks softly to the bathroom, where he masturbates in the dark, remembering the look in Mouche's eyes as she swallowed his shit. Then he creeps back to bed, falls asleep, and dreams dreams of self-loathing that he forgets by morning.

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