The Rent-A-Slave

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DP and Peepee and Scat, Oh My!
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The further adventures of Brenda, the God-fearing twenty-six-year-old dental assistant I introduced in "God and the Cum Dump." No, you don't have to read that story to make sense of this one. In fact, since reading that one is unlikely to lead to either your moral or intellectual improvement, you should probably just give it a miss. This one is, if anything, even worse - full of anal sex, double penetration, pee, and scat. It's filthy and disgusting, and I think you shouldn't read it. I say this for your own good.

If you do read it, though, please remember: if you happen to go to Mickey's Tap looking for random sex the way Brenda does, be lots more careful than she is - take some condoms along! Length: about 16,000 words. Tags: Anal sex, Lesbian sex, Group sex, Bondage, Rimming, Farting, Urolagnia, Pee, Scat, Coprophagia.

*****

1. Swirlie girl

Dr. Rosenberg's cock was deep in my ass. I clenched my teeth and gripped the rim of the toilet bowl, staring down into the yellow water with fear and excitement. The toilet didn't look as nice as the ones for the patients, which I had to clean a couple of times a day. There were brown stains in it, and I thought probably the doctor didn't much mind his aim when he peed.

It was about five thirty on Thursday - a week since I'd discovered God's purpose for me. I'd always been below average at everything - work, personal grooming, relationships, you name it. But the day Dr. Rosenberg fired me and my boyfriend Lester face-fucked me, made me throw up around his cock, and stomped out of my life in a rage, I figured out that I was really good at fucking. Not the vanilla fucking I used to do with Lester, but the kind most people would rather not think about, much less try, because it's gross.

I'd kicked off my new life with a gangbang in the picnic area outside Mickey's Tap, and ever since I'd been like out of control, fucking every man I could (not to mention a few women). I'd done anal and deep throat, I'd swallowed more loads of cum than I could count, I'd spent an evening as a human urinal, and I'd fucked a whole roomful of Shriners with my new friend Casey, a fun bubbly gangbang whore.

Like my pervert friend Randy told me, I was a cum dump, and I loved my new life, except I worried that God might not approve of my behavior. But the Reverend Jonathan Edwards, the pastor of my church, taught me we were all sinners, and the more we sinned the better Jesus loved us, because forgiving sin was what He liked to do best.

A few days before, I'd like half-blackmailed, half-bribed Dr. Rosenberg into giving me back my job as a dental assistant. The blackmail part was that I had a video of him doing unspeakably filthy things to me, and the bribe part was that I was going to let him do those things and more, as often as he liked. And he had, too, every day since then.

Today Dr. Rosenberg had kept me after work. He'd taken me into the private bathroom next to his office, set me on the floor with my head way back over the toilet bowl, and pissed in my mouth. Jesus, but the man had a lot of piss in him! One of the things I loved about Dr. Rosenberg was the way everything that came out of him came out in great quantities. I enjoyed the sound and sensation of his piss gurgling in my mouth: some of it I let fall into the toilet, some I spat out onto my nice white dental assistant uniform, and some I swallowed.

When he was finally empty, he turned me around so I was on my knees in front of the toilet, gripping the rim while he lubricated his cock and my ass. Dr. Rosenberg was an ass man, and he liked mine because I had a big butt. He said my ass was made for perforation, which was kind of a cool thing to say.

Dr. Rosenberg was also an incredible asshole, which was another thing I liked about him. You see, I'd also learned, a week ago, that I loved being objectified (Randy taught me that word - he's a lawyer and really smart), and nobody did it better than Dr. Rosenberg, who considered me barely human trailer trash, even though I never lived in a trailer. I think he was kind of disappointed with himself because he liked fucking me so much, and that made him even meaner, and him being meaner made me like him better.

I was bent over the toilet, staring down into the cold piss, with Dr. Rosenberg hammering me behind. I'm not a pain slut, and this fucking hurt, because my asshole was still kind of raw from the Shriners, but I had to put up with it because I really needed this job. Besides, I liked being fucked by Dr. Rosenberg, and the taste of his piss in my mouth, and staring into the toilet, and knowing I was going to get a big mouthful of cum at the end of it all.

I was thinking this couldn't get any better when Dr. Rosenberg put a strong hand on the back of my neck, shoved my face down into the cold, pissy water, and held me there for about ten seconds while he went on fucking my ass. I had just enough time to close my eyes before I went under, and no time to take a breath, so I came up spluttering, gasping for air, and shouting "Motherfucker!"

But I was ready when he pushed me down again, and this time I actually kind of liked having my face immersed in his piss, and I blew some bubbles and took in a mouthful, which I spat out when he hauled me up.

This went on for quite a while, and I liked it well enough that I forgot the pain in my ass. Finally, though, he held me down so long, like half a minute, that I got seriously scared and started to struggle - which he punished me for by pushing me even deeper into the piss. I was just starting to panic, thinking he hated me enough to drown me, when he flushed the toilet, and the water whooshed down past my ears with a deafening roar, and I was able to draw a breath before it came back up clean and cut off my air again.

Dr. Rosenberg kind of gave my head a shake and pulled me up out of the water, gasping for breath again. He turned me around, grinned, said, "Open wide," and drove into my throat. The first time he ass-fucked me he took me by surprise by sticking his shitty cock in my mouth afterwards and making me puke. Now I was giving myself regular enemas so I didn't get shit in my mouth, but still he knew how to make me puke just by pushing way into me and triggering my gag reflex. It was okay with me: I loved the way my stomach lurched and vomit gushed out of my mouth and nose, soaking his pubic hair and flooding over his cock and balls. My stomach was shooting these bolts of pleasure to my nips and clit, and somehow knowing he was taking sadistic pleasure in watching me throw up made it all that much hotter.

Dr. Rosenberg grabbed two fistfuls of my hair and fucked my throat so hard my brain was like rattling around inside my skull. This was a hatefuck for sure. He thought I was ugly and stupid, and he wasn't far off the mark there, in spite of the makeover Randy had treated me to. I was kind of pear shaped, with features coarse and heavy. I'd been a rotten high school student - college was out of the question, but I'd managed to struggle through some vocational dentistry courses, and on the strength of that and the fact that there was something about me that made Dr. Rosenberg want to defile me, he'd taken me on.

And here he was, fucking my face and having a great time, and he absolutely radiated resentment, because he wasn't supposed to like a girl like me, and he wasn't supposed to need to do this stuff he was doing to me. But he did need to do it, and his wife would never in a million years let him, but I would, and he resented it because I was this trashy skank and the worst dental assistant he'd ever had.

So when he felt his orgasm coming on, he crushed me to him, smashing my lips and nose against him, and I was making choking noises and rubbing my pussy, and when his cum gushed into me it was about as good a thing as I'd ever felt before.

"Cunt," he snapped, and turned on his heel and left the bathroom. I took stock of myself as I heard him moving about in his office. The front of my white coat was drenched in piss and vomit, I was about as turned on as I'd ever been in my life (but it seems I always was these days), and I hadn't had an orgasm.

I followed Dr. Rosenberg into his office, where he was already dressed and straightening his desk with abrupt, angry gestures.

"I ought to fucking kill you," he said.

I perched on the edge of his desk, hiked my dress up, and stroked my pussy. I said, "Then who would you fuck, Dr. Rosenberg? You got girls lined up begging to be pissed on?"

"Close the door when you go," he said.

He left, and I laid back on his desk and masturbated, thinking I'd had a really fun day.

2. Betsy calls

I was hoping to slip back into my place without anyone noticing me, but wouldn't you know it, nosy old Mrs. Fletcher, my neighbor, just happened to be coming out of her apartment with her nasty toy poodle Seymour at the very moment I was passing her door.

She wrinkled her nose at the sight of me, then pasted a look of false sympathy on her face and asked, "What happened to you, dear?"

I made my voice low and husky and said, "I think I've got that bird flu, Mrs. Fletcher." She scuttled away down the hall, and I made a mental note to keep an extra dental assistant uniform and a few plastic bags at the office.

I changed, got myself a beer, and had a long soak in the tub, keeping my phone within easy reach on the toilet seat next to the beer. That turned out to be the right thing to do, because it rang after a few minutes - the number on the screen was one I didn't recognize.

"Hello?" I said.

"This is Betsy," said a businesslike female voice. My stomach gave a happy little leap. Betsy was a lesbian dominatrix I met that night I spent as a urinal. At the end of the party, she'd taken me to an upstairs bathroom, helped me shower, and fucked me. She was old and fat, but nice and really sexy, maybe because she was sort of bossy in a way that totally made me want to do anything she said. The sound of her voice made me swoony, and I put a hand between my legs and masturbated as we talked.

"Hi, Betsy," I said, feeling intimidated even over the phone.

Betsy got right to the point. "I need a slave this weekend, Saturday night to Sunday morning. I'd like it to be you."

"Okay," I said. "I just have to be on time for my Bible lesson at one on Sunday." The Reverend Edwards didn't let me come to services because my behavior upset everyone, but he gave me private religious instruction every week.

"Don't worry," she said, "you'll make it."

I said, "But what do you want me to do? I'm not sure what you mean by slave. I'm no good at cooking and cleaning and all that."

"Not a household slave - I've already got one of those. A sex slave," she said. "I'm having a party that night. I need someone for the guests to fuck."

"It sounds like fun," I said. "Are you going to objectify me?"

"What?"

"Objectify. You know, treat me like I'm less than human."

"That's the whole point," said Betsy. "We want to have sex with someone we don't give a fuck about - someone who's just a collection of holes. That would be you."

I rubbed myself harder under the water. "Are you going to have any other slaves?"

"No. We thought about hiring a whore named Casey, but decided against it."

"Why not? She's like my best friend!"

"Well, Casey is smart and fun and has lots of personality. Those qualities are okay in small doses, but for the most part we don't want to be bothered with them. I decided on you as our fuck slave because you're not particularly bright or interesting. Are you all right?"

"Yes, Betsy," I said between gasps. "I'm just rubbing one out while we talk. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," said Betsy. "Come at eight on Saturday. I'll email you the address."

"What should I wear?"

"It doesn't matter, believe me. Any other questions?"

"Yes, Betsy. Could you say that thing again? About me not being smart or interesting? Maybe like draw it out?"

"Of course," she said. "In fact, that's what I loved most about you the night we met. You were almost entirely a blank. You have no talents to speak of, right?"

"That's right, Betsy," I said, fingers in my cunt.

"Never been good at anything in your life, aside from being a sex toy. And you just radiated ignorance. When's the last time you read a book?"

"In high school, Betsy!" I squeaked.

"It's hard to imagine a serious conversation with you. I'm sure I've never met anyone more trivial. Do you ever read a newspaper?"

"No, Betsy!" I screamed. How erect my nipples were! I pinched one of them with my free hand.

"Watch the news?"

"Sometimes I watch Today," I panted, then cried "Oh!" coming hard. "Ah! Ah! Ah!"

When my orgasm died away I heard Betsy's heavy breathing on the other end of the line.

"Thank you, Betsy," I whispered. "Are you masturbating?"

"Yes, Brenda. Smell your fingers. Don't say anything - just do it."

I put the fingers I'd been masturbating with to my nose. Despite the bathwater, they smelled of cunt.

"Now put them in your mouth," she said, and I did that and made loud sucking noises into the phone.

"Oh, yes!" Betsy cried as she came. "Well, I'll see you on Saturday."

"Yes, Betsy," I said, but she'd already ended the call.

I was really excited now. I called up Casey, who said, "I was just going to call you, Brenda!"

"Wow, that's so, like, coincidental. Listen, I've got this amazing news!" And I told her about Saturday at Betsy's.

"That's wonderful, Brenda! You're going to have so much fun!"

"I'm disappointed you won't be there," I said.

"It's okay," said Casey. "I have this like date at the Presbyterian church on Saturday night, so I couldn't have done it anyway."

"That's so cool," I said. "Listen, can you come over? I so don't want to be alone right now."

"Ten minutes," she said.

Casey's so much fun to hang out with: we laugh and tell stories and have sex together. Sex with friends is so much nicer than sex with lovers - it's almost as good as sex with strangers. It's the lack of pressure, I think. She brought over some toys and we fucked each other with them, and then we laid together and talked. I told her how I'd run into Lester at the Target where he worked a couple days ago. I'd hauled him into the family restroom and rimmed and sucked him off there.

"It was great!" I said. "I don't give a fuck about him, and I'm not scared of him any more, and that made it so much more fun!"

"That's so cool!" Casey said. "What did you get?"

"I got a mouthful of cum," I said.

"I mean what did he pay you?"

I gave her a puzzled look. "He didn't pay me anything."

She rolled her eyes. "Brenda, sweetie, when a man fucks you you've got to get paid!"

"Why? It was fun!"

"Fucking is always fun!" she chirped. "You know how much I love it. But you've got to get paid."

"So you always charge?"

"Absolutely."

"That's not true," I said triumphantly. "You fuck me for free."

"You're just like a sister to me - you don't make your family pay for a fuck."

"What? I mean like do you fuck your actual sister?"

"Well, she lives in Oregon, so not right now. But . . . I guess maybe my family's a little weird. But anyway, you're giving away way too much sex. That gangbang in the parking lot, your night as a human toilet, all the other things. You should totally get paid!"

"I don't get it."

"People don't value things they get for free. Free things are disposable. If you give people sex for free, they'll throw you away eventually."

"Most women give away sex for free. Like wives."

"A smart wife makes her husband pay for sex, one way or another. She makes him buy her stuff or give her money, and she makes sure he knows what it is he's buying. Wives, girlfriends, mistresses, whores, they all do the same."

"But what about the men?"

"What do you mean?"

"Paying for sex can't make them happy!"

Casey giggled. "Of course it can, silly! Don't you know men brag to each other about how much they spend on their wives and mistresses, and how much they pay for their whores? They're proud of paying for sex, and the more they pay the happier they are!"

"It doesn't sound right."

"It's nothing but right! Let a man butt-fuck you for free, and before long he'll stop caring about butt-fucking you. Make him give you five hundred dollars and he'll be thrilled he's getting something so valuable. Trust me, sweetie! I've fucked hundreds of men, maybe thousands. I always make them pay . . ."

"Even Randy?"

"Especially Randy, 'cause I like him so much. I always give everybody their money's worth, they never complain, and they never get tired of me."

"Did you ever have a boyfriend?"

"For a few months, before I decided on whoring as a career path. He figured out pretty quick that if he took me to a fancy restaurant or bought me an expensive present I'd let him do whatever he wanted with my body. But if he took me to McDonald's or for a walk in the park, I'd get a headache and have to go home early."

"And he was happy?"

"He was till I dumped him."

"You sure are giving me a lot to think about, Casey."

"I'm glad to hear it. Just remember: if you want to be happy, be expensive."

3. Mickey's Tap

On Friday Dr. Rosenberg seemed even more pissed off than usual. He scowled every time he saw me and didn't say a word. He didn't call me into his office for a fuck either, so I was pretty horny by the end of the day. To make matters worse, Casey was busy - something about a Scoutmasters meeting - and Randy had to get ready for an early court date.

I decided to go out to Mickey's Tap, the place where I'd had my first gangbang the week before. I didn't think I could get away with anything like that again, but at least I could have a few beers and maybe pick somebody up or at least suck off Tony the bartender. I decided on my blue dress, which brought on fond memories of my first gangbang, and I didn't wear any underwear since you never know.

After he brought me my Bud Light, Tony said, "It got back to Mickey about me going outside to fuck you last Thursday. He said if I left the bar untended again he'd fire me."

"I'm sorry I got you in trouble, Tony," I said.

"It's okay," he said. "You were just following your nature. Hey, I've got a lot of work to do." He went off to polish glasses.

I drank my beer and thought about my situation. On this Friday night there were lots of couples in the bar, and I didn't see any likely prospects. I wondered how I was going to get all the way to Saturday night without sex.

I downed my first beer quickly and signaled for a second, which I drank slower. Still, it wasn't long before I had to pee. I got up and made for the ladies' room.

"Hey, Brenda," Tony called. "Where you going?"

"The ladies', Tony. Do I need a hall pass?"

"Sorry, babe. Mickey said the ladies' is off limits for you now. He heard you sucked off some guy in there, and I should physically prevent you going if I had to."

"But Tony!" I said. "I've got to pee!"

"You can go outside. Here, have a napkin."

"Okay," I said, "but this is no way to treat a regular customer."

"Not my call, Brenda," said Tony.

I took the napkin he'd offered and went outside. It was a warm June night, so this wasn't the worst thing in the world. I went around the side of the building, into the shadows, and squatted with my back against the wall. After a beer and a half, it felt really good to pee.

Just as my stream was getting good and strong, Mickey loomed over me and said, "A word with you, Brenda."

"Mickey!" I scolded. "Can't you see this is a private moment?"

Mickey was a big man that had gotten fat and greasy eating his own bar food. "I've got something important to say to you," he wheezed, bending down to watch the pee jet out of me. "I run a respectable business here, and I won't let you turn it into a whorehouse."