The following story contains the play and consumption of bodily wastes including urine and feces as well as BDSM between two women. Despite some suggestive portions, all acts are consensual between the characters. If these topics do not interest you, please do not read further or rate this story poorly because of its contents. If these do interest you, I hope you enjoy the story. Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated!
All characters are fictional and over the age of 18.
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Hello, my name is April and I am what some people may call a sexual deviant. Currently 29, I have spent my fair share of time enjoying the human body. I am fortunate enough to be attracted to both men and women, giving me a wide spread of suitable partners. Women have always been my preference, however. The feminine form is one of the most sexually arousing things out there if you ask me. Men have their uses, but only a girl can fuck you right and my perfect body means they rarely resist. I realize that I sound slightly full of myself, but I always thought that loving yourself is important.
I was an early bloomer and my breasts are now at a full D cup. Not only that, they are the perfect shape (at least in my not so humble opinion). Perfectly round and perky, they are second only to my amazing ass! That’s the real showstopper; round, juicy, plump; all words my various partners have used. Other than that, I have a cute face and blonde hair that is naturally wavy and falls to roughly the center of my back. All in all, I certainly attract some attention (and sex!). As much as I have sex, however, I find nothing truly satisfies me. This is because my kinkiest fetishes are not appreciated by most.
I can’t pin down where exactly my fetish came from (of course, most people can’t), but going through puberty left me with a deep, dirty desire for bodily wastes. Yes, I am talking about shit and piss. It was the smell that got me first; the rich stink of digested food always gets my pussy wet. It was only a matter of time before I started touching, smearing, and even tasting. I also learned about porn fairly early on, but it wasn’t until college when I moved out and got my own laptop that I really delved deep into the world of scat.
It is my complete lack of sexual partners interested in scat that has brought me to where I am today. After spending years exploring my own waste, I have all but run out of ideas and new situations. Even my secret fetish has become boring. It was a need for a sexual partner interested in waste and filth that led me to my favorite place for depravity; the internet. Rather than browsing videos, however, I took to a few forums I had been bookmarking over the past couple of months.
Not surprisingly, men always seem to be at the forefront of the scat community. I have contemplated trying scat play with a man a couple of times, but it seems every time I reach out, they want me to shit on them and not the other way around. I usually end communication after they refuse to waver; it’s hardly worth it if I’m not going to be having any fun. Of the couple women I found, they either lived too far away or were new to the community and not interested in trying anything serious. Some of them have become what I guess you could call friends and I still talk to them on occasion.
After a year of nothing though, my desperation for a female scat partner eventually led me to the darker parts of forums. BDSM and torture quickly overwhelmed the posts. It was in one of these subcategories that I found the first promising post for months. Overall, it was surprisingly brief. Just the simple message: “Looking for scat slave. Must be young, female, and up for anything.”
Without any experience as a scat slave and only some BDSM play in my past, the ‘being up for anything part’ was more than a little nerve-wracking. Still, the pros far outweighed the cons and I decided to bite the bullet. After some back and forth communication between me and who I soon found out was a woman named Denice, I found myself on the steps of a stunning mansion in the secluded countryside of Thatcher County.
I parked my car exactly as I was directed in the final message from Denice; a vacant space under an open garage next to a beat-up, red sedan. I took my time walking to the front door enjoying the wooded scenery and imposing architecture of the house. It was certainly nicer than anything I had ever lived in and dwarfed my tiny apartment in the city. There was something about it that really spoke to me; perhaps the size or maybe just its location far away from other people. Although, being secluded would certainly make satisfying my sexual needs difficult. It seemed Denice was making do though; I was here after all.
It was only when I rang the doorbell that the brevity of my situation settled in. Becoming the slave to a mystery woman in her mansion miles from another human? ataşehir escort bayan What could go wrong? I guess I could still leave, but it would only be a matter of time before I agreed to something worse in a backward attempt to satisfy myself.
“Yes?” the door swung open.
The woman behind it was older, certainly more so than me. The wrinkles on her forehead and few strands of grey peppered her shiny, shoulder-length black hair proved that. Still, I wouldn’t put her over 50 and she certainly looked good for her age; whatever it was. Her height only furthered her beauty; towering over me at a height slightly below six feet.
The black dress she was wearing certainly highlighted her athletic build, showing off her curves and thin body. In fact, she was incredibly fit; her arms looked far more muscular than most women I knew. It suited her well though; she didn’t look like some sort of roided out monster at least.
“I’m sorry, but I’m much too busy to stand here saying nothing. Have a good day,” she said before closing the door.
“Wait!” my body acted before my brain, moving my foot in the way of the door to prevent it from slamming, “I’m here to see Denice.”
“Well, you’re looking at her. Now, what do you need?” she asked while studying me.
I couldn’t believe that this older woman was Denice; I was expecting someone around my age, maybe slightly older. There wasn’t time to think about that now, however, especially not with my feet on the line. “I uh… I came about the post online,” I stuttered.
Looking my body over, Denice let out a breath before turning back inside. “Why didn’t you say so? Please come in,” she ordered.
It felt wrong, going into a stranger’s house. I did sign up for this though. Well, maybe not this exactly, but it was the best I was going to get for now, so I followed the muscular woman through the front door. With a look from Denice, I realized that I forgot to close the door and quickly scurried to fix my mistake before moving deeper into the bowels of her house.
As we walked by each room, I got a better idea of the woman to who I was submitting myself. Surprisingly, the interior seemed fairly modern; most rooms were painted white and were brightly lit. For whatever reason, it calmed my nerves slightly. I didn’t get much time to browse, however, as Denice walked through her halls quickly, eventually coming to an open door and leading me inside.
From the bookcases lining the walls and desk central in the room, I deduced that this was some sort of office or library. Determining its exact purpose was irrelevant, however, and a heated glance from Denice directed me to sit in the chair in front of the desk. She, on the other hand, sat rather comfortably in the large, leather desk chair situated on the other side of the wooden slab. She slid the drawer to her right open with grace and sorted through its contents, pulling out a tan folder thick with paper.
“April, right?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied. Satisfied, she pulled two papers from the folder and spun the first round, sliding it in front of me. The paper was a contract, of sorts. I won’t go into detail, but generally, it stated that I was her property for the next week. I had agreed to that in messages prior, but it still shook me. This was much more formal than I was initially expecting, but I guess it made sense considering the situation we were in.
There were also a few bits about how heavy scat play would be involved and I was not to complain; not that I was going to. After all, that was the only reason I was here. The rest was run of the mill legal stuff; agreeing I’m doing this on my own free will, that I’m not a criminal, that I have no STD’s, etc. The final line was perhaps the most surprising of the entire document; I would not be given a room but rather a “prison” as it was stated on the paper.
“What do you mean by prison?” I asked.
Denice sighed, looking me dead in the eyes as she spoke, “When I have a slave, I don’t like keeping them in a regular bedroom. It ruins the experience in my opinion. When you are here, you are my property. I have, therefore, crafted a special, shall we say, bondage set up in my basement. If you need to see it before we start, that can be considered. Actually, this is as good of a time as any to ask; have you participated in bondage before?”
I felt slightly uncomfortable to admit what I had and hadn’t done in the bedroom but, to be fair, I would likely be doing worse with Denice shortly. “I haven’t done much, but one of my girlfriends liked it a lot. She would tie me up or handcuff me and would occasionally use a whip. There was also a paddle that she liked spanking me with.”
I thought back to those days; almost ten years ago now. My girlfriend at the time was named Taylor although she always went by Tay. We met at a lesbian bar one night and I was stricken. Much like Denice, Tay was muscular although she was covered in escort kadıöy tattoos and often shaved her head. Tay was also one tough, kinky bitch. She loved BDSM and turning me into her sub. I really loved it too; the way she took care of me was often painful but also full of unconditional love. Unfortunately, we drifted apart over time and eventually broke up.
“You liked being treated like this?” Denice interrupted my train of thought.
“Yes, I did,” I admitted, “I liked how she made me feel special and how she took care of me. I also really liked when things would get rough; the feeling of helplessness is maybe my favorite part. Of course, something about pain also… excites me.”
“It sounds like we will be a good match,” Denice stated, “Now, back to the matter at hand; do you want to see the prison?”
“No,” I replied simply.
Agreeing to all the terms, I just needed a pen to sign. Before I could ask, however, Denice tossed a pen in front of me without looking up from the camera that she appeared to be setting up. Nowhere in the contract did it say that I agreed to her filming or photographing me, so the camera confused me slightly. That was until Denice began her interrogation.
“I’m filming this for legal reasons,” she said as if reading my mind, “What is your name?”
She looked up, slightly annoyed, “Yes, I know that. I need your last name too.”
I swallowed, my palms getting sweaty as I moved my hands to my lap, “April Mayland.” She said nothing, writing down presumably my name on a pad of paper that was in her lap. It was a strange feeling; I was slightly afraid of Denice’s very intense aura, but her commanding attitude and tone were enough to make me very aroused. Perhaps it was the lack of control that was doing it for me.
“Age, height, weight.”
“29, 5’4″, and… uh…” I swallowed again, trying desperately not to freak out.
“Weight!” she repeated, scribbling something down in her notes.
I could tell she was starting to get pissed off now and, for some reason, I could feel the gusset of panties begin to get wet. “I… I don’t know my weight mam. It’s been a while since I measured… It’s not-“
She let out a long sigh, “Just take a guess,” she muttered.
“Uhm, I guess 130 pounds.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard,” she gestured, her tone slightly mocking, “I see that you have signed the document placed before you. That means you legally have agreed to everything that I will be doing with and to you these coming five days. Now, I am going to read out a list of rules. Upon listening and agreeing to them we will begin your treatment. Is that understood?”
The word treatment struck me as cold and rattled me slightly. It sounded as if I was sick and Denice was going to perform an operation on me. All things considered, maybe I am sick. After all, I agreed to whatever the hell this is. “Yes, I understand.”
Not one to doddle, Denice began reading off the second page pulled from my file. “Rule one: From this moment forward you are to address me only as Miss D. Rule two: If I want you to do something, you’re going to do it. Any complaints and you will be punished. Rule three: You are my toilet. You will eat my shit and drink my piss and you will enjoy it. Rule four: when you are under my roof you are to be naked. Rule five: I will be rough with you; physical pain and torment will be a common focus in your time with me. You can not object to this.”
“The sixth and final rule:” Denice continued, either not noticing my discomfort after rule 5 or simply not caring, “You get a safe word. If you say that safe word, I will be forced to stop whatever it is I’m doing to you. Don’t think of this as a way to control, however. If the safe word is used, I will remove you from the premises. This is a very difficult experience that many people can’t handle. I’m not willing to waste my time on someone who can’t handle my treatment.” Denice looked up for the first time since starting reading, “Do you, April Mayland agree to these rules and the terms you have signed off on?”
Swallowing, I gained the courage to answer, “Yes.” I felt like I was going to come to regret this, but I did have the safe word. Worst case scenario she kicked me out after I couldn’t cut it which would be slightly disappointing but not the end of the world.
“Great,” she feigned the most disinterested smile I had ever witnessed, “What is your safe word?”
“Red?” I replied meekly.
“Is that a question or an answer?”
Terrified not to piss her off, I kept a steady and concise response, “Red.”
“Interview done.” She switched off the camera and gathered the papers on her desk, putting them in a pile and slipping them back into my file. Putting the folder in her desk drawer, she stood up. Her gaze soon fell on me and I realized she wanted me to stand so I did. When she continued to stand motionless behind her desk, however, I couldn’t figure out what maltepe escort she wanted.
With each passing second, I could feel my nerves rise and I was soon cautiously holding onto the corner of the desk with one hand in an attempt to keep my legs from giving out. Her cold, hateful stare penetrated my soul and we must have stood there for at least three minutes before Denice finally moved. Leaning over her desk towards me, I moved my head closer until her mouth was inches from my ear.
“CLOTHES!” she screamed into my ear, causing me to jump and stumble backward. My ear was ringing, and I could feel tears on verge of escaping my eyes. Denice wasn’t exactly warm before, but she seemed generally respectful. After agreeing to her terms and rules, however, there was a clear change in her attitude. I noticed her standing up much straighter now, too, as if that was even possible. What this told me was that, in some way, Miss D was more of a character that Denice put on than her true self. I found this idea strangely comforting and it let me slowly begin to sink deeper into the submissive role myself.
With shaky hands, I pulled my shirt over my head and undid the button on my jeans. Pulling them to the floor along with my panties, I handed the pile of clothes to Denice. Struggling slightly, I unhooked my bra and added that to the pile; at least tits had some relief. I kicked off my sandals, bending over to pick them up before placing them in Denice’s outstretched hand.
“Will you look at this,” Denice smirked, moving my bra to the side of the pile. She grabbed my baby blue panties and turned them inside out and holding them up for me to see. “What’s this on here?” she asked pointing to a thick sheen that coated their crotch.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Hmph,” she tossed them back into the pile and opened the drawer on the left side of her desk, dropping my stack of clothes inside. My shoes were jammed in on top before the drawer was slammed shut and Denice grabbed a small, bronze key from a dish sitting on the desk. “When you first came in I could tell you weren’t well versed on the whole master/salve front,” she stated simply, “Based on your underwear I can see that you do, in fact, have some interest in this. That is good.”
She looked deep into my eyes, “I assume you have realized your earlier mistake? You know, the reason why I yelled?” she asked while sliding the key into the drawer and twisting it in the keyhole. My clothes and shoes were now locked away and the only key I knew of was tossed back where she grabbed it from. “Which rule did you forget?”
“Um… rule five?” I guessed.
“Wrong! Answer!” Each word was accentuated with a hard slap across my face. “You forgot rule number four,” she slapped my face a third time, before winding up and landing the hardest slap yet directly on my clit. “And that is forgetting rule number one!” she boomed, “There is a right way to address me and that certainly wasn’t it.”
The sudden impact on my clit sent me reeling, my legs giving out and sending me tumbling to the floor. Getting in the fetal position, I tried the best I could to cover my other sensitive areas from another assault. The slap was more surprising than it was painful, and it took me a second to regain my composure.
Not one to waste time, I soon felt Denice grab my hair and violently pull, bringing me to my feet. “I better not see tears on that face, I expect my slaves to be strong,” she stated bluntly. The submissive side of me wanted to cry just to get another slap from her muscly hands; another hit on my sensitive slit. I squeezed my thighs at the thought; Denice really knew how to get me going. “I can see you squeezing,” she broke me from thought, “I knew you were a little slut; only freaks get off on pain.”
Denice led me via my hair, and I struggled to keep up with her long stride which resulted in it being tugged more than once. The distance was short, however, as we came to a door at the end of the hallway. She violently pushed me into the solid wood, my hands only barely stopping me from bashing my head. I understood what I was to do though, and I opened the door, Denice flicking the light switch beside my head. The site of stairs leading downward surprised me and the raw two-by-four pricked by bare feet as I took the first step down.
“Hurry up!” Denice shouted, pushing my back. If I didn’t have fast reflexes, I surely would have toppled down the rest of the stairs, but I, fortunately, braced myself on the rickety banister before falling. “Walk faster or the next push will send you face-first down these fucking stairs,” Denice nudged me again. My heart was now in my throat as I obliged, quickly walking down the remaining stairs and it certainly didn’t move from there when I saw where I had been led.
The room was like a dungeon; solid concrete walls and floors. The single bulb hanging from the ceiling illuminated the drab space and was in fact the only source of light thanks to the lack of windows. There was a thick musk and dampness to the room, and I could feel goosebumps forming on my naked body from the chill. What was most shocking, however, was what laid in the middle of the room; a plexiglass box with a toilet seat and lid on top.