Assholes and Our Souls

"You have my word. But ask me politely."

"Please, your honour, please shit on my cunt."

"Oh no, I'm not intending to shit on it. I am going to shit in it. Now ask properly."

"Please shit in my cunt," I gasped, overawed by the depravity of this horrible man and my willingness to bend to his perverted will.

He made me lie on the cold stone floor, then roll onto my shoulders with my back propped against the bench and my legs bent double above me. He removed his robes, his black cap, his judicial wig, and his under clothes and carefully folded them on to the chair. I looked up at his naked body from where I lay on the floor. He stood over me, a giant but skeletal man, his body powerfully built but crookedly formed. His skin was pockmarked, his scalp was bald and covered with sores under the wig. I thought he looked like a corpse that had been reanimated as he stood over me, his yellow toenails by my head.

He took his wrinkled penis in his hand, pulled back the baggy foreskin then with a grunt released a thick, yellow stream of urine down onto my face. He chuckled cruelly as he pissed on me. The warm, smelly liquid splashed over my cheeks and in my eyes and hair, and some of it went in my nostrils, making me cough and splutter. As unpleasant as this was, it was no way near as bad as what followed shortly after.

The villainous magistrate pinched the flaps of my pussy with his fingers, pulling them apart, parting my lips. He put his fingers inside the hole and pulled it open wider. He did this for a few moments until he was satisfied. I felt a great surge of nervous excitement as he pinched and pulled my pussy, no-one had ever handled me in this way before. Then, the perverse judge squatted on top of me, parting his lean bum cheeks and then lining his asshole up with the entrance to my cunt. I felt his wrinkled, puckered anus make contact with my vagina, and he rested his weight on me, so that the two holes were pressed together.

He grunted again, and strained, and I felt a fart blow against my fanny flaps. He strained some more, and I heard his arsehole crackle open and I felt a solid turd crown out of him and press against the entrance of my exposed pussy. He continued grunting slightly for a few moments, forcing the stiff shit out of his arse and guiding it into my open cunt with the fingers of one hand. I felt the hard turd pressing against my slit, and then poking its way in between my pussy lips and sliding into my cunt. I wailed as I felt my twat hole stretching painfully to accommodate this turgid mass of filth.

I had never had anything inserted into that hole before. I had always hoped that the only thing to go in there would be my future husband's penis, but as it was I lost my virginity to a huge pooh. As I felt that enormous, thick turd sliding into me and filling me up I felt a surge of hitherto unknown passion.

The disgusting judge stood up and stepped back from me, admiring the grisly position he had put me in. Half of the knobbly brown turd projected out from in between my cunt flaps, and it was so stiff and solid that it pointed straight up at the ceiling. The revolting man then put his hand on my groin, pulling my pussy open wider, and put the fingers of his other hand onto the protruding portion of the turd, and forced it into my cunt until it was fully inside of me.

As I watched him press the last few inches of the monstrous turd into my cunt with his thumb, and I felt the inside of my pussy being stretched and filled to bursting with the stodgy shit that had been stuffed into it, I felt an immense sensation of tension, a tingling and a jangling of my nerves that started in my vagina and then burst forth to flood through my whole body, overwhelming me with the intensity of the feeling, making me cry out aloud, making my arms and my legs shake uncontrollably, making me shriek with raw emotion. I lost touch with my surroundings for a few moments.

I was brought to my senses by a wet feeling on the side of my face. I was aware I was breathing very hard. I had slumped to the side so I was now led on the cold stone floor and he was stood over me and pissing on my face and hair. I suddenly felt a great spasm in my twat, and the enormous turd was forced out of me, ejected from my poor battered pussy and plopping onto the stone floor.

I lay on the floor, sobbing with shame. He finished pissing on me and sighed with twisted satisfaction.

"What is your name, girl?" he croaked.

"Bethany, your honour. Bethany Sexton."

"Well, Miss Sexton, it is time for you to leave. I have important business to attend to. Put your clothes on and be gone."

I shakily got to my feet, still wet from his urine and my pussy aching from its cruel violation. He had put his robes and wig back on. I quickly dressed. Before I left, I said to him "You will show clemency to Tabitha, won't you?"

"You have my word," he whispered.

I left quickly. I walked to where my carriage was waiting, limping slightly due to the soreness in my pussy, my head swimming from the strength of the orgasm I had recently experienced. When I arrived back at Stanley Hall, I had the servants draw me a warm bath, and I sat in it for forty five minutes, scrubbing myself with a loofah, especially scouring in between my legs. Memories of my degradation and the resulting climax kept coming back to me again and again as I remembered the feeling of that odious monster forcing his shit into me. I lay awake in bed for hours that night, remembering the judge squatting over me and shitting into my cunt.

The next morning I was awakened early. The chamber maid, the valet, and a man in uniform with a walrus moustache who I recognised as Constable Harding were stood around my bed.

"Miss Sexton," said the red faced policeman. "You will have to get dressed and come with me. I am arresting you on suspicion of theft and sexual deviance. Come quietly, in the name of the law."

I was put in handcuffs and taken by carriage to the town jail and put in a small, dark cell with nothing but a bucket.

Later that day, the constable reappeared and I was taken to the court. Judge Jefferson was presiding. He grinned wickedly as he saw me being brought into the dock.

"Is your name Bethany Sexton?" His voice was much louder when he spoke in court, but just as raspy and harsh sounding.

"Yes your honour," I said quietly.

"Bethany Sexton, you are charged with the heinous crimes of theft and sexual deviance. To whit, you unlawfully took from your employer, Lord Stanley, a valuable ruby necklace, and you gave this to the woman with whom you have been conducting an illicit lesbian affair, Tabitha the wet nurse. How do you plead to these two charges?"

"Not guilty, your honour." I was astonished that I was being accused of these things. It was so untrue, such an unfair distortion of the facts.

"The trial will be held on one week from today. You will be held in custody until then, and then found guilty and sentenced to death. Constable, take her away."

I was returned to the same tiny, damp cell. I was fed on bread and water and saw no-one over the next week but the prison warder, and the judge who came to interrogate me and cruelly torment me with talk of my impending execution.

The trial was brief. I maintained my innocence throughout, but the prosecution produced many witnesses to testify against me. Eric and the elder Lord Stanley, Watkins the valet, the constable, all told the jury of my guilt. And most hurtfully of all, Tabitha, the woman I had tried to protect, stood up in court and said she believed that I had stolen the necklace. The most damning piece of evidence of all was the note written in my own hand, the smudged signature appearing to read BS, Bethany Sexton.

Tabitha was convicted of the lesser crime of lesbianism and ordered to be detained in an insane asylum, but I was sentenced to death. The judge put on his black hat, and grinned broadly as he ordered that I should be taken away and hanged. I was returned to my prison cell, I could not sleep that night, I knew I would die in the morning. But I had no regrets. I bewailed my fate, but I knew I had acted with integrity. The next day, I was woken at dawn and led to the gallows that stood in the market square. A crowd of people had gathered to witness my hanging, As the executioner put the noose around my neck, the only remorse I felt was for the poor misguided souls who had wrongly accused me. The executioner covered my face with a hood, so I could not see anything, but I could hear the baying of the crowd as I waited to die. I was scared, but I also felt relief, knowing my suffering would now come to an end.

"What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"Death," said Phoebe. "What's dying like?"

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you that," said Bartram. "There is a blank spot in my memory. I can recall my life as Bethany perfectly, but what happened between her dying and me being born, I cannot say. I have a vague impression of ascent, judgement and rebirth, but the precise details are unclear, it is like a dream that I have woken up from and can't fully remember."

"Well, that's annoying," said Phoebe.

"You will find out for yourself one day, I am sure of that, my dear."

"Oh, thanks," she said sarcastically.

"Phoebe, when are you working next? I must finish my story to you, time is running out. I intend to move on to the next level of existence very shortly."

"Are you dying?" asked Phoebe.

"Not yet. But I intend to," said Bartram.

"I'm in next Tuesday."

"Excellent. Then that will be my last day on this earth. I will spend the afternoon sniffing your asshole, then I will step into the infinite."

"You are a very peculiar man, Bartram."

"Indeed." He did not need to argue with this, it was a truthful observation.

The following Tuesday, Bartram came to the brothel. He had consumed a large quantity of barbiturates shortly before arriving, he was old-fashioned to the very end. He took more pills along with drinking a large bottle of vodka as he sat in the room with Phoebe. He explained that after his rebirth as Bartram, he had always recalled the cruel way he had been treated in his past life as Bethany, and had always made it his intention to achieve full unity with the divine during this life span. He became incoherent and eventually unresponsive, and then he died on the bed in the massage parlour, while Phoebe sat next to him in her bra, smoking a cigarette. Such was the end of Bartram Snargs.

The paramedics and the police were surprisingly understanding about the whole situation. This was not the first elderly gentleman who had been found dead in a brothel. They took his corpse away. Phoebe watched the ambulance drive off, feeling sad that she would not see Bartram again but glad that he had died in the way that he had wanted.

A hundred years later. A bright shining light pours down, the warmth of the sun's rays bringing life and nourishment. The mystery of photosynthesis, the indescribable feeling of light turning into life. The moisture of the cool rain that fell during the darkness of the night is absorbed through the roots that sit deep in nourishing soil. Breathe in, breathe out. Upwards, ever upwards. Inhale, exhale, the slow cycle of respiration. Always growing. The contentment of bearing fruit. A life free from sin. A life of purity. Is this unity with the infinite? Is this oneness with the divine? Or is this just what it feels like to be a cucumber plant?

Phoebus, Blanca, and Katerina are nuns. They have always been nuns, in this lifetime at least, three saucy sisters. Katerina is the eldest nun, and although she does not have any official ecclesiastical authority over the other two younger nuns, she is certainly in charge when it comes to their day-to-day life in the nunnery. As such, when she instructs the delightful young Phoebus to go and fetch a nice large cucumber from the plant that grows in the kitchen garden of the convent one evening, Phoebus duly obeys. Katerina pulls up the skirts of her habit, baring her lusciously curvy behind, and the younger nun, a naughty grin on her face, pushes the cucumber up the bum hole of her senior sister. Enjoying this immensely, the next evening Katerina had both of her sisters fetch a cucumber, and while Phoebus pushes one up her bum, Blanca pushes one up her twat. The three sisters have a lot of fun together, everyone enjoys it very much. Apart from the poor old cucumber plant. Slowly stripped of its fruit, slowly depleted of life to fulfil the sexual whims of a trio of perverted women.