Deviant Mage Pt. 02 - Lanovale

She pushed those troubled thoughts aside, and stood. She'd left a brown smear on the stone wall, like she was a fecal slug. The ox-poo dildo was still in her, and she left it there as she pulled her knickers back on (they squished deliciously between her buttocks and against her filthy cunt). Her enthusiasm to stuff shit down her shirt had stretched and ripped her collar- and she gave it a good yank for good measure to rip it further.

Disappointed though she was in herself that she had lost her nerve, that had still been incredible, and she relished the feelings that came from this latest layer of filth upon her soiled form. She spent a few moments stroking her hands over the her clothes that were totally slick with cow manure, coated inside and out and even between. Every time she moved, she felt the oozing of shit-sticky cloth sliding over her body, gooey with an animal's filth. It was all enough that she rapidly felt herself growing horny again, but she headed off anyway. She just happened to periodically rub at her crotch and walk in a way that encouraged the filth to squish deliciously as she walked.

Now it was off to a much more premeditated bit of filthy hedonism. It was getting dark, and she was getting tired. It had been a very long day. Probably the best day of her life, but still really fucking long. Since she was down in the Lanovale farmland, she had the opportunity to have a very specific type of bed to sleep in.

She continued down the lane, shit-sense active. She could quite plainly see piles of crap through obstacles, and there was a great deal of crap to be seen. She encountered no more dung on the road that was fresh enough to play with, but that didn't stop her from picking up a semi-dry dog turd, which she crumbled over her head and the dry clumps stuck to her sticky hair. However, what she sought most of all was a nice big manure pile.

It wasn't long before she found one. She saw it with her shit-sense, then smelled its fragrance. She practically floated to it, drawn to it like a perverted fly, shit-filled pussy leaking tainted juices with how wet she was in anticipation of fulfilling another of her dirty fantasies. The dung heap she had chosen was near a large farm that she presumed to be a dairy, but there was also something to do with horses nearby, so the manure pile was probably a mixture. The only thing fencing the farmyard off was a low dry-stone wall. The gate wasn't even locked.

She approached the big steaming pile of shit, feeling giddy, even though this was hardly the craziest thing she had done today. She went to the side of the crap-heap facing away from the farmhouse. She set aside her knapsack, then dove gleefully into the crap.

Well, she tried to dive into it. It proved more solid than she expected, and so her dive wound up being a face-plant into the soft, damp, slightly warm manure. Aged as most of the pile was, it didn't appreciably respond to her mental command that it be softer. Still, what a thing to fall into face-first!

She wiggled in the pile, then flipped over, and the damp dust of old dry shit stuck to the fresh stuff coating her. She went in search of the ooziest part of the pile and found it immediately, as though she'd always known about it. She guessed that her shit-sense had told her that subconsciously somehow. She stuffed handful after handful of the manure into her knickers until they were stuffed completely with dung, and then she ground her shitty crotch against a dryer patch of the dung, letting the muck in her knickers squish about delightfully over her pussy and ass. Hastily, she stripped the rest of her dress off so that she could feel the lovely dung against as much of her skin as possible. The crusty garment stuck to her slightly as she removed it, and further tearing could be heard.

She rolled in the filth, taking handful after handful of it and slapping it onto her flesh, even though no part of her could possibly get more befouled. Mashed the mess onto her already filthy face and into her already shit-saturated hair. She got some in her mouth and her first reaction was to spit it out, but then she felt foolish for having done so, and then deliberately took a nibble of some of the fresher dung. It tasted as awful as she predicted, she spat it out onto herself, but was quite content to leave the inside of her mouth tasting like dung. She kicked off her shoes and peeled off her stockings, then coated her legs and feet in shit, enjoying the feeling of manure between her toes. Every part of her had already been liberally coated in a mixture of manure and drying sewage- it was going to be her default state from now on to be this filthy, or better.

Eagerly, she plunged her hand down into the shit-filled knickers, into her filthy cunt, and her fingers sank into cow shit. She pulled her knickers down and, straining with unfamiliar muscles, she expelled the pussy turd. She took a bite out of it, chewed it a little before spitting it out (she could taste her own very female flavour mixed with the crap) and then smeared the rest of it onto her face.

Then she started filling herself up with this mixture of new and old shit from probably dozens of animals. Once her cunt was full again, she plunged her fingers in, stroking at her G-spot, feeling her pussy stretch as her fingers displaced the dung. Gods, it felt incredible to be this utterly, revoltingly nasty. Luxuriating in filth, feeling its moist and vaguely warm caress upon her crusty skin and its clumpy, fibrous, oozy texture on her insides. She felt more intimate with crap than anyone else ever would dare try. It felt incredible, even better than she had imagined it would when she'd fantasized.

Her orgasm wasn't so intense as some of the others she'd had recently, but that was because today she'd had some damn good orgasms. In the afterglow, she felt like she was melting into the pile. Her body steamed slightly in the cold night's air, just like the pile itself, as she lay there, panting, grinning tiredly.

She went to her discarded dress and stockings, and pulled them on over her coating of muck and manure-filled knickers. Lying there, as the afterglow wore off but the sense of utterly soiled satisfaction lasted, she tiredly regarded the pile of dung with her shit-sense. Wanting little more than to just drift off to sleep after her long-ass day, she reluctantly brought her attention to the task of using her coprokinesis to bury herself in the dung. Her concentration kept slipping from fatigue.

She basically made a cave in the side of the manure pile, crawled into it, and then let it collapse with her head sticking out. There was a warmth emanating from the manure pile, which more than offset the foul pile's dampness. The warmth that soaked into her tired befouled flesh felt like it was some sort of corruption seeping into her from the muck around her, and she embraced it. This, right here, was everything she had ever wanted.

And she would fight tooth and nail to keep it.

She drifted off to sleep, one hand stuffed down her knickers, undoubtedly to dream dirty, dirty dreams that would nevertheless pale before reality.

***

It was early morning. The filthy young woman once known as 'Lyran' was lying half-buried in the dung, sound asleep. She had always been a restless sleeper, and had worked her way partially out of the pile as she'd slept- now she was on her side; her left arm and most of her left leg were exposed. Without waking, she had piled more shit up onto her exposed arm and side to protect them from the cold morning air, like she was adjusting blankets in her sleep. Occasionally, her leg would twitch, or her fingers would flex.

And then, abruptly, mid-snore, her eyes opened, and she inhaled sharply through her nose and started to scramble up into a seating position (manure sloughed off of her as she did this), and it was only then that she realized that she had just woken up in a dung heap rather than her old bed, and that this was not Castle Lan, and it didn't matter at all if she slept in or not. No one was going to shake her awake and shout at her for being wickedly slothful and undeserving of breakfast. Never again!

She flopped back into the muck, feeling perhaps the deepest relief she had ever felt. Some details of her new life were taking their time to really sink in.

Of course, her former family was going to do their best to steal this life she'd just gained...

The sun wasn't yet up, but the sky had brightened enough that its light had woken her. She jammed her eyes closed, wiggled her way back into the pile of shit and half-heartedly pulled armfuls of the stuff down onto her; it was soft and warm and revolting and it just felt so right for her to be luxuriating in this filth.

She tried to go back to sleep. She was still tired, but actual sleep escaped her, and her thoughts wandered in a state that wasn't quite full consciousness. A lot of those thoughts were dirty- how could they not be? She ground her thighs together, feeling the dung she'd packed into her knickers. She started to play with her shit-filled cunt, plunging her fingers through the sludgy animal crap that had been inside her all night. She marveled in how she'd been literally buried in dung, the whole time she slept.

She felt slightly damp, sticky and warm, and she could feel the texture of the excrement on her skin every time she moved. That feeling, her mucky cunt, shit-stuffed knickers, the moist clumpy shit between her legs, and the flaky crustiness of other parts of her skin, combined into the general feeling that she could possibly get any filthier than this, and that it all felt amazing.

She savoured the miasma of manure-stench she breathed in, in which she caught a hint of her own powerful foot odor. One of her stockinged feet still protruded slightly from the manure. She hadn't changed those stockings in over a year (their soles were a mass of overlapping darning). They had already been crusty with her feets' various excretions before their dousing in sewage yesterday, so dirty that very little of the sewage had soaked in; their powerful foot-smell merely spiced with excrement.

She grinned at the idea that, in some ways, she out-stank a manure pile, and she orgasmed soon after, moaning softly.

Nice though it was to lie there, enjoying the afterglow, luxuriating in the foulest of squalor, sleep did not find her again.

Twenty minutes of that passed before it felt too much like she was wasting her precious time. She felt like she needed to get up sometime soon, but it felt just so good to ignore that voice of 'need'. She'd get up when she was good and ready, or when someone chased her out of here. She liked it in here, and wanted to stay. It was warm. It was safe. Surely, nothing bad could happen to her while she was buried comfortably in the substance that she had unholy supernatural control over.

Unholy? No, from what she had experienced of it so far, the power she had over shit didn't really feel all that unholy. 'Unholiness' was something pretty specific in every instance of it being mentioned; something against the designs of their benevolent God. Witchcraft was regarded as unholy because supposedly it could only be the work of dark foreign Gods who granted that power in exchange for horrible things. Gods she didn't even know the names of.

She'd never asked anyone, or anything for this power. It never would have even occurred to her that she could have it.

Her ability to... banish diseases?- had come to her in a moment of need almost a decade ago, and she supposed that demanding of the disease that it stop was a request of sorts, but it had really just been a tantrum from a child. She'd noticed odd things after that and had never gotten sick again, but she was fairly sure that everything had been normal before that day (hazy though her memories of such a young age were).

Thinking back, she was pretty sure that she had never noticed anything odd to do with excrement until after her... adventures and self-discovery when she was fourteen. That obviously wasn't a coincidence, but what did it mean? She didn't know. There were so many things she didn't know.

If she was keep to be lounging in this lovely manure, she might as well make that time productive, and mess around with her newfound power some more. She still felt so clumsy when she used it, and there were obviously things about it she just hadn't had the opportunity to mess around with before. Like that other supernatural sense she had.

Her shit-sense had not been active before, but just thinking about that sense was enough to activate it, and an incomplete picture of the world filled the darkness behind her eyelids. She saw the shit surrounding her, burying her body. Saw the shit that saturated her hair and clothing as vaguely fuzzy. She willed that her surroundings be transparent, and so they became. She could see the outside surface of the manure pile from her perspective within it. It was very odd.

This also meant that she could see voids in the dung created by objects other than just her. She saw dung beetles, worms, a few good-sized stones, and her shoes and knapsack, which she had hidden by burying them in crap, except she couldn't actually see those objects except as negative space. Her knapsack was wrapped in the oiled cloth raincoat, another layer between the damp dung and the things she'd really prefer not get wet. Beyond the dung heap, she could see splotches of chicken poop, horse crap, and what she presumed was a dog turd, visible through the dung pile like it was a less substantial than smoke.

She attempted to bring about that seconds sense again. The one that created that weird technicolour. It kept coming up by accident when she was focusing especially hard on doing something fiddly with coprokinesis (that whole ordeal with Umtieone's lock had been rendered even more annoying because of it), but it was surprisingly difficult to bring it up on purpose.

Whatever it was, it had a much, much shorter range to it than her shit-sense; maybe a pace and-a-half. All of the dung within that range was lit up with technicolour. So was her body- her skin, rags and hair were an especially intense technicolour. But she could also see inside her body with this sense. This showed splotches of colour in all kinds of places, and she wasn't quite sure what that meant yet.

What was particularly interesting was how the earth under the manure pile was actually fuzzy with that technicolour splotchiness too. She was able- after some concentration and trying to will various things to happen without being entirely certain what she even wanted- to make this other sense activate independently of her shit-sense, which made it easier to see the colourful splotchiness around her.

She crawled out of the shit-pile (after glancing around with her mundane vision). Manure sloughed off her. She closed her eyes, only her second supernatural sense active. In the darkness behind her eyelids, in addition to her own form, was a fuzzy hemisphere of the ground under her, rendered in weird, faint, overlapping colours. Every footprint she left was a brighter splotch. She went over to the barn, and saw a faint haze on the surface of the barn's stone foundation, and a denser haze on the wooden wall. She saw patches that were denser with colour, and opened her eyes. Those areas of the wood were obviously starting to rot.

Finally, it sunk in what this second supernatural sense was. She could see germs. And there were germs everywhere.

And now, it appeared that she was up and about, despite her laziness. Dang it.

She went to get her journal, and wrote down what she'd discovered. She made a stand for her journal out of telekinetically molded crap that she hadn't actually solidified, and tried to keep it together while she wrote. Her concentration on the shape she wanted the stand to maintain kept wavering as she wrote, and her book kept dropping, and she made almost ten attempts before she gave up and just solidified it. It was getting late in the morning, and she very much did remember her goal to check out the fair today.

'Note to self: continue this exercise until you master it. It seems the sort of thing that might teach you subconscious control. Unless you're an idiot' she finished writing in her journal. She'd either be an idiot because the very thing she attempted was impossible, or an idiot because she lacked the will to do it properly.

She packed her journal, ink and pen away. It was distressing, just how much of the ink that her page and a half of cramped notes had consumed. She needed to find more, or maybe figure out how to make it.

Maybe that was what she would steal from the fair.

***

As she headed to the fairground, Lanovale's nigh-perpetual autumn rain intensified. A steady drizzle had fallen from the sky since she had awoken, but now it was proper rain, the drops large enough to appreciably splash upon hitting the ground. Notably, though, the lanes barely had any puddles, and the drainage ditches, though fast-flowing, ran clear. Lanovale had been built to deal with wet weather.

She was wearing her cloak now, both to disguise herself and to keep the rain from washing her. It shed most of the rain, though she still felt dampness seep in. She didn't mind the damp- the effort of her walk was keeping her warm, and the encroaching dampness was keeping patches of the crusty filth on her body moist while sweat moistened others, though a lot of the crap on her had dried enough that it was getting flaky again. It fascinated her a little, to witness with all her senses how the shit she'd plastered all over her body behaved.

The massive quantity of manure she'd stuffed in her knickers did not stay there for long as she walked. It was crumbly, and not terribly sticky. With each footstep, some of it fell out. It seemed that it was her thing now, to be so revolting that she left a trail of filth in her wake, and that thought added itself to the procession of dirty thoughts in her head. She'd barely made it half a mile before what was left in her knickers was nothing but a few flecks. The manure she'd stuffed up into her cunt steadily worked its way out as she walked, too. She was content to let it. Her shit-saturated hair was kept damp by the rain despite her hood, and dribbles of sludgy brown rainwater poured down her face.

Anyone who happened to get a good look at the filthy girl would know instantly that she was utterly slathered in crap, although her cloak's hood made getting a good look at her difficult. She only encountered five people as she walked, and they didn't pay her much mind.

She reached the fairground, and found the place to be surprisingly busy, given the current downpour. But of course, this was just normal autumn weather to the people of Lanovale. It clearly wasn't normal for the merchants, because every foreign face (either too pale or too dark) she saw outside the cover of their tents wore some variation of a miserably resigned expression, while the Lanofolk barely even noticed.

There were serfs here, though not many; they would have needed permission to come to the fair, and the only ones who would have gotten that permission were family groups that had done well this harvest and had earned special privileges (needed to keep them motivated somehow!) They tended to cluster in damp stinky groups that other fair-goers avoided, and not just because of the smell.

Many of them, especially the younger serfs, had an artfulness to their dirty appearance. Many had piercings plugged with jewelry fashioned of wood or common stone, some had beads in deliberately matted hair (copper being prevalent), most wore rags only repaired when absolutely necessary and with threads and patches that contrasted. The majority favoured dusty blacks and stained browns, but some wore brightly colored items dulled by dirt.