Spencer's Transformation

I looked up at the camera. "My name is Spencer," I said. "I am a slave. My Mistress has allowed me to eat her shit." Then I stuck my face in the bowl and began to eat.

As before, it took a couple of morsels before the full scent and flavor clogged my head, driving out everything else. As when I'd been filmed eating from a bowl on the floor before, I chewed with my mouth open, eating like a pig. I took the biggest morsels I could, taking substantial bites into my mouth to get through it quickly, but I was under orders to chew it up thoroughly instead of bolting it down while trying not to breathe. As before, the feeling of degradation and defilement was amazing and arousing, but the steadily worsening taste was so foul it damped my sexual excitement right down. I felt brown reeking liquid mixed from the little spit in my dry mouth and the shit run down my chin.

I was halfway though the stool when I felt my gorge begin to rise. I ignored it and sucked another huge dollop of shit into my mouth. As I chewed I felt my throat clenching up. It was like a fist inside my chest, and the next mouthful went down as painfully as gravel and broken glass.

After that, it got worse. When I finally managed to get the last lump down my throat and stuck my tongue out to lick the bowl I felt ridiculously proud of this pathetic, worthless achievement. I could feel everything between my mouth and my stomach convulsing and clenching. I tried to control myself and hide it, and looked back up at the camera. "I am a pathetic shit eating sissy slave," I said, "and I thank my owner for her gracious bounty."

The camera beeped as Mistress stopped recording and lowered it. She smiled down at me and took a couple of still photos of my shit smeared face. "Mouth open," she said. I opened my moth and extended my stained tongue. The camera clicked again, then Mistress giggled and took a few steps backwards as my ability to control my stomach slipped away. I felt shitty vomit run down my nostrils without seeming to pass through my mouth first, then I abandoned the struggle to control my gorge and projectile vomited. It tasted even worse coming back up, and I was dry heaving for a long time afterwards. When I was finished, Mistress took a photo of the aftermath. I couldn't read her expression. If I'd looked foul before, I was sure I looked even worse now. My hair had come loose and was all over the pace, full of shit and vomit.

"Not bad," she said, "for a first attempt. You're going to be even more dehydrated than you were before starting after that. Clean this up and use the hose to clean yourself off as well. I'll let the lapse in your cosmetics go unpunished this time. Rinse your mouth out as well, and I'll get you a nice bowl of milk ready. You can probably get that down, and it'll buck you up a bit. After starving all day, the liquid fat and protein in milk will be a bit fortifying. You look rather shaky."

"Thank you, Mistress," I said. My throat felt raw and my voice sounded wrong.

"Think nothing of it," Mistress said. "A sick slave isn't a lot of use to me, after all."

She turned and walked back into the house.

***

I wasn't just biting my lip over the way the aneros probe felt inside me. Mistress was having problems finding my prostate with the hard acrylic plug that was designed to stimulate it, and I knew that I'd really regret smirking or snickering. It did feel god inside me, and when it connected with my prostate it felt incredible, but a lot of the time it was nowhere near it. I had an idea that milking me was going to take a stupidly long time, but hopefully once she'd mastered the technique, Mistress would be able to speed up, and have me spurting in three or four minutes like some of the Dommes I'd seen milking chastity subs in internet videos.

Mistress was wearing leggings and a sports bra, along with the pair of latex dentist's gloves she'd put on to lubricate my anus. I was wearing my chastity cage and a slave collar, and was on all fours with my bottom raised a little and a saucer under my imprisoned penis. I wasn't even oozing yet, and I could tell Mistress was running out of patience. The aneros had a shaped shaft curved in what was supposed to be exactly the right way to connect its tip with a prostate when it went up a male anus, and even had finger slots molded into its base to encourage holding it at the right angle. It was still missing my prostate with a lot more thrusts than connected, and I was starting to wonder if the first apocalyptic anal fucking had given me with that huge dildo the day after she locked me in chastity had damaged my prostate. Of course, if it had, I wouldn't have been able to come during my anal training.

"Anything, slave?" Mistress said. I skipped a beat before answering. This was something I needed to be very tactful about.

"It's not hitting my prostate very often, Mistress," I said. "I can feel it when it does, but only every four or five thrusts."

"Four or five?"

"Or three or four."

"I'm sure I'm supposed to be thrusting, even if just finding your prostate and wiggling might work better," Mistress said. She sighed. "Maybe I'm using too much lube. Is that it there?"

"No, Mistress," I said, then "Yes! There, Mistress!" as she adjusted it. She did try nudging and moving the aneros slightly to stimulate my prostate, but while the shifting pressure felt great, it didn't do anything.

"I wonder," Mistress said, "whether this wouldn't work better if it was a vibrating dildo and this thing is just a useless non working copy of a proper aneros that shivers?"

"I don't know, Mistress," I said. The notion of something inside me vibrating where the tip of the aneros was, instead of just rubbing gently as Mistress rotated its tip was definitely an intriguing one.

"Maybe the problem is that you've had an analgasm recently and your prostate just isn't full enough to drain properly, even if this thing is hitting the right spot the right way?" Mistress said.

"Perhaps, Mistress," I said. "I honestly don't know."

"Well, whatever the case is," Mistress said, "I've had it with this silly thing." She withdrew the aneros with a pop and dropped it. "Let's try something else instead." I heard the tube of lubricant jelly click open, and rubber squeaks and a squish as she lubricated her fingers instead. "Hold still, slave."

Her fingers slipping up inside me felt good. I felt something brush against my prostate. "Is that it, slave?" she said.

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

"You like that, don't you, faggot?" Mistress said. "Maybe I should shove my whole fist up your ass and punch your prostate for you. Think Earl would still pay to butt-fuck you if your ass is loose enough for me to do that?"

"Yes, Mistress, I like that. No, Mistress, I'm sure he wouldn't."

Mistress' fingers slipped deeper. I could feel the two that weren't in my anus between my buttocks. The first two fingers of her hand gently circled, squeezed and prodded at my prostate and I gasped.

"Such a nasty slutty fag," Mistress said. "Such a hungry hole."

I moaned. Mistress shifted her fingers a little, and suddenly she found the right spot, or the right technique, and my prostate began to drain.

It felt more I was urinating very slowly than ejaculating. I could feel the seminal fluid moving from the swollen bud in my anus through my balls and down my penis. It itched all the way, in a way that was more pleasant than uncomfortable and I moaned. The longer it went on for, the more unsatisfying it felt, even if it was soothing the ache in my balls. I don't think anything had ever come out of my penis as slowly as that discharge was draining. Too quick and too much of it to call an ooze, but not flowing fast enough to call a stream or a flow. A dribble, perhaps, I thought.

"Does that feel good, slave?" Mistress said. She withdrew her fingers. My penis kept dripping.

"Yes, Mistress," I said. "Nothing like an orgasm, but very pleasant."

"Good," she said. "Now I've worked out how to milk your prostate, with this and analgasms there's no reason for you to ever come out of chastity again, is there?"

"No, Mistress," I said.

"Of course, I'll change your cage from time to time and maybe take it off to check it's not chafing or causing sores, but that's just a cosmetic thing, isn't it? Maybe remove it once a week so you can shower without it. I might put some manacles in the bathroom to I can cuff your hands over your head so you can't touch it."

I shivered at the thought. Mistress' latex gloved fingers touched my balls. "Just look at that. They're getting pink again as I watch. That's amazing. Of course, I think that purplish blue they'd gone was a good look for them. I wonder if I could get a latex dress in that color?"

My penis stopped dribbling. "All done?" Mistress said.

"I think so, Mistress," I said. I felt her fingers slide up inside me and tease my prostate again.

"Let's just double check it's fully drained." She manipulated, poked, stroked and gently pinched it for a whole five minutes, without prompting another discharge. It felt a little uncomfortable her doing it now it been drained. "I think it has shrank a little, so I guess you're good." Her fingers slid out of me with a pop, and she stripped off the latex gloves. She caressed my balls then slapped them hard, six times. I couldn't stop myself from squealing.

"Such a wimpy sissy," she said. "It's going to take a lot of work to turn you into a pain slut, isn't it? Maybe I need to practice kicking these or stamping on them. I'm sure you've watched videos of people doing that, haven't you?"

"Yes, Mistress," I said. I had. It was one of those things where the idea was probably more erotic than the reality.

"So which strikes you as more appealing? Me stamping on your balls in platforms, or with my bare feet?"

"Your beautiful feet bare, Mistress," I said. She gave my balls a final slap and moved to the end of me that talked. To my surprise she smiled down at me. Obviously I'd said the right thing, for once. She put the toes of her left foot in the mess I'd dribbled into the saucer and wiggled them.

"Start licking," she said.

"Yes, Mistress," I said, and eagerly obeyed her.

***

I answered the door to Kara wearing the rubber maid's dress I'd bought earlier that week. It had a short skirt, frilled with fake petticoats that bared a sliver of bottom if I bent over, a low cut front that would have given an awesome display of cleavage if I had breasts, puffed cap sleeves, and a low cut back. The waist had a waspie corset, its lacings hidden under the integral apron, and I wore a matching frilly rubber mob cap and collar. The uniform was pink with a black trim, rather than black and white. My lips, nails and eyelids were pink as well. My hair was coiled into a long French braid, and pinned on the back of my head with a hairpin with a butterfly on it. Apart from the uniform, I wore wide eyed fishnet tights a pair of black leather ballet pumps with thin soles, and ankle cuffs with a hobble chain between them to remind me of my gait while I was wearing flats. Kara looked me over as I curtsied. She wore a leopard print halter top with spaghetti strap shoulders that bared her midriff, wet-look black leggings and strappy sandals with kitten heels. Her makeup was a lot less heavy than mine, just lip-gloss and eyeliner. She had a large bottle of wine in one hand and held a micro-bag just big enough for car keys and a cellphone in her other.

"Is the Lady of the house in?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma'am," I replied. "Milady is expecting you. Please come in." She followed me as I minced to the living room.

"Kara!" Mistress said as we entered the room. She stood up and they hugged each other and air-kissed. She was wearing leggings as well, but hers were black PVC and culotte length. She was also wearing a black silk shirt, that had once been part of my wardrobe, though she'd taken possession of it long before I became her slave and she locked me in chastity. Her anklet, with the key to my chastity device on it and her new hot wife charm was in place around her right ankle. It was the first time she'd worn it in front of anybody. I had put it in place on the bracelet myself, kissed her feet and begged her to cuckold me.

I supposed it was possible that Mistress was just as bi curious as I was, but she had never done anything about it before. She had said, though, that as I clearly wasn't a man and was licking her pussy and sucking her toes and rimming her, then that counted as lesbianism and she should try it with a real woman. Kara was bisexual and had dropped plenty of hints about threesomes before now, which meant she was up for that, but I'd always flattered myself by assuming that she was at least a little more interested in me than in Mistress. Either way, we all three of us knew what was going to happen, and the air was thick with sexual electricity. It suddenly occurred to me to wonder whether Mistress had waited to goad me into slavery until she knew that Kara was unattached and available.

Just because they both knew that they were going to have sex, didn't mean that they were in any hurry, though. I'd overheard Mistress laughing as they'd arranged the date yesterday, but nothing beyond that.

"I brought a bottle," Kara said. She flourished the bottle. Sparkling Californian rose: what they'd call champagne if it was French or Australian and champagne style here. "You didn't say what were having for dinner so I hope this will be okay."

"Ooh, thank you," Mistress said. "Girl, take this and put it on ice, and then prepare an aperitif for our guest."

"Very good, Milady," I said, and curtsied. I wondered if this counted as role-playing. Mistress had announced that, at least for tonight, I was to address her exactly as a maid would while dressed as a maid. She was also calling me "girl" rather than "slave" "insect" or one of the other abusive terms she now favored for me. I was doing a domestic's work generally since becoming her slave, but without the trappings. At the moment I was praying that the meal would turn out okay, which seemed appropriate for a Victorian style lady's maid, even one who was dressed like a refugee from a low budget fetish video. The dessert was sitting in the fridge quite happily, I could whip up and fill the crepes now that Kara had arrived, and hopefully the main course was taking care of itself. The consequences of messing up dinner while Mistress was entertaining hardly bore thinking about. "Will a gin and tonic suit Madam?"

"Very nicely, thank you," Kara said and waved a dismissive hand.

"You can get me another at the same time, girl," Mistress said. She'd been nursing her last one for half an hour, perhaps worried about getting wasted before her guest arrived.

"Very good, Milady," I said and took her glass from her.

I minced into the kitchen and slid the magnum into the freezer. After I came back to heat the filling and prepare the crepes, I could transfer it to the fridge. I wondered if they'd want it with dinner or whether they'd stick to the cabernet blanc Mistress had planned for the meal. It was a good job Kara was staying the night, I thought sourly: two types of wine, an aperitif and a brandy or two afterwards and she'd hardly be able to see the road, let alone drive. It hadn't occurred to me when I begged to become Mistress' slave, but I was being forcibly dried out by my new role in life. I hadn't had a drink for six days now, and for all I knew, wouldn't be allowed to ever again as Mistress' slave. I took a cocktail glass, half filled it with ice, covered the ice with Tanqueray and topped it off with tonic water, then added a chunk of the whole lemon I'd sliced into quarters. That presumably meant two pre-dinner drinks each was all Mistress had planned. I poured out the dead lemon and other remnants of Mistress' last drink and mixed up a fresh one, put the drinks on a tray and took them back to the living room.

When I arrived, Kara had joined Mistress in the love seat and they were kissing. I felt excitement at seeing that, and something deeper and painful. The thrill of degradation and humiliation at seeing them like that was like a whip coming down on my heart. I reminded myself that I'd begged for this and walked over with the tray of drinks. "Your drinks, Milady and Madam," I said.

Kara smiled as she took her drink. Mistress gave me a stern look.

"You may remove our guest's shoes," she said. "Put them and her bag in the hall, out of the way. Is dinner still on course for eight?"

"Yes, Milady," I said. I knelt in front of Kara and drew her shoes off. She giggled at that. "Will Milady be wanting her guest's wine with dinner or the cabernet?"

"I think a glass of the cabernet with the entree and main, and the champagne with desert. We might continue to work on that afterwards rather than the brandy, I think. Kara?"

"Sounds good," Kara said. They clinked their glasses and drank, radiating sex like a heat haze.

"Very good, Milady," I said. I took Kara's shoes and purse to the hall, added champagne flutes to the two set places on the table and then went into the kitchen, and slid the crepes into the oven, opened the cabernet, and prepared myself to spend the meal waiting on them hand and foot.

Mistress and Kara really went overboard flirting while eating. They fed each other bites across the table, played footsie, blew kisses and giggled like schoolgirls. At least they seemed to enjoy the meal. When the Eton mess was finished, they stood up and began to make out as I cleared the table. The sight of my beautiful Mistress melting in Kara's arms hurt a lot more than I had expected.

They French kissed for a long time before breaking contact. When they did, Mistress turned to me.

"Prepare a tray with the champagne bottle, two clean glasses, the box of pralines and two balloons of brandy. We are retiring to the boudoir, and you can take that there for us and then retire for the night."

"Very good, Milady," I said. I prepared the tray and followed them to the bedroom. From behind I got a good view of Kara squeezing Mistress' bottom and whispering something in her ear, though I could have heard them cackling together over that from the kitchen. I hadn't expected to join them, but I had hoped to be allowed to watch. I followed them into the room, put the tray on the bedside table and then curtsied, wished them a good night and left them to it. The door clicked shut behind, but I tried to maintain my posture and gait as I walked back to the kitchen and put the leftovers into a bowl for my own evening meal. I was a slave and a cuckold and a sissy, I told myself, and tonight I was also a maid. I had certain standards to maintain.

The food left in the kitchen was stone cold. I emptied the mushroom and prawn filling from the crepes into my dog bowl first, then added the extra rice cheese and chili mix that I'd put in the stuffed peppers they'd had for the main course. Finally I dumped the last of the strawberries and cream in. In a different situation I might have found getting down on all fours and eating this mix of food that shouldn't be mixed degrading enough to excite me, but my degradation meter already seemed to be maxed out. The cold slimy mix of incompatible flavors upset my stomach less than the giggling and occasional moans and whimpers I could hear from the bedroom. There was a sliver of one of the steaks they'd had with the stuffed peppers in the bin, but I was banned red meat now as part of the strict diet Mistress had put me on. Avoiding it was supposed to lower my testosterone or something. Mistress had mentioned, while exchanging emails with Arabella, that Helga could eat the foulest slop for a meal and enjoy it and she thought it might be fun to develop a cast iron stomach for her own slave, as well as killing my gag reflex. I felt strangely proud as I emptied the bowl, then washed it in the sink along with the cooking utensils. This was a maid's lifestyle, I reminded myself, not flouncing about in a kinky dress and simpering and getting spanked. Attending my Mistress all the time I was not dismissed. Rising before her and retiring after her.