» » The Rent - A - Slave (by Serafina1210©) Part - 2

The Rent - A - Slave (by Serafina1210©) Part - 2


Read first part of its storie here - http://scat.in/stories/41-the-rent-a-slave-by-serafina1210.html

7. Dr. Rosenberg's emissions

I laid there a long time wondering how much stranger my sex life could get. Even though I was this trashy slut, these really classy people wanted me. Jeremiah, who had a future in cable and an enormous cock, wanted to marry me, and Mrs. Rosenberg wanted me to move into a big house with her - I guess so she could piss in my mouth and sit on my face every day.

The door opened again. I lifted my head and saw Dr. Rosenberg there between my legs, furious and naked, with a big hard-on.

"Bitch!" he snarled.

"Hi, Dr. Rosenberg," I said, smiling weakly.

"My fucking wife left me, and you fucking did it," he said. He lifted his right arm and brought it down. Something swished through the air, and there was a slap and my pussy stung.

"Ow, Dr. Rosenberg!" I squeaked.

He lifted his hand again: he was holding a little whip with a lot of black leather strands.

"Why?" he said, and brought the whip down again, harder this time, so it felt like my pussy was on fire.

"Ow, stop, Dr. Rosenberg!" I cried, twisting to get away from him, though of course I couldn't.

"Why did you do it?" he demanded, and hit me again.

"Ow ow ow ow!" I howled. I'd never felt pain like this, not even when Jeremiah ass-fucked me.

"Why did you fucking do it?" he demanded.

"Do what?" I whimpered.

"She found out about you," he said. "She knew everything we did at that party last Saturday - the pissing, the ass-fucking. You had a video of it all. You sent it to her!"

He hit me again, and it was like a firecracker going off in my vag. "I didn't!" I screeched.

"Nobody else could have," he said.

"Dozens of people knew about it. Anybody could have told her."

He sniffed the air and looked hard at me. "You're a mess," he said.

"People have been pissing on me, Dr. Rosenberg. Somebody else told her."

He swung the fucking machine into position, lubricated both dildos, and pushed them into me. He looked around for the remote, found it, switched the machine on, and turned up the speed about halfway.

"Fuck!" I cried. The stimulation was so intense it was painful.

"Nobody else would have done it."

"She knew about it last night!" I shrilled. "Turn it down, Dr. Rosenberg."

He turned it up.

"You talked to her?"

"Oooooh! She . . . she came to Mickey's Tap . . . oh fuck! . . . and told me to leave you alone."

He turned down the machine till it was half way up again.

"I'm sorry about your wife, Dr. Rosenberg," I said.

"She was a frigid bitch and a stuck-up cunt. But she was beautiful and she had shitloads of money and lots of connections."

"She's not frigid, Dr. Rosenberg. She's fucking hot."

"She's hot if ice is hot. For all I know she doesn't have a cunt - she doesn't let me near it, anyway." He climbed onto the table and stood over me, hard cock sticking out.

I stared up at it. His balls were firm and indrawn in the cool room. "She's got a cunt," I said, "I ate it last night. She made me lick a toilet and then she sat on my face."

He stared at me, speechless for a minute. Finally he said, "You fucking skank!" He lowered himself into a squat above my head.

I quickly said, "She blew a wet fart in my face and pissed . . ."

He grabbed my head and plunged into my mouth balls deep. "I can't fucking believe you," he said. "You're fucking my wife."

"Nnnnghh," I said.

"Fucking loser bitch," he snarled. My mouth was filled with thick saliva, and his cock was sloshing inside me. "Fucking dyke," he growled, and thrust so hard his cock rammed the back of my throat. It felt like someone was banging away with a sledgehammer inside me.

Finally he got tired, or maybe he just decided to change positions. He pulled out of me and stood up, and I said, "She wants me to move in with her."

He froze and stared at me with a stunned look. It was really fun to torment him this way. When he'd recovered he said, "Are you going to . . . move in with her?"

"I don't know," I said. "She's an amazing fuck, and she said she could make me rich."

"Whore!" he said.

"Well, you married her for her money, right?"

Instead of answering, he sat on my face, smashing his asshole against my mouth.

"Eat my ass, whore," he said.

Dr. Rosenberg has the best asshole. I don't know what it is - it's sort of angry and dangerous, like him. It's hard to explain, but other guys have these meek assholes that sort of beg for attention, but Dr. Rosenberg's is assertive. And there's nothing that says contempt quite like a pissed off dentist scrubbing his crack on your face while he calls you a whore. The fucking machine pounding both my holes was just a sideshow. Nobody could turn me on like he could, when he was insulting and abusing me, and now he was just about out of control.

It was hard work to get myself together enough to stick my tongue out and lick his anus as he rocked on my face. I was hungry for it and sucked and licked noisily. I guess my excitement proved to him what a lowlife whore I was, because he was getting more pissed off and rougher, reaching under him to pull his cheeks wider apart, sitting heavier on me.

He shifted a little, lifting himself up, and I said, "She's got a sweet asshole, too!"

"Shit eating cunt!" he snarled, and sat on me again. I opened my mouth wide around him and probed his hole with the tip of my tongue. "Um," I said, it felt so fucking good to rim him.

And that's when it happened - so suddenly I didn't get what was going on at first. He was growling, "fucking shitface whore," the last word trailing into a low grunt; and his anus widened and swelled into me, and something pushed my tongue back in my mouth, and suddenly the unflushed toilet smell was overpowering, and I was filling up with something warm, wet, and pasty. It filled me so fast I was completely plugged up in like two seconds, so I couldn't scream or say a single word.

You talk about things tasting like shit - liver, lima beans, whatever you don't like - but the fact is, none of those things are even a little like shit, which has a taste all its own - real bitter, with overtones of bad breath and sick, rage and contempt. Even a little bit of it is enough to make you gag, but a whole mouthful is overwhelming. It invades your nose and throat and makes your stomach turn over, but really the idea of it is what gets you, the fact there's this person squatting above you that thinks what you're good for is eating shit.

So there I was, shackled to this table, and it was just starting to register with me that Dr. Rosenberg had taken like this huge dump in my mouth. Suddenly my heart was hammering and I was panicking: but after a couple seconds I realized I could still breathe, and he'd stopped shitting and was raising himself so his bottom was a little ways above my face. I stared at his hole. The skin around it was stained muddy brown, and a glob of shit hung there, stuck to his hair. It made me nervous, wondering when it was going to fall. He was dribbling piss onto my neck, and his asshole was pushing out over and over and he was grunting like he was trying to squeeze more shit out, but my mouth was so full I was sure he must have emptied himself.

I wondered what I should do about my mouthful of shit. Try to swallow it? I couldn't even close my lips. It was like having a big mouthful of peanut butter: it would take a while to get it all down. Besides, shit couldn't be good for you. He might get even madder if I spat it out, though, and a part of me wondered what it would be like to swallow shit. Meanwhile, it wasn't easy to think this through with the dildos still rattling away down below.

And it turned out I had no idea that most of the time you shit way more than you can fit in your mouth. He gave a loud groan, piss spurted onto my tits, his asshole pushed way out and opened up, and a thick rope of shiny wet shit snaked out of him and piled up thickly on my face, covering my mouth and chin and slithering down onto my neck.

Watching the brown slime ooze out of him and smelling it just under my nose, my stomach lurched, and a little throw-up gushed into the back of my throat, behind the shit. I got it under control, though, so all I did was blow a few bubbles around the soggy mess in my mouth. I breathed as little as I could get away with.

Dr. Rosenberg strained to squeeze out one last bit, which fell on top of the pile on my face and rolled down onto my cheek just below my left eye. When he was finally satisfied he couldn't do any more he stood up, turned around, and looked down at me. "Fuck," he said, in a kind of wondering tone like he couldn't quite believe what he'd just done, and I suddenly felt insanely happy because I realized this was a first for him just like it was for me. He'd never had the chance to degrade a woman this way before.

I moved my tongue around: the shit was soft, wet, and chunky, and I could push some of it aside into my cheek, but doing that gave me this huge burst of icky taste, and anyway there was way too much to chew. Again I thought about whether to spit it out or try and swallow a bit of it. I wondered whether swallowing would make me throw up, and I'd just about decided to give it a try when Dr. Rosenberg squatted over my head and drove into my mouth, right through the big pile of shit on my face, which gushed into my nose and made mudslides down my cheeks. His cock pushed some shit back into my throat, and some of it splurched up out of me around his cock and balls.

My gut gave this huge spasm, and I had to turn my head and spit out some shit and puke, losing his cock. But suddenly it was like there was an explosion of pleasure in my stomach shooting straight down to my clit, and there was this fierce joy flashing all through me. I turned my head upright again and opened my mouth, and he jammed his shitty cock into me and fucked my face with frantic energy.

My stomach heaved with every stroke, and my retches echoed around the room as brown vomit geysered out around his cock again and again and ran down over my cheeks and chin to puddle with the shit around my head. He fucked me till I was dry heaving and it was just thick brown saliva in my mouth, and then he held me by the hair, pushed into me hard, and wriggled to make his cock twitch back in my throat.

He held me in place with his cock pushed as far into me as it would go. My stomach was still heaving, and I couldn't breathe, and I was starting to panic again and struggle under him - and that's when we came, both of us together, with him groaning and thrusting and me thrashing and pulling against my restraints while the fucking machine bashed away at me below.

He pulled out and stood over me, his wilting cock brown with shit and this sort of dazed look on his face. He watched for a minute while I squirmed, the fucking machine still going. Then he bent down, touched a button on the remote to turn off the machine, picked up a glob of shit that had fallen by my head, and put it in my mouth - then another, and another, till I was full again.

"Eat it," he said, stood up, and watched as I chewed and braced myself for my first attempt to swallow shit. He took his slimy cock in his hand and aimed it at my face, like he was holding a gun on me.

I laid there hyperventilating, working up my nerve, the shit taste strong in my mouth and nose. That bitter, sick taste is like a voice screaming "No!" in your head. You don't eat shit - it's this massive taboo. And if you do eat it, you sure had better not like it, because liking it would make you about the world's biggest pervert.

Well, I made myself swallow a little, and the taste was so awful there in the back of my mouth, not to mention the muddiness of it, that my stomach was doing somersaults and my whole body spasming as I struggled not to puke. But it was this huge turn-on too - the hottest thing that ever happened to me. That's saying something, considering everything that had been done to my body that night.

Dr. Rosenberg pissed on my face, rinsing it off as I forced down his shit little by little: every now and then I opened my mouth and took in some of his piss to help wash it down. It was a long process, getting his shit down: when he ran dry I was still at it, retching and struggling not to puke, because when I did, he picked up any chunks of shit I'd thrown up and put them back in my mouth, and it tasted even worse, being slimy with stomach acid.

Eating that shit was just about the hardest thing I've ever done, and by the time my mouth was finally empty my stomach was churning, my pussy was flooded, and I was on fire with arousal. I looked up at him, still standing above me, holding his shitty cock in his hand, and said "Fuck you, Dr. Rosenberg!"

"Fuck you, Brenda," he answered pleasantly. He bent down, turned the machine on, straightened up, and pissed again - not as much as before, but enough to fill my mouth. I wondered what to do with my mouthful of shitty piss. I thought I should probably spit it out, but when I turned my head to do that I felt like I didn't want to let go of it.

So I swallowed it, and my whole body spasmed, and I raised my head and spewed brown water over my tits, and huge sensations thundered all through my body, and I came again, thrashing and moaning. When things came into focus I looked up at Dr. Rosenberg and saw this crazy gleam in his eyes. He lowered himself onto me again and said, "Clean my ass."

As I licked the thick shit out of his crack, he said, "You don't want my cuntface wife. Move in with me. I need . . . I want to be able to have you whenever I want."

"You already can," I said between licks.

"Not just in the office," he said. "Day, night, all the time."

"I've got to be able to go out sometimes," I said. "I've got a life."

"Whoring?" he sneered.

"Yeah, and friends, and church . . ."

"Church?"

"Yeah. My religion is real important to me." I wished he had more shit in him.

"I can tell people you're my maid. I need more help now my wife is gone. You could have days off, like a live-in maid."

"You know, Dr. Rosenberg, you're really a prick."

"I don't give a fuck what you think. I just need to . . . need to . . ."

"Shit in my mouth again."

"Whenever I want."

"I'll think about it, Dr. Rosenberg."

He climbed down from the table and stared at me for a while. Then he said, "Think about it well, Brenda," and turned and walked out of the room, leaving the door open behind him.

8. The Reverend Edwards's Advice

I had to go to the bathroom real bad. I thought I'd been on the table long enough, but it seemed like nobody else did, so I was stuck. I decided I'd try to hold it a while longer.

I slept again for a while, and when I woke up again I was still alone and fastened to the table. The pressure inside me was too much.

I said, "If anybody can hear me, I really have to go to the bathroom."

I counted to sixty, figuring a minute would be long enough for somebody to get here. I counted to sixty again, but still nobody came. "One more minute," I announced, and counted to sixty a third time.

Nobody came.

I pushed, and felt that delicious stretching you get when you're taking a nice big shit. Piss dribbled out of me and into my crack, where it wetted the shit, which plopped softly to the floor under the table.

When the pressure was off my bowels, I pissed, listening to the spattering of water on the tile floor. Then I worked on pushing out a few more turds. I enjoyed doing it with a video camera trained on my crotch.

"If anybody's watching," I said, "I hope you enjoyed that."

Another minute passed before the door opened and Mo came in, scowling. "I didn't fucking enjoy that," she said.

"Then why didn't you come let me out?"

"I wasn't supposed to let you out till eight, and it was like seven fifty-five. Fuck. Who do you think is gonna have to clean this mess up? You shoulda said you were gonna go on the floor."

"You could have told me the time. I didn't know!"

"I ought to make you eat it," she said, unfastening my wrists.

"I've had enough, thanks."

"Fuck you, smart ass."

"Enjoy the cleanup," I said, and went off to the shower, where I spent about the next half hour.

When I was clean and dressed I went downstairs. Betsy was sipping coffee in the kitchen.

"Here," she said, pushing a fat envelope towards me.

"Thanks," I said.

"Everybody said you were dull as dishwater to talk to, but fun to fuck."

"That's nice," I said.

"Do it again some time?"

"Just call me."

I went home, turned off my phone, and took a two-hour nap. I got up, watched some porn, had lunch, and left for my Bible lesson.

Reverend Edwards rose grandly from behind his desk and came to greet me as I closed and locked his office door behind me. He kissed me and said, "How are you, my child?"

"I'm troubled and confused, Reverend," I said as he lifted my T shirt over my head and I wiggled out of my shorts. "I really need your advice."

"Tell me about it." He led me back to his desk, where I sat in his lap. He put two fingers in my pussy as I told him about my week's adventures.

"So you see, Reverend," I said at last, squirming because he had much of his hand inside me by this time, "nobody makes me feel like Dr. Rosenberg: he's such a prick. But Jeremiah says he's damned because he's a Jew, and I'm endangering my soul by fucking him. I could have a good Christian relationship with Jeremiah, and he's got this enormous cock."

"Yes, he does," the Reverend breathed, and then added, "or so I've heard. But tell me about the shit-eating again. That's . . . um . . . a very significant aspect of your story." He slipped a hand under me and massaged my asshole as he spoke.

I told him again how Dr. Rosenberg shitted in my mouth and made me eat it. "I'm kind of ashamed of what a turn-on it was, Reverend. My pussy's running just telling you about it."

"Don't be ashamed, my child. The Lord has given us appetites for reasons best known to Him, and it would be a sin to refuse His gifts. Right now I believe you have an appetite for my cock."

"You're so insightful, Reverend," I said. I slid off his lap and knelt between his legs. He lifted his robe. He had nothing on underneath, and he was fabulously hard.

The Reverend Edwards has a lovely cock, almost as big as Jeremiah's, and I love sucking it: it's such a challenge to get it all into me. After a couple of minutes I was licking his balls on the downstroke and he said: "It's true that Dr. Rosenberg is Jewish, and a Jew can't get into heaven unless he acknowledges Jesus. That is, he has to convert to Christianity to be saved."

"Gnnghngh," I said, to let him know I was listening.

"And it's true," he continued, taking my head in his hands and pushing me down on him with some force, "that Christians who associate too closely with Jews run some risks. Jeremiah, on the other hand, is a fine young man, though his appetites are . . . a bit bizarre . . . um . . . as I've been told . . ."

The Reverend paused. I peered up at him. His eyes had a faraway look, and he was licking his lips.

He went on, "He's right, of course, about Christian marriage as one of the paths to grace." He stood, turned around, and bent over. "Eat my ass, Brenda. Even if you're less turned on by Jeremiah than by Dr. Rosenberg, his Christianity should weigh heavily with you. Your first consideration must always be the salvation of your soul."

The Reverend was a bear of a man, hairy all over. I explored his furry crack, and when I found his asshole I licked, enjoying the way his hair tickled my face.

"Mm," he said. "Put your finger in."

I wetted a finger, worked it into his ass, and hunted around for his prostate.

"Yes," he hissed. "That's so fucking fine. Lick me again."

I pulled my finger out and looked at it. It was damp and dark brown. "I think there's poo in there, Reverend," I sighed.

He looked around just as I was putting my finger in my mouth. "Oh, God!" he moaned as I sucked it clean and planted my face in his crack again.

Now he was grunting and straining, and his asshole was pushing out into me.

"Fuck!" he gasped. His hole opened up, and I could put my tongue inside and taste the shit that was forcing its way out. It came out slowly, pushing my tongue down and sliding into my mouth with a kind of majestic grandeur. It was awe-inspiring, one of God's miracles.

His shit wasn't wet and soft like Dr. Rosenberg's, but hard and solid. It was straight and long, too, as big as Jeremiah's cock. Soon it was as far in my mouth as it would go, and more than half of it stuck straight out, like my face had a big brown penis.

The Reverend turned around and stared. "Praise Jesus!" he said. He reached out, grasped the turd in his hand, and pulled it out an inch - then pushed it back in. Gently, so as not to break it, he fucked my face with it, and I managed to take it a little farther with each thrust, till I was deep throating his shit.

Soon, of course, it started to come apart in my mouth and his hand. Once some of it broke off back in my throat, and I had to cough bits out. The pieces that came off in his hand he rubbed on my face.

"It's a big step you're contemplating," he said, jerking off has he watched me chew up and swallow a chunk of shit, "entering a monogamous relationship. Are you sure you're capable of it? At this stage in your life it may be unwise even to try."

He was getting shit on his cock, but he seemed not to care. With my mouth full, I said, "I don't know, Reverend." Thinking it's not polite to talk with your mouth full, I swallowed and went on. "But it's only Jeremiah that wants a monogamous relationship. Dr. Rosenberg doesn't care what I do with my spare time, as long as he gets to fuck and defile me when I'm with him."

The Reverend smeared shit on my tits. "Now that I've had a chance to think about it more carefully," he said, "moving in with Dr. Rosenberg seems like a great idea." He turned me around so my elbows were on the chair and put his cock in my ass. Slick with his shit, it slid into my stretched hole easily.

"You're so firm in your faith," he went on, "and the light of grace shines so brightly in you, I can't believe there's any danger to your soul. And think of the good you could do. Why, you might bring him to Jesus!"

"Oh, Reverend, that would be so wonderful!" I sighed, picturing Dr. Rosenberg sitting beside me in church listening to the Reverend Edwards preach. "Fuck me harder!"

The Reverend hammered my ass, panting with the effort, till finally he spun me around, plunged into my mouth, and filled me with spunk, which mixed with his shit to make a sticky brown Reverend Edwards soup. I swallowed it down, thinking how lucky I was to have such a wicked great pastor.

Me and Reverend Edwards showered together in his private bathroom and washed the shit off each other. Afterwards I grabbed a towel, and by the time I patted him dry he was hard again.

"Reverend?" I simpered, holding his cock in my hand.

"Yes, my child?"

"It's so hard to make ends meet when you're a cum dump. You need all this filthy underwear, and toys . . ."

"Say no more, Brenda," he said, smiling. "This congregation is a generous one, and collections have been good." He went around behind his desk and opened a drawer. "Maybe three hundred?" he said.

"Maybe five," I said. "Eating shit's an expensive kink."

He swallowed, reached into the drawer, pulled out a thick wad of bills, and counted out five hundred dollars.

"You will come for your Bible lesson next week, yes?"

Inflamed with love for our Lord, I said, "I wouldn't miss it for the world, Reverend!"

After me and the Reverend said goodbye, I went home, sat on my sofa, and thought. I didn't turn on any porn, or get a beer, or even masturbate. I just thought - harder than I ever have before in my life.

At four-thirty I went to my bedroom, threw some things into an overnight bag, and changed into a fuck-me dress with nothing on underneath. I looked up Dr. Rosenberg's home address in the phone book: it was on the same street as Betsy's mansion. I drove over there and knocked on the door of his big white house.

He opened the door and stared hard at me, then at my bag. He stepped back to let me in.

"Come to the bathroom," he said.

"Let's talk about money first."

"What do you mean?"

"You want a live-in sex slave. Did you think you were going to get one free?"

"I gave you your job back."

"And you pay me for doing that job, with something extra for fucking you at the office. Now what are you going to give me to fuck you at home?"

He sighed. "You're a shitface whore."

"This is news to you?" I pulled my dress off: my nipples were hard and my cunt was wet.

"A ten percent raise," he said, staring at my tits.

"I go from eight hours a day to twenty-four, and you offer me ten percent? You should triple my pay." I slid a finger into my slit. "Mmm, my li'l pussy's purring."

"You won't be fucking all that time," he said, staring at my shaved mound "Twenty percent."

"I'll be on call. Twenty-four hours a day."

"Fifty percent."

Turning around, I said, "Maybe I'll move in with your wife after all," and bent down to scoop up my dress, showing him my big ass.

"You'll have days off. Eighty percent," he said.

I advanced on him slowly and grabbed his cock through his pants. "Double my pay," I breathed. "I'll use a lot of the extra money to buy filthy underwear and exotic sex toys. There's this toilet I saw online with a head cage underneath . . ."

"Double," he said.

"Done. Now do something unspeakably awful to me."

He grinned at me, showing his teeth. He was endlessly inventive when it came to ways to defile me - pussy juice was running down my legs as I thought about it.

But Casey was right. It's important to make a man pay.

Especially if you're crazy about him.
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