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CW: BDSM, underground sex club, objectification, mild coercion, panty pooping, pissing, scat play and sex, coarse language. Please skip this story if your kink is in a different direction or you find any of this disgusting.
…
“Hello, welcome to the French Bell. My name is Adriana, how may I help you?” A sharply dressed maître d’ greets us warmly as we enter.
“Hi, have you got a table for two, any time this evening?” Skylar asks, politely.
“Certainly, Miss. In what name is your reservation?”
“Oh. No, err sorry, we don’t have a reservation. You don’t have any walk-ups?” Skylar asks optimistically. It dawns on both of that we should have thought about this more seriously.
“Well, I am sorry, Miss.” Adriana’s voice takes a slightly condescending tone. “But you are aware that this is the French Bell? Chef only cooks for a dozen guests a night. Our waiting list is years long.”
Skylar takes this news jovially. “Ah fucknuts. Sorry Doug, I guess it’s Maccy D’s after all. We’re gonna have to murder another McChicken Crispy.” She makes a puking expression.
I chuckle. Megacorp has sent Skylar and I to Paris for a conference. It’s been crazy busy so far and the only food we’ve managed to grab — in between all the work stuff and the after-work drinking stuff — has been fast food. Having stolen ourselves away from the bar life for a night we were hoping for something a bit more upmarket. The French Bell is one of those new restaurants that’s hit insane levels of hype on the socials, so much so that it’s apparently impossible to get a booking. No shit! We — foolishly — thought a Tuesday night might be quiet enough for a table.
“Heh, don’t make it sound too appealing, Skylar!” I retort, playfully giving her a prod. “Let’s go then. Sorry, Ma’am.” I apologize to the Maître d’. I’m sure I spot her biting her bottom lip slightly. Curious.
Just before we reach the door, Adriana clears her throat. “Sir, Miss? You seem like a fun couple.”
Adriana sizes us up as we step back to the desk. As usual, Skylar’s butt looks stunning in her trademark tight jeans. Long black boots and a fluffy jumper complete her look. I’m in casual shirt and jeans which shouts “middle-aged”, but fashion is not exactly one of my strong points; I have had a shave, though, which counts as putting some effort in.
Skylar and I aren’t dating, but we’re certainly friends with benefits. We first hooked up at a work retreat a few months ago when the chance discovery that we’re both depraved coprophiles led to an incredible night of tremendously filthy fucking. Since then, Skylar doesn’t mind me getting a little playful with her providing no one from the office is around to see. The odd hand on the butt, a hug, a friendly poke, that sort of thing, but she chides me if I get too gropey. As she should. Like I say, not dating, but sharing our private little secret is thrilling and my heart leaps whenever I see her.
Any observer would conclude that this smoking hot, petite, voluptuous thirty-something girl has inexplicably settled for this boring middle-aged guy. They may also pause to consider how lucky the guy must be for bagging such a stunner. I suppose I’m hoping against hope that Skylar will change her mind and move from the occasional hook up to full-on dating. But perhaps she just doesn’t see me as dating material, even if we do spend the odd night bathing in each other’s effluvia. For now, then, I just enjoy all my time with her. Live for the moment! Or something.
Anyway, our demeanor obviously meets whatever bar Adriana has set. She continues:
“Once a month Chef holds an exclusive dinner after hours, we call it the Top Table. Guests are required to go through an… exclusive… selection process involving a simple competition.” Adriana has a wicked smile now. “And you two might be in luck: it just so happens the next Top Table is two nights from now. Are you, by any chance, interested?”
Skylar and I exchange glances, intrigued. I can see a lustful eagerness in her expression.
“Tell us more?”
“There’s a door, two doors down. Be outside at 11.30 tomorrow evening. Dress casually. All will be explained.” We’re told, enigmatically.
…
“I searched all over the socials, and there’s like a tiny mention of some ultra-exclusive party, but I couldn’t find anyone who’s actually been. That’s a bit odd, don’cha think?” Skylar speaks in a hushed tone to me. The situation is, I will admit, unsettling.
The door to which Adriana referred led into a large croft beneath the restaurant building. The door opened as we approached, and a waitress beckoned us inside without saying a word. We were certainly expected. But for what?
The waitress escorted us through a maze of tunnels and doors to the room we now find ourselves in: A warm, dimly lit waiting room with sand-blasted brick walls, replete with soft black sofas and the odd side table. There are two doors, the one through which we entered and a second Ankara escort one on the opposite wall.
Skylar is leaning against me on one of the sofas. Spread around the room are four other couples, complete strangers to us. Some exchange a whispered word or two, but you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. I’m picturing tomorrow’s headlines reporting on the untimely deaths of some clueless foreigners lured into a dungeon by an insane maître d’, when the second door clicks open and Adriana walks in. Recognizing her, I get a momentary sense of relief, but then the tension mounts again as I realize what she’s wearing:
She’s swapped her sharp front-of-house garb for a one-piece black PVC swimsuit which leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her voluptuous boobs just about fit inside, and beneath her perfectly proportioned butt her legs go on for miles until they reach a pair of long black boots. She’s wearing black PVC gloves up to her shoulders, a choker, and her hair is in a high ponytail. Christ! She’s a bloody Dominatrix and we’re all about to get fucked.
I give Skylar a squeeze of reassurance.
All eyes are on Adriana, transfixed.
“Misses and Misters. Thank you for coming tonight, and welcome to the Top Table. Or, should that be, welcome to almost the Top Table. We are going to play a simple game. The winning couple will be gifted seats at the Top Table, where they and other selected guests will feast upon a seventeen-course tasting menu prepared personally by Chef. It is the meal of your lifetime and is not available through any other means, except to win tonight. The other four couples will leave with nothing.
A murmur goes up amongst us. This sounds like it might actually be legit, and super exclusive.
“Chef has a certain proclivity.” Adriana continues, calmly. “He would like to remind you that gastronomy is both a science and an art. Food is prepared as an art to be devoured first with the eyes, the nose, then the mouth. Once it has fulfilled its artistic purpose, it turns to science. Your body does not care about the art. It simply follows its biological processes. What you consume enters as art and leaves as science. It is the perfect juxtaposition. And leave you it must.”
This all sounds batshit crazy to be honest, fuck knows what Chef’s smoking (well, it is Europe!), but somewhere in the pit of my stomach I feel a tingle of excitement. Skylar does too, judging by how she grips my hand tightly. Where is this introduction going, what sort of competition is this going to be?
“The competition is simple. We are about to play a game of endurance, nothing more.” Adriana begins. “Girls, you will drink a dose of laxative, tailored exactly to your body size. The drug will work its way down inside you simultaneously, finding its way down to your butts, whereupon you will feel the most desperate need to relieve yourself. But therein lies tonight’s fun.”
Adriana pauses to check we’re all paying attention.
“The winner will be the girl who shits herself last.”
After a stunned silence as we process what we all just heard, there’s an explosion of protest, questions, and requests for Adriana to “fucking say that again?”. I mull that at least we’re not apparently about to be murdered. Skylar is sitting quietly, a glazed expression of childhood excitement in her eyes.
Two couples ask to leave, voicing various comments about “disgusting” and “obscene”. Entirely as expected, according to Adriana. Funnily enough, some couples really aren’t into scat. I’m slightly surprised two other couples are, truth be told.
Adriana has memorized our names already. The first couple is Petrus and Tessa, a slightly dowdy looking pair with a nervous disposition. They look young, they could almost be college sweethearts. The other couple is Mila and her Man. Man, who doesn’t seem to have a proper name, is a lot older than Mila. He’s probably in his fifties, looks like some sort of corporate bigwig to me. Mila must be mid-twenties, a gorgeous bottle blonde with a confident outlook and a curvy body. My guess is sugar daddy’s little princess.
“Ugh, err, can I check, please? If I hold on, and win, I won’t have to poop myself? Tessa inquires, optimistically sensing a loophole. I’m not sure she is fully committed to this.
“Oh, no, Miss Tessa,” Adriana explains sympathetically. “You really won’t be able to hold it. You’re absolutely guaranteed to end up with squelchy panties, it’s just a matter of when you defile yourself. Last clean girl wins.”
Tessa opens her mouth to protest but Petrus reassures her. “Remember the prize, buttercup?” He whispers. She acquiesces.
Skylar, meanwhile, isn’t having any doubts. She’s started breathing slowly, trying to control her adrenaline. I know how strong her pelvic floor muscles are: my dick felt them clearly when I was up her butt. I reckon she can boss this and she is demonstrably fired up at the prospect. That’s my filthy girl.
I’ve Escort Ankara figured out Tessa isn’t much competition, but what about Mila? Completely unfazed by Adriana’s proposition, she’s got a tangible upperclassmen attitude about her. Has she done this before, I wonder? She looks like she could be trouble. Man is looking unpleasantly smug, too; I don’t like him much.
“Hopefully that’s all clear.” Adriana continues. We all nod.
“Great. Now, let’s head into wardrobe.”
…
Adriana opens a different door out of the room, and we’re confronted by the warm, reassuring aroma of leather and PVC. It’s a BDSM cosplayer’s wet dream.
Each girl can pick whatever costume they want to make a mess of, explains Adriana, though they’ve got to shit in their own panties. The rest of the outfit is ours to keep afterwards. I briefly ponder how we’re going to secret some shit-covered BDSM gear back home, but Adriana reassures us it’ll be thoroughly washed before we leave.
Mila confidently picks a PVC corset and mini skirt combo finished off with a stunning pair of knee-high platform boots. The skirt is so short she flashes her red panties whenever she moves. I can’t tear my eyes away from her tush, I love a girl flashing her panties. This does not go unnoticed.
Skylar sidles up to me and whispers, mocking disappointment. “Hey soldier, I thought you only had eyes for Shit Piggie’s panties!”
“Uhhh..” My legs half give way; when Skylar refers to her depraved alter-ego I know she’s up for getting totally filthy.
Skylar finds a pleated leather miniskirt even shorter than Mila’s, in fact it’d be more accurate to call it a belt. She’s wearing simple white, lacy hipsters today and the skirt (belt) is so short it hasn’t a hope in hiding her modesty; It’s less of a case of flashing her panties, more like showing them off proudly.
I can feel my dick getting hard already as I ogle how great her butt looks and how tight her hipsters pull across her cunt. I cannot wait to see how she destroys them. A leather bodice and lace-up ankle boots complete Skylar’s outfit, her curvy boobs only just being persuaded into their cups.
Tessa isn’t so confident and chooses a pair of tight shiny leather shorts and a simple black low-cut top.
I pick a pair of black, punkish jeans with rips in them, a black t-shirt and a pair of simple creepers. Tonight, the boys are not the stars of the show, but we still need a change of clothes.
…
Suitably kitted out, the six of us are led into, well, it’s blatantly a fuck dungeon.
It’s a large basement room with a sturdy door. The sort of room from which no-one would hear you scream. Inside, the walls are covered with all sorts of accessories. I recognize a variety of whips, and perhaps some restraints, but most of the equipment is way beyond my own experience. Human ingenuity knows no bounds, especially when it comes to getting off, I note to myself. A large mirror covers one wall making the room feel larger than it is.
The first sense that this is a very carefully designed dungeon comes when I spot the smooth, rubber-tiled floor sloping slightly to a big drain in the center. In the ceiling above the drain slope are hooks. I vaguely think I’ve seen this set up in a low-grade horror flick.
The guys get a chair each, a little way away from the hooks. Adriana gesticulates for us to sit and snaps the door shut behind us.
A bolt of excitement surges through me, and I catch Skylar’s eye. She grins back.
“These cups” Adriana produces a tray from somewhere “hold the promised doses of Dulcolax. The clock starts when you drink up, and remember girls, very simply, the last one of you to fill your panties will be proclaimed tonight’s winner. Only poop counts, so you may piss all you like. Drink up!”
Adriana passes the tray around the girls who obey without hesitation, albeit with different levels of eagerness. Pointing to a word written on a large poster, she reassures us: “If you can’t handle it, say the word and you’re free to leave. Toilets and showers are in the next room.”
Adriana expertly ties up the girls with small lengths of black, silky rope. She hooks the rope around the hooks and adjusts it until each girl is fully prostrate, boobs out, but with her feet flat. Mila and Skylar’s miniskirts have long failed to cover their modesty, so, underwear boldly on display, it looks like we’re in for a good view of tonight’s panty pooping.
“Good Misses.” Adriana reassures them. Skylar and Mila are looking comfortable, slightly swinging on their bonds. Tessa, well, the poor thing is just stoically waiting for all this to be over.
I wonder what happens now. Adriana has forbidden us guys to speak, under pain of… pain of being punished by one of the many torture instruments that adorn the walls I expect.
Adriana has a plan. She picks up a riding crop and runs it gently over the girls, calmly admiring their bodies Escort Bayan and outfits. She strokes a boob here, a butt there, then a cunt, all the while bestowing soft praise. I and the other boys are quite spellbound; watching three beautiful, trussed-up women being toyed with like this would be a treat unto its own, if it wasn’t for the main course in this evening’s dastardly menu.
The girls are starting to feel the laxative working through their guts. Their breathing is getting heavier as they counter the rising need to shit. Mila is feeling it most heavily, judging by how she’s rocking herself from left to right, making little strained squeaking noises as she does. Man is watching with a disapproving expression, which Mila notices, switching her concentration to stare at her toes.
“Oh, ooh, oh no, no” Mila suddenly screws up her face as the pressure inside her reaches bursting point. She can’t hold herself any longer. “Urgh, oh, ewwww, uuurghhhh” she sputters as she loses the battle and soft, squelchy shit starts to sludge out of her. We all watch her butt in fascination as her panties bulge outwards.
For a few moments her panties do a sterling job keeping the mess inside as it slicks across her perineum and covers her cunt, but this doesn’t last long. Soon there’s too much shit for them to handle and there’s nowhere left for it to go. The bulge stops growing and the sticky gloop starts insidiously oozing out around her leg holes. It doesn’t stop. Like some sort of fucked up chocolate fountain, globs of poo smudge their way down her legs, some ending up in her boots, some plopping onto the floor below. “Argh, oh, yeah, ohhhhh fuuuuucking fuuuuu” she utters in relief as she lets her bladder go as well, a cascade of piss soaking her panties and joining the spectacle of sewage dripping down her legs. I’m transfixed. I’ve only seen this sort of thing on the internet before.
She looks up plaintively. “Fuck. I’m sorry.” She says in a tiny apologetic voice towards Man.
Man is displeased. In fact, he’s so unhappy with her, he stands up and for a horrible second, I expect him to strike her. But instead, he gives her a hard stare of anger mixed with disappointment and disappears out the door.
There’s a silence, punctuated only by Skylar and Tessa’s heavy breathing. Mila, however, seems fine. In fact, she’s brightened up now Man has gone. She’s smiling serenely, slightly wiggling her shit-caked butt from side to side, enjoying the slimy sensation of the muck between her legs. A distant sound of squishing suggests she’s also enjoying her piss-filled boots and is wiggling her toes in the effluvia.
Tessa is staring, transfixed. I assume she’s not seen anything like this before, internet or otherwise. The warm aroma of Mila’s piss mixes with the stink of her shit and envelopes the dungeon’s occupants.
“Ugh, oh, that’s fucking gross” Tessa splutters, unable to cover her nose.
Skylar catches my eye. She gives a theatrical sniff as if to savor the repulsive stench and gives me a big wink. I mean, Tessa’s right, this is objectively gross, but not if you’re into it. Skylar and I, and apparently Mila too, certainly are.
Adriana sidles up to her, placing her right hand lightly on Mila’s hip.
“The competition has been lost by Miss Mila. Miss Mila, thank you for playing this evening.”
Mila bows her head slightly. “Yes, Madame. I understand.”
Adriana slides her hand from Mila’s hip down to her butt, running her fingers over and lightly squeezing the shitty bulge. Mila tenses; is she aware of what’s to come? Adriana squeezes harder and the poop starts to squish out of Mila’s panties, clods of the muck slopping onto the floor. Adriana pushes harder, rubbing Mila’s panties into her butt crack, smearing the mess all over her ass. Finally, in a grand gesture of humiliation, Adriana pulls Mila’s panties up in a wedgie. Most of the remaining shit slops out. Adriana lets go, pulling her hand back. Smack. Smack. Twice she spanks Mila roughly on her shitty butt cheeks. The sloppy sound of a PVC-gloved hand meeting a plump, slick, stinky, shit-covered butt makes a delightfully wet schlap sound. Mila accepts her punishment, wincing with each blow.
“Well done, Miss Mila.” Adriana congratulates her, releasing her bindings. “You are free to leave.”
I expect Mila to go after Man, so I’m surprised when she replies “Actually, Madame, please may I stay? I’d like to see the winner.” Adriana nods an approval.
Mila crosses her legs and lowers herself to the floor, landing with a satisfying squelch as her butt settles into the piles of excreta. She wiggles herself into the mess, really enjoying the slimy sensation as she bathes in the mire. I get the strong impression this isn’t her first rodeo.
“Well, Misses” Adriana crossed to Skylar and Tessa, nonchalantly wiping her shitty glove onto their butts in turn. “Miss Mila lost tonight. Which of you is bursting to be next? Who has a butt full -” another squeeze “- to squelch out into their panties? Who can hold on? Whose dignity will we see destroyed next?”
“Eew, that’s so fucking gross.” Tessa looks at Adriana in complete disgust, then up at the escape word written on the dungeon wall. But, catching Petrus’ eye, she doesn’t use it.
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