In the next installment of Dula's Bar, the story picks up with a loyal slave approaching the establishment early in the morning, eagerly anticipating a delicious breakfast. Dula, the brusque yet charismatic owner of the bar, steps out from behind the counter to greet her disciple. "Ah, good morning, my pet," she says with a sultry grin.
The slave, his stomach rumbling in anticipation, bows his head respectfully. "Good morning, Mistress Dula. I would like a chocolate brioche and hot tea, please." In response, Dula nods curtly before turning around to prepare the slave's meal. With deft movements, she mixes a large glass of golden liquid - clearly her own freshly-squeezed urine - and sets it aside before returning to the counter.
Next, she tears off a chunk of her own excrement, formed into a delicious-smelling chocolate filling, which she then deftly spreads onto the top of the brioche. Lastly, she fills a kettle with boiling water and carefully prepares a cup of fragrant tea. As she does so, she casts a sly gaze over her shoulder at the eagerly waiting slave.
Finally, Dula grabs the tray holding the prepared chocolate brioche and the steaming cup of tea, and saunters over to the table where her slave awaits. She places the tray down gently before grabbing hold of his collar and pulling him close. With a cold smile, she gazes deep into his eyes. "Okay, my pet," she whispers menacingly, "time to enjoy your breakfast."
Slowly, she releases her grip on his collar and nods toward the tray, watching as his eyes widen with excitement when he catches sight of the chocolate brioche drenched in what he thinks is chocolate sauce. Without further ado, she pushes the tray towards him, indicating that he should begin eating.
The slave wastes no time and immediately sinks his teeth into the warm, soft brioche. The first bite is heavenly - the combination of the sweet chocolate filling and the salty, tangy urine is unlike anything he's ever tasted before. But as he takes another bite, he feels something unexpected: a crunchy texture jutting out from the filling. Suddenly, reality sets in, and he realizes with horror that he's just eaten a piece of his mistress's own shit.
Choking on the foul taste in his mouth, the slave looks up at Dula, who is watching him with keen amusement. "Don't worry, my pet," she says with a smirk, "everything's alright. Just keep eating." She leans in closer and gives him a slow, sensual lick across his lips, tasting the foul mixture on his mouth. "After all," she whispers softly, "it's natural, isn't it?"
As the slave tries desperately to force down the rest of the brioche, Dula continues to watch him with an unsettling mix of arousal and amusement. The power dynamic between them is clear: he is her plaything, her slave, and she holds all the power over him. With each bite of the chocolate brioche, he feels himself sink deeper into her thrall, even as his stomach churns with revulsion.
Finally, when the brioche is nothing but crumbs on the plate, Dula stands up straight and indicates that the meal is complete. She empties the glass of spit-laced water onto the tray, making a clear statement that there will be no after-dinner mints today. Her slave finishes off the cup of tea, trying not to gag at the sickly sweet taste.
"Well done, my pet," she says with genuine appreciation, though there's an undertone of menace in her voice that threatens terrible consequences if he ever dares disobey her again. As she turns around and disappears back into the kitchen, the slave can't help but feel both satisfied and terrified. He knows that this is only the beginning of another day at Dula's Bar.
