As Miss Dula entered her studio, she couldn't help but feel a surge of anger and betrayal. One of her slaves had been unfaithful to her, sharing intimate moments with another Mistress behind her back. The thought alone made her blood boil.
She approached the slave, who was kneeling in the corner, head bowed low. He knew what he'd done wrong and couldn't bring himself to look at his beloved Mistress. "Look at me," she commanded, her voice cold as ice. The slave slowly raised his gaze to meet hers, his heart pounding in his chest.
Miss Dula let out a sigh of disgust. "I trusted you," she said, her voice quivering with emotion. "And this is how you repay me? By cheating on me?" She walked over to a table where a plate of her feces sat waiting. "Well, my naughty slave," she began, her voice laced with venom. "Today you will taste the height of degradation and humiliation."
Without another word, Miss Dula picked up a small spoon and scooped up a generous portion of her shit. She brought it up close to the slave's face, letting the scent of her feces fill the air. "Open wide," she commanded, her voice taking on a croaky edge. Reluctantly, the slave parted his lips, anticipating what was to come.
Miss Dula placed the spoonful of shit gently on the slave's tongue, taking care to cover his entire mouth in her feces. She leaned in close, her breath hot against his cheek, and began to spit on him. "This is for cheating on your Mistress," she hissed, her saliva mixing with the shit on his skin.
The slave grimaced as he felt Miss Dula's spit drip down his chin and onto his chest. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out the humiliation washing over him. But it was of no use. Miss Dula wasn't done yet.
With a mischievous glint in her eye, Miss Dula pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. She took a long drag and then exhaled the smoke directly onto the slave's face. "This is for all the times you disappointed me," she said, her voice mocking. She continued to smoke, the smoke engulfing the slave's face as he coughed and struggled to breathe.
Finally, Miss Dula stepped back, her boots sinking into the slave's stomach. She looked down at him, assessing his condition. The slave's body shook with fear and humiliation, his skin flushed with embarrassment. "Now," she said in a low growl, "it's time for you to taste yourself."
With that, Miss Dula pushed the remaining shit from the spoon into the slave's mouth. He gagged and choked as he felt the warm, revolting mass slide down his throat. "And don't forget," she added with a cruel smile, "the part that's left over, I want you to push it into your own mouth with your foot."
The slave, tears streaming down his face, slowly lowered his foot until it rested on the soft mound of his own shit. He looked up at Miss Dula, pleading with her to stop, but she merely smiled and walked away, leaving him to complete his task alone.
As the slave pushed the last of his shit into his mouth, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever regain his dignity again. The thought alone made him want to vomit, but he forced it down just like he was forcing the rest of his shame down his throat.
