Chapter 6: The Final Fucked-Up Lock
The rain had stopped, leaving the city outside Lisa’s window a slick, black mirror reflecting smeared neon. In the warm cave of her apartment, they were a tangle of limbs and blankets on the sofa, the ghost of a documentary about octopuses still flickering on the silent panel. Wanda’s head was a comforting weight on Lisa’s stomach, her long hair fanned out like spilled ink. Lisa’s fingers traced idle patterns on the warm brown skin of Wanda’s shoulder.
“Remember the gym?” Wanda murmured, her voice a sleepy vibration against Lisa’s skin.
A hot, immediate flush spread through Lisa’s chest. “How could I forget? My knees ached for two days from that tile.”
“Worth it.” Wanda turned her head, nuzzling into Lisa’s soft belly. “The way you looked when I made you lick my shoe. Like you’d found religion.”
“It was the smell,” Lisa said, the memory vivid. “That fucking… gym bag, foot cheese smell. It was so real. It made my eyes water, but my cunt got so wet I could feel it dripping down my thigh.”
Wanda chuckled, a low, dark sound. “I know. I saw the puddle on the tile when you got up. My dirty little pig.” She slid a hand under the blanket, her palm rough and warm as it settled on Lisa’s hip. “The strap-on after. You were so hungry for it. Babbling.”
Lisa’s breath hitched as Wanda’s fingers dipped lower, brushing the coarse hair at the apex of her thighs. “I was. I wanted you to wreck me.”
“I did.” Wanda’s voice lost its playful edge, going serious. “That last part. When you sucked it clean. Your face… Lisa, I’ve never seen anything like that. You were somewhere else. It was fucking beautiful.”
The air in the room changed. The cozy warmth took on a charge. Lisa’s heart began a slow, heavy thump against her ribs. This was it. The secret she’d been carrying like a hot stone in her gut.
“Wanda,” Lisa whispered. Her own hand found Wanda’s under the blanket, not to stop her, but to press her fingers closer. “That’s the thing.”
“What thing?”
“When I… when I sucked it clean.” Lisa closed her eyes, the memory not of performance, but of private, visceral horror. “I wasn’t acting.”
Wanda’s hand stilled. She didn’t pull away. She went very still. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I was careless that morning. I didn’t… prep. Not properly. Just a coffee, rushing out the door.” The words came out in a rush, a confessional exhale. “When you pulled it out and told me to suck it… I saw it. On the toy. Just streaks. Brown, mixed in the lube. My own… shit.”
She felt Wanda’s sharp intake of breath against her stomach.
“I panicked. I thought I’d gag and you’d stop, Marcus would cut. But you didn’t see it. Or you didn’t care. You just shoved it in my mouth.” Lisa’s voice dropped to a raw whisper. “And I tasted it, Wanda. I tasted my own shit. And I gagged, yeah, but then… fuck. Then something else happened.”
Wanda slowly raised her head. In the dim light from the panel, her eyes were wide pools of black, searching Lisa’s face. Not with disgust. With intense, rapt focus. “Tell me.”
“It was like a circuit overloaded. The shame was so huge, so total, it just… flipped. It became fuel. The taste, knowing what it was, knowing I was the only one who knew… it made me come harder than anything in my life. I was sucking that toy, cleaning my actual filth off it, and I was coming my fucking brains out.”
She was trembling now. Wanda’s hand moved, not away, but to cup Lisa’s mound through the blanket, a firm, grounding pressure.
“Since then,” Lisa continued, her voice cracking, “I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve been… searching. Online. Not just ass-to-mouth. Further.”
“Scat.” Wanda said the word plainly. It wasn’t a question.
Lisa nodded, a jerk of her head. “Yeah. At first I was just looking for that clip, our clip, to see if you could tell. Then it was other ATM stuff. Then… I fell down a hole. Watching things I never imagined. People eating it. Smearing it. Getting fucked in it.” She was crying now, hot, silent tears tracking into her hairline. “And it turns me on so much it scares me. It feels like a sickness. Like the final, fucked-up lock on my door.”
Wanda was silent for a long moment. Then she shifted, moving up the couch until they were face-to-face. She wiped a tear from Lisa’s cheek with her thumb. Her expression was unreadably soft.
“My darkest fantasy is being sold,” Wanda said quietly. “Taken away in a trunk. Used by strangers until I break. You know that. You didn’t flinch. You said you’d find me.” She kissed Lisa, a slow, deep kiss that tasted of salt and understanding. “This is yours. This is the shadow in your corner. And you just showed it to me.”
Her hand, which had been cupping Lisa, slid under the waistband of her sweatpants and underwear. Her fingers parted Lisa’s folds, finding her soaked. “You’re drenched,” Wanda breathed against her lips. “Talking about it makes you this wet?”
“Yes,” Lisa gasped.
“Tell me a fantasy. One you found. In detail.”
Lisa’s mind, fogged with shame and a roaring need, focused. She saw the images from the deep web forums, the grainy, amateur videos. She let them play behind her eyes.
“There’s this one video,” she began, her voice a hoarse thread. “A woman. She’s on all fours on a plastic sheet. Her partner… he’s kneeling behind her. He’s not even fucking her. He’s just… shitting on her back. A soft, hot pile of it, right on her spine.”
Wanda’s fingers pushed inside her, two, deep and slow. Lisa moaned.
“She shudders when it hits her,” Lisa continued, her hips lifting to meet Wanda’s hand. “It’s so warm. You can see the steam. It smells… God, you can almost smell it through the screen. Earthy. Acidic. Real. And she’s moaning. She pushes her ass back into the air, like she’s begging for more.”
“What does he do?” Wanda’s breath was hot on her neck, her fingers curling inside her.
“He… he smears it.” Lisa’s words came in broken pants. “He uses both hands. He rubs it into her skin, all over her back, her ass. He fills the crack of her ass with it, pushes it into her hole. He’s calling her his filthy toilet, his dirty canvas. And she’s thanking him. She’s saying ‘please, more, mark me.’”
Wanda’s pace quickened. Her thumb found Lisa’s clit, applying a rough, perfect pressure. “You imagine that’s you?”
“Yes. Oh, God, yes.” Lisa’s back arched. “I imagine it’s you. Doing that to me. Or me doing it to you. I imagine the heat of it. The weight. The smell filling my nose. I imagine licking it off your fingers. I imagine you forcing a piece of it into my mouth and making me chew.”
The filthy words, given voice, acted like a trigger. Wanda let out a choked sound of pure arousal. She shifted violently, yanking Lisa’s sweatpants down to her ankles, then her own. She pushed Lisa onto her back and straddled her face, lowering herself until her heavy, hairy pussy was hovering over Lisa’s mouth.
“Tell me more,” Wanda demanded, her voice shaking. “While you eat my cunt, you dirty fucking pig, tell me more.”
Lisa didn’t hesitate. She seized Wanda’s hips and pulled her down, burying her tongue in Wanda’s wet, musky depths. The taste was strong, human, glorious. She ate her with a frantic hunger, then pulled back, gasping for air, her mouth glistening.
“I imagine saving it up,” Lisa panted, looking up at Wanda’s wild, beautiful face. “For days. Eating fucking garbage so it’s soft, and huge. And then, on your knees, pushing it out… not in a toilet. Into a bowl. A fucking cereal bowl. And then feeding it to myself with a spoon. While you watch. While you call me a disgusting, shit-eating whore.”
Wanda cried out, grinding herself against Lisa’s chin. “Fuck! Yes!”
“Is it too much?” Lisa begged, the question ripped from her core. “Is this a sickness? Tell me, please.”
Wanda leaned forward, bracing her hands on the couch behind Lisa’s head, bringing their faces close. Her eyes blazed. “It’s a fantasy. It’s a secret. It’s yours. And you gave it to me.” She kissed her, a bruising, possessive kiss. “Nothing you desire is too much for me. Nothing. You hear me? You want to eat shit? Then we’ll talk about it. We’ll learn. We’ll be safe. But we won’t hide.”
The permission, the utter lack of recoil, was a tidal wave. Lisa sobbed into the kiss, her body tensing. Wanda’s hand slid between her own legs, fingers working furiously.
“Come for me,” Wanda growled. “Come thinking about being my filthy, shit-smearing slut.”
Lisa broke. The orgasm was catastrophic, a convulsive wave that started in her cunt and radiated out to her fingertips, her toes, her scalp. She screamed into Wanda’s mouth, her body bucking, her heels digging into the couch cushions. A second later, Wanda followed, her inner muscles clenching around her own fingers, a hot gush of fluid raining down onto Lisa’s stomach as she shuddered and collapsed on top of her.
For minutes, there was only the sound of their ragged, syncopated breathing. The neon glow from the city painted slow-moving stripes across their tangled, sweaty bodies.
Wanda finally rolled off, pulling the blanket back over them. She curled into Lisa’s side, her head back on Lisa’s shoulder. Her hand rested on Lisa’s stomach, feeling the rapid flutter beneath the skin.
“We don’t have to do anything,” Wanda whispered. “Ever. Just knowing is enough.”
“But we could,” Lisa said, the words feeling dangerous and bright in the dark.
“We could,” Wanda agreed. She lifted her head, her smile visible in the gloom. It was tender and fierce and full of promise. “My brave, nasty, perfect girl. You’re full of surprises.”
Lisa stared at the ceiling, the phantom smells and tastes of her darkest fantasy still lingering in her mind’s eye. But they weren’t frightening ghosts anymore. They were blueprints. Possibilities. Held now not in shameful solitude, but in the shared, sweaty space between their bodies.
She turned and kissed Wanda’s hair, breathing in the scent of jasmine and sex and her.
“So are you,” Lisa whispered back.
A moment of silence followed. Just the sounds of the breath of two women filled the air. The silence broke. "I love you, Wanda" Lisa said. "I love you too, Lisa" Wanda said.