Chapter 4: Washlet Worship
Consciousness returned as a prison. Kim felt the cold, unyielding press of ceramic tile encasing her entire body. She was fused with the floor of Shego’s bathroom, her limbs, her torso, her hips all submerged beneath a smooth, seamless surface. Only her face was exposed, a living oval framed by the grout lines, positioned directly under the sleek, steel bidet nozzle of a high-tech toilet. The air smelled of ozone and expensive cleaner.
A low, invasive buzz vibrated in her core. A remote-controlled vibrator was buried deep inside her pussy, its persistent hum a mocking echo of her heartbeat. On her chest, though she couldn’t see them, she felt the sharp, insistent tingle of vibrating eggs taped firmly to her nipples, each pulse sending wire-tight jolts through her sensitive peaks.
The bathroom door hissed open. Black boots entered her limited field of vision, followed by the pale green skin of bare thighs.
“Comfy, Possible?” Shego’s voice was a lazy drawl.
Kim tried to speak, but her jaw was held tight by the tile. A low groan escaped.
Shego set a small, black remote on the counter with a click. Her hands went to the waistband of her loose, silk shorts. She hooked her thumbs and pushed them down, stepping out of them. She stood over Kim, completely nude, her cunt a dark, neat strip of curls mere inches from Kim’s upturned nose. Kim could smell her—musky, clean, and inherently, dangerously Shego.
“Open wide, floor tile,” Shego said, her tone conversational as she lowered herself onto the toilet seat. She didn’t sit back. She perched on the edge, leaning forward, her bare ass hovering just above Kim’s mouth. The warm skin of her inner thighs brushed Kim’s ears. From this angle, Kim could see the flushed, wet folds of her sex, glistening under the ambient light.
“You’ll kneel,” Shego whispered, though Kim was incapable of movement. “With your tongue.”
Kim’s body was a traitor. Arousal, hot and shameful, pooled around the intruding vibrator. Her tongue strained from her mouth, stretching up towards that offered heat.
The first touch was electric. Her tongue-tip met slick, swollen flesh. The taste exploded across her senses—salty, tangy, profoundly intimate. Shego’s musk filled her head. Kim moaned, the sound muffled against her, and began to lick in earnest, lapping at the outer lips before seeking the hard nub of her clit.
“That’s it,” Shego breathed, one hand tangling in the red hair that fanned out from Kim’s trapped head. “Clean it up.”
Shego’s hips gave a small, grinding roll, coating Kim’s mouth with her wetness. With her other hand, Shego picked up the remote. Her thumb moved.
BzzzzzzzzzZZZZZT.
The vibrator inside Kim ratcheted up to a furious, deep pitch. The eggs on her nipples stung like angry bees. Kim’s whole body jerked against its ceramic prison, a scream of overwhelmed pleasure catching in her throat. Her tongue faltered.
“Did I say you could stop?” Shego asked, her voice husky. She pressed Kim’s face harder into her cunt. “Eat. Or I’ll turn it higher.”
Kim obeyed, driven by a need that transcended humiliation. She licked and sucked, worshipping Shego’s clit with frantic strokes, her own pleasure building in tandem, a feedback loop of desperation. Shego’s breaths became ragged. Her grip on Kim’s hair turned vicious.
“Fuck… your mouth is… ah, god…” Shego’s hips began to buck in earnest, fucking herself against Kim’s face. “Don’t you dare… don’t you fucking dare cum yet. This is mine.”
Shego came with a guttural, tearing cry, her body seizing. Hot juices sprayed across Kim’s tongue, her lips, her cheeks. Kim drank it down, moaning uncontrollably as the vibrations inside her mocked her own denied climax.
For a moment, there was only the sound of Shego’s heavy breathing and the relentless buzz. Then Shego stood. She turned, still dripping, and positioned herself directly over Kim’s face. She squatted, her cunt and ass a dark canopy.
“Open,” Shego commanded.
Kim, dazed, obeyed, parting her lips.
The first hot splash hit her tongue, different, acrid and warm. The stream strengthened, a forceful torrent of piss filling her mouth, flooding over her lips, spraying her nostrils, soaking her hair and the tiles around her head. Kim gagged, sputtered, but Shego’s hand was on her forehead, holding her still.
“Swallow it,” Shego growled, her stream unwavering. “Take it. It’s all you’re good for.”
Kim swallowed, the liquid burning her throat. She took it all, until the last drops fell onto her trembling chin.
Shego rose, stepped aside, and gave a soft, considering hum. “Almost too easy.” She moved lower, squatting now over Kim’s chest and stomach, areas of her body Kim could not see but could feel as exposed, vulnerable planes.
A different pressure. A low, internal groan from above. Then, warmth. A soft, heavy lump slid onto Kim’s sternum, followed by another, and another. The smell, rich and foul, invaded her senses immediately. The shit was warm, softening as it spread on her skin. Shego shifted, grunting slightly, coating Kim’s torso with her waste.
When she was finished, Shego reached down. She took a handful of Kim’s red hair, now damp with piss, and used it to wipe herself clean, dragging the coarse strands through her ass. She dropped the soiled hair back onto Kim’s face.
“A perfect fixture,” Shego muttered, walking to the sink. The sound of water running.
Time lost meaning. The vibrator never stopped. The buzzing was a constant in her bones. Shego returned hours later, after a meeting, her heels clicking. She stood over Kim, sighed, and lifted her skirt. Another hot cascade of piss, this one aimed at Kim’s tits, rinsing some of the earlier filth into new, stagnant pools. Later, after coffee, Shego came back, squatted, and shat again, this time aiming lower, the mess sliding down to coat Kim’s pubic mound and the invisible vibrator buried within her.
The bathroom’s climate control kept the air cool, but the smell was a thick, living blanket. Kim’s body was a canvas of brown and yellow, her skin sticky, her hair matted. She trembled constantly, from the vibrations, from the strain, from a shocking, unwavering arousal that the degradation could not extinguish. It fermented it. Made it richer, darker.
The light from the window dimmed to evening. Shego entered one final time. She was dressed for bed in a sleek robe. She knelt beside Kim’s imprisoned face, her nose wrinkling slightly at the odor. She reached out with a clean finger and wiped a smearing chunk of shit from Kim’s cheekbone.
“You still won’t break, will you, princess?” Shego whispered, studying Kim’s eyes. She looked for revulsion, for madness, for surrender.
Kim’s eyes, green and bloodshot, met hers. They were watery from piss and strain. But in their depths, beneath the exhaustion, Shego saw it again: that defiant, blazing hunger. A consent that turned defeat into a twisted communion.
Shego’s smirk faded into something more contemplative, more unsettled. She stood, pulled a phone from her robe pocket. Her thumbs tapped swiftly.
A section of the floor directly in front of Kim’s eyes shimmered, transforming into a dark screen. Glowing green text materialized.
PENTHOUSE. TOMORROW. 8 PM. COME ALONE.
Shego looked down at the ruined, resolute face of her rival. “Let’s see you smile through that one in person,” she murmured, and tapped a command into her phone.
The vibrator and eggs switched off. The sudden silence was a shock. The black screen went dark, returning to tile.
The dream dissolved, not into peace, but into a vacuum.
Kim awoke on her bathroom floor, curled on the cold linoleum. She was gasping, her body convulsing in dry heaves. She scrambled to her knees, gripping the rim of her own toilet. She retched, but nothing came up. Her throat still burned. Her skin felt phantom filth, phantom warmth.
She stumbled into the shower, turning it on full blast, ice cold. She scrubbed until her skin was raw and red. She used a washcloth on her tongue, gagging.
Back in her room, wrapped in a towel, she stared at her reflection. The haunted look was gone. In its place was a terrifying clarity. The invitation was real. Shego was done playing in dreams.
The degradation had been absolute. And she had taken it. Not just taken it—she had metabolized it. The taste was in her cells. The smell was in her sinuses. The defiance in her own eyes stared back at her.
She didn’t check the clock. She knew the time. She walked to her closet.
She wouldn't go. Not yet,