/jp/ - Otaku Culture

She turns. 'Hold up my dress.' Alice obeys. 'Be careful. Don't touch my skin.' Earlier in this game she was nervous, constipated, wondering if this is anything like male impotence. But thoughtful Marisa, anticipating this, has been sending laxative pills with her meals. Now her intestines whine softly, and she feels shit begin to slide down and out. Alice knees with her arms up holding the rich dress. A dark turd appears out the crevice, out of the absolute darkness between her white buttocks. Alice spreads her knees, awkwardly, until she can feel the leather of Marisa's boots. She leans forward to surround the hot turd with her lips, sucking on it tenderly, licking along its lower side ... she is thinking, she's sorry, she can't help it, thinking of a negro's penis, yes she knows it abrogates part of the conditions set, but it will not be denied, the image of a brute African who will make her behave...The stink of shit floods her nose, gathering her, surrounding. It is the smell of Passchendaele, of the salient. Mixed with the mud, and the putrefaction of corpses, it was the sovereign smell of their first meeting, and her emblem. The turd slides into her mouth, down into her gullet. She gags, but bravely clamps her teeth shut. Bread that would have floated in porcelain waters somewhere, unseen, untasted--risen now and baked in the bitter intestinal over to bread we know, bread that's light as domestic comfort, secret as death in bed ... Spasms in her throat continue. The pain is terrible. With her tongue she mashes shit against the roof of her mouth and begins to chew, thickly now, the only sound in the room...