Full Service

Author: Closet Fetishist

Written: March 9th, 2015

"I still don't get what I'm doing here," I ask my wife, who sits next to me in a pretty typical waiting room. It's empty, we're the only ones here. "I already had a checkup."

"This isn't a checkup; just trust me, hon, okay?"

I nod. I don't know why she won't just tell me. Oh, shit...is this a prostate exam? Am I old enough for one of those yet? I thought it was men age...but what else could it really be? Why won't she just tell me?!

"Parkson?" The receptionist calls out.

My wife stands, I do the same and walk with her to the window.

The receptionist glances at me, then back to her paper; "So we have one coming in; any specifics?"

I'm not sure how to answer, what the fuck is she even talking about.

"No, full service is fine," my wife answers.

"Uh..." I start to speak.

My wife takes my hand and looks me straight in the eye, she's about a foot shorter than me, "Trust me; okay?"

She pecks me on the lips just as the receptionist opens the door to the back; she leads me inside.

We walk down a short hallway, through another door where two women stand just inside, like they are waiting for me.

They each grab an arm of mine and pull it back behind me as the receptionist clicks handcuffs over my wrists.

"What the fuck?!" I demand.

They don't answer, using another set of cuffs on my ankles as they lead me forward into a room marked 6.

They toss me and close the door, sealing me in this all black space.

I shuffle around, trying to find a wall, a corner, anything.

The light hits in the center of the room; and there's a woman there. She steps towards me.

"What's going on?!" I ask, frantic.

She says nothing, walks towards me, removing her sock as she approaches. She lifts it, stuffing it into my mouth until it's in there completely; my mouth now filled with the sweaty smells of her seemingly unwashed sock.

She lifts a foot and puts it on my face, ensuring my nose is between her toes. I moan loudly, her feet smell rancid; like old milk left out to spoil.

"Prres...pleasse!" I beg, muffled; I hope my eyes tell the story.

In the darkness, she smirks; she drags me down, by her foot, to the ground.

I look up at her in terror and confusion. Did my wife know what was happening to me?

The woman stands closely over me, squats down, her butt hovering just above my face.

BRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaappppp!

Then she drops her butt from that height, landing right on my face.

She holds her ass there, keeping my face a bit up her ass cheeks.

FFFFFFFFFFrrrrrruuuuuupppp!

She chuckles, almost silently, "Smell." Her tone is soft but very commanding.

I can't help but take a big inhale of her toxic gas; her sitting knocking the wind out of me. I only just wish it wasn't be replaced by her methane.

I scratch and claw at the floor underneath me; my feet swing as wildly as I can as I try to slip out from under her...but where would I go? I'm fucking cuffed around the ankles and wrists!

If I could just get out to my wife...she'd help me!

The woman lifts up. I do too, hoping to knock her down and push her off me.

PRRRRRRRRRrraaaauuuuuuppppppp!

She knocks my head back down with a thick, hot fart that sends me reeling as I writhe, pained on the floor.

"Heeeellllppppp!" I scream out, muffled by her sweaty sock in my mouth.

The woman squats back over my face; grunts a bit.

FRRRrrrrpppp!

She lets out a quiet but messy shart on my face, painting it like modern art with a splatter of brown right in the center of my face. The smell is putrid and the feel of liquid shit disgusting on my skin.

I moan, beg, and cry all in the same sound; much like a whimper I guess.

I hear her laugh just a bit; then I hear the clicking of the handcuffs, I feel them fall off my ankles. Then I feel them off my wrists.

Desperately I scramble out from under the woman and to the door, sprinting. I don't look back for fear I'll be stopped.

I'm in the hall, all the doors look the same; I pick the one at the end of the hall. Must be the exit, don't they have to post that, like legally? I rip the sock from my mouth, desperately trying to moisten my mouth again after the worst, most literal version of cotton mouth.

I open the door, my wife is right on the other side; it's the waiting room, thank god!

I fall into her arms, she embraces me lovingly.

"Shhh, sweetie, it's okay; it's okay." I hear her voice coming in finally. I can't believe I made it out. "Awww, sweetheart, I'll protect you."

I hug her tightly, she hugs back; I feel her warmth.

"There's just one thing you'll need to do, okay sweetheart?"

"Anything hon, anything; what is it?"

"Be my slave."

My eyes go wide, I gently push away from her to see her face is dead serious.

"You'll be my slave from now on. Or you'll go back in there and never come out again. Okay, sweetheart?"

I look at her, my eyes soft; I'm crying inside. How could this be happening? I look back down the hallway; the woman waiting there, smiling. She waves to me, taunting me.

I look back to my wife who smiles sweetly. She holds a document out, at the top, it reads "Slave Contract." She has a pen in her other hand.

"Yes darling, whatever you say," I say, signing the paper and my life away; in ways I would be discovering for years to come.

"Good. Then I won't have to use that disgusting public bathroom; I could just use your face, right, dear?" She asks, as she pushes me to my knees.

"Yes dear."

She pulls down her panties; her jeans already dropped to the ground, "That's good, you're a very good husband."

"Thank you dear," I say, almost robotically now.

She smirks as her ass crack swallows my face; she works to align her butthole with my mouth.

"Okay sweetie, you'll need to open wide, okay?"

I do as she asks, muffled up against her butt, I say, "Yes dear."

She grunts just a little...BRRRrrrrrruuuuppp!

"Oh, just a bit gassy," she says, massaging my head, "That should be no problem for you, right dear?"

I choke on her gas, "No dear, no problem."

"Good, that's a good pet."

Suddenly, her butt starts to crown a log, "Ugh...oh, here comes; get your mouth around it sweetheart!"

"Yes dear," I say, pursing my lips around my wife's disgisting shit log.

She pushes a little and sends the log barreling down my throat as she fills my mouth with her shit.

"Mmmm, yeeeessss!" She yells, euphorically; she roughly rubs my head, "You have no idea how long I've waited for this!"

I guess that shouldn't be a surprise to me now; she'd planned this all. All that mattered now was not choking of my wife's smelly dumps that currently wait in my mouth for me to swallow but oh much I want to avoid it.

But I can't. A big gulp and much of my wife's waste slides down my throat, giving my esophagus the feeling like it's going to burst from the massive girth of the logs.

"I think that's enough for now; you can be my seat for the ride home so you can clean me up. Come along sweetheart."

I just watch my wife briefly walk away; then she turns back to look at me. She flashes me a sweet smile; the smile I fell in love with.

"Yes dear," I answer as I crawl closely behind her.