Alisa - The White Slave of the Caliphate

Chapter V - The Kafira

The shift in the atmosphere was immediate. The other slaves, now looked at her with a mixture of pity and predatory anticipation.

They could smell the desperation in the air. Jamal’s visits grew shorter, his touch more clinical and devoid of the heavy, possessive heat that had once defined their encounters.

When Alisa’s red blood finally stained the sheets of the fourth single month, Jamal didn't yell. He simply summoned the guard and brought a heavy, polished wooden cane into the chamber.

He commanded her to lay on her back spreading her legs wide, exposing the very center of her failure to her owner. The first stroke landed with a wet, sickening thud against the soft tissue of her vulva. He didn't stop until ten strikes had been delivered, the cane carving deep, blunt bruises into the most sensitive skin of her body.

The punishment became a monthly ritual; a brutal clock synchronized with her cycle. After the first punishment, the Usta, the head slave, was ordered to repeat the beating every time the bleeding returned, as the Sultan had even lost interest in punishing the failing slave girl.

Over time, the repeated trauma and the constant, unresolved swelling transformed the anatomy of her pleasure into a site of permanent injury. The tissue didn't heal; it simply thickened and darkened. Her vaginal orifice became a swollen, permanent mass of deep blue and purple, a bruised knot of flesh that never fully receded, rendering her anatomy unrecognizable.

At the peak of that blueish swell sat the colorless void, where her clitoris had been burned out by the hot irons of the Sultan many years ago. The scarred organ stood in a brutal contrast to the surrounding purple inflammation. It was a blind spot of dead skin amidst a sea of bruised blood.

Alisa’s descent through the harem ranks was a vertical drop. She was shoved from the scented chambers into the damp, subterranean belly of the palace. She was no longer a breeder for the Sultan‘s legacy; from now on she was only seen by her fellow slaves as the Kafira, the nonbeliever.

Now, her days were measured in buckets of dirty wastewater and the scrubbing of stone. Alisa spent many hours per day on her knees, her small brush scraping and cleaning the waste of the sprawling palace.

The cleaning was a mindless labor. She scrubbed until her knuckles and knees bled. Occasionally, another slave or servant would walk past and intentionally kick a bucket of slushy water over her shoulder, laughing at the "fallen queen of the breeding chamber“.

Alisa didn't look up; she simply absorbed the insult, her mind retreating into a blank, white void. One day, during one of her daily inspection rounds through the harem, the Valide Sultan, the mother of the Sultan, stopped next to Alisa.

The old Valide Sultan was a mountain of a woman, a vast expanse of black silk and mahogany skin that seemed to swallow the light of the corridor. Her presence was signaled by the heavy scent of ambergris and the wet, slapping sound of her feet against the marble. She stopped at the mouth of the latrines, her small, gold-ringed fingers curling into the folds of her dress as she peered down at Alisa.

She watched Alisa scrub the filth from the stones, her eyes lingering on the way the woman's body trembled under the effort. Seeing the white slave girl in the dirt, stirred her desire for degradation. She ordered Alisa to crawl toward her, not on her hands, but on her belly, dragging her bruised anatomy across the wet floor of the latrine. As Alisa reached her, the old Mother used a jeweled cane to lift Alisa's chin, examining the hollows of her cheeks with a predatory interest.

"The Golden Breeder has become a Golden Scrub," the Valide murmured, her voice a low, gravelly rasp, her gaze locking onto Alisa’s eyes with a sudden, piercing intensity. With a bored snot the turned and glided away, and a violent shiver raced down Alisa’s spine, leaving her trembling on the floor.

The summons arrived that afternoon. Alisa was ordered to cease her scrubbing immediately. She was given an hour - a luxury she hadn't known in months - to scrub her skin and to wash off the scent of the sewers from her pores. She worked with a frantic, meticulous desperation, scrubbing the crevices of her body as if she were trying to erase the very history of her descent.

Then one of the guards lead her to the quarters of the old Valide Mother.

As she crossed the threshold into the Valide’s private sanctuary, Alisa didn't wait for a command. She dropped instantly, her knees hitting the polished marble with a dull thud, her face pressed flat against the cool stone. She remained there, motionless and breathless, smelling the thick mixture of oud and roasting honey.

In the back of the spacious room, the Valide lay draped across a massive, velvet-upholstered diwan, her immense form swathed in translucent layers of silk. The old woman was leisurely drawing from a long-stemmed waterpipe, the gurgling of the charcoal punctuating the silence, while her jeweled fingers plucked honey-soaked dates from a heavy brass platter, the sticky syrup glistening on her fingertips.

For nearly an hour, the Valide ignored her. Alisa lay paralyzed on the marble, the cold of the floor seeping into her bones, her chest heaving in slow, rhythmic pulses.

Alisa heard the wet, repetitive smacking of lips as the old Mother savored the honeyed dates, the sound amplified by the oppressive silence of the chamber. A deep, guttural burp tore through the air, a violent expulsion of gas that shook the Valide’s massive frame.

It was followed by a series of loud, wet farts, the sounds sharp and undisguised, echoing off the polished palace walls

With a lazy, flicking motion of her wrist, the Valide signaled for Alisa to approach. The slave moved on all fours, her palms slapping against the marble.

As she reached the edge of the diwan, her head bowed, Alisa felt the heat radiating from the woman’s immense thighs, a humid, oppressive warmth that smelled of ancient sweat.

Slowly, the Valide’s hand - thick and heavy with gold bands - clamped into the back of Alisa’s hair, forcing her forward. With her other hand the old Mother pushed the translucent silk of her robe away, exposing the vast, mahogany expanse of her lower body.

With a grunt of effort, she hoisted her heavy legs, splaying them wide and pinning Alisa’s face directly beneath her.

Alisa was held there, frozen, her nose and lips lingering just a few centimeters from the Valide's massive, damp vaginal folds. The air was thick with the pungent, fermented scent of the woman’s arousal and the lingering musk of her flatulence, a smell that filled Alisa’s lungs and made her head swim.

The scent of the obese old woman‘s sweating folds and heavy musk became an overwhelming wall of aroma. Alisa felt the heat radiating from the woman’s immense thighs, a humid, oppressive warmth that smelled of ancient sweat. As the dim light shifted, it revealed the merciless mass of the mother’s anatomy.

Her skin, a deep and almost ashen ebony, seemed to surrender under its own immense weight, cascading in heavy, soft folds. Between those undulating, obese thighs lay a chaotic battlefield of decades of abrasion. The inner flesh was a map of ruin - torn by friction and inflammation, crisscrossed with rigid, bulging scar tissue, a place where the skin had been pushed beyond its limits and had healed into thick, distorted ridges of calloused meat.

The entire vulva was a shapeless mass, that radiated a heavy scent of stagnant moisture and bitter, concentrated sweat. The labia hung like slack, heavy cushions of dark, leathery flesh, crushed and flattened by the woman's own massive thighs. Above it all sat the clitoral hood - a bloated, fleshy mound that loomed like a heavy leather bag over the core of her desire.

It wasn't just the sight that overwhelmed Alisa. In the deep, unventilated crevices of the obese old woman, a dense, tallow-like layer had accumulated. A foul mix of decomposed sweat, the sharp tang of old urine, and the fishy, grey discharge of a flora that had flourished in the dark, airless heat.

As Alisa’s stomach churned, her instinct finally overrode her submission. She tried to jerk her head back, a reflexive flinch to escape the stench of the woman's rotting folds.

The Valide let out a low, wet grunt of a laugh, and with a sudden, crushing motion, the Valide‘s heavy, ring-laden hand shoved Alisa‘s face violently forward. The force smashed Alisa’s nose and mouth directly into the humid, matted core of the Valide’s groin, burying her face in the thick, suffocating mass.

The impact was visceral, the hot, damp skin sealing off the world, forcing Alisa to inhale the concentrated essence of the woman's decay and arousal. Alisa felt the slick, viscous heat of the Valide's secretions soak into her cheeks, filling her nostrils and coating her lips.

"Lick, slave. Clean me out you faithless little whore.” The Valide commanded, her voice a jagged rasp of authority. As the order left her lips, the sharp crack of a camel whip shattered the silence. The short, braided leather lash tore through the air and slammed into Alisa’s bare upper back, leaving a searing red line of agony.

Alisa gasped, her breath hitching as she was pinned beneath the mountain of mahogany flesh, but the hip didn't stop and another strike landed across her shoulder blades, then another, the rhythmic lashes whipping her skin into a frenzy of fire. With every snap of the leather, the Valide pressed her immense weight downward, grinding Alisa’s face deeper into her intimate meat folds.

Driven by a primal fear of the next strike, Alisa opened her mouth and began to lap at the deep, airless crevices, her tongue working frantically to scoop out the various deposits of waste.

The Valide let out a guttural moan, her heavy thighs quivering as she pressed the full, suffocating weight of her pelvis against Alisa's face.

For the last days, she had deliberately ignored her own hygiene, allowing the natural secretions of her massive body to ferment and accumulate in the dark, humid heat of her groin. She had cultivated this reservoir of filth specifically for this moment, turning her own lack of care into a weapon of degradation.

As Alisa’s tongue worked deeper into the cavernous folds, her mouth began to flood with an excessive, uncontrollable amount of saliva, a reflexive attempt by her body to dilute the caustic bitterness of the smegma. As she was forced to drink from the woman’s groin, each swallow felt like a thick, viscous rope of salt and sulfur sliding down her esophagus.

After what felt like an eternity, Alisa had licked the old woman’s huge genital area clean of any accumulated remnants. Her massive folds of skin now glistened with her saliva and the fresh vaginal secretions oozing from the aroused, fat woman.

The Valide suddenly shifted, her massive thighs clamping shut with a wet, slapping sound that nearly crushed Alisa’s jaw. "Enough," she rasped, her voice dripping with a cold amusement. She didn't pull away but instead shifted her pelvis slightly, positioning her leaking opening directly above Alisa’s wide-open mouth. "Keep it open, slave. Do not let a single drop touch the marble." Alisa froze, her jaw locked in a wide, gaping void, her swollen tongue red and trembling as she stared up at the cavernous, shadowed entrance of the woman's womb.

Then came her release. It wasn't a forceful stream, but a slow, rhythmic trickling of dark yellow urine, thick and concentrated like syrupy brine. The liquid emerged, smelling of sulfur and old kidneys, landing on Alisa’s tongue with a stinging heat. It tasted gruesome - a bitter, alkaline gruel of dehydrated waste and fermented minerals that coated the roof of her mouth.

Alisa’s throat worked in desperate, rhythmic gulps to catch every drop. She focused on the precision of the act, tilting her head back just enough to ensure the liquid flowed straight into her gullet, filling her stomach with the heavy, warmth of the old Mother‘s bladder. Her eyes watering from total humiliation while she inhaled the steam of the leaking woman.

The sight of the broken, white slave aroused the Valide even more. Deep within the mahogany depths of her groin, the hypertrophic clitoris began to throb, engorging with a sudden rush of blood.

This protruding core, a product of decades of hormonal imbalance, stood out, as a prominent mound of deep crimson meat, pulsing with a rhythmic heat.

The older woman groaned. The sound was a low rattle in her chest. She rested a heavy hand on the back of Alisa's head. She pushed her deeper and forced Alisa to wrap her lips around the entire length of the swollen organ. The heat was intense. It filled Alisa's nasal passages with the scent of musk and arousal. She felt the slick lubrication coat her chin and cheeks.

The Valide let out a sharp, commanding hiss, her ring-laden fingers gripping Alisa’s hair and wrenching her face upward. She slammed the now erect stub, directly into Alisa's mouth, forcing the slave to suck the pulsing meat with rapid, short strokes of her mouth.

The orgasm came as a torrential explosion of fluid. From the depths of her cavernous womb, a pressurized stream of thick, transparent brine erupted in a sudden, violent spray. The liquid slammed into Alisa’s face with the force of a wet slap, blinding her in a hot, viscous deluge of vaginal and uterine discharge.

As the Valide was satisfied how she could use the fallen slave, she decreed that Alisa’s existence will from now on be tethered to the marble floor of her chambers.

A heavy, polished golden iron was locked around her neck, its short chain anchoring her to the gold-plated frame of the Valide’s diwan. She became a living extension of the furniture, a human footstool whose only purpose was to remain positioned beneath the obese woman’s hanging thighs, waiting for the moment the Valide felt the need to purge her biological waste.

Within days, the novelty of the occasional trickle evolved into a systematic requirement. The Valide stopped using the porcelain basins of her suite entirely, treating Alisa’s wide, waiting maw as her primary plumbing. The ritual became a clockwork of debauchery: the mother would lounge for hours, sipping honeyed tea and smoking the waterpipe, while Alisa knelt below, chained to the diwan.

The moment the Valide’s bladder reached its limit, she would simply shift her weight, flooding Alisa’s throat with a steaming, concentrated torrent of golden brine.

Her life now consisted of ritualized humiliation, her tongue a tool no longer for speech but service, lapping at the sour, aged flesh of the Valide Sultan, a woman whose corpulence was matched only by her cruelty. But Alisa soon learned, that this was only the beginning of her decent. "Today, girl," she rasped, "we begin your true purpose."

The Valide moved her mountainous frame, the gilded diwan groaning in protest and slowly walked to the adjacent private toilet chamber.  Alisa, was tethered to her by the gold chain around her neck, forced to crawl on all fours to follow her; her obese frame swaying as she led the way.

Finally, they reached the bathroom, with a massive, oriental style squat toilet placed in one corner of the marble floor. The Valide squatted over the toilet hole with a grunt, keeping Alisa at the chain kneeling in front of her. She lifted her silk robe, revealing her massive thighs, her flesh hanging in thick, heavy folds, like black curtains with silvery stretch marks.

She began to push, her face turning a dangerous shade of red and with a grunt, began to release her bowels. A stream of diarrhea, yellowish-brown and foul-smelling, shot out, missing Alisa’s face by mere centimeters. Then she shifted slightly, aiming the brownish stream directly at Alisa's face. The slave girl gasped, turning her head to the side, trying to avoid the stench and the splash.

"Hold still, slave," the Valide ordered, her grip firm on Alisa’s neck chain.

Alisa's eyes widened in horror as the putrid, yellow-brown liquid gushed forth, splattering across Alisa's face, coating her eyes, nose, and mouth.

Alisa quickly closed her eyes and mouth and froze in shock and humiliation, the sticky liquid now clinging to her eye lashes and brows. Diarrhea drooled down her dehumanized face, a grotesque mask of degradation, as the Valide continued to empty herself into the face of the slave girl.

The stench of human waste filled the air and Alisa's stomach convulsed violently, her body revolting against the vile substance in her mouth. She leaned over the squat toilet, her muscles clenching as she expelled the contents of her stomach, the hot, yellow bile mixing with the Valide's waste.

The Valide, watched with twisted amusement. "You will learn, slave" she rasped, "now clean me up." The Valide's asshole gaped at Alisa, a dark, meaty ring dilated to an obscene width, its edges glistening with remnants of her feces. Alisa's heart pounded in her chest as she leaned in, her tongue reaching out to probe the filthy opening. When her tongue touched the feces, Alisa had to vomit again.

It took Alisa over a week of daily humiliating training before she could swallow all of the old, fat woman’s feces without throwing up. By that point, she was already severely dehydrated and had lost nearly five kilograms of body weight. Nevertheless, her body then began to adapt, to her new role.

The Valide, her appetite for debasement insatiable, would often spend hours in the private chamber, her obese frame trembling with exertion as she had started to only empty herself directly into Alisa's waiting mouth, using her as her personal living toilet.

The Valide's colossal frame, a result of years of indulging in rich, heavily spiced foods and a sedentary lifestyle, was the primary cause of her excessive waste production. Her diet, consisting largely of fatty meats, creamy sauces, and sweet pastries, was designed to flatter her palate rather than nurture her body. The vast quantities of food she consumed, coupled with her poor metabolism due to her age and lack of physical activity, led to an accumulation of undigested matter in her bowels. This, combined with the laxative properties of certain spices common in her cuisine, resulted in the copious output that left Alisa wracked with the task.

The days blurred into a sickening routine. Her mouth now constantly held the taste of the Valide, a lingering reminder of her servitude. Soon, Alisa found herself strangely desensitized to the putrid flavor that once made her gag.

Yet, Alisa's stomach churned, the vile liquid sloshing within her, threatening to overflow. The sheer volume of feces bloating her belly as a constant reminder of her degradation. She had become a living vessel for the Valide's excretion, her body slowly accumulating the mother’s feces unable to absorb and digest the enormous quantity of waste she had to swallow.

The Valide looked at her, her eyes gleaming with perverse satisfaction at the sight of Alisa's bulging abdomen. "Look at you," she would rasp, "you're fit to burst, slave."

As she knelt there, Alisa allowed herself a moment's nostalgia, her mind drifting back to her time as a pregnant breeding slave for the Sultan. Those days, though not easy, held a sense of purpose. Her belly a symbol of her worth, her body templed for life's creation. Now, she was reduced, her womb silent, her body a dumping ground for the Valide's waste. The contrast was bitter, a sobering reminder of how far she had fallen.

Alisa's stomach, by now was stretched out like a bloated water balloon, distended to an obscene degree by the sheer volume of the Valide's waste it contained. Her bloated stomach stood in stark contrast to her dehydrated and emaciated body, which was the result of ongoing malnutrition.

The once pale skin, showing the first signs of poisoning, was now a sickly yellowish-brown, mottled with deep purple veins that pulsed visibly with each revolt of her stomach. The stretch marks from her pregnancies crisscrossed over her belly.

The Valide laughed heartily at her own joke. "Pregnant again with my shit," she cackled. "That's the true purpose of a Kafira slave, isn't it? You should be grateful. You carry a piece of me, always."

The Valide's sadism was a complex cluster of cruelty, humiliation and psychological torment. She derived pleasure not merely from inflicting discomfort, but from pushing her victims passed their limits, from breaking them.

One morning, Alisa, woke up by the Valide clapping her hands, and the chamber doors creaking open. Several girls from the harem were ushered in, their eyes downcast, knees hitting the marble floor in unison. Alisa's heart pounded as she slowly realized her special role in this twisted scenario.

She was ordered to lie flat on the floor, her back against the cold stone, her body positioned at the center of their semi-circle.

As the other slaves settled, a low grunting sound echoed through the chamber. Followed by primal growls from the Valide’s full intestine. It was Alisa’s sign to open her mouth wide, as she knew by now, that the Valide was ready to relief herself again soon.

The old woman squatted over Alisa’s open and awaiting mouth. Her fat, scarred tissues of her massive ass hung, swaying like decayed pendulums, over the slave’s face.

The farts came, loud and long, directly into Alisa’s mouth cavity. Alisa's eyes watered, her face contorting in revulsion as the noxious gas filled her nostrils and mouth. She coughed, trying to draw breath through her nose, but the stench was overwhelming.

'There we go,' the Valide murmured, her voice a deep rumble. Her wrinkled sphincter, stretched and dilated from years of excessive waste production and poor diet, gaped once more like an obscene mouth, as wave after wave of soft ropes of shit coiling into Alisa's mouth cavity, the sound of its release a wet, plopping slur.

The smell, a pungent blend of heavy spices and rotting flesh, clung to the air and coated the back of Alisa's throat, making her gag despite her best efforts to suppress it.

Some of the attending other slave girls, forced to watch the scene, turned away, their faces contorted in disgust. One among them, doubled over, retching onto the cold stone floor. Her eyes, brimming with tears, remained fixed on Alisa, a mix of sympathy and horror etched on her face.

The old woman let out a low, guttural hum of satisfaction. She then shifted her bulk, lifting one massive, swollen foot. The skin of her sole was calloused and yellowed, the toes adorned with rings of heavy gold that dug into her flesh. With a sudden, deliberate motion, the Valide pressed the sole of her foot against Alisa’s open mouth packed full of her feces. Then, with a slow, crushing pressure, she pushed the foot downward into her mouth cavity, stuffing the remnants of the excrement deep into the back of Alisa’s throat, ensuring the girl tasted every ounce of her submission.

Leaving Alisa gasping for air and coughing up shit on the cold marble, her face smeared and her spirit fractured. The Valide shifted her weight, the silk of her kaftan rustling like a warning. She didn't look back at the girl; her interest had already vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp craving for sweetened tea. She sat back on her divan enjoying tea and sweets.

Alisa lying in front of the Valide with her shit-stained mouth and face. She knew better than to move or clean herself without the permission of the Valide.

"Do you taste the empire, my little slave?" the Valide laughed, her voice a wet rattle.

Alisa could not answer. Her jaw locked in a state of agonizing tension. Filled to the brim with the massive amount of feces of the fat woman.

The Valide had forbidden her from spitting, from rinsing, or even from closing her lips. She was commanded to keep the remnants of the waste within her mouth, chewing slowly, tasting the drying bitterness as it clung to her tongue and roof of her palate.

After Alisa had been forced to keep the feces in her stuffed mouth for nearly an hour the waste began to thicken, turning into a pasty, clinging residue that felt like wet clay. The Valide watched her with a predatory curiosity, leaning forward so that her triple chin rested upon the gold embroidery of her collar. The older woman began to laugh again. A slow, wheezing sound that shook her immense frame. "Look at her," the Valide mocked, gesturing with a ringed finger to the other attendants. "The northern flower has finally found a scent that suits her. It is the smell of a servant who knows her place."

"But a flower needs water to bloom, does it not?" the Valide mused, her voice regaining its edge as the coughing fit subsided. “Let me help you with your task.”

With a slow, laborious heave, the Valide shifted her weight once more, the massive folds of her thighs rubbing together with a sound like wet leather and positioned herself once more over the trembling girl. Without warning, a hot, forceful stream of amber liquid erupted, striking the back of Alisa throat with the force of a warm summer rain. The sudden warmth was, flooding Alisa mouth and mixing violently with the drying, pasty residue of the previous hour. This time the liquid was most welcomed by Alisa as it acted as a solvent, breaking down the thickened waste and turning the contents of her mouth into a warm, swirling slurry of bile and salt.

As the stream finally tapered off into a few stray droplets, the Valide leaned down, her face inches from Alisa. Alisa remained motionless with her mouth cavity opened up wide. The stream of urine mostly flew through her dirty mouth and directly into Alisa’s throat, while leaving most of the brown waste inside of her mouth.

“Let us give her some more relief” the Valide commanded to the other slaves signaling them to come over. Then the Valide coughed up some phlegm from the depths of her throat and spat it into Alisa's mouth. t was a heavy, viscous substance that instantly mixed with dried feces in Alisa’s mouth.

One by one, with many of them lining up for a third and fourth turn, the other slaves leaned over Alisa, their faces descending in slow-motion with focused intent. With a guttural, rhythmic heave of her chest, the first slave expelled a thick, translucent glob of mucus directly onto Alisa’s tongue.

The procession continued with a mechanical, unwavering pace. Each woman contributed her own secretion, a collective pooling of mucus that began to fill Alisa’s oral cavity again to the brim. The substance was a slurry of various consistencies mixing with the foul pieces of excrements which had already collected in her mouth.

By the time the slaves had finished, Alisa was drowning in a warm, sea of shared biological debris.

With a slow, deliberate motion, the older woman inserted her fat, ring-laden finger into the corner of Alisa’s mouth. She began to stir, swirling the mixture of urine, excrement and saliva with a methodical precision into a thick, liquid slurry that coated Alisa’s teeth and clung to the roof of her mouth. It was a slow, churning motion, ensuring that every pocket of the girl's mouth was saturated with the mushy mass.

The attending slaves watched the scene in utter horror. They all learned a lesson what could happen to them if they did not have the favor of the Valide.

"Now," the Valide whispered, while she went on to massage the brown substance into Alisa’s gum pockets and cheek pouches, "be the filthy toilet mouth you are."

The command came not as a shout, but as a low, vibrating rumble. "Swallow, slave. Every drop. Every grain. I want to feel the moment it slides down your throat."

Alisa’s throat constricted, her muscles fighting a primal battle against the liquid filth. She hesitated, her eyes darting toward the guards and the other slaves watching her.

With a shuddering gasp that forced a small amount of the bitter mixture back into her sinuses, Alisa tilted her head back. She began to swallow, the movement slow and agonizing. The mixture was thick and warm, sliding down her esophagus with a heavy presence that made her stomach coil in a violent heave. She swallowed once, twice, but before she was allowed to swallow for the last time, the old woman ordered her to stop and keep the rest of the stinking mush in her mouth.

The tears did not come with the violence of a sob; they were silent, heavy things that leaked from the corners of Alisa’s eyes following her profound and utter humiliation. The kind of tears that come from realizing that there is no hope left.

"The slave is allowed to speak now," the Valide murmured, her voice now a thin, satisfied rasp. She leaned back into the velvet depths of the divan, her massive arms resting atop the gold-threaded railing like two dark, bloated logs.

"Tell me, Kafira. Since you were allowed to take the essence of my body waste into your unworthy body, describe it to me. I wish to know how my majesty tastes to low slave creature of the north."

Alisa tried to swallow the remaining lump of bitterness lodged in her throat. She opened her mouth to speak, but encountered some difficulties, as her mouth cavity was still partially filled with the remnants of the old woman’s excrements which slowly seeped out of her cheek pockets.

"Describe the flavor, slave," the Valide commanded, her voice a low, vibrating rumble, and her face a sadistic grin. "Is this the bitterness of a failed ambition? Or perhaps the rich, heavy weight of a power you will never possess? Speak, or I shall find a way to make you taste the full depths of the palace’s sewage tanks."

Alisa felt the silence of the room. She looked around the semi-circle of kneeling slaves. All were watching her disgrace. In a few eyes she saw some sympathy, but most of the slaves were watching her with a gaze of revenge, hate and jealousy originating from her past as the Sultan’s favorite slave.

Alisa’s mind raced, searching for a way to answer that wouldn't invite further cruelty.

"It... it tastes of old copper and stagnant earth," Alisa whispered, her voice a jagged shard of glass. She paused, the slurry in the back of her throat shifting as she swallowed hard.

As her mouth was contaminated with the residue of the feces Alisa could only speak with a slur. Some formed undigested stained food parts falling out of her mouth while she spoke.

"It tastes like the strength of an empress. A bitterness that is also a sweetness. A density of power that fills my mouth and humbles my soul."

A sharp, sudden bark of laughter escaped the old Valide. It was a sound of genuine amusement, a rare crack in the own rigid composure of the matriarch. She leaned back, her eyes crinkling with a predatory sort of pride as she looked down at the girl. "How exquisitely vivid," the Valide praised, her tone warm yet clinical. "Most girls simply gag or weep, but you, slave, have the tongue of a poet even in the depths of your degradation.”

Alisa was relieved, that she mastered the task and would not need to be punished. Simultaneously the approval was terrifying. To be praised by the Valide was to be marked as a toy that had proven its utility. But hearing the Valide talking about “most girls”, Alisa realized once more, that she was only one of many countless living toilets which were used like this. She realized that this knowledge, made her effort and endurance even more insignificant and let her desperation grow only further. She felt that any depth of her devotion was completely meaningless. Every completed task would only lead to more tasks. And at that moment something broke inside her.

The fat woman reached out, her ringed fingers grazing Alisa’s cheek with a tenderness that felt more threatening than a blow.

"Keep it," the Valide commanded, her voice now a silk thread tightening around Alisa’s throat. "Do not let more of my essence escape. Close your lips."

Alisa obeyed instantly, her jaw snapping shut. She felt the remnants of the Valide’s waste, clinging to the crevices of her gums and the ridges of her palate. The Valide leaned closer, her clouded eyes searching Alisa’s face for a flicker of resistance.

"And now," the Valide whispered, the command vibrating through the stillness of the room, "show me the joy of your new life. Smile for me, little Kafira. Wide. Let me see the mark of my favor upon your teeth."

Alisa’s muscles trembled as she pulled her lips back. It was a slow, agonizing stretch, a forced expression of happiness that felt like a mask being ripped from her face. As her lips parted, her stained teeth clenched together. The white porcelain of her teeth was gone, replaced by a jagged smear of brown. The excrement had settled into the gaps, coating her incisors in a thick, muddy patina that turned her smile into a grotesque caricature of devotion. Small, undigested fragments of spiced lamb and husks of dried currants, luxuries Alisa had only ever seen from a distance, now sat embedded in the brown slurry of her mouth.

The Valide leaned back, her expression one of serene, predatory contentment. Also enjoying the amusement of the other slave girls giggling at Alisa’s degradation.

"Exquisite," the woman murmured, a small, wet sound of satisfaction escaping her throat. "A smile of decay that truly reflects your place in this house. This is what you are. Nothing but a hole into which I pour what my body dislikes and rejected. This is your new life."