Down and Down She Goes Ch. 05

By Saphhia

Izzy the Punk

Izzy settled into her desk, her tongue thrusting against the flipper bridge that replaced her two front teeth. The dentist had wanted to place implants, but her instructions had been clear.

“Nothing permanent.” Ms. Worth had told her as she left the club that night. Izzy had run from the place, shocked by the immediate wrath of her superior. Her plans to wreak havoc on Gertrude Stinker’s smile had only resulted in the devastation of her own.

“You realize that this bridge can slip out of place easily and at the most inopportune moments.” The dentist had warned as he fit the gum-colored appliance into her mouth for the first time. The small hand mirror confirmed the fact that on close inspection, her two front teeth were obviously fake.

In typical conversation, the defect was hidden completely, but Izzy’s wide, once lustrous smile was tempered, realizing that her gumline was revealed. Instead, she had reverted to a fake, half grin, her lip held down deliberately.

She remembered a kid in her algebra class in high college that had lost his front teeth in a bicycle accident. He would flip the teeth forward and then back into his mouth, a habit he seemed unable to break.

Izzy laid her tongue against the smooth plastic, feeling it pull away from the roof of her mouth, thrusting it through her open lips, her fake teeth feeling odd against her lower lip.

“Getting used to them, I see.” Ms. Worth mentioned as she walked by, catching Izzy with them half out of her mouth. Izzy immediately covered her mouth with her hand, pressing the bridge back into place. “My office in ten.”

Skunk n’ Punk

Having made it to work, and barely on time, I punched the clock with ten minutes to spare. Having placed my car up for sale, I was forced to take the bus and that was an experience I wasn’t used to. Mistress could easily have given me a ride, but as she hadn’t offered, I hadn’t dared ask.

Without saying a word, I entered Ms. Worth’s office and undressed, folding my clothes neatly and placing them in the small box outside my closet office. Feeling only slightly self-conscious, I slipped the wig from my scalp and laid it on top of the clothes. I sighed, as I entered the tight little cubby hole, the scent in the air a reminder that this was my space.

I looked down at my graphically accurate tattoo, rubbing the hairless skunk with my fingers before sinking into the grade college desk. I tried to fathom just how far I had fallen over the past few months, but the idea was so painful and humiliating, that I shook with the wondered. I was nothing, now. A putrid little skank, hidden in a closet, naked and loving her predicament.

I tried to imagine myself entering a courtroom now, naked and smelling of my own disgusting cunt, bald and marked by my better, Ms. Worth. I’d been disbarred in any event, so that was an impossibility. Now with all evidence of my degree destroyed, I was a simple slut with no prospects and no future.

My cunt leaked with that knowledge; sexually thrilled over my fall from grace. It almost had me sick to my stomach. ‘How can I be nauseated and aroused all at the same time?’ I asked. ‘Because that’s just how fucked up you really are, Stinker.’ I answered, my former name which had lived within me in protest now long gone. Harriet Musgrove no longer existed, either legally or within me as a memory.

I was disheartened to discover my fingers buried deeply between my open thighs, as I was startled out of my disturbed reverie. “Toilet, Ms. Stinker.”

I stood, emerging from my cave like some perverted Gollum, creeping on my hands and knees to the feet of my Mistress. “Right away, Ms. Worth.” As I opened my mouth to seal it against her sex, I heard the door open behind me. I knew better than to be distracted, holding my place as the salty liquid filled my mouth. I knew someone stood behind me, but as the nectar slid over my tongue and down my throat, I realized that I didn’t really care.

“Strip, Punk.” The words set my mind at ease, knowing that any degrading act I may be performing would be looked on with a kinder eye. Then I remembered the club, and the harsh punishment Mistress had meted out to her paralegal that day. Granted, she was about to relieve me of at least some of my teeth, but I couldn’t help but feel badly for her.

As the last few drops of urine were consumed, I licked dutifully, cleaning Mistress as well as my foul tongue could manage. She pushed my hairless head away with her fingers, a disgusted look on her face as she wound her way back behind her desk.

I looked over to see Izzy, naked, her shortly buzzed blonde pixie still as shocking to me as it must be to her. “Take it out, Punk,” Mistress commanded.

“Yes, Ms. Worth.” Izzy mewled, her thumb extracting the pink plate, the two pearly white disks placed precariously at its front.

“Open, Ms. Stinker,” Mistress commanded. Doing as told, I opened my mouth, wondering where she was going. “Now, put that thing in Stinker’s mouth, Punk.” Hesitantly, Izzy slipped the bridge into my open maw, still stinking from its recent task. “You will hold it in there, Ms. Stinker, with the teeth hanging outside. Is that clear?”

I could taste the fresh flavor of Izzy’s mouth, her young saliva still savory and sweet. I would foul her precious appliance with my urine-infused tissues. I turned to look at her, but she was unable to hold my eyes, turning away in shame.

“Smile, Punk,” Mistress commanded, obviously wanting to humiliate the girl. I watched as Izzy managed a half-hearted grin. “I said, smile!” Her volume shocked us both. Izzy was forced to comply, the toothy smile that once lit up any room she entered now defective, the gap wide and obvious, detracting horribly from her once glorious visage.

Mistress laughed at Izzy’s obvious humiliation. “Look at the two of you, bald and buck-toothed over there, and a toothless streetwalker over here. You look like a proper crack whore, Punk. What a pair!” She stood and walked around behind us, her hands pulling the two of us together. “Now kiss, and be nice.”

With the bridge poking out from between my lips, I did my best to receive Izzy’s attention as she wrapped her lips around my own. I could feel her tongue sliding over the teeth that I held, and mine in turn feeling the obvious space in her smile, the sockets still deep and raw. Izzy’s tongue did its best to try and rob the device from my teeth, but as Mistress would surely punish us both, I held on firmly.

“That’s enough.” Mistress sighed, regaining her seat. “Back in your office, Ms. Stinker.” Crawling as I had to, I slipped through the door to my closet and closed it behind me, Izzy’s teeth still in my mouth. I wondered about taking them out, perhaps setting them on my desk, but I didn’t dare.

All day long, I had to perform my duties with Izzy’s flipper bridge hanging lewdly out of my mouth. Even during my toileting duties, I had to seal my lips carefully around my Mistress’s sex, the bridge perched precariously inside.

I wondered about how the urine might affect the thing. I soon realized that it was unaffected, but it surely was tainted by Mistress’s acrid pee, as my mouth had been over my months of service.

I imagined Izzy, trying to perform her duties, all without revealing that she was missing her two front teeth. I knew that she would make several trips to court and at least one to city hall. How humiliating for her. In a way, I almost wished that it was me who had suffered the egregious insult. Had Mistress not walked in when she had, it may well have been.

By the end of the day, I was wondering just how long Mistress would allow Izzy to suffer. My punch-out time arrived, and I emerged from my closet and dressed, donning my wig, Izzy’s two front teeth still protruding ridiculously from between my lips.

“Oh, Ms. Stinker. You can give that thing back to Izzy on your way to the clock.” Mistress called out.

“Yes, Ms. Worth,” I answered, slipping through the door, another humiliating day at an end. As I walked up to Izzy, she was distracted by whatever she was working on. I slipped the bridge from my mouth and held it out, getting her attention immediately.

“Jesus Christ, Gertrude. Do you realize how humiliating this has been?” She spat, quickly inserting the appliance into her mouth and then immediately spitting it out. “Oh, my God. What did you do to it? It tastes terrible.”

“You know what I do all day, Izzy. I’m sorry.” I tried, but she had already disappeared into the restroom, undoubtedly trying to wash off the taste. As I had discovered long ago, her efforts would be futile.

Depravity and the Impossibly Low

The bus ride home was at least less stressful than going in, the rush to arrive at a specific time gone. Mistress had beaten me home, of course, and I was chided for taking so long. “Perhaps I will have to reconsider my giving you a ride to work, Stinker.” She mused, dragging me across the kitchen by my leash, the high collar biting into the back of my hairless skull.

I watched patiently as she ate her supper, feeding me scraps of fat and bread crusts from her fingertips. Eventually, I licked her plate clean before accepting her urine for dessert. “You really have adapted to your role so well, Stinker. I never thought you would sink as low as you have, but you have been a pleasant surprise.”

Mistress stroked my head, the smooth skin reacting to her touch as it all the time did, having a direct link to my cunt. “I’ve spoken to the partners, and they all have concluded that your wig is entirely unnecessary. You’re no longer in a position of responsibility, so how you wear your hair is not important.” Mistress announced, smugly. “Why don’t you go get it, Stinker.”

She released her grip on the leash and allowed me to retreat to my quarters in the basement. Lifting my last shred of dignity from its stand, I allowed the strands to slip over my head before returning to the dining room. As I caught my reflection in the mirror, I wonder if she had even considered the mark encircling my skull as a symbol of her ownership. Surely the partners would frown upon that. Perhaps a hat?

“Let’s go into the kitchen, Stinker,” Mistress suggested, gripping the leash and forcing me to drag my precious wig along the floor as I crawled. “Sit there.” She demanded. “Cross your legs.”

Now I hadn’t sat cross-legged for years, and it took a moment to get my legs into position for her. The stink from my cunt was wafting upward sitting with my legs so spread, but Mistress insisted. She handed me my wig and a pair of kitchen shears, staring expectantly.

“Make a mess of it, Stinker. Cut it into little, tiny pieces.” I knew I had no choice. She was standing over me, waiting for me to do it. Slipping the loops of the scissors over my thumb and fingers, I slowly and methodically, destroyed my wig. By the end of it, I was being ridiculously over-exuberant, slicing desperately at the thing until nothing remained but a pile of hair and elastic.

“There we go. Now we don’t have to worry about that anymore. You’re just a bald ‘lil stinker, all the time. Right?” She asked, excitedly.

“A bald ‘lil stinker, yes, Mistress,” I answered, enthusiastically.

“No more hiding it, slave. You are nothing!” Mistress shouted, and for the first time, I truly felt that way.

That night, Mistress took me to the club, naked and bald and utterly at ease with my condition. Nothing was said as I was led inside, my station so low as to render me something akin to an animal, and animals didn’t wear clothes. “We’re doing something different tonight, Stinker,” Mistress announced, as she led me into strange corridors leading down one flight of stairs after another.

Where we ended up was unlike anything I had ever seen. In all my time at the club, I never knew anything like this even existed. Old stone walls were interrupted by regularly spaced portals, looking more like ancient dungeon cells than anything else. “These are the catacombs, Stinker,” Mistress explained. “You will be spending some time here, so please don’t whine.”

I was too frightened to whine. I wanted to cry, to scream, but I didn’t. Had I lost every ounce of will I had ever possessed? Perhaps. As we neared the end of the dank corridor, a large man emerged from an office, the only civilized spot in the depraved place. He wielded a large ring of keys, skeleton keys, one of which he inserted into just one of the portal doors.

As the roughly planked door opened, I was appalled by the stench that floated out to assault my nostrils. A mix of stale urine, sweat, and something akin to shit caused me to recoil. “It’ll get used to it.” The man said as he pushed me into the dimly lit space. “But it won’t ever be the same.”

I looked back at my Mistress, and for the first time, I saw something that resembled remorse in her countenance. “It’s only a week, Stinker.” She called out as the door closed. I actually wondered I heard her whimper as she was led away, leaving me in that horrible cell.

I only realized at that moment, how my status as a human being had diminished. I hadn’t missed the man referring to me as an ‘it’. Wasn’t I a woman anymore? I still had a cunt and a pair of breasts, even if I was missing the obligatory mane.

Looking around me, the parse light offered only an outline of what lay inside this hellish stone box. A hole in the floor seemed to be where all the evil smells came from. I looked into the blackness of the pit, holding my hand over my nose as I did. I supposed this was where I would be forced to do my company. I imagined squatting over the hole, and for whatever reason, tested the theory, perching with my soiled feet on either side.

Along the wall was a stone platform, the top spread with sand. Was this where I was expected to sleep? I crawled onto the crude pedestal, but found little give to the thin layer of damp sand that barely held purchase to the roughhewn stone. A shiver ran down my spine as the reality of my situation sunk in.

In the short time I had been in there, my body had already begun to take on the filth of the place, grime slowly working its way up my legs and onto my torso. If I hadn’t felt like Gollum before emerging from my tiny closet, I most certainly did then. Soon I would even look like the creature. I thought if my skin would fade to the greyish-white hue of a cave dweller, all slippery and slick. Left here long enough, I imagined it would. I knew my mistress was a cruel woman, but I had never imagined her being this heartless.

With no outside windows, I had no idea what time it was, or of the passage of time whatsoever. I slipped forlornly onto the sandy platform, after having used the pit for real. I was thirsty, used to the continuous flood of urine from my Mistress, and my belly rumbled for lack of nourishment.

Having no idea of the hour, or how long I had been there, I was awakened by the unlocking of the cell door. The sudden rush of light that came crashing in was too much for my light-deprived eyes and all I could make out were the shadows of two figures standing in the doorway.

“God, it reeks already.” The one man said as they came and lifted me from the platform, their blue gloves an indication of my filthy condition. They pressed me into the filthy floor and cuffed my wrists and ankles behind my back. I could feel the grit and grime of the floor sliding over my breasts and tummy as they left me there. “If you want to eat or drink, follow us.”

I tried to find out what they were asking me to do, but leaving me no choice, I squirmed along at a snail’s pace behind them. I wasn’t the only maggot, which is what I learned they called us, seeing another girl inching along in front of me. If she was any indication, and I was as filthy as she was, then I was a mess.

I could feel the dirt grinding into my skin as I inched along, forcing my flesh into the stone; embedding the filth deeply into my skin. By the time we reached what I assumed was our goal I was nearly out of energy. Three other women were beside me as we devoured the slop in the trough. It had the consistency of oatmeal but smelled and tasted like rotten sink scum.

When I could eat no more, not only because it was vile, but because I was full, we were left once again to crawl on our bellies back to our cells. By the time they finally uncuffed me, I barely had the energy to crawl back onto my slab.

Once a Maggot

My skin was scraped and raw from my squirming, but I was too exhausted to care. Quickly falling asleep, I was at least full and my hunger abated. I awoke with a fright, having had the most terrifying nightmare.

I had transformed into a giant maggot, white and slippery, with no arms or legs. Eating my way in and out of a lump of shit, beside others of my kind, and happy as a clam about it too. Each time I would bite, my body would undulate, forcing my head deeper into the stinking turd. The most frightening part was that I would orgasm with every bite, which caused the undulation and force another bite.

I suddenly had the realization that this just wasn’t right, that I was not a maggot, despite how good I felt. Each time my head was thrust into the shit I would scream, forced to eat and undulate over and over, the orgasms gone.

I woke up with a mouthful of sand, my face buried in it. Gasping for breath I rolled off the pedestal and onto the floor, very nearly landing in the pit. “Fuck me.” I sighed out loud, thankful to be back in my dingy little room. I laughed inwardly at the absurdity of that wondered.

Crawling back onto the platform, I carefully staved off sleep, scared that I might revert to that same dream. I did sleep again, but the dream never returned. As I lay there, I was truly thankful that I was bald. I couldn’t imagine how rank my hair would be just then, had I had any.

The next day, the routine was repeated. I seemed to be getting better at worming my way along, rocking side to side to propel myself forward and using my knees to force the rest of me along the slimy floor. I tried not to imagine what I must look like, and honestly thought if this grime would ever wash off, once Mistress returned for me.

I could see that my skin was mostly blackened grey, save for my breasts, belly, and thighs, which were a solid jet black. I knew this was from our daily squirm to the troughs and had my doubts about ever getting that off.

The answer would come on my final day in the catacombs, warned that my Mistress was arriving soon. I was taken up a flight of stairs and tossed into a white-tiled bathroom, alone. For a moment I stood in the full-length mirror, trying to grasp what had happened to me. I was beyond filthy. Every square inch of me was covered in a slimy black coating that made me look like some perverted coal miner.

I quickly ran a bath, realizing that I had to hurry. The pumice stone helped more than the soap, but both slowly released the grime from my skin. I felt almost human again as I crawled from the tub for a second time, having had to empty it once for the filth in the water. As I suspected, a shadow remained where the darkest soil had been ground into my skin.

My breasts seemed flattened, the tops to the nipples a greyish pink. Surely the force of my squirming hadn’t damaged them, but there was no doubt that the nipples had indeed migrated downward more than a little. My belly and the tops of my thighs were the same pinkish-grey color. “At least they’re not black.” I supposed as I stood, air drying in the bath, waiting for my Mistress.

I suppose I shouldn’t have been shocked when Mistress opened the trunk and had me crawl inside for the ride home. I remembered my father putting the dog in the trunk when he would take him hunting, I imagined this was no different.