The Many Faeces of Ushiromiya Ange

"Battler, it's me, Ange!”
The words had barely come out of Ange's mouth before cruel, cold pincers hung in the air, menacing every inch of her body. Helpless meat about to be ground into paste. The blue-haired witch sneered with merciless contempt towards her disobedient piece. Snip. Snip. Crunch. Snap. Nothing resembling a human would remain. Her brother's cries were distant, drowned out by her impending doom.
"Beerrn! Don't be so mean!" Lambdadelta, the Witch of Certainty, interjected, smirking mischievously as she whispered into Bern's ear.
"Hoh? You're right, Lambda, this one could still amuse me some more," The Witch of Miracles looked squarely at her piece. The pincers vanished, barely scratching Ange. She tried to speak, but invisible chains clinked around her throat. Her consciousness faded.
When Ange came to, the smoking room seemed darker. More invisible chains bound her to a lone chair at a table covered with several platters; even her head was chained in place. "Battler-san....," she rasped, finding her voice. Only the two inhuman witches remained.
"You'll never see your brother again, for all eternity," Bernkastel said with a hint of malice. 
"Poor girl!" Lambda smiled, "But we'll be nice, and let you taste his parting gift, just to you." She slowly lifted the lid off the dish closest to Ange. She could smell it before she could see it. A huge, stinking, pile of faeces. "Doesn't that look wonderful? How sweet of him to give you such a delicious treat!" Her words were sincere. "Why don't you take a bite?"
Eat? Ange was about to gag at the mere sight and smell of it. A sickly brown, steaming pile of waste which belonged firmly down the toilet. You can polish a turd, but it will always be a turd. Not fit for human consumption. She hoped more than anything now that they were just joking; but these witches were not human. Their cruelty was rivalled only by their perversion.
"Don't worry, he left you something to help wash it down," Bernkastel added without a speck of emotion. A wine glass full of a golden yellow liquid accompanied the foul platter.
"Oh, that's a shame, since I won't be eating it," the words flew out of her mouth without a thought, and she immediately regretted them. The shackles restraining Ange's wrists vanished into dust; her hands moved of their own volition, trembling, towards the knife and fork that had been prepared. "No..." she murmured, as she grasped the knife and fork, already sticking them into a massive log of Battler's excrement. Already, bile was seeping into her mouth - but she took her first bite.
"See, you can't resist such a delicious cake," Bernkastel sneered.
She wanted to, but she couldn't. Her hands had cut a sausage-like piece now, fork drifting to her mouth. She refused to open it, but it disobeyed, her open lips and tongue welcoming the piece of shit, its horrid odour penetrating deep into her nostrils. Her tongue, though disobedient, let her taste it all. On the surface, bitter, with a tangy sweetness; its texture, soft and sticky. Already, bile was rising to the top of her throat - but she took her first bite, letting out the vile flavour. Earthy, rotten meat, a hint of fermenting vegetables. Horrid, yet she kept chewing, the taste making her eyes water, her teeth browning with filth.
"You aren't going to chew it forever, are you?" Lambda chirped, and Ange found herself gulping it down, the horrible slimy lump practically forcing itself down her throat. The aftertaste was like earthy charcoal, and her stomach was wracked with pain. Then, her hand moved to the wine glass. She slurped it down feverishly, guzzling every last drop of warm, potent urine. Somehow, this seemed to amplify the taste of filth burning her nostrils and festering on her tongue. "Nnnn.....you b..." she found herself retching out her next words. Queasily, she stooped to the floor on all fours, retching horribly. The vile mess of urine and faeces erupted into her mouth, trickling violently onto the floor, vomit so disgusting she was going to be sick again, she knew it. The hot, nasty brown puree kept coming, burning her throat and soiling the unfortunate rug upon which she kneeled.
The witches sneered with glee, their looks of mock disgust purely intended to humiliate the girl evacuating her guts all over the floor. "Hoh, can't handle the taste? You must have quite a weak stomach.... you're even throwing up your breakfast!"
When she had finally stopped her vomiting fit, Ange felt light-headed and parched. Her throat was sore and burning, her belly completely empty. "Why do you insist on doing this to me?", she croaked. 
"Because instead of destroying you, I've chosen to make you my toy. Well, it was Lamdba's idea, but I can really see the potential." The blue-haired witch sipped at a cup of black tea.
"Aww, Bern! You're so violent with your toys! Though this really spices up our love life, so I can't complain!" Lambda looked down with mock sympathy. "She doesn't look finished yet, though. What do you think?"
"She's not done at all... I think she really wants to taste some more. I don't blame her for rejecting Battler's gift, boys' waste smells so much worse. Perhaps you'd like something more fresh, wouldn't you, Ange-san?"
Ange's protests were drowned in her throat, salty tears falling down her cheeks.
"Well you're in for a treat," Bern spoke, chuckling to herself slyly. "I just so happen to need the toilet right now. And witches' filth is the best... why don't I let you taste for yourself?" The elegantly-dressed witch stooped, giving Ange a full view of her underskirt from below; her white panties, her slender legs as she slid her underwear down to reveal her soft buttocks. 
Wait, why was she lying down? Ange looked anxiously from side to side, and found herself lying in the middle of a bed. From what she could make out, a four-poster bed. Realising her situation all too well, she tried to move. Clink. Clink Clink. Her escape attempt was denied by invisible chains binding her legs and arms to each post. "Now now, it wouldn't do if you made me soil the bed... Lambda, hold my toilet still..."
"Stay right there, criminal scum!" The blonde witch, for appearing so young and fragile compared to the girl bound upon the bed, had the grip of an iron vice. Her fingers pried open Ange's mouth with an impossible strength. "All the way, that's it ~ Her head isn't going anywhere!"
And neither was Bernkastel's round bottom, as she spread it wide enough that Ange could see the pink flesh of her anus. "Ahhh," was the only warning Ange got of the blast of air which made her eyes and nostrils water; horrid swamp gas with a hint of pungent spices. 
Lambda was holding her nose with her free hand. "Oh my, Bernnn, that's awful ~ when did you last go to the toilet?"

"Not since... nnng... Saikoroshi-hen... ugh..." She gasped, her face red with frustration as a noisy, suffocating ripple came this time. Warm, sulphuric miasma which stung Ange's nostrils, making her that much closer to gagging painfully.
"Silly Bern, you need to go more often! Just because you can avoid pooping forever, doesn't mean you should!" Lambda teased, "Oh well, it just means poor Ange will have to receive your toilet debt in full..."
No. Please no. A fresh wave of tears streaked from Ange's stinging eyes. She knew - nothing could save her from this misery. Nothing except death. It would have been better to die in 1998.
The loudest eruption yet heralded the emergence of a filthy brown log, its pointed tip right above Ange's mouth. Bernkastel strained some more. As it protruded further, its stench was already menacing to human nostrils. The steamy warmth made it all the more disgusting. Closer. Closer. Dangling low, it met warm, inviting lips, then landed in the curve of Ange's throat, its end on the tip of her tongue. She coughed and spluttered desperately, the girth more than enough to suffocate her even if she could manage the truly disgusting taste and slimy texture. Rancid spices, rotting flesh, off eggs, dirty toilets, and concentrated bitterness were just some of the tastes that violated her tongue and molested her nose. At least Battler's waste tasted consistent... this was a mixture of the most vile, torturous filth in existence; and worse, her gag reflex refused to work.
"Swallow it whole," the witch straddling her chest commanded. Ange's muscles obeyed. Slowly, agonisingly, the thick, long snake began its descent, bulging her throat, flexible just enough not to break in two despite her protests, bile rising in her oppressed gullet. When it was halfway down, she gave one last final gulp of desperation, forcing it down. She felt it land in the bottom of her stomach, and gave a loud, acrid belch. Ange panted and gurgled, spitting out brown, tainted saliva. "Why...." she managed to murmur. A horrid turd inside her stomach. Exactly where it should not be. Even worse than the aftertaste - and the smell - was the toxic, festering log which had been forced inside her. It was so dense, yet so empty. Her body wanted rid of it. Ange made the motions of retching, but her diaphragm refused.

"Nuh uh uh. There's no way you can refuse it now," said the cruellest Witch. "Now get ready for a lifetime's worth..."
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"A witch's lifetime," were the last callous words Ange heard as she drifted in and out of consciousness.
Her belly grew and grew and grew with festering filth. Not even a millionth of the way there. Not even a fraction of a lifetime. Her mind shut down, only vaguely aware of the disgusting taste and the pain of her extremely distended, extremely toxic stomach. The stretch marks became more and more prominent, as did her tortured gut which had at some point destroyed her blouse.
Soon, Ange vaguely realised that her stomach wasn't the only thing that was growing. Her body felt heavier. If she could move her head, she would have found that the rest of her body was filling out. Witches' waste was extremely rich in calories, it seemed. Her digestive system was forced to work over-time, processing her disgusting feast at an accelerated rate. Her health was declining with every painful gulp of cursed waste.
At some point, her stretch marks had become blood-red and bruised purple, her stomach an over-filled septic tank so dense with filth, it hurt to breathe. Her body was becoming immensely obese. Clothes long since destroyed, her body was thick with oppressive flab. Her arms, her legs, her stomach, her breasts, even her face, all were so heavy and bloated that it drained her energy. She would not stop growing. The shell that used to be Ushiromiya Ange was nothing but an obese human toilet, now.
Yet, finally, it stopped. "I'm bored of defecating into an empty husk," said Bernkastel, and lifted her buttocks off the perch of Ange's massive, swollen udders. 
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"415lbs," read the scale in Ange's dorm bathroom. She had to step off to see it, her grease-covered, immense belly so far in front of her that she had not seen her toes for months; her breasts in turn were so large that she could not see much of her gut. Looking in the mirror, she counted her belly rolls. Saturated and sticky with sweat – and it wasn’t even summer yet - each of them marked a milestone in her uncontrollable weight gain.
It was the damn medications. Ever since her freak-out last year, Ange had been diagnosed with a plethora of mental ailments. Now, drugged up to the eyeballs, she had forgot about her delusions; but those meds had a devastating toll - on her mind, and her body. She had lost the will... to even go and search for her family. With every day, the boat of pleasure sailed farther and farther away from the blimp that was Ushiromiya Ange. She was in a mental purgatory, her faculties sinking underneath mountains of flesh.
Ange's weight had sky-rocketed. From underweight, she had gone up a dress size every two weeks. There was nothing that could be done to save her from ever-greater obesity. Cutting back on food didn't work; diets were impossible – her body would not even function without 5000 calories a day, and that number increased incrementally with every pound. The fatter she got, the greater her hunger for saturated junk food.
Ange waddled, her wobbling, tree-trunk thighs so thick they chafed and rubbed every time she walked. She had to be careful with that now. Type 2 Diabetes had come to stay, and she got embarrassing infections so very easily; her sweaty, cavernous folds liable to smelly, moist fungal infestations. All she could do was try to wash regularly, and that was hard. She rarely bothered, instead tucking into the sugary sweets that made her grow even fatter, smellier, and sweatier.
Diapers were so much trouble, but they were the only way she could stop soiling herself, her obese, swampy buttocks liable to leakage without warning. When they did explode, it would be an unstoppable eruption of saturated filth.
The constant mocking of Ange's classmates had drowned underneath her cocktail of medications. She was almost a zombie, incapable of feeling shame, even at her unrivalled gluttony, and her uncontrollable, putrid flatulence. Her stench was so awful, that she had an entire corner of the room and two grease-coated chairs to herself.
Demeaning Ange for her rapid weight gain and terrible hygiene had eventually lost its appeal - and in any case, none of the girls wanted to be near her repulsive stench for long, let alone touch any of her tainted possessions.
With flabby ham-hands, Ange patted her massive, thick diaper which she wore underneath her barely-fitting uniform, and waddled out to class. Her knees creaked as she walked down the protesting stairs. She panted and sweated hard, letting off a nasty, greasy fart every couple of steps that anyone in the same corridor would smell and hear.
As she stepped into the lobby, she gasped with delighted surprise. Battler, Mother, and Father, before her very eyes! It was too much for her fragile heart. Yet the more they looked in her direction, the less familiar she seemed. Just some fat girl with the same hair as Ange.
" Battler! it's me! Ange!" Ushiromiya Ange’s grease-clogged heart pounded. She felt hot, sugary pee soaking her crotch - the only way she could express excitement now involved losing control of her bodily functions in one way or another.
No answer. Her family turned away and went back to Rokkenjima, for good. Ange’s diaper sagged.