Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Patron of the Arts by Mia Sharona

   Why is the word `starving' always the modifier before the word artist?
Because if a person is damned foolish enough to pursue a career in art,
chances are 99 out of 100 they will fail, and if they make a living it is
usually one that pays less than minimum wage for the time put in their
work. Only a fraction of a fraction of those who become artists become
highly successful or wealthy, and in many cases, one has to die first
before their accumulated work gains real value.

   It is for this reason that the `Patron" of the arts is highly valued in
the artist community, and their thirst for art of value can be the
make-or-break point for an artist's career.

   Because of this, most serious non-commercial independent artists tend to
congregate near centers of commerce, such as New York City, Chicago, Los
Angeles or San Francisco where an ample number of wealthy patrons shop for
works in the numerous galleries that orbit them to capitalize on their
spending habits.

   I am one such artist, living in a cramped studio apartment in New York
where I wait tables by day, paint by night, and pray for the day my work
catches the eye of a wealthy patron, who will make my career by their
acquisition of my work.  Patrons have the habits of lemmings.  One takes
the plunge and the rest follow.  Thus if one famous art collector buys an
example of one's work, dozens of others will follow thinking the first has
some greater sense of culture, and not wishing to be left behind in the
latest fad of art.

   More than one famous artist has been made this way.  Rarely do they
achieve fame from their creative merit.  Far more often it is the whim of
fickle patrons that decides if they rise or fall in art history.

   I explain all this because when I received the embossed invitation from
Her Highness, the Princess Yanna Hissar of Brunei I was certain it must be
a practical joke.  The Sultan of Brunei is the world's wealthiest man and
his daughter, a middle aged Princess the 32nd wealthiest person on Earth.
She is renouned as the most lavish patron of the arts world wide and has a
vast collection of both famous and up-in-coming artists.  Princess Hissar
to aquire one's work is a guarantee of your own jet propulsion driven rise
in the world of art.  The letter came by special courier one evening as I
was slaving over a troublesome canvas in my humble rat ridden studio in my
unfashionable New York Tenement.

   A knock came at the door and I peered out the peep hole.  It was a young
woman quite fetching in appearance.  "Who is it?" I shouted through the
door.

   "Al Wassreman Couriers." came the soft exotic voice from the other side.
"I have a delivery for one Laura Shouts.  Are you that person?"

   "I am." I answered through the door.  I unlocked all the bolted locks
except for the heavy security chain.  I opened the door 3 inches and peered
out.  The courier was a very sexy girl about 19 or 20 that made me wish to
ask her in, pose nude and then seduce her.  I instead said "What is the
delivery please?"

   She held up a parchment envelope with a wax crested seal.  It was gold
leaf embossed with my Name and she held it up for me to see.  "You are the
fortunate one." she said showing it through the fractionally open doorway.
"Sign for it please.  RSVP by tomorrow night."

   She then passed a notebook and pen through the space and I signed for
the mysterious letter.  She handed me the letter and vanished down the
hallway, before I could so much as offer her a cappuccino or some herbal
tea.

   I looked at the letter which was made of the finest vellum parchment
with real gold leaf lettering, and the official seal in wax of a royal
crest embedded with arabic writing intertwined around an Aramaic style
Eastern star.

   Carefully I peeled back the wax seal trying not to break it as it was a
thing of beauty exposing a letter insde that had an Official Nation of
Brunei Stationary, the Royal Palace which read as follows:

   "Accept this invitation for this coming Friday Night June 4th.  A
Limousine will come to your door, escorting you to the airport where a
private jet awaits you to take you for a one weeks stay at the Royal palace
of Brunei.  You will attend a reception at Her Highness, the Princess Yanna
Hissar where a discussion will occur about aquiring your work, possible
future shows of your work and the requirements expected to purchase your
works.  You will return the following Week (Subday) with a future career in
art a certainly, should you choose to follow simple instructions yet to be
explained." It read.

   "This has to be a put on" I said reading it.  "RSVP by tomorrow night.
Call 555-762-9087"

   I looked at the letter and the last line and dialed my friend Pat.  She
is a practical joker and likely the one who came up with this gag.  "Pat?
What's the idea of sending me the fake invitation?  For what it cost you to
make this we could have had a good time at a bar this Friday."

   "What the hell are you talking about?" Pat replied.  "I didn't send you
any letter.  What is it?"

   "An invitation with a RSVP to a party in another country." I replied. 
"But I can check it out easily enough.  I will do a search on this number
online to see who it belongs to."

   Going to my computer I put the number into a search engine and it came
up "Foreign Consulate for Brunei, New York City."

   "Judis H.  Crossed!" I said.  "Could this be real?" Then I thought to
myself.  "I will call the number and accept.  If a Limo shows up I will
demand their credentials.  If it seems real...I suppose its worth the risk
to go and see if its real."

   Re-folding it I glared at my painting I was struggling with.  "Hey you!"
I said "Be good.  You may be sold soon and hanging in a palace."

   I dialed the number listed on the invitation and a foreign sounding
voice of a woman answered.  "This is the office of Princess Hissar of
Brunei, Yala Boting speaking."

   "This is really the office of Princess Hissar?" I asked politely.  "And
with whom am I speaking, a Duchess?"

   "I am her Highness's private secretary." answered the voice.  "How may I
be of service?"

   "I received an invitation to a meeting with her in Brunei and it
requires RSVP by tomorrow night.  Is this for real?" I looked at the paper
holding it up to the light looking for clues of some fakery.

   "What is your name please?" asked the voice.

   "Laura Shouts." I answered.  "Is this a put on or is it real?"

   "Your name appears on my manifest of invited guests.  Yes it is real and
you are invited to visit Princess Hissar.  You will need no luggage or
changes of clothing.  All will be provided for you.  Do you accept the
invitation?" came the secretary's' voice.

   "Well.  Yes I guess I do." I said starting to feel my heart race.  "Is
this about my paintings?  I know the Princess is a big patron of the arts
and collector of undiscovered works."

   "You are invited along with a small group of other lady artists to
attend a special gathering to speak about possible collaboration and
purchases of your work." said the secretary.  "One might say, your ship has
come in."

   I jumped up and down with such excitement I neary wet my pants.  "Should
I bring my portfolio?"

   "That won't be necessary." replied the secretary.  "The Princess has
already reviewed your work at recent small shows in New York.  She has
chosen you specifically for your special qualifications as well as your
style and subject matter."

   The only show I had done recently involved Lesbian eroticism as a
subject, specifically paintings of young partly dressed girls with older
women.  It was part of my attempt to shock and also partly my prurient
interest in prepubescent girls.  "She liked my work?" I thought to myself.
"She must be a bit of a scamp for royalty, especially with a Muslim
background.  I thought they put women to death for that in the Middle
East."

   "I am pleased she has taken an interest.  By the way, where is Brunei,
is it in Africa or the Middle east?" I asked wondering if I was walking
into a potential problem with my acceptance.  I am an outspoken Lesbian who
is with the Lilith Group, an all woman artist group that deal with feminine
erotica and self exploration.  I didn't want to step off a plane and find
myself on the way to having my head cut off.

   "It is an independent Sultanate on the island of Borneo also called "The
Abode of Peace." It is quite a wealthy nation as we have many oil and gas
fields all owned by the Royal family, but unlike other Muslim countries,
heavily influenced by British Protection until quite recently.  We are a
most peaceful and civilized nation in the Malayan chain of islands."

   `Sharia law isn't part of the code there is it?" I asked with a certain
amount of hesitation.  "Women aren't stoned to death or forced to wear
burkas are they?  I don't want to wind up someplace I am treated as second
class."

   "No, we are not that kind of Muslim country.  We are far more liberal
than any other Muslim country on earth.  If you see a woman there wearing a
burka, it is her choice, and she is free to choose otherwise.  Our Princess
dresses much after the style of western countries." said the Secretary. 
"You need not fear for your safety.  As a guest of the royal family you
will be respected and well protected."

   "This Saturday, and I will be returned...

   "Very well, I accept the invitation." I replied.

   "A driver will be at your door at 8 pm on Saturday.  She will escort you
to the airport where a private jet awaits your travel.  Enjoy your visit to
our country." She hung up the phone.

   "Wow!" I said to myself.

   The next day was Friday and I warned my boss at the restaurant I would
be out of town the next week.

   "Well this is fuckin' short notice!" he said.  "Who am I supposed to get
to cover your shifts for you?"

   "Well you old asshole, I don't really care.  You are a complete jerk to
work for and you can either cover them or consider this my resignation. 
It's all the same to me.  I'm about to make my fortune." I luaghed tossing
my apron in his face.

   "Well after you get your butt handed to you, come crawling back here."
he grinned.  "I'll give you your old job back for a good blowjob."

   "Not in your wettest dreams." I laughed and I walked out.

   That night I painted like I had not painted in months.  I did a
wonderful canvas of a girl of about ten walking around pantiles in a
crowded room full of old men with hard on's showing through their formal
dress pants.  One could clearly see she has bare butted and seemed
oblivious to her half nudity.  It's message was you cannot touch me no
matter how sexy you think I am, and was a "Go-fuck-yourself!" message to
men like my boss who are lecherous ass grabbing monsters we young artists
have to put up with everyday.

   That night I went out with some of my friends only to discover that two
other women I knew in the Lilith Group had received invitations as well.
There was Judy Douche, an outspoken lesbian who was into sculpting large
abstract vaginas and Holly Perfect, a young artist just graduated City
College who did water colors of naked flat chested women and men who looked
as though they had just been castrated.  We talked about it over wine.  "So
you think this is a legitimate offer?" I asked.

   "We will know come Saturday at 8 pm, but I see no reason to doubt it."
said Holly.  "This Princess obviously likes Lesbian subject matter and has
seen our show with the Lilith Group.  I would have to say of that show, our
three works were by far the best."

   "Wouldn't it be great if she did start acquiring our work?  With a plum
like that, no gallery in New York would refuse our showings.  I think it is
worth the risk to go and find out.  Just watch your back in case it is some
kind of con."

   So it went.  We drank we laughed, I wound up licking Holly's pussy in
the bar bathroom stall, our usual Friday night fun.  She reciprocated of
course.  I came all over her face and squirted juices down her blouse. 
That pissed her off and she demanded I pay the dry cleaning on it.

   The following day, Saturday dragged on as slow as Christmas eve and I
watched the clock endlessly for the 8 o'clock hour.  I felt very strange
not packing any luggage, and I made sure my passport was in order, but
otherwise I sat there on pins and needles waiting for a buzz at the
intercom to announce my driver had arrived.  I worked on a painting of two
naked girls kissing one another while riding on a merry-go-round.  It
helped the time pass.  By 6 pm I showered and put on a nice pair of slacks
and comfortable slip on shoes.  I wore a top which I thought showed off my
breasts well, even though they are single A cups and hardly bumps.  I am
built very thin in part because I starve as an artist.)

   The time came and precisely at 8pm the buzzer went off informing me I
had a visitor at the outer building door entrance.  I answered the
intercom, but tried not to sound too eager.  "Yes?" I asked.

   A woman's voice returned in reply.  "Miss Shout?  I am your driver sent
by the Brunei Embassy.  You have a limo awaiting you.  Please don't delay
as I am double parked."

   "I'll be right down" I said.

   "No luggage." replied the woman's voice.  "All you need will be provided
by the Princess."

   I left my studio apartment taking only my door keys and my pocketbook
with my passport.  It felt naked to travel so lightly, but as this was the
instruction I did not want to antagonize my hostess before we even met.

   As I reached the outside foyer I opened the outside security door to be
greeted by a short Asian girl dressed in black slacks and suit coat wearing
a regulation chauffeurs hat.  She gave a polite bow to me as she spoke. 
"Please Miss Shout, if you will follow me, your car is waiting."

   Indeed a stretch limo was blocking a lane of traffic, nothing unusual
for NYC, and cars were annoyedly making their way round the obstacle.  I
also noted the vehicle bore red white and blue diplomatic tags and a small
flag on the fender of Brunei, thus making the operation appear to be
genuine.  Until that moment I still suspected it might be some elaborate
practical joke, but none of my friends are rich enough for this level of
rouse.

   I got into the back seat, which was large enough to be the kitchenette
in my apartment, and I settled back into the comfortable seat which indeed
seemed to advertise "first class luxury" all the way.  My driver climbed in
and proceeded to take me to the airport, a drive of about an hour in NYC
traffic.  We were admitted through a private gate onto a field filled with
smaller private jets some distance from the main terminal.  As I stepped
from the limo I looked up at a waiting large private jet with a stairwell
entry flanked by two beautiful attendants dressed in native Brunei sarongs.
The two ladies smiled at me giving a low bow as I approached the stairwell.

   "Welcome Miss Shout." said the first in perfect English.  "Please come
aboard and make yourself comfortable.  We will be departing as soon as the
last of the other guests have arrived."

   "Thank you." I said smiling back.  I climbed the stairs and turned
looking out at my city one last time.  "When next I see you I hope to be
well on my way to fame and fortune." I said to the sky scrapers.  I stepped
into the hatchway into yet another presentation of weslth as the interior
of the plane looked more like a lounge in Rockefeller Center than the
interior of a small aircraft.  Mall swivel padded chairs were placed near
small coffee tables with ample room for movement and reclining.  Of the ten
chairs aboard, six were already filled with other young women, two of whom
I knew from the Lilith Group (one of which I had sex with just the night
before).  "Hello Holly." I greeted her with a sly smile.  "I hope we have
as much fun on this trip as we had last night!" I sat in one of the chairs
near by her and she grinned back at me with a knowing wink.  "You still owe
me for a dry cleaning." she reminded me.

   A hostess was there at my side with a smile and a tray with a choice of
several drinks, alcoholic to diet soda.  "Would you like a refreshment
while you wait?"

   "Thank you." I said taking the glass of wine.

   "It looks as though we are in the catbird seat now." said the girl
across the isle to my right.  "I wasn't sure this was legit, but now all my
doubts are memories.  I wonder what the deal is?  Have any of you an idea
what we are being offered?"

   "Three of us are in the Lilth group." I answered.  "We all do erotic
feminist subjects in our work."

   "So do I." said a voice from one of the other passengers."

   "Me as well." said another.

   "Is there any one here not an artist who paints or sculpts erotica of a
lesbian nature?" I asked.

   All of us looked at each other smiling.

   "Well, there you have the common thread.  Obviously our host likes high
class porn and we are it's pornographers." I laughed.

   The others laughed at the notion as well.  Under normal circumstance,
should you suggest our art was anything but high art and we would have
clawed your eyes out.

   The jet door closed and the stewardess smiled warmly at us.  "Please to
fasten your seat belts till after take off." she said.

   We did so with eager anticipation of the adventure that we stood only
hours away from.

   After we were airborn and allowed to unbuckle our seats, the
stewardesses brough arounf a glasses of wine which we each took, sipping on
and talking excitedly about the marked singularity of this experience. 
Within five minutes however I beame quite woozy and found my seat.  Hardly
before I put my head back I was asleep.

   When I awoke, I was aware that some length of time had passed.  I
suspected perhaps several hours.  The jet was taxiing down a runway and the
light outside suggested it was a bright summer afternoon.

   The next thing I noticed was that everyone around me was wearing a short
white greek style toga, the sort a girl might wear in a Sorority greek week
party.  I looked down and found my own clothing gone, and I too was adorned
in a short gossimer gown.  More to my notice, I wasn't wearing any
undergarmentss.  My bra and panties were not on me.  The only piece of
fabric between me and nudity was a light practically transparent mini
skirted gown.

   "What the hell?" I said rubbing my eyes which were filled with the crust
of a very long sleep.  "Who took my clothes?"

   Other ladies abord expressed similar suprise.  It seems we had all been
asleep and for quite some time.

   "They must have drugged us and switched our clothes." said Holly. 
"Geez, I have no panties and me as bushy as Central park schrub!"

   "How long have we been asleep?" I asked looking out the window at palm
trees the jet taxied by as it approached the terminal.

   "You have been asleep 26 hours." answered the Stewardess.  "The Princess
wanted you fresh and awake upon your arrival.  We took the liberty of
changing your outfits while you slept in flight."

   All the women spoke among themselves uneasily.  This was certianly
unexpected and sounded very heavy handed for a polite art interview.

   "Well I need to pee like a race horse." said one of the ladies.

   "Yeah, me too." said practically everyone in unison.

   "We will be at the private terminal of the Royal family in two minutes.
You will be escorted to facilities to freshen up." smiled the Stewardess.

   "Are we to walk around with the breeze up our asses?" I asked.  "Where
are our panties?"

   "The climate in Brunei is quite warm being so close to the equator.  You
will find this form of dress the most comfortable possible." replied the
Stewardess.  "You need not fear exposure.  No one will see you but other
women until you meet the Princess."

   "Well they are likely to see more of me than they bargained for in this
nightie." said a girl named Beth.  "It comes right up to my crotch!"

   The stewardess again smiled politely.  "The door is opening.  Thank you
for coming.  We will see you in 7 days when we return you to New York."

   "Well," I said looking at the other passengers.  "Strange or not, if I
don't empty my bladder this jet is going to be flooded out." I stepped
quickly toward the open doorway and the awaiting stairwell ramp leading
down to the tarmac.  The hot air hit my face like a blast from a giant hair
dryer.  Indeed this was tropical.  And indeed one didn't want to wear very
much in this kind of heat.  There were nine other women right behind me
making a quick exit before they pissed down their legs.  We may have been
asleep 26 hours but our kidneys had been working the whole time.  Awaiting
at the bottom of the stairs was a straight line of white linen clad young
girls, each with her hands held in a prayer-like gesture of respect.  None
of them could have been older than 14, and most, being short in stature
could pass for far younger.

   "Which way to a toilet?" I grinned pointing toward my barely covered
crotch.

   "Please to follow this way." said the first girl in the line.  Her face
was angelic, her teeth pearls set in a perfect mouth, her skin without flaw
or blemish.  Had she not been a child I would have fallen in love
instantly.

   As each lady behind me set foot on terra firma once more, the next
little girl in line would bow, take her hand and lead her toward a most
magnificent looking structure I took to be part of the Palace of Brunei.  I
was first in line on this private airport that more the look of something
in Hawaii rather than the third world.  There was a line of parked private
jets, an air traffic control tower and radar all state of the art, and a
pavement so clean and new it looked as though they had just finished
painting the lines after the cement cured.

   We passed under an arched doorway rather ornately decorated with ceramic
bricks forming an arabesque of patterns into a modern air conditioned
hallway guilded inngold, trimmed in nbras, cut from expensive marble as
pillar and floor.

   The young girl leading me opened an unmarked door where I found myself
in a luxurious bedroom, coplete with mirros over the bed, a well stocked
bar, a giant screen tv, table chairs, a couch and a comlpete easil with
paints as well as canvas.  I had no time to study the opulence as I was
doing a dance to keep from wetting the carpet.  "Quick Miss whatever your
name is, where is the toilet?"

   The child took out a round bowl about the size one tosses a salad, got
on her knees and held it up to her chin.  "Pee in this." she instructed
with a bizarre innocence that contradicted her actions.

   "What?  The bowl?  Haven't you a toilet?  A commode?  A john?  Quit
kidding around I really need to go badly!" I said through clinched teeth.

   "You must use bowl for this." she instructed.  "It is all there is.  I
will hold it to catch it as it falls."

   "Just put it on the floor, I think I can manage a target that size." I
said holding my hands over my slit.

   "I cannot." said the girl.  "I am bound by servitude to be your toilet
girl.  If I fail in my duty I will lose my benefits.  Please.  Pee in the
bowl.  I will hold it."

   I gritted my teeth and did not argue the point.  I turned and squatted
over the bowl letting fly with a torrent of yellow river that would have
busted every dam in the TVA.  I know some was splashing in the poor child's
face, but I couldn't help it unless I wet myself instead, hardly the way to
greet a Princess and Patron of the arts.

   As the last dribbles and quirts left my crotch and beads of unrine clung
to my pussy hairs like obscene morning dew I looked down to see the young
girl tipping the bowl and drinking down that which I had just voided from
my bladder.  "What the hell are you doing?" I said turning in surprise.

   She stopped drinking long enough to answer.  "My duty.  I am bound to be
your toilet girl.  My family and my future depend on it."

   "Um, your future?  Your families?  I don't get it." I responded.  "Have
you any toilet paper?  I am still dripping."

   "I have said too much." said the little girl with trouble now crossing
her eyes.  "Allow me to wipe you." Before I could object, she had placed
the now emptied bowl to one side, placed her mouth directly on my vagina,
and began to lap up the driblets of urine, much as a mother cat cleans her
errant kittens.  I grabbed her head having the immediate sensation of
pleasure wave up my spine in a surge of unexpected tsunamis.  "Oh!  That
feels fantastic!" I managed to stumble out the words.  "Oh child, that
feels wond-der-ful.  What did you say your name is?"

   "I am Yalla." said the dark haired light skinned asian.  Then she
continued to lap up the urine and dive her tongue into the folds of my
vagina, finding more wetness, not all caused by pissing.

   Before I could say jailbait, I was orgasming in a girl's mouth no older
than 12 and perhaps having the best sex I had ever known.  "No wonder its
forbidden!" I panted.  "Its better than cocaine!"

   I sat back on a soft satin covered bed and took in my surroundings.  The
room was bejeweled with lavishly ornate cut crystal chandeliers and lamps,
Persian rugs over exotic teak flooring inlayed with designs of ebony, ivory
and rosewood.  The painting easel that stood near a window was metal,
covered in gold leaf and the blank canvas on it, expertly stretched,
gessoed and of the finest tooth linen canvas one can buy.  A table with an
array of oil paints and brushes awaited a hand to use them, all were clean
and unused.

   "Who's studio is this?" I asked, admiring the layout.

   "While you are in the palace it is yours." said Yalla wiping the corners
of her mouth of my cum which I had spurted into it with great volume.  She
spoke as if her mouth were full of cream, (which it was.).

   "So tell me Yalla, when do I meet the Princess?  I can tell you now that
all of this is most unexpected.  I feel like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz!"
I opened my legs, my still tingling vagina steaming with aftershock,
allowing it to cool off from it's expert tongue massage.

   "You are expected at a reception at 6 of the clock." Yalla pointed to a
beautiful glass and metal clock above a mantel.  It's hands suggested it
was 5:30 already.

   "Oh geez!" I said looking at myself in the mirror.  I hardly have time
to bath, where is my purse and make up?"

   "No make up allowed here." said Yalla.  "The Princess prefers you come
as you are, even un bathed."

   "With my pussy hanging out of the bottom of this gown?" I pointed at the
hair that peeked out every time I lifted my arms or moved suddenly.  "You
haven't another outfit for me?"

   "Not at this time." answered Yalla.  "Believe me when I tell you she
likes you that way."

   "OK." I shrugged.  "She wants to get a free peek all she has to do is
ask!" I opened my legs pulling them back to my neck opening my vagina as
wide as my hands could spread it.

   "Oh!  Miss Shout." Yalla came up to my vagina again bending close to
study it's detail.  "You are magnificent.  I wish my own poor pussy was so
beautiful"

   "Let me take a look at it, we have a few minutes." I smiled.

   Yalla needed no second invitation.  She undid a small clasp at the
shoulder and her gown dropped to the floor leaving her naked.  Her hips
were beginning to take womanly shape but her breasts were still
prepubescent.  There was no sign of body hair of any kind.  "Climb on top
of me!" I instructed.

   Yalla straddled my chest her body's front toward my feet.  Yalla lowered
her face to my vagina beginning once again to lick it.  I now had full view
of her tiny holes and found them so moving I completely forgot I had just
orgasmed.  In my lust I buried my face in her tiny crack, licking up it and
around it and in it with overpowering abandon.  Before I knew it the clock
was chiming 6 times.

   "Oh shit, I am late for the meeting!" I said rolling Yalla off my belly.
"We must hurry, get dressed!" Yalla quickly put her flimsy gown back on,
straightening her hair.  Likewise I could have used a bath, shampoo,
conditioner a comb and a hair dryer to make myself look less like I had
been rolling in the hay.

   Following Yalla I went back into the hallway toward the inner palace,
and could see several of the other Ladies who arrived with me also escorted
by their "wards" walking briskly toward our mutual destination.  Ahead of
me was Holly who had a similar disheveled hair and flushed look I
remembered well from our tryst in the bar toilet stall back in New York. 
"Hey Holly!" I spoke loudly to catch her attention.  "Was that the best pee
you ever took or what?"

   Holly looked back over her shoulder, smiled wickedly and flipped up her
gown mooning me with her white perfect bare ass.  "Kiss it." she smiled.

   "Later." I promised.  Yalla tugged at my hand pointing to a large
archway on the left to which a double door stood open.  Behind it was a
long corridor leading one presumed to the inner palace.

   The room we entered was something of a lavish dining area, complete with
a raised stage at the far end, tables and padded chairs, each with a
console on each arm rest and several buttons that operated as yet, unknown
devices.  One assumed they might raise and lower the chair, tilt them back
or forward, but as we later found out had more nefarious designs.

   Standing along the walls were young girls, perhaps 30 or more, each
wearing similar gowns to our personal servants, though extremely short like
our togas.  They represented every race on earth, being no more than twelve
years old, from Africa, Asia, Europe, South America; an assortment of red
haired, brown and blonde, dark skinned and light.  All were strikingly
beautiful wisps of youthful womanhood, without breast, thin and model like
in their poise.

   "Please to take a seat." said Yalla.  Many of the women from the jet
were her already seated, one to each table, which could have easily
accommodated 5 more settings had there been more chairs.

   Taking a seat at an empty table nearest the stage I looked around,
wondering what strange ritual was next in store for us.  So far it had all
been not only pleasant, but erotically taboo, thus the anticipation of this
ceremony made my heart beat faster, and my loins cream with antisipation.

   A large chair or ornate modern design sat alone on the stage, surrounded
by draperies of fine silk and satin, held aloft by a series of portable
racks that raised the fabrics about 10 feet tall which draped toward the
floor.  We sat silent with our hands folded admiring the lavish decor of
the room, it's may arabesque designed filigrees decorating the walls and
ceiling.  It was like a Persian harem, without the bathing pools.

   A statuesque Asian woman about 35 years old walked onto the stage from
it's wings behind the heavier drapery wearing robes of silk that draped to
the floor.  She stood center stage in front of the thrown and said in a
loud clear voice "All rise for our Royal Princess, the wise and powerful
Yanna Hissar"

   We all stood respectfully gazing toward the stage with excited
breath-holding anticipation as a woman with long black hair, somewhat
older, perhaps 50 strode forward onto the stage.  All the women in the room
gave a deep respectful bow as the matron sat upon the unoccupied chair
center stage. She was dressed in bejeweled garments set in bright colorful
silks that made me immediately think of the term "Dragon Lady." She was
that and more, being an older Asian woman with a regal presence, and a
slightly cruel glint in her eyes set in a face of perfectly alabaster
smooth skin.

   As she sat down we all followed suit, except the serving girls who
returned to standing at attention around the edges of the room.

   The woman who announce the Princess stood to one side of the throne, her
hands clasp together in reverence.

   There was a long minute or two of silence as she studies us, and we
likewise took in her appearance with great curiosity.  She final stood,
walking forward to the edge of the stage, which from where I sat was about
ten feet way.  "Friends." she said with a long pregnant pause.  "I call you
friends because I feel I have come to know each and every one of you
through your works.  Though you are technically `undiscovered', I have made
it my mission to find woman artists with tastes and tendencies in their
work that I believe should be consolidated into a single movement.  I am
speaking of the lesbian erotic.  I am speaking of woman child love.  I am
speaking of things even darker."

   There was excited or nervous whispers.  The Princess went on "I have
made it my life mission to celebrate these forms of love.  I have hired a
dozen film crews who go throughout the world making films about Mother
daughter sex, and woman to child scat sex.  Unfortunately these are illegal
and I cannot share my collection with the world.  But I can begin to change
the stigma associated with this taboo.  Your mediums, painting, sculpture,
even computer generated images are legal if your subject involves under
aged sex.  Therefore you 10 will be my vanguard in promoting this subject
through expressions in paint to the High Art World.  Once accepted there,
it is inevitable that the lower forms of art, and the cultural mind set
will change."

   Patty Davis, one of the ten women present spoke "Thats a lot of pressure
to put on us.  Artists like Maplethorpe waited till they died to release
that kind of trouble for themselves.  We will be raked over the coals by
moral groups and art critics alike."

   "You will be well compensated." said the Princess.  "Not only will your
names go down in art history, but I will back all of your work, promote it
at shows in the most prestigious galleries, many of which I have heavy
influence over, but I will provide you with all the young models and
servants you need to enjoy a lifestyle that helps with your artistic
inspiration.  Not only will you be rich and famous, you will have all the
young girl sex you can manage."

   "What if we choose not to participate?  Perhaps our art may be feminine
erotica, but we haven't the nerve for the maelstrom we would face?" said
Jerri McFearon, another one of the ten women seated.

   "You can chose to avoid this offer.  I promise you total obscurity if
you do.  No art dealer will touch your work.  No juried show will accept
your work.  You might as well give up art if you reject this once in a
lifetime chance." said the Princess.  "I offer you a choice, the carrot or
the stick."

   I spoke "Mam, meaning no disrespect but this sounds a little like
selling one's soul to the devil.  I for one have never experienced scat sex
and find the idea a tad distasteful, let alone with children.  I like the
offer on the one hand, but you also are asking us to give up creative
freedom for something, frankly I don't have a fetish for."

   "From what I understand you are an atheist, at least that is the
information in your dossier." replied the Princess.  "Thus the devil isn't
even in your lexicon of notions.  As to having a taste for the subject
matter, let us see after a week in this palace if you don't warm up to the
idea."

   The Princess raised a small bell with a high toned ring and rattled it.
Immediately the 30 young girls standing at attention began to scurry about,
some setting dinner ware in front of us, others bringing out large
stainless steel catering carts filled with foods that made the most
delicious of inviting odors.  "Ladies, enjoy a meal and we will discuss
business further after you have dined."

   Three girls stood by each table serving our every whim, refilling our
glasses with wine or water, taking empty plates, offering new delicacies.
Since I had slept for over a day and had hardly eaten at all the day before
in New York, I was famished and ate as though the word calorie was an
unknown noun.  I lost count of the servings, but it had to have been a
seven course meal.  Whatever it was, when I finished it, the dishes were
cleared for me and I was left with a sniffer of fine cognac and a very deep
feeling of satiation to food.

   The Princess during our meal had chosen to disappear, and as we sat
there finished eating an hour later she reemerged on stage.  We all stood
and bowed as her Majordomo instructed us.

   "Take your seats ladies, I hope you enjoyed your meal." she smiled. 
"Allow me to introduce to you Miss Caroline Ashner of Greenmount West
Virginia.  She is 12 years old and has a special request from you."

   The thin blonde wisp of a girl, dressed in blue jeans and a t-shirt
stepped forward to the edge of the state.

   "Uh, good evening." she said brushing her hair from her face.  "My name
is Caroline but people call me Callie.  My Mom and I were very lucky and
won a contest to take a world cruise aboard a luxury ship.  We are very
poor and it was the chance of a lifetime for us to see something outside of
Greenmount.  But while we were sailing off the coast of Borneo, Mommy got
really sick and couldn't wake up.  She was air lifted to a hospital here in
Brunei and is there still in critical condition.  The doctors there said
she has a brain aneurism and she must have a special doctor to operate who
is not in the country.  She will die if she is moved and to get the doctor
here will cost $200,000.  We have no insurance and know nobody with any
money.  Then I was visited at the Hospital by Princess Hissar who heard
about my Mom's situation.  The Princess said that much money is a great
deal, even for her to pay as a gift.  She said if I would agree to her
conditions however, she would pay to have the Doctor brought here and the
operation to take place.  I would agree to work for her for 7 years and
Mommy would go home when she is well enough.  During that seven years I
would receive a first class education, and when my time is up a full
scholarship to the college of my choice.  I would be well treated so long
as I did my duties and didn't cause trouble.  My Mommy as well would
receive a yearly payment of $50.000 for the seven years I was working here.
But I need your help.  The one condition before the Princess will do all
this for me is that you...that you..." the little girl began to weep and
turned away.

   The princess rose from her chair and circled her arms around the child
comforting her.  "What Callie is trying to tell you, is that the condition
for me offering to pay $200,000 and save her Mom is that all ten of you
this evening, in this room, use her mouth as a toilet.  Cassie has never
done this before, neither have you.  It will be a virgin experience for you
both."

   I just about fell out of my chair.  Never had I heard such an outrageous
suggestion, an abuse of the power of money, nor a more perverse way to
force a child into sexual slavery.  Yet for all of that amazement, part of
me was fascinated at the clever way we had been maneuvered to do what we
otherwise would never dream of doing.  "Let me get this straight." I said
aloud.  "If even one of us refuses to defecate in this little girl's mouth,
you will withhold paying to save her Mom's life?"

   "You realize I have no obligation to this girl or her mother.  They are
not even my subjects, but foreigner passing on a boat asking an enormous
sum of money I have no reason to pay." said the Princess.  "But I employ
many young girls her age and have offered her a deal far sweeter than most
of them have been given.  But for me to go this extra distance, I expect
you to make a sacrifice to my will as a commitment to your own futures as
well."

   The ten of us stood, looking at one another as if for guidance in which
direction to go.

   Holly spoke first.  "Well I am not afraid to admit I like young girls. I
know most of you do as well.  It is all over your work, thats why you were
chosen to come here.  If by crapping in Callie's mouth it helps save her
Mom, why should I resist?  I think it might be fun for the both of us!"

   "Even if it isn't fun, it seems we have no choice.  We can't let the
girls Mom die, and this Princess seems as though she will have her way even
to costing peoples lives if we refuse!" said Jerri.  "I'll do it too."

   Five young serving girls left the room returning with a large ceramic
contraption that they wheeled in front of the stage between my table and
the edge near the footlights.  It looked like a shallow bath tub but was
about 7 feet long.  It had clear acrylic walls rising up from the ceramic
base with a perch on the top of it on one end that looked like a toilet
seat.  The entire thing traveled on large swivel wheels and was parked
between our tables and where the Princess sat in her chair on stage.  As
soon as it stood parked in front of the stage, the girl from West Virginia
looked once at the princess, who nodded, then proceed to strip naked before
us.  She then stepped in to the ceramic and lucite tub from the height of
the stage since it was equivalent and lay down in the contraption with her
face below the seat.

   Another young serving girl wheeled in a step ladder ramp that she put up
against the front where the toilet seat stood above perched atop the
contraption.

   "You all will soon experience diarrhea as your food and drink was laced
with a powerful laxative." said Princess Hissar as she stood looking down
at the now nude girl reclining in the tub.  "You may begin as you feel
inclined to go and sit upon this toilet over this child's face."

   She sat down pushing buttons on the console arm of her chair.  A large
flat high definition screen lowered from the ceiling above the tub and on
it appeared a Home page menu with dozens of small boxes, each representing
a video.  "As I told you, I have some half dozen film crews going about the
world making films about Mother daughter scat sex, and other related things
with young girls and older women.  While we wait for your laxative to take
effect, perhaps you should witness what I want you to promote through your
paintings and sculptures."

   One of the boxes on the monitor enlarged showing a young girl and an
older woman who looked like the child sitting in a chair being interviewed
by someone as the camera taped them.

   Interviewer, (a woman's voice): So you fully understand what you have
been hired to do today with the camera's rolling, is that correct?

   Mother (an Irish accent): Ei, ye want me to shite on me daughter.  It's
a sick thing you are askin' but I need the coin or we will be evicted."
Interviewer: And you Molly, are you aware what you are supposed to do?

   (The child nodded her head.)
Interviewer: please tell the camera what we said you must do.
Molly: I must lay down and let me Mother shite on me open mouth.  (She
looked very worried.)
Interviewer: And what else?
Molly: I must lick her bottom clean again after she sits on my face.
Interviewer: That is correct.  Have either of you ever done this before?

   (Both shook their heads no.)

   Interviewer : Good then.  Molly, lie here on the plastic bed covering,
and Mom, lower you panties in front of the camera giving us a nice view of
your ass, then squat over Molly's face.

   The mother of the young girl made an expression of disgust then
proceeded to stand in front of the camera, lowering her panties and raising
her skirt.  The camera zoomed in on her considerable bush of ruddy
brown-red pubic hair that was untrimmed and natural.  Turning her ass
toward the camera she stepped over her daughter's face who lay back, the
top of her head toward the viewers.  As she squatted the camera focused on
her round white slightly freckled ass cheeks and darker ass crack with pink
puckered asshole just above the child's face.

   Molly winced and closed her eyes and mouth tightly as if expecting a
traumatic blow.

   Interviewer: Molly, open your eyes and mouth.  We want to see your
expression as it goes on your tongue.

   Molly" (Whimpering) OK.  But I am scared.

   Interviewer: I have filmed this dozens of times.  It tastes bad but you
will get used to it quickly.  Some little girls ever learn to like doing
it. They get big bucks for this kind of work on a regular basis.
Mom: Heaven help us if we have to do this more than once!
Mom began to push and her asshole began to slowly dilate.  She made
guttural noises as she strained to force a log out her butt, which when
done in front of a camera, is always harder to accomplish.  Slowly the
brown tip emerged creeping out by millimeters, glistening yellow brown and
sticky in the bright light of the studio.  Molly's breathing was quick with
excitement and she fidgeted beneath her mother in dread of what was about

to happen.

   The turd emmerged glistening wet and yellowish in the bright lights,
hanging from a ever declining string of shit to the larger resourse still
up the Mother's ass.  Finally it broke tumbling down into the little girls
face.  She jerked as it touched her skin, but worse a portion of it landed
in her open mouth and she closed it taking an involuntary bite.

   "This is disgusting!" Holly said aloud.  "But I like it.  So you want we
should crap in little girl's mouths?  I can do that.  Right now my stomach
is churning like a gas engine and I need to shit really bad.  Bring on the
girl if you want, I will be the first."

   "Very well." smiled the princess.  She motioned to Holly to climb the
ladder where below it lay the child Caroline, naked and looking very much
apprehensive in the porcelain dish.

   Since none of us was wearing underwear and our skirts barely covered our
lower portions, Holly's ass stuck out quite visibly as she squatted atop
the ladder her ass directly over Caroline's face about 2 feet.  Her bowel
released like a torrent and splattered all over the little girl's face and
chest.  Caroline's reaction was to cringe and try to protect herself, but
too late, she was already a brown goo covered mess.  Caroline gasp for air
as several wet farts dribbled more shit in her face, catching in her mouth
as she tried to breath.  Holly giggled as she looked down at the child. 
"Here you go sweetie.  Eat your shitty mess.  Thats a good little girl.  If
you eat it all you can suck my ass for dessert!

   A second and third woman from our group had gathered at the ladder
forming a line.  Sherry looked up holding her stomach.  "Hurry up Holly.  I
have to crap in the worst way and can't hold it long."

   The truth was the laxative in all of us was beginning to make us quite
uncomfortable.  I found myself standing and my feet moving toward the
stand. I needed relief and the child was already soiled.  I was sorry for
her, but not enough to crap on the floor near my table.  Woman after woman
took her place on the the ladder shooting mounds of smelly wet shit all
over poor little Caroline, until she lay in a pike of it and one could
hardly see her face.

   I took my place at the top of the ladder.  "Sorry about this kid, but
when you gotta go...well, you know." I began to let my shit fly as Caroline
lay under it quivering like a lost kitten in the rain.  She didn't even
bother to close her mouth any longer as the crap filled it and she simple
spit more out, only to Have it filed again.  When the last of us was done
we stood by our tables looking for something to wipe our backsides, which
wich still quite coated.

   The princess signaled, and each of us found one of the serving girls
behind us doing the job of licking our dirty buttholes clean again.  Yalla,
my toilet girl from earlier was doing my ass, and I must say her tongue
felt sweet as it darted in and out of my creamy puckered asshole.  I held
her head in close smearing her face in my dirty crack and I smiled down at
her.  This was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

   * End of Part One *






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