The Pepper Spray Bidet

♫ "It begins to tell round midnight.... midnight...." ♪

The spotlights drifted down across the crowd like glowing disks, over their beaming faces and briefly casting light over the sparkling tropical fish tank next to the bar before settling on the stage.

May De la Rue stood in the spotlight, glowing, sparking in her strapless blue evening gown which clung to the curves of her boobs and belly and enormous ass like she was vacuumed sealed into the fabric.

♫ "I do pretty well until after sundown..." ♪

Her hand coiled around the microphone stand; set to its lowest height, it was still slightly too high for her stubby frame and the head of microphone was tilted down into her face. She brought the microphone to her lips, seducing it with her strong, deep, and passionate voice.

♫ "Suppertime I feeeeling~ sad...." ♪

The blue sequins decorating the dark skin of her forehead and cheeks sparkled like stars. She shifted her hips, moving like a slow, hypnotic bell, her butt cheeks individually shifting in the fabric.

♫ "But it really gets bad round midnight..." ♪

***

The Lune Rouge Nightclub was a renovated hotel; a French hotel, it's baroque bannisters and tables and wallpaper were well preserved, almost like travelling back in time. The rooms on the first floor had been renovated into dressing rooms for the performers, the band, the waiters, and waitresses, and of course, the star of the show: May De la Rue.

"Ms. De la Rue! Ma'am... You're going to be late for the rehearsal!" Angela tapped on the door. She scratched at her frizzy, unkempt hair. She was skinny and awkward and wearing a black polo and cheap khakis.

No answer.

Angela opened the door and poked her head in.

The dressing room still showed signs of having been a nineteenth century hotel room. The creaky metal bed was shoved into the corner to make room for a vanity covered with makeup supplies and a clothes rack holding all of Ms. De la Rue's sparkling dresses. A small kitchenette was in the corner. The wood stove had been replaced with a slightly more modern gas one and it was framed by a tiny sink and fridge.

The nightclub singer was nowhere to be seen.

"Ms. De la Rue!"

"I'm... I'll be done in just a moment!"

The voice came from the back of the room, and it was nervous and breathy and muffled in a way that seemed strange...

"Ma'am?"

"Go away! I said I'm almost... Done..."

In the back of the dressing room was the restroom door. And Ms. De la Rue was on the other side. Angela, twitching, eyes huge, pressed her head to the door. There was a energetic splashing sound from the other side.

Red-faced curiosity and heart pounding suspicious emptying her brain, Angela leaned down to the ornate keyhole in the door. It was all she could do to stop herself from gasping.

Ms. De la Rue was sitting on her bidet wearing nothing but a strapless bra. She was leaned back, and her legs were spread. Her short legs almost dangled on the seat. The flesh of her gorgeous thighs and belly were shaking with every rhythmic movement of her right hand, her fingers digging into the dark curly hair between her legs, spreading open the gorgeous, glistening texture of her pink lips, rubbing her erect clit up and down. With her other hand, she pressed the lever of the bidet, sending a jet of water up and into and against her buttcheeks, the brown globes suspended in the toilet seat, the water splashing against her winking asshole.

Angela stumbled back. Her eyes were gigantic, and every inch of her brain was burning the image into her mind to keep forever. She covered her mouth, but her wobbling knees sent her feet awkwardly clapping against the floor as she fell over in her escape attempt.

She made it two steps before the door opened behind her.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Angela's head almost spun off. Behind her, and below her because of the differences in their heights, stood Ms. De la Rue with a towel wrapped around her waist. A line of juices and water dripped down the inside of her thigh to her calve.

Angela looked up at the ceiling. Her face was on fire. She was sweating. Her fingers twitched and she was painfully aware of her erect nipples prodding at her bra and the wetness between her legs.

Ms. De la Rue stepped forward. She smiled, but it was filled with venom.

"You dare spy on ME?! May De la Rue? In my own dressing room? At my most personal moments?"

Angela shook her head, not daring to look down into Ms. De la Rue's blazing eyes.

"No ma'am. It was an acci-"

Ms. De la Rue's wet, pussy soaked hands grabbed at Angela's belt, and she wrenched it upward, yanking Angela's pants into her. Angela could only let out a tiny squeak as her sensitive, wet pussy was squeezed and wedgied by her own rising pants.

"You are fired, you understand me?"

Angela squirmed with her hands awkwardly to her sides. She didn't dare touch the mostly naked star.

"but... ma'am I need this j-AaAh!"

A tiny, strained scream escaped her voice as Ms. De la Rue pulled with fierce strength almost lifting the much taller woman off her feet, the seam and zipper of Angela's slacks digging into her, parting her lips and rubbing the crotch of her thong against her inner surfaces.

Ms. De la Rue let her go and started walking past her to the dressing room door.

Angela was nearly panting with shame and arousal. Sweat was dripping down her face. She pathetically tugged the crotch of her pants out of her. Her arousal had leaked through her underpants and marked the front of her cheap khakis with a long, telling narrow line. Ms. De la Rue opened the door. Angela bit her lip in disgrace. That is, until she heard Ms. De la Rue say with venom from across the room.

"Disgusting dyke slut."

Angela felt her teeth clamp together. The muscles in her forehead twitched and her eyes watered with rage. She was already planning her revenge...

***

"Ma'am, you're going to be late for the show!"

The wormy little new hire scurried up to the Ms. De la Rue, who was dressed in her street clothes, as she made a beeline to her dressing room.

"Oh, shut up," Ms. De la Rue said, rolling her eyes. "I have more than enough time before the performance."

The dressing room door slammed shut and the new assistant stood awkwardly outside. Inside, Ms. De la Rue immediately took out her blouse. She walked over to her kitchenette and turned on the oven countertop. Her boobs shook in her strapless bra, barely contained. She grabbed a coffee pot from the cabinets and held it under the tiny sink. She turned the tap, but the pipes just gurgled, and only a tiny dribble filled the pot.

Ms. De la Rue glared at the stubborn, ancient faucet, but as she looked at it - at the sole drop of water running from its head - she smirked.

Her coffee forgotten, Ms. De la Rue peeled her pants and shoes off immediately and tossed them to the side. Her tiny black thong was almost invisible between her massive cheeks, but her pubic hair stuck out, unkempt, around the crotch of the underwear.

She stepped out of the thong and threw it over her shoulder. Her bidet was calling. She had more than enough time, she thought, before the show started to unwind in privacy.

She threw open the bathroom door, and it sat in the center, white and gleaming and pristine. Her pleasure seat, her own personal throne. She was unaware that deep inside the porcelain, the bidet had been tampered with. The tubes and plumbing had been completely sabotaged. The innerworkings were all leading to a can of pepper spray, a violently vibrating can that was barely held in place by bandages of electrical tape.

Ms. De la Rue lowered herself on the toilet. Her fat butt squished over the sides of the seat. Her pussy was slick and ready, and her asshole tingled with excitement. She spread her legs, presenting her full crack and asshole to the spray spigot beneath her.

She leaned back in the seat and pushed the lever.

HISSSSSSSSSSSS

"AAAAAIIEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

The sharp, coughing hiss was followed by the most unholy, shrill scream. Ms. De la Rue rocketed off the toilet, bouncing up and down on her bare feet with her legs spread like a frog.

"FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!!" she wailed. Burning pepper spray dripped down her bouncing asscheeks, which grew redder and larger with each passing second. Her asshole, her asscrack, ground zero of the violent humiliation burned and ached and itched. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she danced around, biting her lip now and pulling open her asscheeks with her fingers to let the air up into her screaming crack and flaming puckered hole, but it was having no effect.

There was a rapid knocking at the dressing room door.

"Ma'am, are you all right?"

"I'm fiIIne!" Ms. De la Rue called back, but her voice cracked, off key. She hobbled over to the sink, but the pain in her ass was so great, she felt weak in her knees, and she was sweating violently.

She grabbed at the tap and wrenched it open, but the faucet only gurgled.

"COMEONCOMEONCOMEONCOMEON!!" she hissed at it, turning the tap back and forth all while swaying side to side, unable to stand still while her now tomato red ass burned like it was constantly being stung by hundreds of bees.

More knocking at the door, several knocks.

"Ma'am! Are you okay! Do you need us to come in!"

Sweat completely coating her body, Ms. De la Rue, grabbed at the faucet neck, and lifting one foot onto the countertop strangled the unresponsive metal like she was wringing the neck of a python.

"I DON'T!" the panicking singer screamed, but it came out more like a sob. Her hands wrenched and pulled at the faucet, desperate for the cool water it was hiding from her, the only thing that could possible save her screaming behind. Her pussy spread completely open and her bare foot gripping the countertop, her thighs and belly and boobs jiggled with feral animal rage and pain.

And then the faucet broke.

The faucet neck, over a hundred years old and never replaced popped right out of the sink and Ms. De la Rue was sent careening backward, the great gravity of her butt pulling her - right into the burning, forgotten, countertop of the oven.

"YOWWWOOWWWWWW!!!!!"

The dressing room door burst open, and the doorway filled with the new assistant and security staff, all who immediately ducked out of the way as a screaming Ms. De le Rue ran through the open doorway and out of her dressing room. Completely naked except for her bra, smoke rose from her red and swollen ass, now marked with scorch marks in the shape of rings left by the countertop, a burning target with the center of her asscrack as the bullseye.

"AAAHHHHHHHIIIEEEEEEE!!!" she wailed, racing down the hallway. The assistant and the security guards stared after her, shocked, but their pants tenting awkwardly at the giant red moon growing smaller and smaller as it vanished down the hall.

***

In the main room of the nightclub, the patron played anxiously with their drinks. The stage was empty. The band was playing ambient soft jazz to fill the time, but the music did nothing to mask their nervous glances.

With a cough, the announcer walked up to the stage. The spotlights settled down on him.

"Well," he said. "It seems that Ms. De la Rue is a bit later today, but I'm sure she'll be ready for us-"

"AAAAIIIIEEEEEEEE!!!!!" the scream split through the club; people dropped their drinks and heads swiveled around to the source. The spotlights followed to the source: the streaking Ms. De la Rue, eyes gigantic, butt still smoking, she mindlessly raced across the floor toward the tropical fish tank next to the bar. People gasped, others laughed, phones were immediately pulled out of pockets, recording, capturing the bottomless Ms. De la Rue mounting the bar, crawling up its surface like a monkey and dunking her butt right into the fish tank with a splash.

She sighed. Settling down with her butt suspended in the water, she felt the pain, the burning and itching and roasting slowly subside. Steam rose up from the water from her poor tortured butt. But she was slowly becoming aware, awaken from her trance of buttpain, realizing that nearly a hundred people were watching her, recording her; a few looked at her with shock or sympathy, but most were jeering at her, who was wearing only a sweaty bra, humiliated.

Ms. De la Rue's face turned as red as her butt and she covered her eyes with her hands, trying to futilely protect herself from the crowd. With her eyes covered, she didn't notice the large swarming fish underneath her, a dozen of them. Tropical fish, but she had never bothered to ask what type of tropical fish. The fish grinned in unison, exposing sharp, pointed teeth.

Piranhas.

CHOMPCHOMPCHOMPCHOMPCHOMP

A half dozen fish clamped down on Ms. De la Rue's sore ass all at once.

"OOOUUHHH!!!! OOOOHHHHH!!!!!" she screamed and moaned. She jumped out of the water and onto the bar, giving her ass quick look, realizing in an instant the new source of her pain: the fish clamped onto her buttflesh with their hungry pointed teeth and refusing to let go.

"GET THEM OFF GET THEM OFFF GET THEM OFFFFFF!!!!!" she wailed.

Bending at the knees, Ms. De la Rue twerked on top of the bar countertop. Her asscheeks smacked against each other like thunderclaps. Each, shuddering impact burned and stung, sending rippling pain across the surfaces of her sore and sensitive cheeks. The patrons gathered around her, jeering and howling and cheering her on. They stared up at her as she danced over them in a whimpering panic. From their low vantage point, they could see everything. They could see every brown and pink secret glistening between her dark pubic hair. The announcer motioned to the band, and they started playing "La Cucaracha" as poor Ms. De la Rue unwillingly debased herself in front of all of them, stamping across the counter in her dance. The violent shaking was eventually too much for her bra and it split apart at the back, falling off her body, and leaving her completely naked, her pink nipples and freed boobs bouncing even more violently.

One by one, the fish dropped off and fell onto the counter, flopping amongst her dancing feet until Ms. De la Rue's ass was fish-less, but swollen and red and burned and covered with bitemarks. She clamped one hand over her pussy, the other across her boobs, and her knees knocked together.

"YOU BASTARDS! DON'T LOOK AT ME!!" she screamed. She leaped from the counter, running through the crowd, desperate to get back to her dressing room, barreling forward with tears in her eyes. But she was going the wrong way. As security tried to calm the crowd, she ran down the halls and burst into the nearest door, which was not her dressing room, but the private room in the back of the club, reserved for special occasions.

The occupants of the room froze at the naked woman running into the room. The room was covered with balloons and party favors. A sign reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANDMA ran across the room, and an elderly woman sat at the head of a long table covered with half-unwrapped presents. She was in the process of holding her breath, ready to blow out the large, lit, singular candle on the three-layer cake in front of her. Her family, all dressed in their absolute best, gawked at the humiliated woman who was still in mid sprint when she realized that she was not where she was supposed to be.

But she was too late to stop her momentum. Ms. De la Rue's bare foot slipped on a discarded piece of wrapping paper, and she was flung ass-first, over the table, over the shocked family, toward the old woman who was still holding her breath and toward cake sitting in front of her.

SPLATTTTT

Cake flew everywhere, covering the old woman and her family closest to her; Ms. De la Rue's ass flattened more than half the cake. She sat in it, ashamed, her lip curled. She looked over her shoulder at her poor butt while the family sputtered and yelled. Ms. De le Rue couldn’t hear them. She gingerly pinched at one of her buttcheeks, lifting it off the surface of the cake. Her sore buttcheeks were drenched with cake and she could feel icing deep in places icing should never be, jettisoned up her ass by the impact.

"FIRE! FIRE!"

Ms. De la Rue looked forward, suddenly alert. The family was running around, shouting “fire.” She looked left and right, but she couldn't see any fire. But she did smell smoke and some other strange smell like… burning oysters?

"HER PUSSY'S ON FIRE!!"
 Ms. De la Rue looked down and gasped. Her crotch had landed right in front of the lit birthday candle and it had set her pubic hair ablaze!

"AAHHHH!! PUT IT OUT PUT IT OUT!"

Suddenly made aware of the scorching heat radiating through her crotch, Ms. De la Rue hopped around one leg, trying to spread her legs open as much as possible. Cake sloughed off her fat, dancing ass.

"ITBURNSITBURNSITBURNS!!!!!" she screamed, flame licking through her pubic hair at her delicate lips and clit, her voice rising note by note with each syllable. She leaned her head down and tried blowing on her own crotch, puffing out her cheeks, but the flame refused to go out.

The doors flew open, and the security guards ran into the room followed by the assistant holding a fire extinguisher.

"Ma'am! Please remain calm!"

"FUCK YOUUUU! PUT OUT MY PUSSYYYY!!!" Ms. De le Rue screamed in his face, tears streaming down her cheeks.

The assistant pointed and aimed, missing her crotch completely and hitting Ms. De la Rue in the face and chest with a stream of foam.

"BBBRLLRRRBBBB!!!" Ms. De la Rue gurgled. She fell onto her back, writhing on the floor, trying to wipe the foam off her face while her pussy blazed like a tiny inferno.

The panicking assistant pointed the fire extinguisher again, but it just wheezed - empty.

The head security guard looked at the screaming woman on the ground and swallowed hard. He could only think of one solution. He grabbed Ms. De la Rue's ankles and spread her legs apart. Then he lifted his foot over her flaming pussy.

"Don't worry ma'am! I'll put the fire out!"

The size thirteen shoe slammed down onto her pussy with horrific force.

SLAMMMM

"OOUUUU!!!!!" Ms. De la Rue screamed. Her body shook with convulsions. Her burning clit was squashed. Her lips bludgeoned. Her pelvis shuddered in pain under the weight of the crushing foot. The security guard lifted his foot again, determined to stamp out the fire.

Face covered with foam, Ms. De la Rue reached out to him, "w-waiAAAIIEEEEEE"

SLAM
 "OOOUUUU!!!!!"
 SLAMM

"AAAAAOUGGHHHH!!!"
 SLAAAAMM
 "EEEEEIIEEEE!!!!"

SSSLAMM
 "OOUGGGHHH!!!"

The security guard panted and wiped the sweat from his face. The fire was out, but Ms. De la Rue was unconscious, passed out completely from the pain. Her pussy was roasted, hairless, and bright red, and the entire room was filled with the awkward, unique smell of her burnt genitals.

The security guard waved a hand in front of his nose with disgust while the assistant gripped the fire extinguisher int total shock.

"Maybe we should call an ambulance," the security guard said.

***

Everyone at the nightclub swarmed around the gurney. A still dazed Ms. De la Rue was wheeled out of the nightclub through the crowd with their flashing phones. She lay flat on her face with her ass in the air, every inch of her pepper sprayed, roasted, bitten naked ass and her stomped, hairless, burnt pussy on complete display.