Where I've Been All This Time and What I've Been Doing

Jan 5, 2009
Most of you may have noticed my absence from these pages of late. My wife has been very strict with me since she found me cheating, paying young women to allow me to worship their feet and legs. I have been required to cut all my ties with the world of sex except for her. The only reason I am posting this is because, at the end of tonight’s session, she said, “Be sure to go on line and tell all your faggy jerk-off boyfriends (that would be you) what I did to you. Then you can all jerk off together and they can all wish I did it to them. Pathetic twerps.” That’s an exact quote, except for the parenthetical clarifier.

So, fellow pathetic twerps, while I await some sensation to return to my tongue and the pain to ebb from my penis and testicles, and as I continue to rub all the little capital D marks welted deeply in my chest and stomach, I will type away into the wee hours as my beloved sleeps soundly in her bed. I may temporarily be called away if she needs to relieve her bladder during the night, though I hardly imagine she could have a drop left in her. Most of it is in me.

Maitresse, (I just say Ma’am when I address her, as her fucktoy) has taken to thoroughly beating my balls. She practices CFNM at all times, meaning I strip naked, and usually, like tonight, begin by lying on the cold tiled bathroom floor to wait for her. I was on my back, and this time, she left the infra-red heat lamp on, so, for once, I did not have to wait in the dark. When she came in she was wearing a short plaid skirt, impossibly high red leather shoes and a blouse. I could immediately see her naked pussy, so no panties tonight. My wife only wears domina leathers and such when we go out to clubs and parties where appearances are important. At home she wears regular clothes and sometimes sexy outfits, while I remain unclothed and that tells the story.

“I want to put on some make-up and do my hair,” she said, so I got up on my knees, facing the sink, spread my legs until my ass touched the floor and my cock lay on the tile in front of me, tilted my head back, and her make-up stool was ready. She flounced up her skirt and sat astride my face, adjusting her cheeks to ride on my cheeks, her anus planted squarely between my parted lips. As much as I love this position and the degradation that goes with being so used, I do have a great deal of difficulty with breathing and I am loathe to disturb her just so I can catch a breath, so I have learned to modify the position a little to allow a limited channel of air that travels down her butt crack to reach my nose. I must concentrate and not panic as I draw air slowly and rhythmically in this way, so that it does not trouble her as she prepares herself. Since she has been dating, this has become a more frequent occurrence. Tonight was the first time she put on makeup for the purpose of dominating me. I felt grateful and concentrated on those thoughts as she shifted her weight on my face, taking her feet off the floor and parking the heels in my belly fat. I could hear the hair dryer going on and off repeatedly as she brushed and combed, and there was all the clicking and popping of various compacts, lipsticks and cosmetic paraphernalia as my owner did up her face. Usually, if she is preparing to go out, I am filled with a dread that thrills me as I know I am being used as a piece of furniture for her comfort as she prepares to have sex with another man, who may soon be in my home and bed, enjoying her. Depending on who he is, I will be either banished from the house or be kept in to be ridiculed by him and possibly ordered to serve him. Serving could mean getting him a cold beer. With one man it means oral service, fluffing him and then tonguing his ass as he fucks my wife. She doesn’t see him too often. It is an ordeal to serve that way, even though I do enjoy the humiliation and I prefer being in the room as she has sex. Banishment is more painful.

During the summer months, my wife likes to dominate me outdoors. We have a place alongside the garage where a low concrete wall you can easily sit on overlooks a three to four foot drop into a narrow corridor of soil. We refer to this as the “latrine”. Back when I was still a man, I used to like to stand on the wall and pee into the dirt if I needed to, rather than go back into the house to use the toilet. Now that I am her toilet, my wife likes to make me crawl naked into that soil and she will either sit on the wall and pee, making me scramble to get under her, or sometimes she just likes me to kneel there while she stands above me, on the wall, spraying me thoroughly with her urine. This toilet behavior was not a big part of her repertoire before my dalliances, so I must assume there is a certain amount of anger and a real intent to degrade me, an intent that goes beyond fetish activity and into real feelings. When that guy was over in August, the one I have to blow, she and he both came out after fucking and stood there pissing all over me, soaking me and wetting my hair thoroughly. I had to lick them both clean and then spend the night in the piss soaked dirt while they went back to bed. I was so thoroughly degraded by then that I licked their combined spilled urine from the concrete as I jerked myself to an orgasm before falling asleep.

Anyway, the whole reason I brought this up is that, when I am banished from the house during her dates, she has taken to ordering me to go naked to the latrine and spend the night in the dirt. I then look forward to her urinal visit some time in the night, even when her guest has no idea I am there. She has taken most recently to spraying me down with her urine, making me lick her vulva clean, and then, without a word, she turns, goes back into the house and douses the light. I can hear the door lock and I’m out for the night, like the cat. I can’t even get into the locked cars and I no longer possess a valid code for the garage door, not that I would budge under her orders, and she knows it. Once her friend leaves in the morning, I am permitted to return and shower, though, one morning, late in June, she kissed her boyfriend goodbye, a bit too passionately I thought, from my viewpoint of the back steps, and as he drove away, my lovely wife came over, all smiles, and gave me a cheery “Good Morning!” She then removed her robe and sat naked on the wall, facing the garage, her ass overhanging the latrine. As I scooted under her I noticed the dripping of white goo from her anal opening so I sealed my lips around her asshole and sucked out her lover’s morning ejaculation. No wonder she was so cheery! At that, she pushed hard, her ass puckered, and my spouse relieved her bowels that morning by forcing three medium sized firm turds into my very eager and thrilled waiting mouth. I swallowed each in sequence as they exited her rectum. I had to swallow quickly, but I did all I could to savor their bitter flavor as each cag slid along my tongue on the way to my throat. As soon as she squeezed off the last turd, I immediately forced my tongue into the hole in order to perform my usual toilet paper duties and leave her clean. I had been preparing for this moment for a long time, begging her to use me as a complete toilet, knowing that once she did, I would no longer be the man she married, but just a personal servant and convenience of the most intimate order, her human toilet, forced to stay on and watch her lead a normal life with other men while serving her in this thrillingly degrading way. Before I could finish tonguing the shitty residue from her bunghole, her urine began to flow, and I presented my open mouth for her convenience, not daring to touch her vagina with my shit soiled tongue and lips. The sound of her urine filling my mouth made her laugh, as it sounded like a cup filling with water. Once she stood and went back into the house, I masturbated furiously while licking my lips in search of any residue of her prized turds. I remained out there in the latrine for at least two more hours in an ecstatic stupor, my belly filled with her wastes, until she returned, wondering why I had not come in. Interestingly, she only thought of me when she had to pee again, so once more, I got to look up at her magnificent underpinnings as she relieved her bladder onto my waiting tongue. I then made passionate oral love to her rectal opening, tongue kissing her anus until she stood up laughing at my ardor.

Remembering these moments is cathartic for me. It helps me remember how I got to where I am now. After finishing her makeup, my wife slid down off my face, landing, quite intentionally I’m certain, with her stiletto heel on my cock. The sudden pain made me yelp, which elicited a laugh from her lips. She has developed into quite the sadist, I thought. “Lie on your back,” she ordered quietly. As I moved into position I looked at her face. Her hair was severely pulled back, tightly to her scalp, her eye shadow and mascara dark and thick and her lips shone a bright carmine red. She appeared to have stepped out of a Robert Palmer video and I felt that queasy weakness and a need to grovel in awe of her power over me.

She stood straddling my mid-body, facing my feet and bent over, she grabbed my balls and twisted them, amplifying tenfold the queasiness in my abdomen and forcing a scream of pain from my throat. Then began the slaps, an endless back and forth, two handed series of ball beating cuffs to my both testicles, including occasional whacks to my penis. Without warning, she grabbed my foreskin and pulled it so tightly down that I feared it would rip, the cockhead distorted to one side, the frenulum stretched to breaking. Then, just as suddenly, she let go and started stamping on my cock and balls with both feet, alternately crushing one ball, then the other under her left and right soles. She switched quickly to kicking. I admire guys who can withstand ballbusting. It is hot as hell to watch but it is just plain hell to endure. We have no safeword. Our agreement is that I am her property. If she decides to destroy me, then I am just fucked. My rights as a human totally disappeared the morning she shit another man’s cum with her turds into my mouth. She planted several solid toe shots into my balls which made me howl in pain, but I never asked her to stop or show mercy. I’m never allowed to do that, nor do I want to. The more she hurts me, the more I expose myself to her blows. I grabbed my cock and pulled it up so my balls were easier to get at. Now she was able to swing back and aim the point of the shoe toward my asshole and fully catch each testicle with the foretop of her foot. After six kicks I nearly threw up, but then she leaned against the sink and busied herself pushing her long metal heels all over the cockhead I was holding. She roughly forced the heel tip into the pisshole and started pushing down. I had to work fast to guide my cock onto her heel. Eventually, it went in so far that the restriction became the widening of the heel itself near the shoe, but still, she continued to push, and the forced rape of my cock became a tearing pain as the skin attempted to stretch over the invading high heel. At that point, my loving wife stood up and stepped with her left foot up onto my belly, standing with most of her weight on the one foot since her “cockheel” really didn’t provide much support. Then, just as suddenly, she stepped forward, pulling out of my penis with a breathtaking whoosh. She began to walk all over me. In a reverie, I suppose, she asked if I remembered when we used to go dancing. Then she started to dance on me, spinning and turning, scraping her heels and marking and cutting me. I had gone from being her dance partner to being her dance floor.

She stepped off, reached into the top drawer of the vanity console and threw something at me. “Put this on!” It was a rubber; a magnum extra large, much, much more than I needed. I recognized it as the brand one of her regular lovers wears. I quickly unrolled it onto my erect cock. “Jerk off a little,” she said. So I did. While I knelt naked before my wife, masturbating into an oversized condom, she asked, “Did you ever have pickled tongue?” I thought of all the cold cuts and luncheon meats I’d eaten in the past but couldn’t remember eating tongue, and I didn’t think it came pickled anyway. I told her so, being certain to add “Ma’am”, not because I wanted to avoid being hit for insolence. I enjoyed when she hit me. But I did not want to show her disrespect and I did not want to derail the current proceedings, which would have been the greatest disrespect of all as I could see she’d thought something up that promised to be interesting. “Well, tonight,” she continued, “you will try pickled tongue. Take off that condom.” I slid the stretched rubber off my dick. She stood before me with a forward thrust. “Put it over my peehole and hold it there.” As I did so, she began to pee and I had to be careful to catch it all. The bag filled quickly and stretched into a fat yellow cock shaped balloon of piss. “First we have to collect the pickling fluid. This will make a fine salty brackish brine.” She stopped urinating so I pinched off the top to avoid spilling. “Stand up!” I did as I was ordered. “Now, stick out your tongue.” I did. “Come on, stretch it out.” I could see she was amused. “Further!” She swatted my cockhead hard, just for emphasis. “Now, put the condom on.” I looked at her, then down at my cock. “On your tongue, not on your dick!” I felt so stupid. I held the hot, piss filled rubber up to my mouth and stuck my tongue into the liquid. To keep from spilling displaced piss onto the floor, I made certain the entire end of the bag was inside my mouth. “That’s it, you’re getting it.” My wife was so encouraging. “Now, just slide it onto your tongue. Bring it as far back as your fingers can push it.” I shoved that condom over my tongue until the rubber banded opening was far back on the rearmost portion of my tongue. Amazingly, it stayed in place. “Now look at yourself!” she said as she positioned me in front of the mirror. I looked and saw a beautiful, confident, stunningly severe woman standing next to a broken, fat, naked slave whose tongue could be seen bobbing around like a goldfish in a bowl of piss, her piss. “Now, for dessert, pickled cock!” She laughed, reached for her crop and smacked my cockhead several times just to refocus my mind. I was getting lost in her sex and just wanted to drop down and toilet for her.

Now she produced from her bag of tricks, formerly my bag of tricks, several nasty little plastic coated and colorful steel spring clips, reminiscent of the springs used on clothespins. She grabbed my balls and hurt them enough for me to lose my erection. “You know where we’re headed, don’t you? Soon, no more hard-ons when I play with you. I’m going to pose for you, get you all hot as I describe what I’m going to do to you while you jerk off and come. Then the fun will begin! I want you serving me because I own you and you need to be owned, not because you are sexually wound up and need to come.” We’d been over this before and I dread the day, even though I know it will come. It won’t be long before I have to perform as a full toilet without benefit of sexual desire supporting me. I really do want it and I do want to be relegated to toilet service for her without any benefit for me, but still, no sexual stimulation after an early orgasm. That’s going to be hard. The thought is thrilling right now, but that’s because I’m hard. “I’m going to start training you this week,” she continued, “after you shoot; we’ll get you licking my feet. Then, maybe a little pee in your mouth.”

Once my cock softened from the testicle pain, she pulled my foreskin over the head and began clipping it closed with the springs. The pain from the spring clips starts slowly but builds to an unbearable level. Of course, removing them hurts much worse, so it’s a lose/lose situation for my hapless flesh. However, what my wife has planned takes the pain into another dimension. “Piss!” she demands. I know now to come to sessions with a full bladder and suffer the discomfort rather than relieve myself as I will invariably be called on to perform some task which requires me to provide my own urine. Usually, my Mistress just likes to stand full weight on my bladder and make me hold it until she orders “Release!”, then she enjoys riding my abdomen down as the piss is forced out of my cock under the pressure of her weight. With a modicum of effort, I began to urinate. The urine filled the foreskin, but it cannot escape as the clips hold it in. I can only piss to a point. No more will come out once the sack is stretched full. The distorted, misshapen penis with it’s clip closures bobs around in the mirror as does my tongue inside the urine filled condom. My wife takes this opportunity to whip my painfully stretched penis. She sits on the toilet seat and places her right foot so the pointy shoe is straight up. She hands me a small toothpaste style tube. “Grease up!”

I take the lubricant and stuff it in my crack. “Now, have a seat.” Facing away from her, I squat over my wife’s foot until the toe tip of her shoe touches my anus. I then push down until the tip enters me then begin the painful process of enveloping the sharply tapered shoe to it’s widest part. All this without knocking any pins from my cock or spilling any of my wife’s precious urine from the condom on my tongue, although, through steady leakage, her piss has been trickling down my throat for some time now. I have practiced this part with big butt plugs and have trained my ass muscles, but still, it is not a quick act to accomplish and sometimes it feels I can’t do it, but the thought of disappointing her is simply not an acceptable option, so I push on. Eventually I get painfully past the toes and my ass slides down the vamp with great relief. “OK, on your belly.” I comply, lying face down on the floor, my swollen, piss filled cock stretched out between my legs. She stands, left foot on the floor, right foot up my ass. Shifting weight, she lifts her left shoe and stands full weight in my anus. The pain is off the chart. “Alley Oop!” she intones the old phrase stolen from the French as she stands on my ass cheek in her sharp heel. Now free to move, she starts jabbing her right heel into my ball sack. I am completely impaled and totally at her mercy. After enjoying for some time her ability to apply all her weight from her instep into my anal sphincter and transferring that weight to her stiletto heel and thus to my balls and the base of my cock, she once again swings her left foot off my ass, where it has been happily drawing blood, and stands the sole squarely on my fatly engorged, piss filled foreskin. “Ready?” she asks, but the question is no courtesy, merely an announcement. The shift of weight is immediate; the overburdened clips pop off brutally under a hundred five pounds of exquisitely painful pressure. My piss splatters the floor, my foreskin feels ruined. “Here, let me rub it to make it feel better.” She sounds solicitous, but her ministrations with the sole of her shoe exacerbate the pain as she carelessly drives loose spring clips into my manhood with her beautiful designer shoes. As my wife stands with her left foot on my stretched out foreskin, she yanks her right foot out of my ass with a vacuum pop. What a sudden feeling of emptiness I have. I live for her rapes. “Kneel!” I struggle to my knees. My wife/mistress/owner grabs the condom filled with her now cooled urine and squeezes it, hard, smashing it into my mouth. My throat is overwhelmed by the sudden rush of piss, but I swallow it down. “Finish it!” I drain the condom into my mouth as I have done so many times before. At least this time it was her piss and not the ejaculates of four strangers in an adult theater whom she let fuck her, or the mixed come and piss of her black football player lover who enjoys tormenting me so much, and who is the owner of this particular prophylactic.

“I have to go,” she announced as imperiously as ever and thrust her hips forward. I placed my mouth over her urethral opening and drank down the warm fluid gratefully. At that, she turned a 180 and I placed my lips to her ass in great anticipation. How unusual for her to shit at night! Suddenly a loud noise and a stinky fart fills my mouth. She’s hysterical. “Silly boy, you know I hardly ever poop at night!” As I lick her ass clean, she turns serious. “Be sure to go on line and tell all your faggy jerk-off boyfriends what I did to you. Then you can all jerk off together and they can all wish I did it to them. Pathetic twerps. Now, lick up all this piss. I’m going to bed.”

I’m certain she hates me. I’m hopelessly in love with her.
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Nov 26, 2013
I don't really have anything useful or interesting to say, but I'll comment anyway just to say I enjoyed reading this story very much, it was nice to read something new (and good) again after a bigger lack of new content than usual in the scat board.
Jan 5, 2009
The Story Continues

There has been some progress in my laborious training. For the most part, Mistress has been pleased. Much has changed between us. I feel wrong even referring to my Mistress and myself as “us”. I cannot even call what passes between us a relationship. People have relationships. Mistress has friends and lovers and social acquaintances, all of whom share a human relationship of one kind or another with her. I do not have such a relationship with this woman. I am a possession of hers. She has no relationship with her phone or with a vase, or with her toilet. They, we, are all there for her use. That is where my relationships lie. I am most like her other objects, kept in storage until she needs to use them. I only do as told, I only respond to commands.

I own no clothes. All my clothing has been given away. If it is necessary to move me to another place off the property, a wrap is given me. I sometimes am given a pair of generic flip-flops so that I meet minimum standards for passing through public spaces. As soon as privacy has returned, I surrender the wrap and sandals. Mistress’ assistant sweeps them away and I return to my naked, shaven state. I no longer have any hair on any part of my body with the exception of my eyelashes. They are a necessity in life, so keeping them is a concession to pragmatics. Otherwise, I am smooth, white and without even a downy fuzz on my vulnerable skin.

I have been completely dehumanized. I have no life, no sexuality to call my own. Let me describe a recent evening’s events to clarify. Miss Carla, the assistant, walked into the tiled bathroom where I was kneeling and awaiting Mistress’ pleasure. She strode in, her Louboutin stilettos clicking on the ceramic floor. “Come here,” she ordered as she sat on the closed toilet lid. “Put this in.” Ms. Carla offered her right heel in the air. I scooted over in front of her and she quickly inserted the sharp heel into my urethra. It was a full six and a half inch heel and she buried it in my cock. I have come to delight in these impersonal abuses. “Now, jack it.”

I began a rhythmic masturbation, hoping for a thrilling climax but fully aware that it would be denied. Ejaculating with an obstructed urethra was painful and ruined the joy of an orgasm. Yet now, I preferred these painful and unsatisfying climaxes as they constantly renewed my awareness of my position. To stimulate me, M. Carla spread her legs and displayed her pussy, stretching open the lips with her fingers. The action was not for her enjoyment. Its purpose was to speed my process and get me to finish. Mistress no longer bothers with this part of my training. It is all handled at the assistant level. I imagined the thrill of placing my mouth on Ms. Carla’s enticing vulva and soon I felt the urge to spend. The pulsing started deep at the base of my cock, but then cramped up and began to hurt. I immediately ratted myself out to Miss Carla, “I’m coming, Ma’am!” That let her know it was time to ram her heel in as hard as possible. Barely a drop of come trickled past the elegant stiletto onto the red leather shoe bottom. Ms. Carla retracted the heel all at once and the rest of my load dribbled out of my softening penis. She stood in front of me, holding the slit of her skirt to one side and placed her vagina up against my mouth. “Open,” was all she said, and then she pissed forcefully into my open mouth. I knew it was coming. This has been all acted out before. I swallowed every drop. Miss Carla took a square of toilet paper and wiped her meatus. Then she pushed the wet end of the tissue into my mouth, turned, adjusted her skirt, and as she left the room, I heard her announce, “He’s ready.”

Mistress moves quickly once I have come. If she waits too long, there is the chance that I might return to an aroused state. She wants me to suffer through her tortures out of my love and devotion to her and her indifference to me, and not while highly stimulated for sex. Driven to ecstasy on a testosterone wave, almost any man might be willing to be whipped, or allow himself to be painfully trampled or to try toilet sex. But, after the thrill has peaked, pain becomes what it really is, pain, and shit becomes just shit. In most female driven dominance, the stress is on keeping the servile man chaste by not allowing him to orgasm. This denial frustrates him but also keeps him in a feverishly compliant state. Mistress tried that and it did work. The plastic chastity device kept me crazed and uncomfortable enough, but when she found a metal unit with internal spikes, Mistress had to have it. I loved the pain of it, but when she used me for a toilet, blood would pour from my cock because it stiffened up onto the spikes so hard.

The concept of staying oversexed ran against Mistress’ philosophy. She wanted me to serve her for her pleasure. The idea was that I should get nothing out of it except the knowledge that I had completely subverted my life and given myself over to her. To accomplish this goal, I am to ejaculate before any sexual or sadomasochistic activity, and overcome my natural revulsions and serve willingly, but as a true slave. In real slavery, the slaves have no choice because force is used against them. In my slavery, I have no choice because I gave up my right to choose. I only need to look at her, whether she is whipping me, pissing in my mouth, making love to a man, or just drinking a cup of tea, to realize that I have no further choices. She owns me.

Moving quickly, Mistress enters the bath. She is barefoot and naked except for a flowing little housedress. M. Carla is likewise attired. Since there is no need to stimulate me, all pretense of fetish wear, makeup, high heels and such has vanished. It is simply woman, or women, vanquishing what is left of a man. “OK, here we go. On your back and open up.” This woman, to whom I am still married, squats over my face as she pulls the little frock over her head and tosses it in a corner. “Center your mouth under my asshole. Open wider!” I move to comply with the bud of her anus just two inches over my lips. “No missing like last time!” On the previous attempt the first turd slid over my cheek and I only caught part of it. I had to lick it off the floor and clean the tile grout lines with my tongue. I can see her sphincter stretching, then releasing. With a grunt my Mistress pushes again and the brown center appears in the stretching anus. I stick out my tongue to taste it. “Wow,” says Miss Carla, “did you see that?” “Un-hunh,” my Mistress strained in reply. The turd flows out and I catch it with my lips, directing the firm shape toward my throat. As it moves toward the back of my tongue, it breaks into two pieces and I begin the swallowing process, as we have been practicing it. Without the sexual component, I am able to concentrate more clearly on the job of eating my Mistress’ shit, to actually provide toilet service. It is now about doing this and not about getting off on the thrill. It’s the difference between amateur and professional. I swallow the last of this turd and prepare for the next. When it comes, I take it smoothly from this beautiful ass and swallow it whole. A third smaller piece follows, along with some wet, soft material. It all goes right down cleanly. Mistress sits on my mouth and as I lick her clean, she is complimentary, “Excellent! I think you are finally getting this. Let’s go all the way. Carla, are you ready?” M. Carla speedily tears her dress over her head as she replies, “I knew it was working when he stuck his tongue out to catch the turd. He’s never done that since you started the pre-milking.”

At that, Ms. Carla replaces Mistress in her position over my mouth and immediately shits out a large turd. It is not easy keeping up, but a toilet cannot choose how it is used, so I swallow and move the feces quickly over my tongue. Ms. Carla empties her belly with a final gaseous wet fart into my mouth with my lips sealed over her anus. I start cleaning her, but my tongue is too dirty. Sensing this, she adjusts position a bit and pisses a small stream onto my teeth and tongue, enough to let me lick her asshole clean.

As Miss Carla steps off, my Mistress reseats herself on my mouth and begins pissing a powerful stream down my throat, all the while smiling. “I’m very pleased. You have today finally served us as a real human toilet. I knew taking the sex out of it was the right way to go, and now, so do you. And no mess to lick up!” She nodded with that knowing glance that a superior being cannot help but possess. “This is a major step. I have seen some interesting work done to castrate men and remove their sexuality. This might be a way to enhance your slavery and toilet servitude. And we won’t have to bother with getting you to jerk off first. You’ll be ready all the time. I’ve got great plans for you.” With that, Mistress puts her arm around Ms. Carla’s waist and heads to the door. M. Carla looks back just as she heads out and smiles, “Nice job, toilet!”
Oct 30, 2007
Great! What a fantastic story. Thanks for sharing. Between you and face4wife2sit I'll end up inspired to write my own story. :beer:
Here's hoping inspiration strikes you again soon, your story is very well written. :clap:
Jan 5, 2009
And So On:

I have been customized. My body no longer belongs to me. In fact, nothing belongs to me.

Mistress decided that we needed more room and a space more conducive to our activities, so we sold the house and bought a new house; however, my name is not on the new deed. My car was sold and the money added to the house purchase along with the proceeds of my investment portfolio. Everything is now in Maitresse’s name and I have nothing, except her. She owns everything, including me.

She began with renovations to the new house, including turning a small bedroom into a huge toilet, which, interestingly enough, has no toilet. There is a giant sized antique urinal that runs all the way to the floor. It came from an old tavern that was being remodeled into a new restaurant. The installation here blends it into the wall and floor tiles just as it was originally intended and it is quite ornate and beautiful. There are floor drains and sloped tiles to allow for a wash-down of the entire room with a hose. There is a hose fitting in the wall and chrome plated restraint tie-downs flank the urinal and a twin plumbing drain in the corner of the floor opposite. Next to this double pipe is a toilet paper holder mounted in the tile.

A white enameled metal troth about six feet long is mounted on one wall. This was a locker room urinal from an army enlistment depot. Mistress had it re-enameled to look new and it is plumbed in with a long metal pipe that washes down its length and drains out a single trap underneath. A double wide shower stall with hand shower attachments and restraint rings and a vanity sink with a wrap around mirror complete the room. The plumbers and tile man were very much intrigued by the installation, but they finished the job without any confirmation as to its actual use.

My renovation began with multiple waxing visits until my body no longer produces any hair. I am permanently depilated. Also, my balls are gone. Mistress said they were no longer my balls anyway so she decided they should no longer be attached to me. They are in a jar, in a brine solution so they will not decay. The brine has been made using Mistress’ urine; just to underscore the position my manhood holds against her overwhelming power.

The operation went exceedingly well. There is no trace at all of the scrotal sack. Now that the stitches are gone, there is only an extension of that center seam that runs through the crotches of all men that indicates where our vaginas were before they sealed up under the influence of a Y chromosome sometime in the early part of our gestation. In fact, my penis is actually longer by about two inches because the balls are no longer acting as a stopper. Mistress has been enjoying the length, sitting on it and driving it deeply into her inner recesses in both of her orifices. Ms. Carla has also availed herself of the living dildo I can now provide. She has taken to deep throating my extra length and gagging herself on it. Mistress investigated further lengthening by surgical cutting of the penile ligaments but passed on it because the gains were only seen when soft, and remained almost nil when hard. There was also the possibility that the cock wouldn’t stand properly. I would have submitted to that surgery if she wanted it, but it was pointless.

I am hard most of the time. I take the Cialis daily option even though I really never had any ED problem. The result is that I get brutally hard erections, especially considering the extreme nature of my position as a toilet for two women, and I am hard for more than four hours at a time on a regular basis. In addition, my Mistress encourages the use of inhaled nitrites (poppers) to drive me into even deeper states of submission, which they do, but my blood pressure drops so dramatically by combining the two drugs that I’ve temporarily lost vision and have passed out more than once. I don’t think my health is as high a priority as it once was.

Mistress and Ms. Carla are an item. Their Sapphic love is intimate and personal. I am not even permitted any insight into their relationship. Recently, the two had an argument, with some stomping around and loud talk breaking into yelling. At one point, M. Carla ran into the bathroom, where I was positioned, on my knees and forelegs, feet spread so my ass was on the floor, my cock stuffed into one floor pipe, my asshole over it’s larger mate and my wrists in leather bands, clipped to the floor restraints. This is where I spend my days. Ms. Carla sat unceremoniously on my mouth and began to pee, all the while carrying on about her issues with Mistress, who then entered the bath. In a calm tone she said, “Carla, you’re carrying on in front of the toilet. It can hear every word.” To which Ms. Carla replied, “What do I give a shit? What’s it going to do, complain? It eats our shit, it can hear our words.”

So, you see, I am now an “it” in this household, and I am officially, “the toilet.”

The glamor is mostly gone. The idea of being all sexed up and having a beautiful woman in heels and stockings sit on my mouth and piss or shit in it was a thrill back in the day. Now I see these women in their everyday clothing and they hardly acknowledge me. Most of the time, they don’t say a word to me. Sometimes they have a little fun. Ms. Carla loves to piss in my face, intentionally missing my mouth so I have to lick it all up off the floor when she’s done. She’ll go to the sink and wash up, brush her hair and put on make-up, all the while glancing over, enjoying watching me lick her piss off the floor. Mistress likes to make me pull my cock out of the piss pipe and lay it on the floor so she can stand on it with both feet while she presses her cunt into my mouth to urinate.

I never ejaculate. Semen production from my balls is gone, of course, but additional semen is produced by the prostate. I’m kept on a drug called Rapaflo which relaxes the grip the prostate has on the urethra; useful to men who have problems peeing. A side effect is that it shuts down all semen production. I come, but nothing comes out. My comes don’t come to much. A few strokes and I’m there and then I’m back to a level of suffering that I have come to embrace.

I actually look forward to these women’s visits. I have come to cherish the taste of their shit and I revel in their piss. I wish they pissed more. When Ms. Carla had stomach cramps and fed me diarrhea, that was extremely hard, but I focused on the beauty of her ass and of her back muscles above me. I sealed my lips to her anus and kept out as much air as possible. I have learned to swallow copious amounts of material quickly. It is amazing to me how I have learned to adapt.

Lesbian love has not diminished a taste for cock in my owner or her lover. Recently Mistress invited her football player for a night of fun. Both women joined him in bed. I could hear the romp quite clearly as my room (the toilet) is en suite with the master bedroom. I heard footsteps, then the door opened and in strode a huge, naked, dark black man with a dripping, semi-soft, but still quite sizable swinging cock adorned by big, heavy testicles. He stepped in, took a look at his surroundings, stopped cold and muttered loudly, “What the hell?” That was followed by giggles approaching quickly from the bedroom. “Well, Mike, you remember my husband. He used to lick your ass as you fucked me!” Ms. Carla was surprised. “Wow, really?” “Oh yeah,” replied Mike, “he was good at it too. I figured you got divorced. I was gonna ask you what happened to him.”

“Well,” Mistress explained, “I castrated him, took all his money and turned him into our toilet.”

“Wow, and he really is the toilet. There’s no bowl in here.”

“Right, the only place to take a shit is his mouth.” Mistress had never said all this so flatly before. It was chilling to hear. She added, “You can use him if you want to.”

“Well, all I need to do is wash my dick and take a piss.”

“Oh, perfect, let’s try out the urinal!” Mistress became excited at the prospect. “Carla, unclip him and move him to the urinal.”

Ms. Carla undid the wrist clips for me and I stood painfully up, my legs cramped from the long periods of confinement. I read these stories on the Internet of guys wanting to become permanent toilets, plastered into devices where they lie flat and still, their heads under a rim seat, and I think, they’ve got it good. At least they’re lying down.

I stepped over to the huge urinal and turned to face the room. I stepped back, my bare feet fitting into the porcelain on either side of the drain, my cock hanging down into the waste pipe as I crouched. The device was so wide, my shoulders fit into it, my head just clearing the top edge.

"There you go, Mike, a cock cleaner and urinal, all in one. You piss into him enough, eventually all the piss will end up down in the drain. He’s the perfect accessory for what was once just a plain urinal.” Mistress seemed pleased. Ms. Carla seemed excited with the anticipation.

“OK, let’s give it a test run.” Mike stepped up to me, his fat cock hanging in front of my face. I have always had a weak spot for black men and big cocks. I’ve sucked hundreds of them in my life in every T-room and porno booth glory hole and I always beg them for their piss. This actually was a thrill for me and I felt my cock stiffen and thicken up inside the drain pipe. I opened my mouth and Mike pushed his cum and pussy wetted cock past my lips and onto my tongue. I sucked on it and licked all the heady juices into a mix with my saliva. How good this big black penis felt on my tongue. I pushed forward and took it to the back of my throat and Mike began to piss. I gulped and swallowed as fast as he could push the golden liquid out and it was all going down my throat in a delirium of lust.

“Hey, what’s happening here?” Mistress’ voice was alarmed. “Are you pissing, Mike. We wanna see!”

At that, Mike retracted to a point that the head of his cock pulled out of my mouth while the powerful steady stream poured between my lips.

“Oh, let’s have some fun with it!” Mistress stood behind and to the right of Mike and grabbed his pissing dick in her right hand. She aimed it up into my eyes, the urine burning before I could blink, then pointed the stream into my nostrils to make me gag, which elicited shocked laughter from Ms. Carla, whose hands were clasped over her mouth, and from Mike who just relaxed into laughter. Mistress sprayed me all over, soaking me in Mike’s copious piss, taking special care to drench my head. Eventually, the stream petered to a trickle and Mistress shook the cock into my mouth. “Here, drink the last of it.” With that, she tapped the head of the cock on my lips to shake off the last drops.

As Mike stepped away from the fixture into which I was squeezed, Mistress leaned down and looked me directly in the face, “Did you have fun drinking my boyfriend's piss, you little faggot toilet?” She seemed angry. “You sure seemed thirsty for a man’s piss, and hungry for black cock, I’d say.” That was it. She was peeved at me for showing my homosexual side. I did revel in it though. His cock and his piss were glorious. I wished I could blow him right then, but Mistress wanted that dick for herself.

“Here, if you’re still hungry for something long and brown, I can accommodate you.”

With that, my Mistress turned her back to me and shoved her beautiful bare ass into my face, forcing my head into the porcelain urinal. Her anus pointed squarely into my mouth, but her coverage was so firm, I couldn’t breathe. She didn’t seem to care. Her shithole opened and a firm, fat turd pushed quickly onto my tongue. “Pull your dick out of that pipe and put it on the floor!” She was screaming. I forced my hardened penis out of the urinal drain and onto the tile and felt Mistress stand on it with her bare heels. She put all her weight into it, lifting her toes as she shit out a second turd. The pain made me want to gasp but I had to restrain myself for fear that I might aspirate her shit. I hadn’t swallowed the first and the second came in alongside and then so did a third along with some liquid and a fart. Mistress finally pulled away and my first breath rushed in flavored by the inner depths of my wife’s intestines.

I was a wreck. Three turds sticking out of my face, soft shit all over my nose and chin, and with labored deep breathing like a man who just climbed a mountain. Mistress just turned to face me and in all my agony she simply started urinating, spraying my shit filled face with her urine, making her shit run all over me. She then stepped over to the toilet paper roll, tore off a few squares, folded them and reached around behind herself and wiped her ass. I love to watch a woman wipe her ass. It is one of the most erotic sights ever, and I was amazed that this was going through my head, even after the brutal treatment I had just received. She took the paper and stuck it shit end first onto my face. Then she wiped again. I stared at the sight of her. When she finished I was covered in shit, piss (hers and Mikes), and five pieces of shitty toilet paper.

“You eat every bit of it!” Mistress demanded as she clipped my wrists to the urinal side restraints. Come on, Mike, Carla. Let’s go out.” I looked up at Carla, then at Mike. Both seemed shaken.

Mistress’ anger was vented on me in shit and piss. It was a first.
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Jan 5, 2009
If you enjoyed reading all of the above, may I suggest you view "Shit eating (proper training of a toilet slave)" on Femdom-Fetish-Tube.com. Exquisitely brutal use of a man's mouth for a women's toilet. Real and not porn-like. I give it five Jerky-Boys! :lildog::lildog::lildog::lildog::lildog:


New Member
Feb 19, 2010
Thanks for your posts so far.

Having trouble searching for the clip though. Site making it hard for me (not hard in a good way)
Jan 5, 2009
Gearing Down for the Future

Might be a rock 'n' roll addict prancing on the stage.
Might have money and drugs at your command; women in a cage.
You may be a business man or some high degree thief.
They may call you Doctor or they may call you Chief.

But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed.
You're gonna have to serve somebody,
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord,
But you're gonna have to serve somebody.
– Bob Dylan

To fully appreciate the process of gearing in BDSM, it might be useful to think about a car’s transmission. There are lower gears that get the car going, but they cannot carry the vehicle at speed. There are upper gears that take the car to its full potential of velocity, but are not suited to the task of overcoming inertia. And then there are intermediate gears that bridge the gap between the bottom and the top so as to make the transition as smooth as possible. I am the lowest gear in our domestic transmission.

Until recently, I believed we had a three speed house. So, apparently did Miss Carla. As my wife’s assistant and full time lover, she saw herself as the middle gear connecting the head of household and Grande Maitresse to the toilet slave and whipping boy. Orders come from the top, pass through M. Carla and reach me. In the army they have a very apt expression for this that suits here as it does nowhere else; “shit rolls downhill”. Its point of origination has always been my wife/mistress, who owns me as an actual possession. Yet, I do have a standing in this house. I am her toilet.

So far, everything seems to have been running smoothly. Everyone lives out their role and we have a harmonious household. Lately there seems to have been some undercurrent of upset, and now, today, I am becoming apprised of the situation much more fully.

The bathroom in which I live, a former bedroom converted to a new purpose, is adjacent to the master (mistress?) bedroom and I can pretty much hear all conversations. Most of the time Mistress and Miss Carla forget I’m here and speak quite openly within my hearing range. Then again, what am I going to do with any information? I’m tied to rings in the floor, my penis stuffed into a plumbing pipe. I am not permitted the use of a telephone and I am not allowed outside without strict supervision. I don’t even have any clothes to wear. Any secrets spoken in front of me are as safe as if they were unheard.

Ms. Carla seems to have forgotten her place in this arrangement. Who am I to say, really? I don’t know the true nature of the relationship these women share except that I know they make love to each other and have a kind of couple’s intimacy. Does my wife dominate her lover? Probably. She certainly is the one in charge of everything and never hesitates to give directions. Yet, here was M. Carla, speaking derisively to Mistress.

“You’re just becoming a common slut!” she blurted excitedly. “I can see playing with him and his friends every once in awhile, but this . . . this is ridiculous. Where’s your sense of self-worth? Where’s your dominant streak?” I was getting upset at hearing this outpouring of invective. But the next line actually caused me abdominal pain. “You can’t become his slave!” Surely Ms. Carla was exaggerating for effect!

At that moment, my Mistress, owner of my soul, stepped briskly through the door into the bathroom. What a stunning sight to see. Her voluptuous body was squeezed into a lacy, black, beribboned, wasp waisted corset that pushed her breasts up and over the bodice. The multiple garter straps held up exquisite lace top full-fashioned nylons with square cut Cuban heels. Her legs tottered upon incredibly high GianMarco Lorenzi stilettos in electric orange metallic. Her pussy and ass were uncovered and smoothly bare. In four strides she was upon me like an elegant beast of prey. Pressing her Venus mound into my face caused my mouth to open automatically, only to be instantly filled with acrid, pungent piss. As I gulped it down I reflected on how this hot day had become a sultry night and my Mistress needed to make sure to hydrate herself sufficiently. As soon as she was done, Mistress turned around and sat her anus directly on my mouth. In the position in which I am tethered, I make for a rather convenient toilet. I am on my knees, my ass touching the floor and my head back, so sitting on my face is no harder than leaning on a post. Both women use me this way as a make-up stool and as a toilet. As Mistress started to squeeze a hard piece of feces onto my tongue, she addressed Ms. Carla.

“Carla, I’m tolerating these outbursts because you are very dear to me and I love you. I can see that my decisions upset you, but you are forgetting your place.” Aha, I thought so! “You are my lover, but you are also my slave,” Mistress continued (and this point was news to me!) “You will do what ever I tell you to do. And you will do it when told. And you will not question me.”

Miss Carla was not having this. “How am I supposed to serve as your slave when you’re nothing but a slave to those men?”

“I have given pleasure to men all my life. I enjoy groveling before them as their slut. I need that release! And I’ve done it with you! How many times have we partied with Big Mike and his friends and let them just use us all night? Is that something new?”

Oh, my Mistress! My cock is now bigger than the pipe into which it is jammed! And I’m trying to concentrate on getting her second turd down. They are so firm. She is definitely under hydrated!

Ms. Carla was so distressed. “I know,” she concurred, “but why did you have to go get that tattoo?”

Tattoo? What tattoo? I was starting to gag. What’s going on? What a crazy moment to learn all this information!

“I don’t have to explain myself to you Carla. You need a lesson in humility now. Something to make you realize who is the boss and who is the bossed.” With that, Maitresse, in all her feminine majesty, stood off and took the pressure of her beautiful ass from my face. Her last and third turd was still sticking past my lips and I glimpsed a sizeable smear of it remaining attached to her butthole as she turned around. I cherished her gift and savored the smooth texture of her feces while Mistress pointed to the floor next to me.

“Go, Slave Carla, get down on the bathroom floor next to the toilet (me),” said our Mistress in a quiet but impossible to refuse tone. M. Carla moved into the spot and knelt upright, as if she were praying. “Spread your legs and put your ass on the floor, like him.” Miss Carla was fully dressed in a skirt and blouse and little flat shoes. “Strip first,” ordered Mistress. M. Carla pulled the blouse over her head. No bra. She unzipped the side of the skirt and pulled it over her head as well. No panties. “Shoes too,” intoned milady, “toilet slaves are naked.”

M. Carla’s eyes grew wide. “I am not a toilet slave! I never wanted to be a toilet! That’s disgusting!” A level of panic started to quiver in her voice. If she refused this service, it would be a life changing moment. My heart was pounding!

“Take off the shoes!” Oh, I knew that no-nonsense timbre in Mistress’ voice. Off came the little shoes. “Now, get down there.” What a pair we were, side by side, naked, our nether regions hugging the bathroom floor, our heads tilted back in supplication. Mistress backed onto M. Carla’s face the way she had been sitting on mine, pushing that hanging chad of a little turd right toward poor Carla’s lips. “Now, lick my ass clean,” said Mistress in the most matter of fact, this is normal for any Tuesday, manner. Carla recoiled. “Get in there and eat my shit. Tongue me clean. Do it well or, trust me, this will get worse, a great deal worse.”

I wanted to help but I had no idea of what to do. Speaking out of turn here could get my skin flayed with a fiberglass switch. Carla acquiesced however. I could see that she had opened her mouth. She was definitely working on Mistress’ asshole, so I figured she ate the turd. Now she was doing regular toilet paper duty. Mistress bent at the waist a bit and pushed into Carla’s mouth. I guessed she was enjoying the feeling. How exciting this was, seeing my Mistress totally dominate another woman, one who regularly dominated me. Mistress began speaking again, “While you have your face buried in my ass crack and are using your tongue to clean up my shithole after my most recent defecation, pause to reflect a moment on your own standing in the decision making processes in this house. I think you will come out of my ass with a new perspective on your place.” Ouch. When Mistress wanted to be on point, it was useless to mount an argument against her. Dangerous too!

Mistress stood off, reached around me and snatched a few squares of toilet paper from the wall mounted roll. She folded the squares and reached around to check her ass. Carla just sat there, her head hanging down. The paper came out with only a slight skid mark. “Open,” she said to Carla, and as the girl opened her mouth, Madame pushed the dirty square onto Carla’s tongue. Carla gave no protest, but her mouth was too dry and filled with the residue of shit to swallow.

“You know what washes down the taste of shit?” asked Mistress. Carla slightly shook her head from side to side. Mistress turned to me, “I know you know. Enlighten your comrade in the toilet arts.” Mistress had her best sardonic smile in place. I answered immediately. “Piss!” said the good straight “A” student who, for once, wasn’t the one in trouble.

“That’s right, piss. You need a load of piss to quench your thirst and rid your mouth of the taste and paste of shittiness. Unfortunately for you, I’m fresh out.” Again, Mistress turned to me. “What about you. Got any piss on board?” I was flabbergasted. Did she want me to piss in Carla’s mouth? Carla snapped out of her stupor to realize, this is not over yet!

“Yes, Ma’am,” the good little prepared scout informed his better. My bladder is full.”

“Good,” Mistress replied, “kneel up”.

I did so as Mistress knelt down in front of Carla whose face was pleading louder than her voice ever could. Mistress reached behind Carla’s head, taking a moment to caress her cheek with the backs of her fingers before grabbing a handful of hair and absolutely yanking Carla’s head to the floor in front of me with her mouth facing up and my dick hanging to her lips.

To Carla, “Open!” To me, “Piss.”

And so it was that I emptied my bladder into poor Carla’s mouth as she gulped and swallowed and never spilled a drop. Oh, what a relief to empty out. Oh, what a sight to see her beautiful face so abused, the toilet’s toilet. As I finished, Mistress shook the last drops of urine from my cock onto Miss Carla’s face, making certain that some of them ran into her nostrils and caused her to gag. The gagging, I knew, as did Mistress, brings the taste up stronger. Ms. Carla was definitely getting a lesson today.

For the third time, my Mistress turned to me. “When did you eat regular food last?” The question caught me by surprise; yet, this woman’s devious nature always telegraphed another plan that was hatching in the fertile plains of her brain.

“I had some chicken soup and a sandwich Thursday around noon, Ma’am,” I recalled.

“Well, this is Saturday. You’ve had nothing since?” She was clearly surprised.

“I’ve kept up with water, Mistress, but the main parts of my diet have been your wastes, yours and Miss Carla’s,” I replied. This whole time, Mistress never released her grip on Carla’s hair. Something was up.

“Have you been shitting down the pipe regularly?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Safe to say your soup and sandwich have passed and gone?”

“I would think so, Ma’am”

“So, what’s coming out of you now is mostly my shit?”


‘‘Do you wipe?”

“No, Ma’am. My wrists are restrained.”

Mistress finally released Carla’s hair and with one word, immobilized her. That word was “Stay!” Like a dog. My exalted beautiful and unbelievably sexy wife undid my wrist restraints. One more word, this to me, “Stand.” And so I stood. “Turn around,” and I turned. “Spread your legs and your cheeks, I want to see.” So I did as I was told, bending forward slightly to reveal my filthy anus to my owner. “Stay there, like that. You are a mess back there.” “Yes, Ma’am.”

Looking between my legs I could see Mistress’ next move. She reached down and with two hands grabbed Carla’s head, lifting it and forcing it, face first in between my ass cheeks. The poor girl was already filled with tears because she had seen this coming as she lay there immobilized and now it was here. She managed one weak “Oh . . . no!” before I felt the softness of her lips pressed into my filthy shitter. Mistress quite literally wiped my ass with her face, ordering her to lick it and open her mouth and stick her tongue out, all the while brutally wiping up my shit with her face. Then, she let her go, just let her go.

“Now, let me see you be a total shit eating sewer slut. Go in there and properly clean out his ass. Make it look like he just took a bath with soap and hot water.” Carla took a long hard look at her Mistress, then turned toward me and in a sexy, slinky crawl, she moved under my ass and shoved her tongue deeply into my hole. She licked my crack from top to bottom, even coming under and taking my now rock hard cock deep into her throat. She sucked me right to an orgasm, then slid back to my ass and fervently kissed and licked my ass cheeks until Mistress said, with a chuckle, “Alright, that’s enough.” Carla wasn’t done yet though. She squirmed all over the bathroom floor on her back, mewling like a cat in heat and saying “Piss on me! Somebody, please, piss on me.” Mistress was laughing now as she walked over and used the tip of her shoe on Carla’s clit. “We’re all out of piss, kitty. This’ll have to do.” Carla pressed herself to an orgasm against the shoe and it was all finally done.

Mistress turned to me and in a generous mood, said, “Why don’t you take a shower? Get cleaned up and grab something good to eat. Then, we’re going to all talk . . . together.” That seemed like my moment, so I went for it. “I’d sure like to see that tattoo, if that would be alright.” Mistress smiled. “Oh, yes, you should!”

She walked across the room to me and pointed to her left ankle. I hadn’t noticed the ink before due to the dark stockings, but there it was, a tattoo of an ankle bracelet with a tattoo of a medallion hanging from it. It was a big black spade, like the Ace of spades in a deck of playing cards, and superimposed over it a large Q, for Queen of Spades. I felt myself emitting a low whistle which elicited a laugh from Mistress. “You like?”

“Oh, yes, I do. You know what a faggot I am for black men. Does this mean . . .”

She cut me off, “Take your shower. We’ll talk. Things are changing.”

Then she turned to Carla, who hadn’t moved from the spot where she came. “Get in the big shower with him. You can wash each other.”

Wow. Things were changing.
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Jan 5, 2009
Thanks Sauur. I appreciate every comment, good or bad.

Lots of people have read these posts; nearly 6000 to this point, but so far, only 7 have commented. It takes a lot of energy and focus to write these things. A little feedback from the readers would go a long way toward encouraging those of us who write stories to keep at it.

Thank you all for reading. I hope you are enjoying these adventures and are exercising your pocket snakes while doing so! :lildog:
Oct 31, 2005
Thanks Sauur. I appreciate every comment, good or bad.

Lots of people have read these posts; nearly 6000 to this point, but so far, only 7 have commented. It takes a lot of energy and focus to write these things. A little feedback from the readers would go a long way toward encouraging those of us who write stories to keep at it.

Thank you all for reading. I hope you are enjoying these adventures and are exercising your pocket snakes while doing so! :lildog:
I feel your pain man, while I'm not into the scat so much myself I agree it is very frustrating to have 1000's of views on a story and very little feedback.
Jan 5, 2009

The next part (thank you for the comments, by the way) will be posted today.

It may not all conform to your taste. Some of the femdom you rely on may be somewhat upset. The barbarians are at the gate!

Be patient please. Read on. Keep an open mind. There will be hotness, humiliation, degradation, and amazingly filthy and depraved acts to amuse you.

Trust me. Buckle up and stay on the ride to the finish. You're going to have as good a time reading it as I'm having writing it. And when we get there, it will all be worth it.

Jan 5, 2009
Suddenly, it IS the future.

The meeting of our family was chaired by Mistress, who owned everyone else who attended. There were two of us; the recently chastened lesbian lover, Miss Carla and myself, the house toilet. We learned that Mistress had sold herself and her whole household (us) into bondage for one dollar. The buyer was Carl Washington, an acquaintance of Mistress’ BBC lover Big Mike. Mike was always a fun guy. Carl, or as Mistress told us we must refer to him as “Great Black Master”, “Master” or simply “Sir” as the occasion required, was not a fun seeker. The reason Mistress sold herself and us into slavery to this man was because he humiliated her, beat her and made her grovel in fear. She liked that. She thought we might like it too. She thought we might enjoy watching her suffer, and knowing she would make us suffer later.

It all seemed rather scary, but hey, he’s only one guy. How bad could it be? I dug the excitement of knowing I would be regularly used by another Big Black Cock, and Mistress assured both of us that it was really big. Besides, we were due for a change in our routines. A shake-up might just be the right order of the day.

Mistress had given Master Carl a set of house keys, as well as keys to her car. We just didn’t know when he’d show up, if at all. He might have been all talk with no real interest. He might just come by, help himself to some of our stuff, take the car and split. I don’t even know if Mistress could guarantee that wouldn’t happen. She really knew hardly anything about him, but as she described him and how she had thrown off all caution and subjugated herself to this man, I noticed her hand involuntarily reaching into her crotch.

Mistress was going out for the night to have a little fun at one of her BDSM clubs. Her orders for the evening: “Stay home. Have some fun for a change.” M. Carla and I stared at each other, each hoping to find a clue in some secret knowledgeable glance in the face of the other. Nothing. We were clueless and floating in unfamiliar waters.

Once Maitresse had gone, Carla led me to the big bed. We were both naked and freshly washed. How wonderfully soft and comforting the sheets and pillows felt! I had not lain in a bed for more than two years. I had not made love to a woman in a longer time, and that also changed tonight. Carla guided me into her and we rocked dreamily in a coital union that was at once sweet and satisfying. Afterwards, she reached into the nightstand for a pack of cigarettes and offered me one. The rich smoke reached deeply into my chest, resulting in a giddy perception of my surroundings. I had so long ago slid into a world of dehumanization that I was truly out of touch with the world of normalcy.

“What’s it like?” Carla was staring straight up, exhaling a plume of blue smoke and watching it rise to the featureless ceiling.
“What is it like to be you, a total slave? I only ask because I’m worried.”

“Worried that you will soon be joining me?” It was more fear than worry.

“Our Mistress too. This man will enslave us all. What hideous acts will we be required to perform? Will we be safe?” Carla was working herself up.

“Safe? Do you think I’ve been safe? Show me the jar where my testicles are floating and then we’ll talk about safety.” I surprised myself with the bitter tone in my own voice.

Carla laughed a little twinkly chuckle of a feminine laugh. “Do you miss them so much?”

“I miss the actual balls less than the fun stuff Mistress used to do to them.” I began to wax nostalgic over my past testicular tortures. “She used to tie them up, stretch them, and stand on them in heels. She loved to beat them bare-handed. I can’t wear a humbler anymore or get strung up by my balls. There are at least ten devices in this house designed to control a man by his balls that can no longer be used on me. In fact, the whole idea of ‘having me by the balls’ has vaporized. So, yeah, I do miss them.”

Carla found my rant extremely funny if her laughter was any indication. “Well, I like the way you are now because your cock is longer and goes so much deeper into me.” At this she handed me her burning cigarette and bent over me taking my cock into her throat until her lips were kissing my lower belly. I put her cigarette in my mouth next to mine and inhaled them both and together we sucked deeply.

When Mistress came home, Carla and I both awoke to mayhem. It sounded as if an army of men had arrived in the living room. We both jumped up just as the door to the bedroom opened and Mistress leaned her head in. “On your knees, both of you! Quickly!” She glanced around, taking in the bedroom in one sweep. “Looks like you both had a relaxing time. I hope you enjoyed it.” She then withdrew and closed the door again as Carla and I dropped to our knees. And then the door opened wide.

“And who is this?” boomed the big man’s voice. We both looked up as a huge, muscular, somewhat mean-faced and partially unclothed black man edged through the doorway, followed by our naked, except for high heels, Mistress and a smiling, pantsless Big Mike. Through the opening, I glimpsed at least three other large Negro men in the process of undressing. My heart was pounding.

As soon as Mistress got through the door she went to her knees next to the big man and introduced us. “Master Carl, this is my husband, who serves as my toilet slave and my lover Carla, who is also enslaved to me.” Then to us she said, “Eyes down, both of you!”

As I quickly looked down at the floor, in my peripheral vision I could see Carla next to me doing the same. She was shaking a little.

“Oh no!” boomed the voice, “You two look right up at me. Get a good look.” At this, he pulled down his cargo pants exposing the fattest and longest cock I had ever seen, especially considering that it was flaccidly hanging, and well past his enormous nutsack. I was fascinated and unable to look up any further than his crotch. No wonder Mistress gave him everything. He had what we all needed. He started to laugh.

“I told them to look up at me,” he said to Mike, “but they still can’t pick me out of a line-up.”

I glanced over at Carla and saw that her gaze was level too. Mistress was kneeling next to that monster cock and was fixated on watching its every movement. We are such black cock whores, all of us. Mike and Master Carl were laughing it up.

“Look up, I said!” Carla and I both forced ourselves to look up at Master’s face and as we did so, he took a step forward to land directly in front of us, grabbed that ebony snake in his right hand and started pissing on our faces. “Eyes open! Mouths open!” he demanded and we forced our eyelids to stay open to receive the burning yellow liquid. “You too, pig,” ordered Master Carl. I wondered who he meant. Then Mistress came forward on her knees, next to me with eyes and mouth open to accept her dose of humiliation. What a sight we must have been, all three of us kneeling before this black man, drinking his urine and bathing in it, competing to catch the powerful stream and gulp it down.

“Now you all know your place,” proclaimed our Great Black Master. “I don’t give a shit who is a slave to who or what bullshit pecking order you assholes have with each other. Just remember you all belong to me and when I say jump, you better motherfucking jump! Now, somebody suck my dick.”

I was closest, or so it seemed, so I stuffed as much of that enormous head into my mouth as I possibly could. Mistress glared at me, but in light of the speech we just got, I felt any protest she might have made would be dismissed as unnecessary noise by Master Carl. I think she realized that too, so I took advantage of the situation to demonstrate my absolute abject devotion and adoration of Big Black Cock in front of all assembled. What a thrill it is for me to be a lowly whore. I licked the last of his piss from the hole at the tip and used my tongue all around the head to massage it for his pleasure.

“Where is this special toilet I been hearing about?” asked Master.

“He’s sucking your dick,” answered Big Mike with a grin.

“He sucks good!” answered Carl. “I meant the big room with all the shit built in.”

“Yeah, it’s right this way Carl,” said Mike as he opened the door into my habitat.

The enormous head popped out of my mouth as Master Carl turned to examine the new space. I was too slow to move. Carla raced ahead on her knees and positioned herself in front of her new owner once he stopped walking and opened wide. I was amazed that all that cock fit in her petite mouth. She absolutely worshipped it. It was wonderful to watch. Mistress and I crawled into the bathroom and took our places on either side of Master’s powerful legs.

“Well, what’s with all this shit?” Master Carl asked as he held his hand out towards the trough mounted on the wall. “Stand up, bitch, and give me the one dollar tour.”

Mistress stood up in her elegant shoes that were now wet and stained with piss. I stared at them and felt a powerful compulsion to lick them and her feet clean. I dared not since Master was even more powerful and known to be violent. I decided it would be best to wait. Clicking across the tiled floor, my wife demonstrated the plumbing.

“This trough, Master, was a urinal in an army barracks. Several men could urinate at once and the flush mechanism would wash down the back surface via this horizontal pipe and then drain out the bottom. We haven’t used it yet, but there are two stoppers so that it can be filled with piss and either someone could lie in it, or slaves could be made to crawl over and drink from it. It is at the perfect height for a kneeling slave to lick out the contents.” Mistress stood back to offer an unobstructed view of the device.

“Show me,” ordered Master Carl.

Mistress looked a bit taken aback.

“Kneel down. Get on your knees and show me what it looks like for a slave to lick piss outta that urinal.” If there was any confusion about what he wanted, Master Carl had dispelled it. Mistress dropped to her knees to show that the lip of the trough reached her at mid-breast.

“You see,” she began, but Carl cut her off.

“Don’t talk. Just put your head in there and let me see you lick the bottom of that urinal trough.” He reached over at that point and touched Big Mike on the elbow and signaled him to lean in. Then he whispered in Mike’s ear. Mistress in the meantime looked both Carla and myself in the face, but we were really of no help to her. This was a mess of her own making and we were just spectators. She dipped her head into the porcelain coated receptacle and stuck out her tongue just as Big Mike stepped up and started pissing onto the surface in front of Mistress tongue. The piss splattered her face as she dutifully lapped it up as fast as Mike could spray it out. My cock was so hard it hurt. I wish that were me kneeling there. I looked at Carla and she was involuntarily licking her lips so I knew she wanted to be used and humiliated as a piss whore just as badly. Mike shifted the stream onto Mistress' tongue and I watched my wife drink down the big Negro’s urine.

“Alright, what else?” Because Mistress was occupied with a long urination, I took over the tour for Master.

“This is where I am kept, Master,” I explained as I pointed out the plumbing pipes in the floor and the straps to restrain me.

“I don’t get it. How does this shit work?” he asked.

“I kneel here and sit my asshole over the larger pipe, while my dick goes down into the smaller pipe, Master. It fits when it’s not hard like this. I’m just too excited right now. With my head tilted back, Mistress can sit on my mouth to shit or simply stand in front of me to piss down my throat. My wrists are bound to these rings with leather straps so I cannot get up. My wastes go into the pipes, so I am kept here for protracted periods. I’m the only solid waste toilet in the room. The toilet paper roll is mounted to the wall right next to me, as in any toilet.”

“You hard because of what I’m doing to your ‘Mistress’?” he asked.

“Yes sir, but also because of your magnificent dick.” I’m nothing if not truthful.

“Where are your balls?” Master Carl asked, pointing to my crotch.

“Mistress took them and pickled them in her own urine.”

“No balls and crazy for dick. You ain’t no man. You just another bitch. My bitch now.” Master Carl stated.

I looked down at the floor. “Yes sir, I am, sir.”

With that, Master Carl stepped over to me in my toilet position, backed his muscular black ass over my mouth and farted onto my lips and tongue. I put my tongue against his anus so I could feel the vibration as his foul gasses filled my mouth.

“And the big urinal?” he asked, indicating the oversized floor length antique china urinal incorporated into the tile. “What’s the deal with that?”

Carla rushed over to continue the tour narrative. “This is the urinal we sometimes tie the slave into for pissing service. Master Mike has used him here. The slave’s cock is pointed into the drainpipe so all the urine pumped into him eventually winds up in the house plumbing, but he has to drink it first. This is also a good spot for cleaning cocks and giving blowjobs, Master. This old style urinal is so big; the slave fits completely inside it and becomes a part of the urinal.”

“Show me!” Our new master is not a man of many words, but the ones he uses get right to the point.

Carla climbed backwards into the urinal, placing her back against the cold ceramic surface. Her ass sat on the drain, her spread knees on the tile floor and her feet behind her, in the device.

“Mike, go see if any of those fools need to take a leak,” Carl directed to Mike. As Mike left the room, Master Carl turned to Mistress, who was still kneeling in front of the trough. “Get up in that pisser, bitch. Lie down in it, face up.” Mistress hurried to comply. Now, it seemed, she was just one of us slaves.

When the door next opened, an assortment of African American people filed in. Not just three additional men, but two women as well. I hadn’t seen that coming. Everyone had stripped naked except that the two women wore heels and one man wore sneakers. Master Carl explained that we were there to serve all their toilet needs. The men went right for it. Two of them started pissing on Mistress, one on her face, the other on her pussy. The third guy with the basketball hi-tops put his dick in Carla’s mouth, and I never saw any piss. I just saw her gulping rapidly.

The women came over to check me out. They were trying to figure out how to make use of me. Finally, the somewhat thinner one with the bodacious ass and huge tits pushed her hairy, unshaven and musky smelling pussy into my mouth. She’d found the secret. My mouth opened and she began to piss. It was extremely strong and I was smothering in her fullness. Meanwhile, the second woman wandered over to Carla, who was now free, and simply pissed into her face. The woman pissing in my mouth finished and turned around, sitting onto my face. I licked her stinkhole, cleaning and eating the sweat and older pieces of shit which had collected there. She pushed a little, but nothing came out. When she stood off and turned around, she announced, “I figured it out, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I replied.
“This is going to be fun! I’ll be back after I’m full.”
“Yes, Ma’am, I look forward to it.”

“OK, if you assholes are finished, let’s go inside and do some fucking.” Master Carl said to his friends. Then to us he said, “You slaves hang out here until we need you.”

With that, all seven people left the bathroom and the three of us.

And not one of us knew what to say to each other, so we just huddled in silence.
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