Mistress Debbie


“Oh, yes, Mistress, of course.”

“I thought all of that would get you hard as a rock, slave, especially the toilet slave bit. Mistress Dominique’s hobby is toilet slaves, so she can’t wait to break you in. I gave her your email address; she said she’d send you an email. Oh, by the way, all slaves brought to the club are hers; this I agreed to. She described herself as a matronly knockout; she even gave me her measurements; she’s something else. Oh, she’s five feet ten inches before she puts on her four inch heels, 165 lb. and 44DDx32x45. A self-described Amazon who loves to crush slaves. A real character, but I did like her. She’s a no-bullshit type person. Mary Lou understands and said we’ll tag team you the following weekend.

“Were you playing with it as we talked? Why, of course, you were. . . . I’ll fill you in more about the club Friday. I’ll see you Friday after work. Now, go and shave and jackoff again. Good-bye.”

And she hung up. And I obeyed her.

Part Five: The Weekend

All week I beat my meat, at work, at home and Wednesday night, in the back room at the theatre, on my knees, sucking cock after cock, and bent over in the dark corner taking anonymous cock up the ass over and over. Except for necessary functioning, I was in a constant slave state. And then the email came. Thursday I received the following email from Mistress Dominique:

Debbie gave me your email and she told me all about you. I forbid you to wank off as you read this!

To Me you are just one thing, a Shiteater, and as soon as you digest your name you’ll understand more clearly.

I will definitely take you in the exchange Saturday when you come here. I will tell you explicitly now how I will use you. A sane man would run from Me, but you’ll embrace all I have to offer because from what your Mistress tells me, you’re a born toilet slave.

I’ll take you to my private room and you’ll fall to your knees, worshipping Me, and begging Me for my cruel attentions. In your fantasy life, you’re already under Me, mouth opened, gobbling and slurping my special gifts. Aren’t you, Shiteater? Oh, I know you are. [Get your hand off your dick, now!]

Oh, yes, you salivate as you lick and smack you lips in glorious and scandalous anticipation. Soon--and don’t pass out--your “snacking exhibitionism” will be gratified as I will have your suck long, brown shit-logs right out of my asshole before a roomful of slaves and Mistresses--and I’ll video tape it for the net.

Does that picture make you hard? Does that picture make you lust? Is your mouth open, eyes closed, and tongue darting in and out? Of course! You may have wanked off already, you weakling!

Or maybe your puny, meager dick begs to cum, but you hold back so you can read more and discover just how far I can see into the isolated and stark landscape of your Shiteater’s soul. Believe Me --I can see you with your mouth and face smeared with shit, your tongue flicking in and out like a lizard’s, lapping at the precious Brown Glory remaining on your face, and your naked, whip-marked body crawling across my dungeon floor—suddenly you stop, look about, then lick up a spot of cum from the floor. I know you already and I haven’t even had to look at your weak, submissive form.

Here your tiny dick is always as hard as a rock. And forever you’ll be begging Me for more and more pain [“Whip Me, Mistress, I beg you.”] and humiliation [“Let Me eat your shit, Mistress?”] and punishment, because your soul is an endless black hole never filling with enough. So your cock will always be hard, always waiting. Welcum, Shiteater, we are made for one another. Mistress Debbie has given you up to me as a sacrifice and your Mistress’ description and instructions to me were so detailed that I have every intention of making you suffer beyond anything you ever imagined. A true, complete masochist like you is an inexhaustible treasure to a sexual sadist like me.

Know well I have a wall with every whip and paddle designed and I will use them on you until your eyes tear and your ass aches as you scream in pain. I have dozens of devices [least we forget a well aimed boot kick] to torture your dick and balls; I have nasty clamps for your nipples and many stout butt plugs for your gaping asshole. Welcum to true Slavery!

Just look down, Shiteater. You’re wanking off frantically as you read this. I told you not to wank—and you are! You have no control, so I am free to use you in whatever extreme way I want. For example, your head will be placed in a wooden box with a toilet seat above you and you will be bound, unable to move. A sign will be placed there announcing to the entire assembly of Mistresses that they are invited to piss and shit in your mouth. You will be free to eat and drink all you want! And believe Me, you’ll savor every drop of piss, every morsel of shit, because you are a Shiteater, a Toilet Mouth. Aren’t you, slave? Your mouth waters--and twig is harder than ever before in your life—right, slave?.

Anticipation salivates from your open mouth; your breathing is deep, deeper, and deepest --and your submissive Slave state is drowning you, so you wank your twig. Magnify your current state a million fold when compared with kneeling before Me in reality.

Take a hit of your poppers, Shiteater, your ultimate bliss lies within the magnificent brown-stained, wrinkled opening found at the bottom of my crack of my ample, round ass. My perfect asshole will be the last sight you will see as my ass finally passes over your face for the first time—you mindless wimp, you slobbering idiot; you’ll be, in my hands, the perfect slave, the complete Shiteater, a Toilet Mouth, a Golden and Brown Shower guzzler.

At that point, you will be so well trained that at the sound of my voice, or at the smell of my asshole, at the sight of my body, at the feel of my touch or even at the thought of Me--your twig will stiffen like it never has [ain’t that right, slave?], and you’ll enter the slave state more deeply and be fully prepared to obey Only Me. A position I truly believe each slave is born to serve. You were made a slave in your mother’s womb. Mistress Debbie told me of how your mother would come into the bathroom and sit and dump her loads before your impressionable eyes, and how you’d scoot down to the other end of the tub and turn and look at her mysterious openings emptying themselves. Also, how she’d stand and sometimes spank your wet, naked ass for being so bold and your little twig would harden. And how at age thirteen when you began to seriously wank-off you’d do it with her soiled panties wrapped about your face. Mistress Debbie’s use of panties as a gag is imaginative and perfect; I will take you to your next level, Shiteater.

Like a lunar eclipse to a primitive man, my ass’ shadow passing over your face will be an occasion of absolute fear and of unconditional worship. Fear God! No, fear your Mistress.

As I now roughly . . . slowly . . . and. . . .seemingly endlessly rub my ass-altar over your nose. . . then hesitating, allowing the aroma to penetrate and filter through your senses, deep inside your brain --the dark, dank aroma of my precious altar rushes through your body like a hit of fresh poppers; and then I fleetingly rub it over your mouth and the taste becomes [and will become] the majority element of your hard-on. Your facial muscles will quiver, your tongue and cock will jump and tremble, and your heart, soul and mind will beg to eat my shit—and as soon as you voice your desire, I will command you to glue your lips to my asshole--and you’ll obey Me and worship Me instantly. No hesitation, only submission to your One and Only Goddess! When I lift my ass, you will see my asshole all puckered up just after pinching a loaf for you--and you will know that you have become a Shiteater. At that juncture, dear Shiteater, the smell and taste of my shit will turn you on more deeply than poppers. A supreme moment in your miserable life! From thence an addict to the taste of my shit!

Your Mistress said you were right--for once-- when you compared Slavery to religion, the Catholicism of your childhood. Guilt, pain and humiliation were the triune God of the Catholicism of your youth. In childhood, you knelt before the altar and opened your mouth to receive the Body and Blood of Christ, your God. Soon, you’ll beg Me constantly to lie beneath the altar of my ass and open your toilet mouth to receive the gifts of Mistress Alaya, my shit, my piss --Your Goddess, --and no “other” may take my place--unless I say it as so!

Now--imagine you’re underneath Me, and the Shiteater’s ritual begins!--in the name of the Pain and the Humiliation and the Holy Shit. Amen!

Now you’ll know why I rubber banded your tongue at its base--no, you won’t swallow it; it will be so easy to get it far up into my asshole.

I have you flicking your long, strong tongue over my asshole--my perfect sphincter spasming, twitching, opening and inviting you to push your tongue in as deeply as possible – and as I set my full weight on your face, you taste the Absolute Glory to come as your tongue slides directly and enthusiastically into My ass like an old friend, one who has been there before, and one who will return over and over and over and over and over; and I feel your tongue as my clitoris stiffens. I may just touch it and I will begin cumming.

The absolute fear is like the taste of shit rushing through you –it turns your stomach as you realize what’s REALLY coming and you ignore the dry heaves and dreadful wave of nausea. A last remnant of ego rears its ugly head and forces you to struggle for just a bogus second, thinking --what am I doing? But there is no turning back. With your tongue deep in my ass, I whip your cock and balls as hard as I can as I rock into perfect position, getting your tongue in deeper, if humanly possible. And if your tongue is as long as your Mistress says, my GOD, Shiteater, I may keep you there with that tongue up my ass for an hour before I pinch a loaf off for you--and all the while whipping your dick and balls and cumming over and over and dripping onto your face. To me a pure Shiteater like you is a precious fine and I claim you for my own. Your Mistress is quite willing to let it be.

But just then you hear from deep within Me grunting. My sphincter expands as a fart escapes, and you know the real taste of shit. Without any further ritual ceremony, no drums will roll or orchestra swelling to a crescendo, and I try to hold onto the shit log; but I feel it about to escape, so I bear down with all my might. You silently fulfill your lifelong ultimate destiny --an ultimate step once taken cannot be retraced. You will eat shit till you die!

Convincingly, My warm, glorious hot chocolate log rushes past your tongue, drives it back into your mouth, and like a bully it rushes past your teeth, scraping them and leaving behind tastes, and the rest of the log slides in a mad dash over your tongue effortlessly and down into your throat as its taste enslaves you. Its overwhelming odor fills both our nostrils, and I smell the shit’s hot steaming stench --and it sickens me to know you are gulping and tasting and swallowing it. Stunned, overwhelmed, face-to-face with the reality of being a Shiteater, you realize you have become your name. No longer is Shiteater a name used to fill your need to be humiliated, it is an accurate description. As I leave my ass over your mouth awaiting you to finish completely so you can lick my asshole clean

you realize that life outside of the slave state is junk and bull and useless; you’ll want to spend the rest of your life beneath Me. Eating my shit, drinking my piss, being beaten and tortured! 24x7! And if I will it, you may come and never leave here, Shiteater! So if you come, be prepared to stay forever beneath me!

I look forward to your visit, Shiteater.

Mistress Dominique

Friday came and I only did it once at lunch because it was sore as hell, but that’s not to say it wasn’t really hard when I knocked on Mistress Debbie’s door Friday evening. As the door opened my heart pounded in chest.

[To be continued]

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