Tom's Toil

Tom's Toil

By Mercy Belle

Chapter I. Prelude

Following the curvature of her plump, perfect asschecks with his eyes, while gulping down half-liquid shit, Tom was recollecting the way that his life has changed over the past years.

He was currently undergoing The Blessed Week, which was almost always the one containing his birthday, during which he would be restrained and contained into a wooden toilet-contraption he built, where he had to stay and serve as an immoble toilet, during its entire period. It was the way that Blanche had decided to reward him for his every anniversary. Her Gift. There were exceptions, where his birthday would coincide with her period, which he had to attend to almost continuously, and so he couldn't have been strapped down into the bathroom, reason for which his birthday would simply get postponed for another week. What little dignity could have existed in his mind, at that point, if such a thing was even possible, was also plentifully converted to Blanchism, and was adoring how his period-chugging responsibilities would trump the celebration of the day he came into existence. Truth be told, his existence was meant solely for her usage, so it did make sense that the importance of his anniversary would come second after her need to use him. What would his life have been, anyway, without Her to serve?

Refocusing his train of thoughts on the task at hand, he would have loved to be able to keep some of the more chunky parts, that were coming along with her torrent of diarrhea, in his mouth for some time, but there was no respite for that. Another blessing that Goddess Blanche would bestow upon her slave during The Blessed Week, was not allowing him to ingest anything other than her excretions. Thirsty and feeling like he is not properly hydrated? He would have to wait for the next batch of piss, whenever that would be. Hungry and having his stomach almost constantly ache? He was forced to crave her shit regardless, for satiating his hunger, more than his lust, despite knowing the pain that it would end up causing him. To make matters worse, Blanche wasn't even thinking about her item's regard in any way, other than making sure to keep him alive, both out of legal and personally advantageous reasons, so she would always leave the house whenever she would want to, abandoning him for hours, and relieve herself wherever she felt the need to, deepening Thomas's hunger and torment. She was way past the point where she would get excited at him consuming literally every morsel of her waste, so she felt no remorse about shitting in a regular toilet, if the situation required it. Having gotten used to treating her slave as she did, after so much time, she was seeing him as any other commodity - one to be only used when she felt like it.

After the first Blessed Week, she noticed him to be very weakened, despite the vitamins that she made sure to keep on giving him. She concluded that her feces were not nearly enough to sustain his regular metabolism, even for as little as an entire week and decided to get help from then on, whenever the holiday would come around. She would disclose the way that she was living to two-three very close friends of hers and she would invite them over, during the holiday, to come by and use him at their will. There were rules and restrictions, as absolutely no kind of harm was to come to the toilet (only She had that privilege reserved), but other than that, she advised her girlfriends to go wild regarding the way that they would decide to use him. Abuse his mouth for orgasms, use him as they would any other toilet (actually this was mandatory for participation, being the main reason for inviting them over), as a trash bin (with only non/minimally-toxic, biodegradable garbage), a washing machine, be it for their crotch, feet or for their dirty laundry.

Needless to say, at first, the girls were beyond impressed and excited with the way that Thomas was bound and accepting whatever they wanted to put him through. While respecting the limits imposed by Blanche, they were sharing her knack for sadism, along with other things, in their friendship. They would come by and stay for hours, during the first days, taking turns in using and abusing him, deciding to each take one day at a time, since they wanted room and space for expressing their creativity with the helpless individual. Besides the regular toilet-services and orgasms that each woman would make Tom offer them, they would also all make sure to bring along their laundry, wanting to see for themselves just how good a human mouth can actually clean those soiled, hardened and stained items. Not to mention the sexual gratification and self-validation that they would obtain by having a man demean himself like that for them. It was a multipotent experience, filled with pleasurable and rewarding feelings for the abusers and relentless hours of effort, discomfort and sometimes nausea to fight through for Tom.

However, today was not one of those days. The curvature that he was eyeing was Blanche's and she was the one defecating down his throat at that very moment. It was his third day in the Blessed week and not only did she not invite anyone else to feed him this year, but she was also sometimes leaving during the day, reducing his portions even more. She wouldn't have conceived, at this point, to go through the hassle of containing, preserving and transporting her feces just for Tom to be able to consume them. If she had to go, she would have gone, regardless of where that was, to the detriment of her human toilet. At least she stopped wiping, continuously soiling her panties, whenever she was out, leaving Tom to handle the cleaning, with his mouth. Before that, however, he always had to take care of her stale, grimy and stinky crotch first. After sometimes hours of sitting between her asscheeks, her shit would reek indescribably bad. Well, at least for him, anyway.

But having been fed by only one asshole, even less than that, during the past three days, made him feel increasingly hungry. The portions of shit that she would kindly deposit down his throat were not satiating his hunger anymore, making him yearn for more, despite the constant stomach aches that they would cause him. He knew better than to speak unaddressed, but he felt the need to do something about it. Suddenly, a vague memory from the very first days of serving Her popped up into his mind, when he would thrust his tongue up and down her asshole ten times, for replying with yes and licking her asshole three times for no. Or something like that, it was too long ago to remember - with her having quickly abandoned the game soon after, out of boredom and less and less interest in communicating with her toilet. Realizing that this is, in no way, a request for speaking, he hoped, however, to be out of the ordinary enough so as to prompt Her to ask him a question. He started vigorously thrusting his tongue up and down her asshole, for as deep as it would go in, faster, harder.

Having her smartphone in her hand, Blanche sighed with ease, letting go of the clasped sphincter that she had been holding onto, as soon as she felt Tom's lips envelop her asshole. Finally, god I had to shit so badly! Diarrhea is no joke, I should really eat more fiber. Make a note of that, eat-more-fiber. she would think, while typing on her phone and setting a daily reminder. Her stomach was actually starting to feel better, the more excretions it expelled, transferring its putridness and ill-aiding qualities to the strapped slave down below. Only that his stomach will hurt much more than Hers did, since he would have to process directly the resulting waste of her digestion and not fresh food. It is needless to say how Thomas found purpose, pleasure and gratification in having to constantly battle or struggle to ignore his body signals, while fulfilling his tasks - it was, for quite some years already, his second nature.

The effort and struggle got smaller with the passing of time, but never completely disappeared. It was a considerable part of his everyday life and caused some of the most intense experiences his enslaved self was allowed to live. As a consequence, they were the highlight of his existence. However, just as needless is to speak about Blanche being even aware, let alone care about all of the struggles, ailments and pains that her property was going through. As long as his annual health checks were coming back within functional limits, even if not ideal (or nowhere near close to that), it was enough. All that mattered, regarding him, was to continue living for as long as possible, so that she could continue to take advantage of him and his efforts.

Having him gone would drastically change all of the games and adoration that she had become so much accustomed to, that, even if she was not taking nearly as much pleasure from them, as in the beginning, they were still things that she did not want to lose. Not to mention the financial support aspect. Or having all of the chores done around the house, the way she wanted it, when she wanted it, without having to lift a finger or invest a penny. Despite his degraded, humiliated, abused and almost discarded condition, Tom was, paradoxically, still an important part of Blanche's life, even if just passively. But, in all honesty, that formed as much importance in his Queen's mind as an actual toilet would have - another "important", if not indispensable item, that was somehow not worthy of any respect, consideration or attention. Differently put, his life for the past five years.

Blanche's attention was suddenly caught by the abrupt penetration of her asshole by her slave's tongue. What the...

"Slave...?" she inquired, by leaning forward, in order to partially uncover his mouth.

"Most adored Goddess, I-"

His discourse has been cut short by a wet fart that Blanche deposited into his mouth, after which she leaned back, covering it completely and resumed defecating inside of him.

"Sorry, slave, diarrhea is diarrhea. I do not control when it hits. We'll talk later." she informed him, while straining to push the torrent even harder and faster out of her and opening her smartphone, to check her newsfeed in the meantime.

Tom's mouth got raw blasted by putrid liquid, which he fought hard to contain and swallow in time, for it not to overflow. That already happened so many times in the past, especially with diarrhea, especially when She would strain for dear life, but, with enough punishments, deprivations and repetitions, he somehow started to manage the incredible feat of keeping up with her, even in these moments. He sometimes felt that he would either burst or gag or even puke, but someway he managed to force himself and overcome the sensation, while keeping up with her flow.

It had been four or five months since he last had a spillage. He was immensely proud of himself, but mostly in retrospect, as, in such moments, he would always fight for dear life against asphyxiation, drowning, or both at the same time. He was too dedicated, loyal, submissive and, most importantly, experienced and capable, to ever give her hints of his struggle or pain. Keeping it all inside, she wouldn't always know when he would need to take breaks for air and would only provide them on a whenever-she-remembered-about-it basis. She got him unconscious several times, but she often realized quickly, due to the sudden interruption of his worship. Even so, the incidents were not important enough for her to form any kind of habit or methodology, in order to avoid it, so She would very often still keep on forgetting about letting him breathe.

However, getting suffocated or drowned with shit was a different matter altogether. Thankfully she knew how to provide first aid, so she revitalized him each and every time that happened. And being completely restrained, he could not thrash or struggle, so it could always happen again, he feared. But because the risks of repeatedly getting drowned or suffocated with shit were several and high, She found herself constrained to going through the hassle of being more attentive when she would actively dispose of waste in his mouth, cumbersome as that was. After all, she could only bring him back from such near-death experiences so many times.

For Thomas, the episode was indescribable. The first time it happened, the intensity of it allowed him to trash wildly against his constraints, even his already-subdued and charmed subconscious taking the reins against Her wish, simply out of survival reasons. Naturally, this got her immensely mad, being long-used to an almost perfect display of devotion and submission. It was miles away from her reasoning to even think about why he may have done it. He simply had to not do it. Period. So she made sure to harshly punish him and then to tighten his constraints, while also adding some more that would bind him completely. Being tightly roped, he could barely breathe normally, let alone move a muscle. He eventually adapted to the tightness of it, mentally, by ignoring the aches and numbness that it caused, but this only worsened his next near-death experience, when Blanche would expel record quantities of shit down his throat and either catch him off-guard or splash some inner part of his mouth that would kick in the gag instinct.

He could no longer do anything about it. Besides the internal struggle, the omni-present ache, the life-threatening terror of running out of air, in whatever way, with the content forcing itself painfully across the inner walls of his throat, he was now also put in a situation, from time to time, where he had to experience the grotesque feeling of actually drowning or suffocating with shit. It didn't happen too often, especially since the holiday only lasted one week a year and it was the only time when he would be so tightly bound, but also because Blanche started worrying about losing the life she had, after the first few times he lost consciousness, overflowing with Her shit. So she started paying a bit more attention during those moments, without stopping a recurrent, closely-monitored torment of her slave, under the mentioned form of raw blasting his throat with excretions every now and then.

But whenever she was not expelling anything and she was just sitting on his mouth, be that empty or full, she would relax and completely forget about her item, which only needed a hard slap over the face to turn back on, once it passed out.

So, during the Blessed Week, each year, he would often lose consciousness and constantly lack proper air intake, in addition to the rest of the resources that his body was deprived of. It became a traditional holiday, which he was honorably going through yearly, since it was Her gift to him.

After having finished the second portion of diarrhea that he was fed and also cleaned her sphincter, inside and out, he hoped to be able to speak, even if his hunger was slightly more satiated, at the cost of his stomach's comfort. But he didn't get to tongue her asshole for too long, when another torrent invaded his mouth, forcefully making its way through, down and inside, while all he could do was hold his breath and fight all of the urges that were trying to stop the process. After he finished again, feeling bloated from all of the liquid shit that he had ingested and significantly more nauseated, he sucked her rosy asshole clean one more time and, soon after, he received another plentiful portion of diarrhea, which he painfully chugged down.

"Fuck, I am getting dehydrated, I need water." she said, more to herself.

"Hurry up, bitch, lick me properly, but don't shove your tongue inside again, I think I won't be able to hold it in, if you do." she ordered.

He complied dutifully and, after about thirty seconds of service, she got up and left in a hurry to get a drink.

He was left alone in the improvised toilet containment that she had him build from wood, so as to invest as little money in it as possible. After all, it was a gift for him. He studied several ways of making some pipes seal over his dick and cover his ass tightly, when bound in, since he would need to relieve himself, as well, but also since he wasn't allowed to come out even for a minute, during The Blessed Week. Once having connected all those to the main sewage pipe, everything was good to go. Furthermore, she wanted a self-lowering lid for her toilet, as well, despite there being no excretions to cover or hide, given his skill and years of expertise at ingesting them, but more than most, his ability to close his mouth. Nonetheless, she wanted him in complete darkness, living just as a regular toilet would, surely only to inflict some more torment on him. Just as always, he obeyed without complaint and built the contraption precisely to her instructions.

While thinking of this, his stomach would growl from both hunger for real nourishment, as well as pain and struggle from having to digest such objectively-foul content. The poor stomach had no fetishes or perversities, but it was a slave to its master, as well, and he had to obey and subdue itself to him, just as much as he did to Her.

Struggling to keep her pungent diarrhea down, Tom would try to think back to some other interesting, intense events that would help distract him from the effort he had to go through. Tightly bound, more so than his regular breathing required, having ropes pulled against his full-of-shit belly, intensifying even more his nausea and need to vomit, ache and numbness from three days of not moving a muscle - it was a lot. His mind wandered off in the past, searching for something worth remembering and reliving.