Confessions of a Pervert Pt. 02

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


It had begun earnestly.

Nervous, with a newfound erection-harder, longer than any before I had knelt and ate my own shit—and now sitting uncomfortably in my car, a mere thirty second walk from my Mistress’ home, my eyes staring at a huge, suburban, middle-class house in one of the richest areas of my city, I hovered between the most intense fear and the most profound lustful exhilaration.

My negative reactions to this dichotomy, my bouncing between this tangible fear that surged through me like electricity, that made my hands shake and seemed to be choking my breath, and this exhilaration that fueled my absolutely insane hard-on that had taken only a few respites over the last week and half [insanely, I masturbated almost nonstop] may be ascribed predominantly to a fear of loss of identity…and my lust for it, as in truly becoming an object, of truly becoming a toilet, and feeding on her waste.

I had Googled the address and instantly knew where she lived, so I stared at my destination, waiting so that at the exact setting of eight P.M. on my phone, I would walk to her door and knock as instructed, exactly at eight P.M. I also wore no underwear, as instructed, had shaven all pubic hair from my groin and asshole area, and had worn a butt plug she instructed me to purchase that I had to insert and wear for two days before tonight.

But echoes from deep inside my consciousness whispered, “Start the car. Go home. This is madness. Her shit will taste no different than your own foul waste. So go home; save yourself from this madness.”

Over and over thoughts like these attacked my personal resolve to feed beneath this Mistress. Doomed am I for daily, scores of times during the day, I see women with a shapely or large ass—and all I want to do mecidiyeköy esc is kneel behind them and shove my face between their ass cheeks and tongue fuck them deeply inside their assholes.

Practically every minute I checked my phone for the time, as the dichotomy raged on. This all could very possibly end when walking into this house that I was staring at with the eyes of an adolescent about to go on his first date with a beautiful girl.

But the erection between my legs growled a primal yes so loud it drowned out the echoes; it was a separate animal from me. Its head ruled my reality, and I followed its needs and desires. It needed me to recline on my back beneath her as her round ass spread out above me, and from her pulsating, protruding asshole a firm, long turd would emerge from her colon’s depths and enter my mouth.

I shook off the cloud of fantasy, and came to the rational conclusion that if the date were a success, she promised to enslave me as her full time toilet -for her and a dozen other girlfriends who always shared her toilet. “Grrrooowwwlll!” the primeval beast screamed and dragged me back beneath her spread open ass.

Eight P.M. And my phone’s alarm pulled me back to the reality of the car.

I exited and walked as quickly as possible, but with each deliberate step the butt plug reminded me of my lowly station. I knocked with hand trembling, my engorged, primal cock screamed take me, own me.

The door immediately opened. Total darkness, but I could sense a form before me. A female voice from within the darkness, sounded a typical Italian light baritone, a voice like the singer Peggy Lee, and said, “Enter and disrobe, my prompt and punctual toilet slave.”

The voice I savored like a nose enjoying the türbanlı esc aroma of wine from a goblet; its deep, unique articulation seemed to wrap itself about my mind. It echoed endlessly like the profound sound of a large ringing bell, filling my head, eliminating all other thought or experience. When that voice was silent, my mind was empty. I immediately undressed.

She then continued to speak in a lilting, almost musical voice, but it had an authoritative tone; her enunciation was impeccable, and the authoritative tone she used was an element of rhetoric, part of a style of speaking used to influence people. But it may be dishonest, for the speaker who chooses this style either truly does know what she is talking about, or is simply convinced of self importance. I believed the former as I stood there, my cock on display in its tumescent grandeur. Naked, nervous and frightened like a child caught by his mother and is about to be punished, I desired to be punished by this voice. I longed to be punished

“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate,” she said, and the sound, unfamiliar and strange left me blank and dumb. I had no idea what the sounds meant, so the vacant expression on my face led her to speak again. “It means abandon all hope ye that enter here; it’s from Dante’s Divine Comedy. Dante says it as he passes through the gate of hell.

“So you see, as we spoke before, I seek a permanent toilet slave; one who is available twenty-four-seven. If you fail to please me, you shall leave this place, never to return, but, if you please me after twenty-four hours, I will enslave you and keep you as my property, as my toilet until you “shuffle off your mortal coil.'”

The latter reference I recognized; it was from Shakespeare’s Hamlet. But the şişli esc abrupt, brutal verbalization of the possible scenario I faced hit like a splash of ice water to the face. I painfully became aware of my surroundings.

She had stepped right next to me and cupped my balls in her hands. “My little shit eater, I am deadly serious about our possible relationship. If you are not, then please say so, dress and depart forever. Do you understand?” she asked as she squeezed my balls. I almost fell to my knees as the pain shot through me.

“Yes…Mistress, I understand,” I managed to say.

“Well, are you staying or leaving?” she asked as she continued to manhandle my testicles.

“Staying, Mistress” I answered, and she released my balls.

“Bend over so I may remove the butt plug from your ass,” she said.

I did, and she slowly pulled the plug from my ass; then, she walked in front of me. Her head, next to mine, a floral aroma from her, but clean and refreshing—her lips brushing against my ear, and she whispered, “Open your mouth, toilet boy.” Her aroma was indelibly imprinted in memory and her lip’s touch almost had me splurging my load right then and there.

As soon as I opened it, she shoved the butt plug past my throat’s opening, and slowly fucked my maw in a slow and deep rhythm, each time going further down my throat.

“Be sure to suck your ass juice and shit from the plug, toilet breathe,” she whispered. “Make sure it doesn’t fall out,” she commanded, “and stay here.”

Biting down on the plug, so it stayed in my mouth, I could taste my foul waste liquefying and slowly dripping down my throat. Directly under my nose, the plug’s aroma wafted up like a foul fart. This imprinted smell instantly had me nauseated, but I fought the impulse to retch. But, as I stood there, my legs shook and fear and disgust filled me Yet my cock was as hard as steel. The desire to jerk it off drowned out all thought except one: I had passed a point of no return; I was now a shit eater.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Leave a Reply

E-posta adresiniz yayınlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir