Part 8
Tyler and Brown Hair were just moments away from trying to round up another one of their frat brothers to make use of the contraption that they had locked me in, when this guy walked right into the bathroom from the hall. I couldn’t turn my head to look directly at him, but I could kind of see him from the corner of my eye. He wasn’t an imposing guy – maybe 5’8” with short blond hair and an athlete’s build, dressed in sweat pants and a t-shirt with the school’s name on it, still wearing a grey and neon green Under Armour backpack as though he had just gotten home from somewhere. Probably somewhere around 19 years old. Half the guys in the room let out an excited “hey!” while the other guys greeting him with “Ben!” which I guess was his name.
“What the fuck is that?” Ben asked pointing at me. “He looks like a freaking duck.”
The guys all laughed and Ryan explained again what it was and how it worked. “You gotta go?” Ryan asked him. “He’s still got another two hours and ten minutes in the box.”
“Well, I really only planned to take a piss,” Ben said, “but I guess I could probably take a shit too since it looks like you went to a lot of trouble here.”
“Attaboy,” Ryan said, shooting me a sadistic look with his eyes.
While he might not have been as imposing of a figure as Tyler or Sean or even Brown Hair, being completely unable to escape my “penalty box” still made me his bitch. In some ways the current bondage was less restrictive than the party toilets had been – my hands and legs were free inside the box, so I wasn’t cramping up as badly – but on the other hand, I now had that chastity device around my dick with that tiny padlock that only Tyler and Ryan had the keys to. And even if my hands and legs were free, my head was not, and any guy who walked in was totally able to make my mouth his toilet without any possibility of resistance from me.
Ben took off his backpack and propped it up against the double sinks near the door, striding up to the bowl affixed to my face. He stepped onto the footrest to get a better angle, and from where I sat trapped he looked like a giant. He left the seat down but pulled down the front of his sweat pants and under armour boxer briefs, tugging his dick out and pointing it towards me. He indicated no emotion with his face, but he locked eyes with me as he let loose a warm stream of yellow piss. It gushed into my mouth, picking up residue leftover from Sean’s shit, and I drank it down as quickly as I could. In his gaze I could see that Ben wanted to watch me swallow it, that in some way he was enjoying having the power to make me do it. It hadn’t surprised me to discover that Ryan and Tyler had their own sadistic sides—we all know guys who just carry that below the surface. What did surprise me was that all of these frat boys seemed to have that kind of sadism going on; if I had run into him on campus, I would never have picked this Ben guy out as a kid who would enjoy degrading another man, inflicting arbitrary punishment on a total stranger. But with our eyes locked, me drinking down what seemed to be an endless supply of his concentrated piss, I knew that was exactly who he was. An odd moment for philosophical reflection, I know, but trapped in that box I couldn’t help wondering if humans are all programmed to embrace hierarchy, if maybe that’s what this was all about. Maybe that could explain why all these guys were so eager to forcibly turn me into their toilet – it was just human nature pushed to the extreme, distilled into its rawest form: an innocent looking blond kid subjecting me to himself for no reason other than that he could.
The philosophizing ended as his piss carried a small chunk of Sean’s prior dump into my mouth and I fought to suppress my gag reflex as I swallowed it. Ben just kept going and going, and even one of the other guys in the room let out a “damn dude,” in response to the volume of it. It was hot and salty and strongly flavored, and before long it tapered off, dwindling down into a trickle.
The other guys in the room made small talk with each other as they watched the show, fascinated by the depravity of it all. Ben wadded up some toilet paper and wiped the stray piss drops from the toilet seat he had left down, then dropped the paper in the basket they had put next to me. A moment later and it was showtime. He turned himself around while still standing on the footstool, and I watched as he pulled down his grey sweatpants and the underwear with it, showing me his round butt dusted with fine blond hair. He slowly sat down on the seat, making sure I got a good look at the ass that would be feeding me my next meal.
As with Sean, the only thing I was now able to see was him sitting on the can. Directly in front of my face, inches from me, I could see his asscheeks spread and pressed into the seat, the bottom hem of his t-shirt ending an inch above the top of his crack. I raised my eyes up and observed the details of his back: a bit of black fuzz stuck to the t-shirt, the way his hair looked at the back of his head. Of course there was nothing else that I even could see, what with the position I was in.
A moment later it began. I heard what was now becoming the familiar crackling sound of a guy’s asshole stretching to deliver its disgusting payload into my waiting mouth. Ben grunted a little, I could see his muscles twitch slightly as he pushed down on it. Ten seconds later there was a thunk! as a dense log broke free from his ass and dropped into the bowl. He sat there for a moment, and soon another thunk followed, with a second piece descending. None of it made its way into my mouth, but remained mere inches from it on the other side of the pipe. That was fine—I wasn’t exactly eager to eat it. A third and final thunk dropped in, and Ben seemed satisfied; a moment later, he was wiping himself. One swipe was enough for him, it was a clean shit.
He stood up and pulled up his pants, stepping off the stool. He looked down at his creation, waiting there in front of me somewhere beyond my own field of vision. He locked eyes with me again as he picked up the tool Ryan had demonstrated earlier. I knew everyone else was watching him too, but at that moment the energy was mostly between the two of us as he stuck the shit scraper into the bowl and started pushing it towards me. The end of a heavy log slid over the end of my tongue, and while at first the taste was milder than the nasty crap that Sean and Ryan had just fed me, I also realized I was going to have to chew this one up completely. I was attempting to bite into the shit that Ben had just edged into my mouth, but he kept pushing past what I could reasonably manage. He was determined to get the entire log into my mouth at once, and the end of it hit the back of my throat as he kept pushing it in, his eyes locked with mine. I anxiously tried to reposition it with my tongue, and with a lot of pressure I managed to break it in half, pushing one part of it into my right cheek while the second half continued to invade my face. As he finished pushing it all in, I angled the second half into the left cheek, and the entirety of my mouth filled with his comparatively dry shit. While it hadn’t yet been an issue, the rubber of the mask was tight against my face – Ryan had wanted it that way in order to form a perfect seal, so that I couldn’t escape consuming any part of what they fed me – but now the tightness also meant that I couldn’t store the excess shit in my cheeks like a chipmunk. There was some small amount of give, but the pressure was tight.
About this time I also realized that after all the piss I had drank that night, I now needed to relieve myself as well. I tried to put it out of my mind and focus on the task at hand—eating Ben’s shit—but the extra liquids he had just graced me with were starting to make me feel desperate.
I bit into the bitter chunks of his shitlog with which my mouth was overfilled. It was slow going and dense like warm clay. My mouth salivated copiously, automatically attempting to liquefy the nastiness I had to finish consuming. I chewed and chewed, but it was hard work to do with so much in there at once. I started to choke on it, which elicited a smug smirk from Ben. In the choking, however, I lost focus on holding in my piss, and it started to spray out the end of the silicone prison that encased my dick, flowing down my left calf and pooling around my ass and feet. I kept chewing while I pissed myself, and managed to get down the first swallowable bite as my piss (still going!) began to leak underneath the door of the penalty box, dripping onto the floor of the fraternity bathroom.
“Fucking shit man, the faggot just got piss on my shoes!” Ben said as he jumped back, dropping the scraper into the bowl. I looked at him with panic in my eyes, not knowing what this was going to mean for me.
“Ah shit, I didn’t think about that,” Ryan said, surprisingly calm about it. “Hey Aaron,” he said turning to Brown Hair (finally, a name!), “do you think you can run down to the kitchen and grab his jeans? They’re on the floor near the trash can.”
“Yeah man,” he said to him, “just one sec.” Aaron left to retrieve my pants, though I wasn’t sure why, and in no position to ask, what with my mouth still full of Ben’s shit and encased within a rubber toilet.
“Alright fag,” he said to me, “that wasn’t a good move on your part. I’m adding an extra hour and a half to your time in the penalty box. Looks like you’re getting out of here a little after midnight now. From now on, you should probably plan ahead time-wise – I promised you we’d let you keep up with your own work, but at the same time I’m sure you understand the situation you’re putting us in when you piss all over our bathroom floor. You give us no choice but to add on to your time in the box.”
Fuck, I thought to myself as I bit into Ben’s shit again. For obvious reasons, more time in the box was not welcome news. I swallowed another bite. My mouth was only two-thirds full with Ben’s shit now, but I was deeply aware that there was still more waiting me after I finished what was in my mouth. Another swallow and I was at half full, about the same time that Aaron jogged in with my jeans.
“Thanks man,” Ryan said as he took them from Aaron, throwing them on the floor in front of the box. He stepped on them and used his foot to mop up the tiles with my pants. “Looks like you’re going to have a wet walk home tonight,” Ryan said to me as he unfastened the door to my penalty box. More liquid dripped out the front onto my pants, and Ryan grabbed them by one of the few dry spots left. He ran them along the bottom edge of the outside before stuffing them into my prison with me, stretching them out like a fabric levy. “Alright faggot, you can piss yourself as much as you want to now. But remember that whatever you let dribble out of your tiny little dick is what you’re wearing home later on.” And with that, he closed the door back up, returning me to my full captivity.
Meanwhile, Ben had gotten over the fact that I had gotten piss on his shoes and had grabbed the scraper out of the toilet again. I wasn’t quite finished with eating the first half of his dump when he started shoveling more in. I raced to swallow a little more before another hard log violated my mouth. “No chewing,” Ben said to me, again locking eyes. About three and a half inches of a dense, heavy chunk rested on my tongue. “Let it sit there,” he told me.
I obeyed. He let the scraper drop back into the bowl, and leaned back against the shower doors. All the guys in the room watched me as I sat there and did nothing. The shit in my mouth started to slime up as my saliva glands turned it into brown slobber. Ryan and Tyler both had their own shiteating grins on their faces – figuratively, of course. It was clear that I was the only one in the room who was actually capable of having a literal shiteating grin, and then only if they freed me from the plumbing that occupied my face.
After a couple minutes of making me hold his crap in my mouth, Ben finally said “okay, you can chew my shit up now.” I began biting into the now slimy lump, grinding it up into a nasty paste. I swallowed a chunk and Ben looked amused. I kept chewing and finally managed to get the entirety of it down.
“Alright bitch,” he said, “last one!” he picked up the scraper and manoeuvred the last chunk of his dump down the short length of the pipe that ran into my mouth. I started chewing as soon as it entered, eager to be done with it. I had already consumed two large shits from Ryan and Sean, and Ben’s now made a third – my stomach was satiated with their sewage, and it felt gross stewing down there. The last piece was the smallest of Ben’s crap, and it took less time to get through it. I finished and swallowed, letting my jaw finally come to a rest.
Ben kept looking at me and smirked. He began clapping a round of applause for me, and said “congratulations! You’re great at that. Best shiteater I’ve ever seen! As a special reward, I’ll make sure to save another one for you the next time you’re scheduled to come over.”
However innocent he may have looked before, this 19 year old kid certainly didn’t seem that way anymore. Fuck, was this going to be my life now? I never saw this coming.
Part 9
It's been awhile since I posted an entry. I needed some time away from this for a bit, but here's a new chapter. I have no idea when/if the next one will appear, but if I get inspired it'll happen.
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The last time I had been to the frat house had been miserable. Ryan must be rich, based on the amount of money he had socked into tools to torment me. They had locked me into a chastity device to which I had no key, so I could now either suffer in heat, unable to masturbate or even get hard, or try to break it off and risk really hurting myself. Neither was something I wanted. After setting me to chores they had locked me in a penalty box with a custom-made toilet seat that allowed them to basically lock me in a box and transform me into their personal toilet.
Tyler had released me around 12:30 that night and sent me home in my pants, soaked with the piss they’d mopped off the floor with them with instructions to clear my schedule for all day Sunday.
Sunday came, and, with the amount of leverage they had over me, I was forced to once again show up at their frat house. I went to the back door and knocked, and Sean let me in. Remembering the rules they had given me, after entering, I promptly dropped to my knees and kissed Sean’s ass. “Good faggot,” was all he said in response.
The place was pretty quiet and somewhat messy. The kitchen was full of plastic cups and used plates. The trash was overfilled with pizza boxes crammed behind the can.
“Nobody you know is up yet,” Sean said to me, “and I’m about to go to work. But Ryan left you something to start working on.” I followed Sean around the corner. There was an empty bucket and a pile of sneakers, about eight or nine pairs. Most of them had dried mud and grass stains on them, and there was a note inside the bucket. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said as he walked away.
“Hey faggot,” the note began. “If you’re reading this, then I’m not up yet and you are not to disturb me. As you can see, me and the brothers have some shoes that need cleaning. Fill the bucket and get to work. Strip down and use your underwear as a rag. –R.”
I figured it was better to get started; delay could mean consequences and thus far they’d been pretty good at finding new ways to make my life suck. I took the bucket into the kitchen and filled it with hot water, then finally stripped off my pants, shirt, and underwear. Kneeling naked on the frat house floor, I was acutely aware of my cock’s visibility, locked in its tiny plastic cage.
I started in on a pair of blue and green nikes that weren’t too bad. I figured it would be easier to start with the cleaner ones and work up to the filthy ones. I scrubbed shoes for about twenty minutes, watching my boxer briefs wear out under their repurposed use. I was about halfway done when a guy I’d never seen before wandered down the hall where I knelt. I didn’t recognize him, but he seemed nonplussed by a naked man doing housework, so he must be aware of me and my…well, for lack of a better word, my slavery.
“You know the rules, faggot,” he said to me as he got close. He turned around and gave me access to kiss his ass. I leaned in and pressed my lips against the seat of his red basketball shorts. Satisfied, he walked past me and into the kitchen, where I could hear him rummaging for food.
About ten minutes later, Ryan appeared, still groggy. He silently let me kiss his ass, and then told me to put the shoes down and make him some coffee. I followed him into the kitchen and he gestured toward the pot while he sat at the table and played on his phone. Once the pot was brewing, I went back to cleaning the shoes.
Not long later, he appeared again. I was struggling to get the stains off of a pair of white asics, but I was almost done with the task. “When you’re done with that,” he grumbled, “clean up the kitchen. Then come find me.” At least housework wasn’t as miserable as toilet service.
I finally finished the shoes around 11am, discarded my now ruined underwear into the bucket of water, and set to work cleaning up the kitchen. The plastic cups I threw out, the plates I put in the dishwasher, and I was wiping down the counters when Tyler showed up. “Ah, good to see you’re being useful,” he said to me, slapping my butt hard enough to make me buck forward. I rubbed the painful red handprint he left and then knelt down to kiss his ass. “Oh yeah, forgot about that,” he said. “Well get in there!” With that, he yanked down his shorts and underwear, revealing a musky blond asscrack. I leaned in and felt the humid warmth coming off of it. “All the way in,” he coached. My face grazed his fuzzy cheeks and I placed my lips about an inch above his asshole and puckered.
“No fag, you missed it. I said get in there!” Tyler grabbed the back of my head and pressed down, while simultaneously thrusting his ass against my face. I disappeared into the depths of his crack, and my lips pressed against his hole. I kissed it, and it was an odd sensation. After I had, he released his grip and pulled his shorts back up. “Better,” he said. “You can finish cleaning up the kitchen now.” He went about his business as though I wasn’t there, pouring himself a cup of coffee and fixing himself a sandwich.
Finally, the kitchen was clean except for the trash that needed to be taken out, though I wasn’t sure where their cans were. “I’m sorry,” I said to Tyler. “Where does the trash go when it goes out?”
He looked up at me. “It’s around the side of the house,” he said. “But you can’t go out there naked. Someone might see you. Ryan’s got something for you down in his room though, head down there first.” He gave me brief directions and I set out to find his room.
Timidly, I made my way upstairs and down the corridor. It felt weird being here, like I was in some kind of foreign, forbidden place. I finally found Ryan’s room and knocked. “Come in!” he yelled through the door.
I entered and was shocked to find him watching porn and stroking himself. “Good timing, fag,” he said to me. “I don’t do it with guys, but you’re about to save me some cleanup. Get over here.” I walked over to his bed and he stood up, leaving his laptop on the covers.
“Get down,” he said to me, and I knelt. He pushed me up against his bed and kept his eyes on the screen. “Open your mouth,” he said, “and don’t fucking touch me.”
Ryan watched a video of some guy with two blonde girls and pretended like I wasn’t there. I was pressed against his bed, mouth open, while he furiously pounded his dick in front of me. I heard him gasping for a few seconds, the tempo of his hand changing, and a moment later his dick splattered a thick ooze. The first squirt shot near my eye, dripping down the right side of my face. The other shots all landed right in my mouth or near it. I had never tasted jizz before. It was hot and salty, with a vague chlorine scent to it. Cum dribbled across my lips and down my chin, and Ryan sighed a deep breath.
“Fuck man,” he said, “now you really are a fag.” He laughed a little to see his cum on my face. “That’s nasty as hell,” he said. “Now what do you want?”
I tried to talk but my mouth was thick with jizz, and I had to swallow it before I could speak. Ryan noticed and thought it was hilarious. Finally I was able to get out, “Tyler said I couldn’t take the trash out naked and that I should come find you.”
Ryan laughed, “yeah fag, good call.” He walked across the room and dug into the back of his closet. He emerged with a white plastic rectangle in his hand, but I couldn’t make out what it was. “Remember when you pissed all over our floor last time? Well we thought of a solution, and since you’re next stop is the penalty box anyway, you might as well get dressed for it. Put this on, motherfucker,” and he tossed the thing at me like a Frisbee.
I caught it, and with it in my hands, I suddenly understood what it was. He threw a diaper at me. It had been humiliating to be seen naked, wearing a plastic chastity cage around their frat house, but this? They had taken it to a whole new level. A choice between wearing a diaper and being naked while visibly owned, I would take the naked while visibly owned any day. But I knew there was no getting out of it, and Ryan knew it too. I could see the sadistic glee in his eyes as he watched me step into the shiny plastic thing, taping the sides up so it was secure.
“Oh my god,” he said, “that’s fucking great.” And he snapped a picture with his phone. “Go show Tyler!” he said. “Wait, no, wait a second,” he added. He yanked a cheap plastic box out from underneath his bed, and rummaged through what appeared to be an assortment of junk. He settled on a small tube of what, when he removed the cap, was clearly superglue. “Come here,” he said to me, and I obeyed. He gently peeled back the tabs on the diaper and added a string of glue to them, before replacing them a little snugger than I had originally done them up. In a few moments, he had finished them all. “Stand totally still,” he told me, and I did my best to remain motionless as the taste of his cum continued to trickle down my tongue.
After he was sufficiently confident that the glue had dried, he sent me back to Tyler.
Humiliated, I made my way back down the corridor, downstairs, and to the kitchen. Tyler broke into laughter when he saw me standing there in just the diaper. “Oh my god,” he said, “Ryan was totally right. You’re fucking wearing that from now on!” He kept laughing. “Hold on,” he said and stood up, digging into a drawer under the counter. “Get on all fours and stick your ass in the air.” I did as I was told, without words. Behind me, I could feel the pressure of his hand on my padded ass, and the smell of permanent marker. I guess he was writing or drawing something on my diaper. Whatever it was, I couldn’t see.
“Alright,” he said, “you can take out the trash.” No idea what he wrote, but I figured it was probably better that way. It was harder to move with it on. I grabbed the bag and the boxes, took a deep breath, and made my journey outside to find the cans.
It took a minute, but eventually I was finished with the task, and back in the house. I don’t think anybody saw me out there.
“Alright fag,” Tyler said. “You’re done with work for now, so time to get in your box. You’re still in trouble for pissing on the floor last time.” He led me upstairs and into the bathroom. The gear was all still there, just as it had been when I left. Resigned to my fate, I cooperated as Tyler cuffed my hands together and unceremoniously pushed me into the disassembled box. He picked up the missing half of the top and slid it in, trapping my head in place. He took a small padlock and attached the cuffs to a ring in the top of the box – a new edition. I could no longer drop my hands down to waist level, but they dangled from the top of the box instead. Tyler locked the cabinet door. I opened my mouth as he swung the toilet seat into place, though right before he could attach it, I managed to ask “how long?”
That was all I got out before he shoved the tube past my lips and into my mouth, securing the gag portion around the back of my head. “Don’t worry about it,” he told me, “I’ll let you know when you’re done.” Once again, I found myself inescapably imprisoned as a frat toilet, a thick rubber tube transforming my face into one part of a sewer. The tightness guaranteed that no drips would be permitted to leave my mouth, that everything ushered down the pipe would either be swallowed or would stew on my tongue. And of course the diaper Ryan had superglued shut would keep their floor unspoiled by wayward piss.
I want to be clear that if it seems like I was too obedient, too eager to cooperate, it was solely because of what they had on me. Because I knew at this point that resistance was useless, and that they would get what they wanted out of me regardless of what I wanted. That was the arrangement here. If it looked like cooperation, that appearance was illusory.
Initially there was less traffic than the first time they had strapped me in here. They had been excited about Ryan’s new custom made equipment, and so they had crowded in to watch it in action. This time was different. I sat alone in a dark bathroom, bound inside a box, with a toilet seat protruding from my face. It was silent except for the sound of my own breathing.
Eventually a guy I’d never seen stumbled into the room, leaving the lights off. (How many guys were in this frat?) He was clearly hungover, and he said nothing to me. He merely lifted the seat up, obscuring my vision, and released a heavy, acrid torrent of piss into the bowl. I heard him spit into it as well, but the concentrated urine was powerful enough that spit was too subtle a flavor to discern. I swallowed it quickly as it cascaded down my throat. It tapered off, and he left as silently as he had entered. The aftertaste was almost as foul as the original.
Another twenty minutes passed in silence, in the dark bathroom barely illuminated by the hallway light peeping through the ajar door. Not that I could see anything beyond peripherals with the seat up. But soon enough that would change.
I heard the hinges creak and my eyes winced as someone flipped on the bathroom lights before closing the door behind them. I had no way of knowing who it was and my eyes hadn’t adjusted to the sudden lighting change when the seat dropped down. I felt the bowl pull me forward slightly as some guy seated himself in front of me, with the support cables taking most of his weight. My eyes adjusted, but from this angle it was impossible to tell who it was. I looked up his back. Light brown hair, closely cut. A old green t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and the number 27 printed on the back in yellow. I could barely make out the name on it, and it was unhelpful for identification: “Big Lion.” Some kind of team nickname, I assumed. Muscular triceps graced each side of him, with an unreadable black tattoo on the right. And of course where the t-shirt stopped was a bare ass, spread inches away from my nose. I heard the sound of him playing some game on his phone.
A stream of piss sloshed down the bowl and into my waiting maw, followed by a slow fart. It was putrid, and I became apprehensive about whatever nastiness he was going to feed me. The wait wasn’t long. I heard his asshole open up as a soft dump sprang forth. The first parts dropped into the shallow bowl, resting at the edge of the tube. The first part slid backwards onto my tongue as it slowly hydroplaned across the slowing stream of piss. It was thick and soft and not quite as bad as it smelled. Not that it was pleasure for me; far from it. It tasted like shit: slick on the outside and bitter as I mashed it with my tongue. He said nothing to me as his morning waste snaked its way down my throat.
Shortly after his piss stopped, the shit stopped sliding into my mouth as well. He wasn’t finished, of course. Another three minutes passed as he emptied his ass into the bowl, me waiting patiently for the inevitable. Finally he started wiping, tossing the paper into the conventional toilet directly in front of me. How did all of these guys I’d never met know the procedure so well? Did they have some kind of newsletter that they emailed around? “TKE News – Ryan and Brett to enjoy another year on the university soccer team. Greek Life calendar on page two. Oh, and if you’re going to shit in the house fag’s mouth, be sure to throw the TP elsewhere because we’re not trying to murder him.” At any rate, I guess I was glad that I didn’t have to consume that, too.
Finally Big Lion stood up and pulled his pants back up. He raised the seat again, and retrieved the scraper from its container next to the toilet. Once again I was blind as the equipment obscured my vision, and I heard the sound of heavy rubber on rubber, followed by the sudden rush of moist shit into my mouth. One second my mouth was empty and the next a gigantic mass of man shit weighed down my tongue. Big Lion’s crap was nasty, but I chewed as quickly as possible – the sooner I finished, the sooner I could stop tasting it so strongly. The taste wouldn’t go away, of course, but it would fade. It was hard to keep up though – I guess that newsletter had nothing in it about pace. I choked as Big Lion shoveled a giant log in on top of the sticky pile already filling my mouth. I filled my cheeks with it in order to make room, trying not to choke, but soon I was swallowing unchewed chunks of it just to keep up. My mouth was crammed to capacity to the point that I could no longer chew, when I heard the scraper return to its home. I did my best to work my jaw as much as possible, but it was slow going. If I didn’t go too quickly I could get down little bits without choking, but if I were to try and bite down the bulk of it would fill my throat.
The lights went out as Big Lion departed, leaving me to finish eating his morning dump in the dark. I was so focused on getting it down without choking that I barely noticed that my building bladder pressure had decided to release itself without my notice. A warmth spread through my crotch and down my taint as the diaper I’d been forced to wear absorbed it all. The sensation registered in my mind, but like I said, I was too focused on finishing Big Lion’s shit to pay it much attention. Gradually I worked the giant mess down to a more manageable amount, with my cheeks still full, but finally able to chew and swallow again. Another minute or two and I had finished even the shit which I had stuffed in my cheeks. So I sat there quietly, the foul aftertaste lingering in my mouth, in the dark, with my junk wrapped in my own warm piss.
Part 10
I was starting to get somewhat used to the taste of shit, but Big Lion’s morning dump lingered in my throat. My mouth felt slick with the residue left after swallowing down the bulk, and the aftertaste was sharp.
So far, my experience with my frat captors had taught me that they pissed way more than they shit, and I found myself hoping that someone might come relieve themselves in order to wash the flavor out. It was probably the first time I had ever wanted a guy to piss in my mouth. Not that I wouldn’t have preferred a glass of water and a bottle of scope, but you take what you can get.
I waited. There was nothing else to do; it was almost meditative. Big Lion had shut off the lights when he left the bathroom, and he had also raised the seat which blocked my vision. I shut my eyes and focused on my other senses. Inside the penalty box it was warm and humid, and my arms were aching from the position they were locked in. I was still trapped in the diaper Ryan had superglued shut, and I could feel the plastic of the chastity device flush against my junk. I had already wet the diaper and it was a little uncomfortable, but not terribly so. I still wondered what it was Tyler had written on the ass of it in the kitchen. Down the hall, I could hear guys moving about, but none of it seemed to concern me.
I waited in the dark. Fifteen minutes passed, and I did my best to muck out the corners of my mouth with my tongue. Finally, someone came in and flipped on the lights. Of course the seat prevented me from seeing anything clearly. Some article of red clothing in the peripheral was all I could make out, and whichever frat boy it was said nothing to me. A moment passed and I could hear the sound of piss hitting the rubber bowl that drained into my mouth.
I had been expecting his piss to clear out the taste of Lion’s shit, but I hadn’t really thought it through. The bowl was still filthy from his dump and as the urine cascaded down my toilet gag, it washed the remnants along with it. The shit-infused urine just magnified the flavor, if anything. The guy in front of me finished up and left, wordlessly flipping off the lights again on his way out.
A couple minutes later, the scene repeated itself: lights on, unidentifiable guy takes a piss, I taste the shit again, and he leaves. More guys were up and awake now, and I found the bathroom traffic picking up. Fortunately each new batch of piss came back with less and less shit, and after six or seven guys, I was finally only tasting the flavor of urine.
The flipside, of course, was that you can’t drink the piss of nearly a dozen guys without needing to go yourself. I felt the pressure building up in my own bladder. There wasn’t much reason to hold it though, I guess, since they had diapered me up for exactly this reason. Besides, Tyler had implied that I was going to be in here for awhile, so there was no real benefit to making myself uncomfortable. I let it go, and felt the diaper flood with piss, soaking in around the edges of my thighs and slightly down my asscrack. It had already been damp from when I had done this earlier, but now it felt downright soggy. Maybe pissing myself had been a bad idea.
A couple minutes later, the lights flipped on again and I prepared myself to drink dude piss once again. Not my luck, though. The seat came down on the contraption they had put me in, and there stood Ryan looking down at me.
“It’s lunchtime, fag!” he said to me grinning. “Hope you’re hungry! I’ve got some leftover ramen for you.” He turned around and pulled down his shorts and boxer briefs, and his bare ass occupied my field of vision. “Well, not exactly leftover,” he said as he sat down, cheeks spreading over the bowl. “More like ‘gently used.’ I’ve got some gently used ramen for you.”
A moment later, a swift river of piss gushed down the bowl and into my mouth. A putrid smell wafted silently up from the bowl, and I knew this was going to be a bad one. Not that there were any good shits, but some were worse than others. There was a “thunk!” sound and my forced feeding began as a single, walnut-sized chunk of shit rolled onto my tongue. It was dense and dryer than Big Lion’s had been, and I had a little trouble wedging it in between my teeth to bite into it. The gag part of my toilet prison allowed me just enough room to do a small amount of chewing, but not enough room to open up very far. The sole purpose of leaving me that amount of room was in order to give me enough space to actually consume their crap without giving me enough freedom to speak or spit something out. Normally it was enough, but with the more condensed shits, it was sometimes challenging to actually manouvre.
I succeeded in biting down on Ryan’s turd and a bitter, salty flavor hit my tongue. It was twice as bad as Big Lion’s had been, and I very nearly threw up. Ryan heard me gagging and started laughing, the vibrations of his laughter reverberating through the gag into my face. “Don’t worry,” he said to me, “I got plenty more for ya!” He wasn’t lying. There was a crackling sound as his ass opened up, and although I couldn’t see it, I felt a massive log drop into the bowl a moment later. It was soon followed by another, and then the sound of smaller bits coming down after it. Fuck, this was going to suck.
I had finished the only part of it to roll into my mouth on its own, and now I was simply waiting for the inevitable moment when Ryan would pick up the scraper and shovel the rest into my mouth. I watched him from behind as he reached for toilet paper, and then shoved it down between his legs, wiping his ass with it. Knowing that I wasn’t particularly happy with what he was feeding me, he found yet one more way to torment me. I watched him stand up, toilet paper still in hand, and he turned around to look at me. Grinning that sadistic fucking grin he had, he leaned over and brought the TP towards my head. Instinctively I tried to back away from it, but my head was trapped in place and there was nothing I could do. He brought it to my face and gently-but-firmly wiped a streak of shit on my upper lip, just under my nose. The paper came away, but the smell didn’t. I was going to be breathing his shit all day.
He tossed the paper in the other toilet and set about the task of feeding me the rest of his dump. Locking eyes with me, he shoved the scraper into the bowl, and nudged the first log down the plumbing. His dense, heavy shit slid across my tongue, and I worked to break it in half with my tongue. He never looked away, and I felt a new sense of humiliation, the kind that only he could instigate. He might not be yanking his dick right now, which made some sense since he identified as straight, but on some level he was clearly getting off on forcing me to eat his shit. I could see it, the sadistic pleasure he drew from this power over me.
Almost as if to read my mind, he spoke to me. “I’ve got something else for you later,” he said ominously. “But it’s a surprise.” I sweat a little at this.
The next moments, you can imagine. It took about ten minutes, but Ryan watched me eat every last bit of his shit. It was foul and I gagged multiple times, but in the end, it happened. He got his way, and I got an aching stomach crammed and overfull with the sewage remains of these frat boys.
After Ryan finally left, a couple more hours passed for me in the penalty box. I drank the piss of ten more guys (I think, I lost count), and both Tyler and Jason made me eat their shit. I felt nauseated, but it was far outside of my control to shut it off. None of this was what I wanted to be doing.
It was late afternoon when Ryan sauntered into the bathroom again, with Sean and some guy I’d never seen before in tow. I gathered that Sean must have come back home from work, but I had no idea who this other guy was. He looked a little older than the frat boys, maybe 25-28? In decent shape, and with similar features to Sean’s.
“I told you I had a surprise for you, fag,” Ryan said. “This is Michael, he’s a graduated brother. Lived in the house a few years back.”
“Pleased to meet ya, fag,” he said to me. Obviously, I said nothing.
Ryan continued on. “You know, Michael had some hidden talents, and Sean reminded us of one of them just last night. What was it again Sean?”
“Oh, it was hypnotism, Ryan!” he said back, playing along with the taunting presentation. I made no acknowledgement. This was the surprise? I was a little relieved. I had no confidence that his hypnotism would work. After all, what is it they say? You can’t hypnotize someone who doesn’t really believe in it, and you can’t use it to make someone do something they wouldn’t normally consider doing? At least that’s what I’d always heard.
Ryan looked me in the eyes. “I can see you don’t think it’s going to do anything,” he said to me. I guess he knew me better than I thought. “That’s fine,” Ryan said to me, “it doesn’t really matter if you think it’ll work or not. We got ya covered.”
Michael pulled out an old pocketwatch on a chain. Jesus, this couldn’t be any more cliché. A pocketwatch? He might as well yank a string of brightly-colored handkerchiefs out of his sleeve and a flower button that squirts seltzer water. It was risible.
Michael smirked with a sadism a shade lighter than Ryan’s, but sadism nonetheless. “Forget what you’ve heard, shitbreath” he said to me, getting close to my face. “It actually does work whether you want it to or not.”
It actually occurred to me then that everything I knew of hypnotism was based on hearsay and television. What if he was telling me the truth?
Michael placed a barstool directly in front of me and sat down on it. The watch on the chain came out, and he began the metronomic swaying of it back and forth, a ritual I had seen reproduced in hundreds of Warner Brothers cartoons. I thought about looking away, but for some reason I didn’t.
Back. Forth. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. The watch swung for an eternity. I faded in and out. My surroundings became muted somehow, my attention span frayed and broken. And soon I was out of it.
Michael spoke, and I heard it distantly, as though I were submerged in a swimming pool and the words were being spoken from above. I heard them but thought nothing about them. They were for me, but did not belong to me, and so they were not my words to think about. But here is what he spoke.
“You are this fraternity’s personal toilet. Each day, you are to remind yourself of this at least twice. This is unchangeable.”
“Each time a man shits in your mouth, you will experience it in detail. You hate the taste of shit. But each time you eat shit, you will taste it fully. You will compare it to other times you have eaten shit, and you will think about how it tastes. You hate the taste of shit and you will never learn to enjoy it. Even though you hate the taste, you will still eat every part of it. That is what toilets do, and you are this fraternity’s personal toilet.”
“You are a one-way toilet. Even though you hate the taste of shit, you will not gag or vomit. You will swallow it all down, even if you are full. You will not be a toilet that backs up: you will not vomit. If you get too full, you will push it through your digestive system faster. When you are serving as a toilet, you will always shit yourself before you even consider throwing up. You are a toilet, but you are not a toilet that backs up.”
“There are several words that you are to memorize but never think about. These words are ‘bears,’ ‘penguins,’ ‘iodine,’ and ‘pork chops.” Repeat those words in your mind. Bears. Penguins. Beer. Pork chops. Whenever you hear a man say one of those words, you will empty your bowels and bladder. If a man says bears, penguins, beer, or pork chops, you will shit and piss yourself. These are magic words and they have power over you. You will not think about these words, but you will recognize them and relieve yourself when you hear them.”
“You may or may not be summoned back to this house. But you will feel compelled to come, even if you are not summoned. You are the fraternity’s toilet and you belong in this box. Even though you hate the taste of shit, you will crave it. If more than a few days pass, you will feel driven to return here, because you know you are the fraternity’s toilet.”
Michael stood up from the stool, and kept the watch swinging back and forth.
A few moments passed and I felt like I was coming back to earth. This guy who looked like Sean was standing in front of me, and he appeared to be putting an old fashioned watch back in his jeans pocket. I felt like I knew him, like we had spoken, but I couldn’t remember what about. It was there, it was just beyond my grasp. I quit trying to remember.
I also couldn’t remember why the door to my penalty box was open. It had been closed a moment before. I was of course still locked in bondage, my hands cuffed to the roof of the box, and a wet diaper superglued shut around my waist. I’d probably have to cut that off with a knife when I finally got home.
These guys were watching me inside the box and I was puzzled by it. What were they doing?
“Hey man, you going to watch the game tonight?” Sean asked Ryan.
“Maybe,” he said. “Which game are you talking about?”
“You know,” he said, “the Colts are playing the Bears.”
I felt my thoughts twitch. I don’t know how to else to describe it. I know that thoughts aren’t muscles or even tangible, but they twitched. And suddenly my guts heaved and the diaper I had been forced to wear was filling up with shit. I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t. It was like hot, thick mud wrapping itself around my asscheeks, filling my crack and squeezing in around my balls. A fresh stream of piss wet down the foremost of it, because for some reason I had lost control over that too. And these three men were laughing their asses off as it happened. What the fuck was going on?
“I guess that answers that,” said Ryan, closing the door back up and locking it again. “I just fed him a couple hours ago, but either of you able to test him out in other respects?”
“Yeah, I think I can,” said Michael. He turned around and the seat of his jeans was in my face, as he fumbled with the fly in front. His butt was kind of muscular and I idly wondered if he was a cyclist. As his pants came down, I began to feel a strange mélange of sensations, like craving and loathing at the same time. This somehow felt natural, but also disgusting.
The musk of Ryan’s shit had faded somewhat since earlier and now I could faintly smell the cologne coming off of Michael’s shirt, mixed with Old Spice deodorant. Ryan and Sean stood off to the side, and I was now only vaguely aware of them. I felt my focus turn to Michael, because I was this fraternity’s toilet. I shocked myself with that thought, but then quickly moved on, reflecting again on the imminent shit that Michael was about to squish down my throat.
I didn’t have to wait long. His bowels moved quickly and efficiently, dropping a dump of medium consistency straight into the bowl. The whole process took only 50 seconds, and he was soon wiping himself and tossing away the paper. I waited eagerly for him to shove it into my mouth with the scraper, even though I was already too full from the copious amounts of sewage I had already consumed.
Michael looked at me confidently as he grabbed the scraper from its holder and stuck it in the bowl. He pushed the crap down the pipe that led into my mouth, and I concentrated on the texture as it entered. It was revolting, the slick, sweet goo on the outside made me want to vomit, but I found that I couldn’t even gag. I compulsively bit into it, and the flavor was powerful, the sweetness cut by bitter flavors, some subtle and some sharp. It was overwhelming, and I felt my eyes go out of focus as I chewed. I knew nothing in that moment except the taste of the shit, the mixture of flavors, and the sensation of my saliva carrying it down my throat. The texture made me want to spit it out, but somehow I kept on as though it didn’t. It was warm, and I thought about that as I shoved my tongue into the center and played with it – this had just emerged from Michael’s ass, it had been his earlier meal. I was eating a man’s shit. But that was proper, because I was this fraternity’s toilet.
Michael’s shit was terrible and disgusting, and I found myself consumed in awareness of its every little detail, each revolting little flavor, each minuscule piece dissolving in my mouth. No nuance of it escaped me.
I was dimly aware of Ryan and Sean. There was no laughter this time, they were fascinated by the spectacle of the transformation. They were entertained to be sure, but it was mixed with the scientific curiosity.
Part 11
Again, thanks for all the positive feedback I’ve been getting on this, and I’m glad that so many of you guys are getting off on it. Just throwing it out there: if anybody has some art skills and feels like illustrating some of this, I'd enjoy seeing what you can draw :)
Okay, onto Part 11!
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I had lost track of my time in the box. Michael, Sean, and Ryan had finally left me alone about 45 minutes ago, and there had been surprisingly no traffic since then. I was uncomfortable, my muscles were cramping up, and since I had inexplicably lost control over my body functions, my diaper was overfilled. It was like wearing a cushion of hot sewage that I couldn’t escape.
The lights snapped on and I squinted to adjust my eyes. It was Tyler; I hadn’t seen him since he locked me in the box, however long ago it had been. “Feeding time, faggot,” he said to me. I groaned into the gag, producing a tortured echo through the tube.
“No complaining now, faggot,” he replied, unfastening his jeans. Stuffing his thumb inside a pair of Nike “Pro Combat” underwear, he pushed everything down to his knees. His oversized dick waved in my field of view for a moment, blond pubic hair framing it. He turned and sat, and almost immediately a torrent of piss rolled through the gag into my mouth. Hot, salty, and tasting a little like soap, it was a huge improvement over the aftertaste of Michael’s dump. Just when I thought I was getting used to the experience, that guy came along and changed my mind. It had been like starting all over again. Well, except that this time I hadn’t wanted to vomit the same way that I had at that Halloween party, the night I got my first taste of male waste. Still…the intensity…I couldn’t explain it.
This is what I thought about as I drank down Tyler’s piss. I stared up his back, which was becoming almost a ritual for me. This always started the same way: frat boy comes in, pulls down his pants, sits down on the seat. I observe his bare ass descending, spreading out as the seat gently shapes it into dumping position. I note the hem of the shirt laying close against his back, and then stare up, taking note of his neck and hair. Don’t misunderstand me – this isn’t a lust thing. It’s just the product of boredom. Locked in this box, transformed into a living toilet for stronger, slightly younger guys, well, there’s a lot of downtime. Me staring at the old paint on the wall with the small amount of light that creeps in from the hallway after the previous guy leaves. That’s assuming they’ve left the seat down – if they haven’t, then I’m just staring at black rubber. The ritual of observing the guy using me as his personal toilet – its more about observing something other than the goddamned wall. Still, given a choice between staring at the wall and being fed shit, I would always take the wall.
Tyler’s shit was surprisingly quiet. I was totally unprepared for it when the first piece of it hydroplaned into my mouth on the piss. I almost choked, but managed to catch it with the back of my tongue, shoving it forward to wear I could bite into it. This was the terrible choice I had: I could either chew it up, knowing that the taste would be horrible, and being disgusted by the experience of the texture, or I could risk choking on it. Only the softest shits didn’t get chewed, and in those cases, it wasn’t like a treat – it was more like experiencing all the worst parts of the chewed up shit at once.
Tyler’s was a dryer, dense shit, though. I bit into the first chunk, and bits rolled down either side of my teeth. And for the second time that day, I was shocked by the experience. I was hyperaware of the texture, sensing the thickness carefully. And the flavor was unnaturally intense. I’d eaten shit a thousand times by now (well, not really, but it felt like that), and just like Michael’s dump, this was like my taste buds were getting kicked in the nuts. And thus far, none of Tyler’s shits had been a treat, but none of them had ever been an experience like this.
I swallowed, and chewed on the next bite. Just as terrible. Yet again, I was surprised by my body’s decision not to try to expel it. It was completely revolting, but I had no urge to puke. I just chewed until I could swallow the nasty mass down.
“Good faggot,” Tyler said as he started wiping himself. I had finished the portion of his shit that had slid into my mouth, but I knew from experience there was probably still a giant log waiting in the bowl for me. I hadn’t heard it drop, but usually I didn’t escape with only two bites.
Satisfied with his cleaning job, he stood up, his muscular bare ass filling my field of view, the cheeks lightly coated with blond hair. With Tyler standing 6’4” and with my head trapped at waist level, he looked like a giant from the angle I was held. It was hard to believe that just months ago I had been his teacher, marking down his lackluster work. He hadn’t come to class since they blackmailed me with the video, they all just got A’s. He reached down for the scraper. I was right then, there was more to consume.
He shoved a second log into my mouth and I was pleased to discover that it wasn’t as much as I had feared – just a medium sized one. But the taste was overwhelming, and I could sense the details in the surface of it. Part of it had been smeared flat as it rubbed against the bottom of the bowl on the way down, other parts of it had small lumps. My tongue found what was the casing from a small vegetable of some sort, like a bean or a pea. Completely disgusting, and I couldn’t stop detailing it with my tongue. It was like I felt compelled to explore each corner of it, even though I loathed every part of it.
It was wedged in my mouth sideways now, and it broke apart in the middle. Miniscule parts of it dropped onto my tongue, little shit sprinkles. I chewed the two halves of it up on either side of my mouth, mashing the chunks up into a paste I could swallow. My saliva and drops of Tyler’s piss helped soften every miserable part of it.
Tyler leaned on the counter and watched me. Of course he couldn’t see me chewing directly, my mouth was hidden behind the skintight rubber gag that was locked around the bottom half of my face. But my eyes, he watched. He saw the displeasure and revulsion staring out through my eyes, and he enjoyed it. Finally, I swallowed the last of his shit. My stomach ached with the fullness of all the frat sewage I had consumed. He smirked at me. “Don’t worry fag,” he said to me, “I’ll be back soon to water you. I’m about to grab a couple beers.”
My mind twitched again, just like it did before. The diaper Ryan had superglued shut around my waist was already full from when I had inexplicably shit myself 45 minutes ago. But suddenly it was happening all over again. My guts heaved and I lost control of myself, shitting into the already thick mess that surrounded my ass and balls. I felt the diaper bulge out, the pressure on the seals tightening as the amount of sewage it was expected to trap expanded. In some ways, being forced to wear a diaper full of shit and piss was just as humiliating as being made to eat it. It felt gross, and I didn’t understand why I was suddenly losing control over my own body functions.
Tyler snickered at my expression and said nothing more. He simply shut off the lights and left me in the dark again.
----
The day went on like that. Guys filtered in and out. Some of them were like Tyler: they enjoyed seeing me lowered into my position. Those were the ones who commended me on my shit eating skills, or spit into the bowl as they relieved themselves. Most of them just ignored me as though I were just a regular toilet. No conversation, no acknowledgement – just piss and/or shit, maybe wash their hands, and then leave. I lost count of what I’d consumed.
It had been at least ten hours when Tyler finally arrived to let me out of the box. My muscles screamed as I tumbled out, eager for any kind of movement. Even after the gag was unlocked and removed, I said nothing to Tyler, and he said nothing to me. Once my legs woke up enough that I could stand, I did. The inside of my mouth was slick with frat sewage.
I didn’t expect the diaper to be so heavy. I’m sure it wasn’t really so heavy, but it felt like fifteen pounds. The seat sagged down below crotch-level, full of shit, and the front bulged out from the countless times I’d pissed myself that day. The superglue Ryan had sealed it with held it in place, and it was tight enough that it didn’t just slide down. Tyler made no move to take it off me. Instead, he threw my pants at me.
“If you want to wear these home, you’ve got thirty seconds to get them on,” he said. “Otherwise I’m keeping them and you leave here only in what you’re wearing now.”
That was a panic moment, for sure. Having just been released from extended bondage, my muscles fought me for control. I was uncoordinated and ungainly as I raced to get my pants on – fuck all if he made me walk home in just a full diaper. I got the pants up to the bulging mess around my waist, but then I was stuck. It was so full that the pants wouldn’t easily slide up over them. I tried to gingerly pull them all the way up, but to no avail. And then Tyler started a countdown. “Five…four…three…”
Fuck it. I yanked them up as hard as I could, and just barely got them over the diaper. He was on “one” when I got the fly closed. Made it!
He smirked and gave me my shirt. “Just in time, fag,” he said to me. “Now you can get out of my house.”
I walk stiff-legged down the hall. Movement was hard, each step shifted the contents of my pants around. I could feel wet shit squeezing out around the edges and running down the inside of my leg. This was going to be a gross walk home. I was well aware of the smell surrounding me; I would have to avoid all other people on the way back to my apartment. Fortunately it was after dark and if I was careful, nobody would notice the massive bulk in my pants.
I walked through a room full of guys, most of whom had used me earlier that day. Everyone ignored me. Tyler walked behind me, gently pushed me out the back door. As I stepped onto his porch, he said one word to me: “bears.”
My mind did the twitch thing again, and there on his porch, I felt myself lose control again. There was nowhere for new shit to go, and I felt it squeezing up my asscrack. Meanwhile, small amounts of piss leaked out and dripped down my legs. Fuck.
It was a long, eight minute walk home. The streets weren’t empty, but I managed to keep my distance from other people, and so nobody was the wiser. But as I arrived at my apartment, I could hear my neighbors at a nearby house hanging out on their porch. They were far away, but the sound carried, and I overheard them. “Hey man, can you hand me another beer?”
Like it had before with Tyler and Michael, my brain twitched. My body tried to force more shit out, but I was empty, and only a little piss trickled out. But I felt the muscles contracting, trying to empty out. What the fuck had they done to me?
As I fumbled with my keys, I thought back through the day, and I realized there was a blank spot in my memory. Michael, and Sean, and Ryan had been there, and then there was a gap. What happened in that gap??
Safe in the privacy of my own home, I set about cutting myself free from the diaper and cleaning up. I finally got to see what Tyler had written on the seat so many hours ago. In black sharpie, standing out against the white sheen of the plastic, were just three words: “faggot treasure chest.”
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A couple days passed without further incident. I didn’t lose control of my body functions again, and I wasn’t asked to report to the house. I started to feel like I should go over on my own, which scared me. I definitely hated being their toilet and cleaning up after them. But some little part of me told me I needed to go back soon. I ignored that feeling for the moment.
Later that day, I got a text from Ryan. It was a campus address and a time: 6AM. After that, it just said “be there fag. Mark will be waiting for you.”
I wasn’t sure which one of them was Mark, but I knew better than to disobey Ryan.
----
I showed up at the appointed time, groggy and irritable. When I found the room, it was an old maintenance room in the basement. I knocked on the door, and it opened. I recognized the guy – predictably, he was in the frat. He’d pissed down my throat a couple times, but never more than that, and we’d never interacted. Here he was wearing a student employee uniform, so I gathered that he worked in the building in some manner or another. He silently led me through a dingy room that looked barely used. It was full of the building’s guts – circuit boxes and bare pipes and a fire alarm control panel. We reached the end of the room.
“Hands behind your back,” he told me. I complied, and he secured some heavy leather cuffs on them with little padlocks. I wasn’t liking this, but I was in it now and couldn’t turn back. He took another padlock and fastened my wrists to an eyehook protruding from an unfinished cement wall. He stepped in front of me and held up some sort of a gag. “Open,” was all he said. Deep and baritone. I complied, and a tube similar to the one in the frat house plunged into my mouth. He clicked it shut behind my head. Like the one from the frat house, skintight rubber wrapped around my face.
Apparently the other end of the gag was threaded, because he began spinning a piece of PVC pipe onto it. In thirty seconds time, he had that sealed tight, and angled up to screw into another pipe dropping down from the ceiling. It was sturdy enough that even if my hands weren’t locked to a wall behind me, I couldn’t break my head free from it without help. At least I could still move my legs.
No sooner had I thought that, Mark undid my fly and unceremoniously yanked my pants and underwear down to my ankles. I could shift position slightly, but the cloth bunched up down there made more than an inch or two impossible. I reckoned I might be able to step out of them later on, but he didn’t seem too worried about it.
“You may remember this from your first night,” he said to me, pulling out a tablet. My eyes winced as the light came on. Once they adjusted, I saw that I was looking at the men’s room of the student gym. Specifically, there was a camera somewhere pointed at a row of urinals. Mark positioned the table in front of my face, propped up on what appeared to be an old music stand. “Ryan wanted you to learn that you’re not just a toilet for our frat – though you are – but for whoever else he decides, too. So I agreed to help him out with this.” I tried to look at Mark as he spoke, but the tablet was positioned so that I could see little else.
“The plumbing was actually pretty easy to alter. The janitors clean those up around 5AM, and only then. I threw out the urinal cakes and then flushed them a couple times to clean out the chemicals, right before I disconnected the water lines. Told the gym staff the water to them would be out today, but that the urinals were still usable. Which is good, since I’m pretty sure about thirty of the Air Force ROTC guys work out together first thing in the morning, and I’m sure some of them will need to piss when they’re done. I’ve been busy this morning setting this up for you – you can thank me later.”
“Anyway, all of those urinals drain down one pipe now. Wanna guess which pipe?” He slapped me on my bare ass, hard. It made me jolt, and in that I realized how securely in place I actually was – I barely moved at all. “I’ll be back in a little while, faggot,” he said to me. “In the meantime, there’s a drain in front of you. Have fun!”
And with that, he left.
To be continued…
Part 12
Here is the next segment in The Wrath of the Frat. There’s no scat in this particular entry, but when I finally know what the next section should look like you can expect that to reappear. In the meantime, if you’ve enjoyed TWOTF, I would highly recommend taking a look at Wirral’s “lottery” series – he did an excellent job with another take on forced shiteating.
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With my hands locked to the wall behind me and my face strapped into an airtight gag, there was nothing to do but wait and watch the monitor Mark had placed in front of my face. On screen was a row of urinals he had rigged to drain down one pipe, a pipe that happened to truncate at the other end of my gag. I will say this: I was relieved that for once I wouldn’t have to serve as a full toilet.
It was early and the men’s room was empty. After a bit I started to doze off, though not too deeply due to the discomfort of my position. A flicker startled me out of my half-sleep. A guy in his early 30s, probably another grad student, was stepping up to the urinal farthest from the hidden camera. He pulled his dick out of his shorts and a moment later started to piss. I could hear it descending the pipes as it rushed closer to me, and soon enough it began draining into my mouth. It was strong and acrid—I’d learned by now that guys’ piss tastes that way early in the morning—but I was also shocked that it was cold. I hadn’t factored in the chilling effect that the pipes would have on it as it made its way to me. Somehow cold piss was worse than warm.
I finished it easily enough. After all the shit the frat boys had forced me to eat, this guy’s piss was a cake walk. Before long it was gone and I was left to wait for the next guy.
Another ten minutes passed and suddenly the bathroom was crowded. Mark had mentioned that a cadre of Air Force ROTC students worked out together early in the mornings, and sure enough they were there and ready to go. Five college kids in blue and silver running shorts, matching t-shirts, and buzzed haircuts sidled up to the five urinals together. I saw a couple more head for the two stalls that were off camera, but they weren’t my concern as only the urinals were connected to my gag. Dicks flopped out and the guys started to piss.
I had expected it to go much like the first load of piss had, but it couldn’t have been more different. There was no cold trickle leisurely emptying into my mouth. Instead a forceful torrent of still mostly warm piss blasted across my tongue and down my throat. I instinctively tried to jerk back, but naturally the bondage kept me locked in place. It was like being connected to a faucet. At least these cadets had drunk more water than the first guy and so the flavor was less foul, but it was a challenge to take so much so quickly. Five pipes narrowing into one, along with gravity, turned it into a giant beer bong just for piss.
I gulped what felt like gallons of urine before it started to taper off, but I could see on the screen that as one cadet finished and stepped back from the urinal, another emerged from somewhere off camera to take his place. There were moments here and there where the flow was slow enough that I could gasp a breath of air through my nose, but it was difficult and I inhaled a small amount of piss in the process.
Three minutes later there were still five cadets at the urinals, unknowingly relieving themselves down my throat. Each time one finished, another took his place. I struggled to keep swallowing the golden river rushing through my mouth. The only real change to occur was that the pipes were no longer chilling the piss at all—I was getting it at body temperature. My stomach felt warmly full with all of it. The flavor reminded me subtly of soap.
Eventually though I finally reached the end of the line. Soon there were only four guys there on screen, then two, then finally one last freckly ginger kid shaking off the last drops before he put his dick back in his shorts. As the flow dropped off, I gasped down air, air that tasted like an old urinal smells. I felt overfilled with piss, but there was no exit from this new form of torture. Mark had the keys and who knew when he would return?
It wasn’t long before I myself had to piss, and I was glad now that he had so unceremoniously yanked down my pants before he left. I had no way to aim for the drain in front of me, so I just let it go. I could feel it pooling around my feet and soon enough I could hear a puddle slowly draining down to somewhere else. I was basically just part of the plumbing now.
There were a few moments after the cadets were done pissing that the urinals stood empty, but, sadly, my respite was short lived. It was after 7 AM now, and the bathroom was getting more traffic. There was a short guy in his late twenties whose piss tasted terrible—definitely his first piss of the day. Then there was younger guy, brown hair and about ten extra pounds. Then three more, five more, ten more. I lost count. Soon I myself was pissing about every five minutes.
Around 8 AM, there was another rush. A tall college kid with blond hair and built like a statue straddled the end urinal, and holding his dick with both hands stood waiting for the flow to start. Before he had even begun, another guy took a position at the first urinal—brown hair, unshaven, dressed in blue under armour shorts and t-shirt for his old high school football team. And then finally who should take the middle three urinals all at the same time, but three guys from the frat house—Craig, Aaron, and Mark, the one who had locked me here in the first place. Knowing them they had probably drunk as much as they could, held it for awhile, and been waiting in the lockerroom for an opportunity to hit the urinals when it would mean the most flow at once.
There was about ten seconds when I was tasting just the light flow of the blond guy’s piss, but soon enough that changed into the faucet flow again. Once more I strained against my locks in a futile effort to escape my role as a sewer pipe, but nada. Hot piss flooded my mouth and filled my stomach, the acidity lightly tingling my throat as it forced its way through my body. Once again I also started to piss, emptying only to be refilled once again. Once more I needed air with no way to get it, and once more when the opportunity came I inhaled the mixed urine of five guys along with the oxygen so desperately craved.
Finally the last of it dribbled down my tongue and I breathed relief. I was definitely ready to be released. In some ways being forced to serve as a full toilet for one guy at a time was easier than being the piss drain for five. When did Mark say he would let me out? He hadn’t.
Part 13
Dear readers: thank you for your patience. I finally found the twisted inspiration for the conclusion of the story. This is the first part of that conclusion; there will be at least one more chapter after this. There is perhaps less actual toilet slavery in this chapter than you might expect, but don't worry, I plan to include plenty of it in the next entry.
____
The frat was ruining my life, and I had finally decided to defy them. After being hooked up to the gym urinals for an entire morning, nearly drowning while trying to consume the unending flow of piss, I decided that whatever might come of refusing my tormentors couldn’t be worse than what I had to endure by cooperating. Enough was enough.
It had been a few days since they had texted me to send me to the gym, and so I had some time to think about it. It was hard to resist the hypnotic programming they had done, the programming that told me to send myself to their house, but that shit isn’t permanent. I steeled myself against the urge, and slowly started to conquer it. I’d also finally stopped shitting myself when I heard trigger words and so I’d also finally stopped wearing the diapers I’d been forced to don to accommodate the lack of control their programming had left me with. As for the chastity device, after I’d determined to stop cooperating with them, I took a steel file and very carefully removed it. It took a lot of cautious work, but I managed to get the padlock off and escape the cage.
The day of reckoning finally came. It was Thursday, and my phone vibrated. I looked down to see a text from Ryan.
“Hey faggot, get your ass over here tonight. 7:30” he wrote.
I took a deep breath. I’d prepared myself for this. Composed the message in my head a million times now.
“No,” I wrote. “I’m done with this. As long as you leave me alone, I’ll keep everything you’ve done to me a secret. If you try to command me again or post the videos to the internet or defame me in any way, I will contact the police and tell them what you did. Leave me alone from now on.” Send.
I was flooded with anxiety after sending it. Would he accept it? Would he retaliate? Ryan was a self-centered sadist, and I didn’t know what to expect other than that he would not be happy about it.
A few days went by and I heard nothing from him. I started to relax a little. Not a lot, just a bit. A few more days went by and I started to feel almost at ease again. Ryan never wrote back, and except for passing Sean one day on campus (we made no eye contact), they stayed away. My gambit worked.
The following Saturday rolled around. Early in the afternoon, there was a knock at the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone and I’d grown comfortable with my recovered freedom. I opened the door and as it started to swing wide, Tyler pushed his way in and tackled me. As he wrestled me to the floor, two more guys rushed in behind him, one closing the door behind him. A hand went over my mouth as I struggled to escape three guys, any one of whom was stronger than me. A second hand went over the first, gripping my nose shut. I thrashed as well as I could under Tyler’s deft grip, but there was nothing to be done. With my air cut off, I was soon slipping into silent unconsciousness.
Blackness.
I could see nothing. I tried to speak but my mouth was filled with what felt like rubber. As I gained sensory awareness, I realized there was some kind of gag strapped into my mouth, though I could still breathe through it. My wrists were locked together, as were my legs. I was surrounded by what felt like a canvas bag, and jostling vibrations told me I was in some kind of vehicle.
I rode in frightened silence for a few more minutes. The car came to a stop. I heard doors open, and felt the car raise slightly as the weight of three heavy guys got out. Suddenly I was gracelessly hauled from where I was, and I helplessly flopped and writhed in the darkness as they carried me into who knows where. Probably the frathouse.
I was carried down a flight of stairs and then wordlessly dropped onto a couch. Moments later I was once again in silence.
Hours passed. My jaw ached from the gag, which seemed to have a tube extending from it, and my muscles cramped from the bonds. I was afraid. I grew hungry and thirsty.
I dozed in and out of hazy sleep, alone in the darkness. I was too uncomfortable to drift off completely, but my mind fluttered. More hours passed.
I snapped to attention. The canvas was being undone, and I was coming face to face with Ryan. He looked displeased.
“You had it easy, faggot,” he said to me. “We only made you serve a couple times a week, and we were going to let you go when you finished whatever the fuck it is you’re doing here at this university. But now you’ve gone and fucked yourself.”
“You’ve got one last night with us, and then we’re shipping you off,” he said. “Another brother graduated here about fifteen years ago, smartest guy to ever come out of this fraternity. Dual degree in architecture and material engineering. Doing quite well for himself now. Among other things, he owns a construction company with some kind of government contract. I’m not fully clear on the details of how he’s gonna use you, but we’re handing you over to him. You’re going to be shipped off to South Carolina tomorrow evening.”
“Fortunately,” he continued, “you’ve got all your important passwords saved on your laptop. We’ve signed you up for the maximum amount of student loans you can get, plus a couple of credit cards. We’ve also booked you one-way travel to Ecuador. You won’t be going, of course, but we’re going to make sure it looks like you did. No extradition treaties, you see. We’re going into a semester break here, so nobody is going to miss you right away, but once they do, they’re just going to think you took the money and ran. I’m sure the government will ask Ecuador to look for you, but of course they won’t, and nobody actually expects them to return you because hey, like I just said, no extradition treaties. And there’s a couple guys cleaning out your apartment right now.”
“So you’re right, fag, you won’t be telling the police anything about us. But you’re wrong in other respects. I don’t know what Dan has in mind, but whatever it is, it’s full time. You’re old life is over. And I’m lucky enough that he’s even offered to pay for you, so it turns out I didn’t waste my money buying all that equipment for you to use. By the way, Dan’s the one who gave me most of my ideas for what to do with you.”
“I’m sure you’re thirsty,” Ryan said, grabbing the end of the tube running out of the gag. I watched helplessly as he stuffed the end of a funnel into it. I knew what was coming, and, sure enough, he whipped out his dick and started pissing in it. As thirsty as I was, I was actually grateful for it, and so I swallowed down every last bit of it. The taste lingered however, as it usually did. Ryan shook off the last drops, put his dick away, and closed the canvas bag up again.
“See ya never,” he said. And to be sure, that was the last time that I ever saw Ryan.
A few more hours passed in quiet silence. I had dozed off and was startled to find someone undoing the bag again. It was the early hours of the morning, maybe 4AM, and Tyler looked drunk. He lazily took aim at the funnel and again, I felt my mouth flood with piss. I’d had enough experience to taste the differences in their piss, and he’d definitely had a few beers.
“There’s something else we’re gonna do, faggot,” he said to me. “I never did this because I never wanted any chance of you telling anyone about it. But since none of us are gonna see you again, no harm now, and I’ve always been kind of curious” he said.
Tyler grabbed the end of the bag and dumped me out onto the couch. My body ached from confinement, and my legs were pins and needles as he undid the straps that held them together. I stretched them as I could, before he roughly flipped me over and kicked them apart.
“Oh shit,” I thought. He yanked down my shorts.
My face was pressed down into the cushions, and sure enough, I heard him grease up his dick with something. Seconds later I was unceremoniously getting fucked up the ass. Out of everything they had done to me, none of them had ever actually fucked me. The closest was when Ryan had jizzed in my mouth, but that was totally different. And it hurt.
I screamed into the gag, but, of course, it was entirely muffled. That’s what gags are for, after all. Tyler moved his dick faster. “Fuck yeah, cunt,” he said to me. “Make some noise.” He slapped my ass as he pumped his hips. Tears came to my eyes as my blond captor violated me in the most thorough way possible. I grunted and screamed into the gag, but all that came out was a dull “mmmhhhnnngh!”
He wasn’t long at it. It wasn’t graceful or considered, it was raw and animal. Tyler thrust as far into me as he could and held himself there, firing shot after shot of cum into me. “Oh fuck,” he gasped, “fuck fuck fuck.”
He leaned against me as he finished, and left his dick there as the last bits of jizz trickled into my ass. Finally he pulled out and wiped his dick off with a Kleenex from a nearby table. He first put his pants back on, then yanked my own shorts back up. The bonds went back on my legs and I was returned to my sack, violated and wincing.
There were no more surprises until they began to move me.
I could hear guys talking off in the distance, but nobody spoke to me directly. I heard a door open nearby, and several guys setting something on the floor next to me. Once again, I was dumped from the bag. This time, however, I was facedown. I could turn my head enough to see that nearby was a large crate half-filled with styrofoam peanuts. Someone was sliding something onto my face that looked like an athletic cup with long tubes dangling from it, and, as it was fastened on over my nose, I became certain that it was exactly that. Judging from the strong smell of ballsweat I’d say it was Tyler’s. Suddenly I was being picked up and lowered into the crate, my hands and feet still bound. Sean reached in and grabbed all three tubes – the two from my cup-mask and the one leading into my gag – and held them aloft while another guy poured more packing peanuts in over me. Soon I was buried in them, and from the gentle tugging, it felt like the tubes were being threaded through what was likely the top of the crate. The tugging stopped, and I heard the lid come down. Soon after the sound of a screw gun, sealing me into the crate completely.
I sat there, securely packed, and soon my mouth was flooding once again with piss. I guess the funnel was still usable through the lid, though this time I had no idea which of the frat brothers was using me as his toilet. They chatted with each other for a bit before leaving me alone in my crate.
Twenty minutes later, I was loaded onto a truck. I could hear several guys grunting and speaking tersely as they maneuvered me about. I was well packed and aside from the muscle cramps they didn’t injure me in the process.
There is not much else to say about my time inside the crate. It took a long time and it was hot. Several times the guys driving pissed down the funnel and into my mouth. My air smelled like Tyler’s junk. That’s really about it, so let me skip ahead.
When the crate was finally unpacked, I found myself in an unusual room. The walls were bare cement, except for video screens, though at the moment they were all blank. There was one thick, metal door, no windows, and a small, narrow ventilation grate. The floor felt like wrestling mats. There were two other guys who seemed to be in some kind of bondage gear, unfamiliar to me. Their jaws were locked in what looked like some kind of thick, clear rubber, as were their torsos. All of it hung from the ceiling. They wore chastity cages, but were otherwise naked.
Strong men forced me to my knees in front of another guy. He wore olive green pants and a polo shirt, looked to be about mid-thirties. “Let’s get you strapped in and then I’ll explain your new home,” he said to me.
A third mask dangled from the ceiling, empty, with what looked like another chest harness. The harness went on first, as one of the men held it closed against my naked back. My gag was removed. A burly man grabbed hold of the mask, and pressed it against my face, immediately replacing my gag with something very much like it. The end of the tube was forced into my mouth, while something that felt like soft, stretchy rubber formed a kind of muzzle around my jaw. There wasn’t much I could do as it was wound around the back of my head. There was an odd smell in the room as the man muzzling me lacquered the back of the gear with some kind of fluid. My face was shoved into his crotch as he held it closed at the back of my head.
“What Drew is doing is applying the sealant,” Dan explained to me. “This is a polymer material of my own design, called gleipnir. The word is obscure, but the short version is that in Norse mythology, gleipnir was the fetter used to bind the Fenriswolf. It felt thin and soft, yet it was utterly unbreakable. What you’re being strapped into right now is a good deal like that. This is porous, so your skin can breathe. But once that sealant’s set, you won’t be able to remove that. It’s soft, it’s light, it’s incredibly strong. I’ve watched on camera as your two bunkmates here have tried to tear theirs off.” Dan smirked. “Not even a dent.”
“I think it’s set, boss,” Drew said. He tugged on my mask, and sure enough, it was soft but solid. Same for the chest harness. If Dan was right, I was locked in with no way out.
Drew went about briskly but efficiently attaching a chastity cage to my dick. “I heard you took your last one off,” Dan said to me. He leaned down and looked me in the eyes. “This one is never coming off. Trust me about that.”
Locked in gleipnir and a cock cage, the men went about putting me and the other two captives into diapers. “This is the one thing that is removable,” Dan said. “But trust me on this point. If you ever take it off without specific instructions to, you will severely regret it. Severely. You might sit in it for twelve hours, you don’t take it off. They also won’t break, I’ve had them tested, you could store a pair of watermelons in this and it wouldn’t split its seams.” He leaned in close. “I’m very good at what I do,” he said.
“Alright, showtime fags,” Dan announced, flipping on the televisions one by one. Each appeared to be a hidden camera in an empty bathroom. “You’re all here because you fucked over someone I know in some way, shape, or form. The specifics don’t really matter, all you need to know is that you’re probably here forever, or at least until I decide to find some other torment for you. By the way,” Dan said, “it turns me on so hard to do this to you. I love this shit. I went to a great deal of trouble to make this secret little room happen, and it was 100% worth it because I’m going to be horny about this until the end of time.”
“This building opens tomorrow,” Dan continued. “My company built it, although there’s some details that don’t appear on the blueprints. This room is one of them.”
“Each of those toilets is a unique design. They’re waterless – they use a form of subsonic vibration paired with a non-stick surface to dispose of all waste deposited within. Press a button, whoosh, everything goes down the drain without a drop of water used. This also means they never need to be cleaned or scrubbed – totally unnecessary. Once the toilet shoots its load down the pipes, it passes through another secret part of the design. First, something like a garbage disposal blends it all into a thick, wet paste. Usually there’s enough piss mixed in to ensure a good consistency, but water can be mixed in if the automated sensors detect it’s too dry to be moved. Anyway, after this, a pump rockets it out of the disposal and down to just above this room, where it is radiated to kill bacteria and to make sure it is still warm. Every flush should be exactly 99.5 degrees when it exits the sterilization module. Guess where it goes next?”
I looked at my fellow captives with horror, though after Ryan said that Dan had given him all of his ideas, I guess I should have expected it.
“That’s right,” Dan said. “Each flush winds up warm and pumped down one of these three tubes. And the beauty is that you will never know which one. There are twenty-two toilets and fifty urinals in this building. Oh, yes, the urinals drain here too, although I expect you would have figured that out. But at any rate, the pumps are programmed to choose your tubes at random. Any toilet in this building – well, any toilet in the men’s rooms – can dump its load down any one of your throats.”
“The toilet paper, by the way, is also my own design. I offer it to the owners of the building at a rate much cheaper than anyone else possibly could. Fortunately it also dissolves into a flavorless mash that won’t alter the flavor or consistency of your toilet feedings in any way.”
“Now,” said Dan to the three of us, “would you like to know what this building is?”
One of the other guys nodded.
“This,” said Dan, “is the new sports and rec facility for The Citadel. There is a new gym for the cadets, a weight room, a track, a pool, a racquetball court, and a game room. There’s also some study space, though from what I understand they’re not really expecting the students to use that much – they have other places for it, too. Starting tomorrow, it’s open 20 hours per day, from 5AM to 1AM. They wanted to keep it open that long to accommodate the long days and difficult schedules the cadets keep, particularly since they’re planning to have the students use the gym as part of their requirements. I’m fuzzy on the details, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough.”
“G’night faggots,” Dan said as he and his assistants left the room. “Your new life starts tomorrow morning, at roughly 5AM. Hope you’re hungry!” And with that, he slammed the heavy door, with the sound of locks sealing it from the other side. I pissed myself and dreaded what was yet to come.
Part 14
I faded in and out of restless sleep that night. When I dreamed, it was a waking half-dream, hallucinations and permutations of reality wending through my vision.
If I lay on the floor it was reasonably comfortable, although the thick, rubber-like harness around my chest was unfamiliar and distracting, one of the many reasons I was prevented from drifting off completely. The seams on the strange diaper Dan had forced all of us to wear were also mildly uncomfortable. Not painful really, but the edges sat so close to the skin as to form what felt like an airtight seal. The other two guys in the room, neither of whom I knew or had a name for, they seemed exhausted enough to pass out fully. I think they had been here for some time before I arrived. I wondered about them. Had they gone through the hell I had before arriving? Although comparatively this was worse, the past few months had been a kind of torment too. Somehow though knowing that I would never be released from this room was easier than the constant anticipation of violation. Here the violation was just permanent, irremovable. Don’t confuse “easier” with “better,” of course. I was sure my existence at the bottom of the Citadel’s sports center’s sewer system was going to be far, far worse than what I’d already endured.
Time meandered.
I jolted awake from my half-sleep to the loud sound of a toilet seat being dropped. I looked around in bewilderment, still not used to my new home. I couldn’t tell where the sound had come from until I looked up at a screen in the far left corner from where I lay. The screen was angled tallways, and although I had no idea where they could possibly have hidden the cameras being used for this, they were clearly high-def and embedded somewhere in the stall door. I had seen them last night, but for some reason I hadn’t expected there to be sound. The result was that we had a close-up view inside each and every toilet stall to which we were connected. (The urinals, in contrast, were not a close up shot, but rather a view from about five feet above them, each bank of urinals taking up a single screen, rather than the individual screens devoted to each of the twenty-two men’s stalls in the building.)
A young blond guy in a white shirt and blue athletic shorts was getting ready to take the inaugural shit that would be run through the special plumbing that would pump it blended, sterile, and body temperature directly into one of our mouths. I realized I was thirsty – being imprisoned as we were there was no way to get any water. I assumed I would get plenty as sewage was pumped from the mens’ rooms into me.
The blond guy sniffed loudly as though his nose were stuffed up. He looked to be about nineteen or twenty, lean and muscular. All three of us watched as the shorts came down and he sat his bare ass down on the black toilet seat. I could see his cock hanging above the bowl, the camera had been angled so that was possible. He of course paid no attention to us, completely unaware that right now three grown ass men were being held captive and waiting in dread to see which of them would be forced to swallow his morning dump. He took a cell phone out of the band around his arm where it was held as a music player, the headphones connected to his ears. If you strained you could barely hear the sounds of his music emanating. He farted loudly and unselfconsciously, and we heard the sound of his piss spraying the bowl below him, perfectly synched to the video. A low bass thud as something landed in the bowl, and then another. Soon the piss tapered off and all I could hear was the small crackling sound of a moist but firm shit emerging from him. Then silence, he simply sat there, playing with his phone.
A moment later he slid it back into the armband and began wiping himself, dropping the TP wads atop the mound of shit presumably somewhere in the bottom of the bowl. (The video showed only so much.) The blond guy stood and pulled his shorts up, and after a moment, located a flush button. He pressed it and a low, barely audible rumbling sound emitted from the television. He watched in fascination as his waste slowly slid down Dan’s waterless toilet design, carried away down a permanently slick surface by vibrations alone.
Then the three of us waited in nervous anticipation. I could see one of my prisonmates look like he was going to vomit. I wasn’t sure what would happen to him if he did, there was no place for it to go except up the tube and then back down. It occurred to me for the first time that failure to swallow it could wind up with one of us choking to death. It was a dangerous game, but as a sadist Dan had played his cards well, relying on the natural survival instinct to work with his sewer rape. But if the guy threw up it might not matter what kind of survival instincts he had. I hoped for his sake he would be able to handle it. I already had enough experience to know how foul it tasted, but also how to swallow it nonetheless.
I could hear handwashing going on somewhere off-screen, presumably the blond guy was at the sinks and the camera was picking it up in the background. It was almost soundless when a think brown goop shot down the tube connected to my mouth, some sort of pneumatic pressure forcing it towards me. I couldn’t help staring at it, the clear tube mere inches from my face made it difficult not to. It was a rich wet brown the color of a hersheys bar.
The frat boys had forced me to consume their shit before I came here, but I wasn’t expected for the changes that came from Dan’s system. The blond boy’s shit was as warm as if it had just come straight from his ass, and having been blended during its journey, it had a consistency like a shit smoothie. It tasted horrible of course. I don’t know what that guy had been eating but it was stronger than what I’d grown used to, a little more bitter maybe, and the tang of morning piss permeating the entire mess. I swallowed anyway as the sticky glop pulsed into my mouth. There was no way to slow the pace, it came at a rate that was challenging to keep up with, but manageable. The fact that it had been blended with the guy’s piss made it easier to swallow quickly, there was no need for me to chew.
I felt a blast of air as the last of his shit pumped into my mouth, and then it shut off abruptly. It allowed me to slow down a little and take a breath. I knew from experience now that I was going to be tasting this shit for hours no matter how quickly I swallowed what was left, so I let it chill out there for a minute. I made eye contact with my cell mates. The guy who looked like he was going to barf before was crying and clearly trying not to.
Soon there was more activity on the screens. In two separate bathrooms guys were at urinals, both of them looking sleepy and sedate. It must still be early but there was no way to tell. The faint sound of pissing came through the sound system. This time however, it wasn’t I who had to handle it. Both loads of piss drained down the tube of the guy who had been crying, and he made a panicked look and gave a muffled cry as dark yellow urine plummeted into his mouth. I heard him gag, but to his credit he managed to swallow it. He was sweaty by the time he was done, and every few moments I could hear him gag again.
As for me, I felt bad for him but was soon too focused on myself to give him much thought. I had been here long enough that I finally needed to shit, and so I did. I don’t know if you’ve ever been forced to wear a diaper as an adult but it’s unpleasant. For one its humiliating, but also there’s something about sitting around with your own shit mashed between your asscheeks that is really uncomfortable. But I had no choice.
More than that though was that with this being the first day the building was open, the cadets were all showing up to check it out. And with so many people in the building, as you can guess, the mens rooms to which we were connected were filling up with more activity.
I turned to a noise behind me. About four feet away, two large screens showed guys in each stall. The screens were side by side, and apparently so too were the stalls, since they were having a conversation with each other. Both of them were in the uniforms marines wore on regular days, as opposed to the dress blues. Green shirt, camo pants, boots. One was a ginger guy, maybe 21? So hard to tell precise ages like that when you’re in your thirties. The other guy was tall, maybe 6’4,” black hair and bulging with muscles. I had no idea how to gauge how much he could lift but I wouldn’t want to fight him. I stared helplessly at the screens as they chatted with each other, each in turn dropping trou and sitting down.
An unexpected interruption came through the sound on their screens. A voice. Dan’s. “You like ‘em, faggot?” he asked, clearly talking to me. “I’ll make sure to direct them to you. Keep watching or I’ll direct ALL the plumbing to you for the rest of the day.” Click. I had no idea he could do that, I assumed it was all random. I kept my eyes glued to the screens, not wanting to give Dan a reason to make good on his threat. Somewhere behind me I was dimly aware that the other two were being threatened in a similar manner. But like I said, I was focused on myself at that moment, or I guess more accurately, the ginger and the muscles.
They were chatting about a Spanish class they were apparently both in, mundane stuff about the amount of homework and a female cadet they both found particularly attractive. The ginger was pissing while he said something complementary about her, I could see him pulling back the foreskin on his uncut dick to make it a cleaner piss for him. Meanwhile I could see Muscles grimacing while he strained to squeeze out a particularly difficult shit. The ginger on the other hand was having no problem. I could barely see in the darkness below his ass an easy flow of soft waste quietly snaking out of him.
“Dude, that smells so bad,” Muscles said to him. I heard a thunk as his shit hit the bowl. The ginger guy laughed.
“Yeah, sorry man,” was all he said. He finished wiping himself, but kept sitting there, waiting for his friend to finish. They kept on chatting until Muscles had finally finished up, only needing to wipe twice.
“Hey, how do you flush this thing?” he said to the ginger. “There’s no water.”
“Yeah, I forget how it works, too,” his friend replied while pulling up his camos. “I think you just hit a button, though.”
The big guy found his first. His pants and boxer briefs weren’t up over his ass yet when he paused, filling the screen with his bare asscrack. “Whoa,” he said to his buddy. “That’s badass! It just sort of jiggles it all down there.” The ginger was watching the toilet consume his mess, too, his ass also to the camera, albeit fully clothed.
“Damn dude, it’s clean too. Nothing left. I don’t know why but that’s strangely satisfying, I might have to come here every day to shit!” The meathead laughed as he finished pulling up his pants, and together they both exited their stalls.
But you already know what happens next. What looked like an unending flow of sewage descended down the plastic tube that emptied down my throat. The first half of it was a dark, dark brown, almost the color of potting soil. Gritty and not as strongly flavored as the first shit I’d had to eat that morning. But as that hot thick sludge pumped into my mouth, it transitioned into a lighter color, more the color of a maple finish. It had a spicy flavor. I mean it obviously still tasted like shit, but it had that capsaicin kick to it. I was guessing the first wave of sludge had been the dark haired kid’s dump, the spicy shit the redhead’s. It felt like an unending mess of nasty tasting slime filling my mouth, and I barely managed to keep up with the pace. But I did, I swallowed it all.
After consuming three dumps already, I felt overfull. I was ready for a break when I realized that even though I had thought I was done for the moment, a new mess was pumping down my tube. I looked around the room at the various screens, but I had no idea who had deposited this one. The other two guys had brown glop pulsing into their faces as well. It looked strangely alien, to see them tethered to the ceiling and forcefed this way. I must look the same to them.
As I struggled to swallow this new unwelcomed dump, I could see that once I finished eating it there was a fairly large amount of piss collecting on top of it. The transition was awful. I was overfed on shit to begin with by the time I finished swallowing, but the pressure change between the layer of shit and the pure liquid of the piss was unexpected. The piss shot down my throat from the air pressure behind it and I nearly choked. The benefit was that it basically pressure washed a lot of the shit out of my mouth.
Soon there was yet more piss draining down my tube, unpressurized this time. I looked on the screens and saw the amount of traffic in these rooms. It must be later in the morning, for it was almost the same kind of traffic you see in airport bathrooms. Not quite that bad, but more than you would expect from a university gym. The flow was constant. Various screens also showed that four different men were taking shits simultaneously, though none chatting like the previous two. They were individually staring vapidly off into space or playing on their phone. The sounds of guys shitting filled the room from various angles. I saw a latino guy with a slightly heavier build get up, after wiping, and soon after he left his stall a new mass of pressurized sewage was pumping into my mouth.
I had no idea how I was going to eat yet another load of sewage when I realized I was also shitting myself. My diaper filled up further, a little bit of pressure pulling at the edges of the seams. I could feel the soft mixture of shit from different guys, heavy in my stomach, slowly working its way through me. I don’t know how he did it because he never told us, but we don’t get overfilled. When a new mess of shit plunges down the tube, I find my body is making room on its own. This has its own discomforts.
By midday—or what I assumed was midday, I had no sense of time—I had swallowed at least a dozen separate dumps from various cadets, and I had shit myself nearly as many times. The diaper felt like it was going to burst, but true to his word, Dan was right. No leakage anywhere, nothing escaped. I don’t know how to describe the feeling. It was like my ass and dick were swimming in a pool of pressurized waste, but not so much that there wasn’t room for more. I could even sit down and it moved around to make room without leaking, kind of like how if you squeeze a balloon the air moves to other parts.
And this is my life now. The three of us have worked out a little sign language to communicate with each other so it’s not as lonely, but essentially the frat boys got their wish. I spend all day every day as a plumbing fixture, helpless to stop the endless flow of sewage draining from the rec center’s mens rooms. Sometimes I watch as a cadet pulls his pants down and takes a shit, soon to be a meal for me. Sometimes Dan comes through the speakers and makes me watch a particular guy feed me, unbeknownst to him. But truthfully most of the time I have no idea whose sewage it is that I’m swallowing.
The End
Tyler and Brown Hair were just moments away from trying to round up another one of their frat brothers to make use of the contraption that they had locked me in, when this guy walked right into the bathroom from the hall. I couldn’t turn my head to look directly at him, but I could kind of see him from the corner of my eye. He wasn’t an imposing guy – maybe 5’8” with short blond hair and an athlete’s build, dressed in sweat pants and a t-shirt with the school’s name on it, still wearing a grey and neon green Under Armour backpack as though he had just gotten home from somewhere. Probably somewhere around 19 years old. Half the guys in the room let out an excited “hey!” while the other guys greeting him with “Ben!” which I guess was his name.
“What the fuck is that?” Ben asked pointing at me. “He looks like a freaking duck.”
The guys all laughed and Ryan explained again what it was and how it worked. “You gotta go?” Ryan asked him. “He’s still got another two hours and ten minutes in the box.”
“Well, I really only planned to take a piss,” Ben said, “but I guess I could probably take a shit too since it looks like you went to a lot of trouble here.”
“Attaboy,” Ryan said, shooting me a sadistic look with his eyes.
While he might not have been as imposing of a figure as Tyler or Sean or even Brown Hair, being completely unable to escape my “penalty box” still made me his bitch. In some ways the current bondage was less restrictive than the party toilets had been – my hands and legs were free inside the box, so I wasn’t cramping up as badly – but on the other hand, I now had that chastity device around my dick with that tiny padlock that only Tyler and Ryan had the keys to. And even if my hands and legs were free, my head was not, and any guy who walked in was totally able to make my mouth his toilet without any possibility of resistance from me.
Ben took off his backpack and propped it up against the double sinks near the door, striding up to the bowl affixed to my face. He stepped onto the footrest to get a better angle, and from where I sat trapped he looked like a giant. He left the seat down but pulled down the front of his sweat pants and under armour boxer briefs, tugging his dick out and pointing it towards me. He indicated no emotion with his face, but he locked eyes with me as he let loose a warm stream of yellow piss. It gushed into my mouth, picking up residue leftover from Sean’s shit, and I drank it down as quickly as I could. In his gaze I could see that Ben wanted to watch me swallow it, that in some way he was enjoying having the power to make me do it. It hadn’t surprised me to discover that Ryan and Tyler had their own sadistic sides—we all know guys who just carry that below the surface. What did surprise me was that all of these frat boys seemed to have that kind of sadism going on; if I had run into him on campus, I would never have picked this Ben guy out as a kid who would enjoy degrading another man, inflicting arbitrary punishment on a total stranger. But with our eyes locked, me drinking down what seemed to be an endless supply of his concentrated piss, I knew that was exactly who he was. An odd moment for philosophical reflection, I know, but trapped in that box I couldn’t help wondering if humans are all programmed to embrace hierarchy, if maybe that’s what this was all about. Maybe that could explain why all these guys were so eager to forcibly turn me into their toilet – it was just human nature pushed to the extreme, distilled into its rawest form: an innocent looking blond kid subjecting me to himself for no reason other than that he could.
The philosophizing ended as his piss carried a small chunk of Sean’s prior dump into my mouth and I fought to suppress my gag reflex as I swallowed it. Ben just kept going and going, and even one of the other guys in the room let out a “damn dude,” in response to the volume of it. It was hot and salty and strongly flavored, and before long it tapered off, dwindling down into a trickle.
The other guys in the room made small talk with each other as they watched the show, fascinated by the depravity of it all. Ben wadded up some toilet paper and wiped the stray piss drops from the toilet seat he had left down, then dropped the paper in the basket they had put next to me. A moment later and it was showtime. He turned himself around while still standing on the footstool, and I watched as he pulled down his grey sweatpants and the underwear with it, showing me his round butt dusted with fine blond hair. He slowly sat down on the seat, making sure I got a good look at the ass that would be feeding me my next meal.
As with Sean, the only thing I was now able to see was him sitting on the can. Directly in front of my face, inches from me, I could see his asscheeks spread and pressed into the seat, the bottom hem of his t-shirt ending an inch above the top of his crack. I raised my eyes up and observed the details of his back: a bit of black fuzz stuck to the t-shirt, the way his hair looked at the back of his head. Of course there was nothing else that I even could see, what with the position I was in.
A moment later it began. I heard what was now becoming the familiar crackling sound of a guy’s asshole stretching to deliver its disgusting payload into my waiting mouth. Ben grunted a little, I could see his muscles twitch slightly as he pushed down on it. Ten seconds later there was a thunk! as a dense log broke free from his ass and dropped into the bowl. He sat there for a moment, and soon another thunk followed, with a second piece descending. None of it made its way into my mouth, but remained mere inches from it on the other side of the pipe. That was fine—I wasn’t exactly eager to eat it. A third and final thunk dropped in, and Ben seemed satisfied; a moment later, he was wiping himself. One swipe was enough for him, it was a clean shit.
He stood up and pulled up his pants, stepping off the stool. He looked down at his creation, waiting there in front of me somewhere beyond my own field of vision. He locked eyes with me again as he picked up the tool Ryan had demonstrated earlier. I knew everyone else was watching him too, but at that moment the energy was mostly between the two of us as he stuck the shit scraper into the bowl and started pushing it towards me. The end of a heavy log slid over the end of my tongue, and while at first the taste was milder than the nasty crap that Sean and Ryan had just fed me, I also realized I was going to have to chew this one up completely. I was attempting to bite into the shit that Ben had just edged into my mouth, but he kept pushing past what I could reasonably manage. He was determined to get the entire log into my mouth at once, and the end of it hit the back of my throat as he kept pushing it in, his eyes locked with mine. I anxiously tried to reposition it with my tongue, and with a lot of pressure I managed to break it in half, pushing one part of it into my right cheek while the second half continued to invade my face. As he finished pushing it all in, I angled the second half into the left cheek, and the entirety of my mouth filled with his comparatively dry shit. While it hadn’t yet been an issue, the rubber of the mask was tight against my face – Ryan had wanted it that way in order to form a perfect seal, so that I couldn’t escape consuming any part of what they fed me – but now the tightness also meant that I couldn’t store the excess shit in my cheeks like a chipmunk. There was some small amount of give, but the pressure was tight.
About this time I also realized that after all the piss I had drank that night, I now needed to relieve myself as well. I tried to put it out of my mind and focus on the task at hand—eating Ben’s shit—but the extra liquids he had just graced me with were starting to make me feel desperate.
I bit into the bitter chunks of his shitlog with which my mouth was overfilled. It was slow going and dense like warm clay. My mouth salivated copiously, automatically attempting to liquefy the nastiness I had to finish consuming. I chewed and chewed, but it was hard work to do with so much in there at once. I started to choke on it, which elicited a smug smirk from Ben. In the choking, however, I lost focus on holding in my piss, and it started to spray out the end of the silicone prison that encased my dick, flowing down my left calf and pooling around my ass and feet. I kept chewing while I pissed myself, and managed to get down the first swallowable bite as my piss (still going!) began to leak underneath the door of the penalty box, dripping onto the floor of the fraternity bathroom.
“Fucking shit man, the faggot just got piss on my shoes!” Ben said as he jumped back, dropping the scraper into the bowl. I looked at him with panic in my eyes, not knowing what this was going to mean for me.
“Ah shit, I didn’t think about that,” Ryan said, surprisingly calm about it. “Hey Aaron,” he said turning to Brown Hair (finally, a name!), “do you think you can run down to the kitchen and grab his jeans? They’re on the floor near the trash can.”
“Yeah man,” he said to him, “just one sec.” Aaron left to retrieve my pants, though I wasn’t sure why, and in no position to ask, what with my mouth still full of Ben’s shit and encased within a rubber toilet.
“Alright fag,” he said to me, “that wasn’t a good move on your part. I’m adding an extra hour and a half to your time in the penalty box. Looks like you’re getting out of here a little after midnight now. From now on, you should probably plan ahead time-wise – I promised you we’d let you keep up with your own work, but at the same time I’m sure you understand the situation you’re putting us in when you piss all over our bathroom floor. You give us no choice but to add on to your time in the box.”
Fuck, I thought to myself as I bit into Ben’s shit again. For obvious reasons, more time in the box was not welcome news. I swallowed another bite. My mouth was only two-thirds full with Ben’s shit now, but I was deeply aware that there was still more waiting me after I finished what was in my mouth. Another swallow and I was at half full, about the same time that Aaron jogged in with my jeans.
“Thanks man,” Ryan said as he took them from Aaron, throwing them on the floor in front of the box. He stepped on them and used his foot to mop up the tiles with my pants. “Looks like you’re going to have a wet walk home tonight,” Ryan said to me as he unfastened the door to my penalty box. More liquid dripped out the front onto my pants, and Ryan grabbed them by one of the few dry spots left. He ran them along the bottom edge of the outside before stuffing them into my prison with me, stretching them out like a fabric levy. “Alright faggot, you can piss yourself as much as you want to now. But remember that whatever you let dribble out of your tiny little dick is what you’re wearing home later on.” And with that, he closed the door back up, returning me to my full captivity.
Meanwhile, Ben had gotten over the fact that I had gotten piss on his shoes and had grabbed the scraper out of the toilet again. I wasn’t quite finished with eating the first half of his dump when he started shoveling more in. I raced to swallow a little more before another hard log violated my mouth. “No chewing,” Ben said to me, again locking eyes. About three and a half inches of a dense, heavy chunk rested on my tongue. “Let it sit there,” he told me.
I obeyed. He let the scraper drop back into the bowl, and leaned back against the shower doors. All the guys in the room watched me as I sat there and did nothing. The shit in my mouth started to slime up as my saliva glands turned it into brown slobber. Ryan and Tyler both had their own shiteating grins on their faces – figuratively, of course. It was clear that I was the only one in the room who was actually capable of having a literal shiteating grin, and then only if they freed me from the plumbing that occupied my face.
After a couple minutes of making me hold his crap in my mouth, Ben finally said “okay, you can chew my shit up now.” I began biting into the now slimy lump, grinding it up into a nasty paste. I swallowed a chunk and Ben looked amused. I kept chewing and finally managed to get the entirety of it down.
“Alright bitch,” he said, “last one!” he picked up the scraper and manoeuvred the last chunk of his dump down the short length of the pipe that ran into my mouth. I started chewing as soon as it entered, eager to be done with it. I had already consumed two large shits from Ryan and Sean, and Ben’s now made a third – my stomach was satiated with their sewage, and it felt gross stewing down there. The last piece was the smallest of Ben’s crap, and it took less time to get through it. I finished and swallowed, letting my jaw finally come to a rest.
Ben kept looking at me and smirked. He began clapping a round of applause for me, and said “congratulations! You’re great at that. Best shiteater I’ve ever seen! As a special reward, I’ll make sure to save another one for you the next time you’re scheduled to come over.”
However innocent he may have looked before, this 19 year old kid certainly didn’t seem that way anymore. Fuck, was this going to be my life now? I never saw this coming.
Part 9
It's been awhile since I posted an entry. I needed some time away from this for a bit, but here's a new chapter. I have no idea when/if the next one will appear, but if I get inspired it'll happen.
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The last time I had been to the frat house had been miserable. Ryan must be rich, based on the amount of money he had socked into tools to torment me. They had locked me into a chastity device to which I had no key, so I could now either suffer in heat, unable to masturbate or even get hard, or try to break it off and risk really hurting myself. Neither was something I wanted. After setting me to chores they had locked me in a penalty box with a custom-made toilet seat that allowed them to basically lock me in a box and transform me into their personal toilet.
Tyler had released me around 12:30 that night and sent me home in my pants, soaked with the piss they’d mopped off the floor with them with instructions to clear my schedule for all day Sunday.
Sunday came, and, with the amount of leverage they had over me, I was forced to once again show up at their frat house. I went to the back door and knocked, and Sean let me in. Remembering the rules they had given me, after entering, I promptly dropped to my knees and kissed Sean’s ass. “Good faggot,” was all he said in response.
The place was pretty quiet and somewhat messy. The kitchen was full of plastic cups and used plates. The trash was overfilled with pizza boxes crammed behind the can.
“Nobody you know is up yet,” Sean said to me, “and I’m about to go to work. But Ryan left you something to start working on.” I followed Sean around the corner. There was an empty bucket and a pile of sneakers, about eight or nine pairs. Most of them had dried mud and grass stains on them, and there was a note inside the bucket. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said as he walked away.
“Hey faggot,” the note began. “If you’re reading this, then I’m not up yet and you are not to disturb me. As you can see, me and the brothers have some shoes that need cleaning. Fill the bucket and get to work. Strip down and use your underwear as a rag. –R.”
I figured it was better to get started; delay could mean consequences and thus far they’d been pretty good at finding new ways to make my life suck. I took the bucket into the kitchen and filled it with hot water, then finally stripped off my pants, shirt, and underwear. Kneeling naked on the frat house floor, I was acutely aware of my cock’s visibility, locked in its tiny plastic cage.
I started in on a pair of blue and green nikes that weren’t too bad. I figured it would be easier to start with the cleaner ones and work up to the filthy ones. I scrubbed shoes for about twenty minutes, watching my boxer briefs wear out under their repurposed use. I was about halfway done when a guy I’d never seen before wandered down the hall where I knelt. I didn’t recognize him, but he seemed nonplussed by a naked man doing housework, so he must be aware of me and my…well, for lack of a better word, my slavery.
“You know the rules, faggot,” he said to me as he got close. He turned around and gave me access to kiss his ass. I leaned in and pressed my lips against the seat of his red basketball shorts. Satisfied, he walked past me and into the kitchen, where I could hear him rummaging for food.
About ten minutes later, Ryan appeared, still groggy. He silently let me kiss his ass, and then told me to put the shoes down and make him some coffee. I followed him into the kitchen and he gestured toward the pot while he sat at the table and played on his phone. Once the pot was brewing, I went back to cleaning the shoes.
Not long later, he appeared again. I was struggling to get the stains off of a pair of white asics, but I was almost done with the task. “When you’re done with that,” he grumbled, “clean up the kitchen. Then come find me.” At least housework wasn’t as miserable as toilet service.
I finally finished the shoes around 11am, discarded my now ruined underwear into the bucket of water, and set to work cleaning up the kitchen. The plastic cups I threw out, the plates I put in the dishwasher, and I was wiping down the counters when Tyler showed up. “Ah, good to see you’re being useful,” he said to me, slapping my butt hard enough to make me buck forward. I rubbed the painful red handprint he left and then knelt down to kiss his ass. “Oh yeah, forgot about that,” he said. “Well get in there!” With that, he yanked down his shorts and underwear, revealing a musky blond asscrack. I leaned in and felt the humid warmth coming off of it. “All the way in,” he coached. My face grazed his fuzzy cheeks and I placed my lips about an inch above his asshole and puckered.
“No fag, you missed it. I said get in there!” Tyler grabbed the back of my head and pressed down, while simultaneously thrusting his ass against my face. I disappeared into the depths of his crack, and my lips pressed against his hole. I kissed it, and it was an odd sensation. After I had, he released his grip and pulled his shorts back up. “Better,” he said. “You can finish cleaning up the kitchen now.” He went about his business as though I wasn’t there, pouring himself a cup of coffee and fixing himself a sandwich.
Finally, the kitchen was clean except for the trash that needed to be taken out, though I wasn’t sure where their cans were. “I’m sorry,” I said to Tyler. “Where does the trash go when it goes out?”
He looked up at me. “It’s around the side of the house,” he said. “But you can’t go out there naked. Someone might see you. Ryan’s got something for you down in his room though, head down there first.” He gave me brief directions and I set out to find his room.
Timidly, I made my way upstairs and down the corridor. It felt weird being here, like I was in some kind of foreign, forbidden place. I finally found Ryan’s room and knocked. “Come in!” he yelled through the door.
I entered and was shocked to find him watching porn and stroking himself. “Good timing, fag,” he said to me. “I don’t do it with guys, but you’re about to save me some cleanup. Get over here.” I walked over to his bed and he stood up, leaving his laptop on the covers.
“Get down,” he said to me, and I knelt. He pushed me up against his bed and kept his eyes on the screen. “Open your mouth,” he said, “and don’t fucking touch me.”
Ryan watched a video of some guy with two blonde girls and pretended like I wasn’t there. I was pressed against his bed, mouth open, while he furiously pounded his dick in front of me. I heard him gasping for a few seconds, the tempo of his hand changing, and a moment later his dick splattered a thick ooze. The first squirt shot near my eye, dripping down the right side of my face. The other shots all landed right in my mouth or near it. I had never tasted jizz before. It was hot and salty, with a vague chlorine scent to it. Cum dribbled across my lips and down my chin, and Ryan sighed a deep breath.
“Fuck man,” he said, “now you really are a fag.” He laughed a little to see his cum on my face. “That’s nasty as hell,” he said. “Now what do you want?”
I tried to talk but my mouth was thick with jizz, and I had to swallow it before I could speak. Ryan noticed and thought it was hilarious. Finally I was able to get out, “Tyler said I couldn’t take the trash out naked and that I should come find you.”
Ryan laughed, “yeah fag, good call.” He walked across the room and dug into the back of his closet. He emerged with a white plastic rectangle in his hand, but I couldn’t make out what it was. “Remember when you pissed all over our floor last time? Well we thought of a solution, and since you’re next stop is the penalty box anyway, you might as well get dressed for it. Put this on, motherfucker,” and he tossed the thing at me like a Frisbee.
I caught it, and with it in my hands, I suddenly understood what it was. He threw a diaper at me. It had been humiliating to be seen naked, wearing a plastic chastity cage around their frat house, but this? They had taken it to a whole new level. A choice between wearing a diaper and being naked while visibly owned, I would take the naked while visibly owned any day. But I knew there was no getting out of it, and Ryan knew it too. I could see the sadistic glee in his eyes as he watched me step into the shiny plastic thing, taping the sides up so it was secure.
“Oh my god,” he said, “that’s fucking great.” And he snapped a picture with his phone. “Go show Tyler!” he said. “Wait, no, wait a second,” he added. He yanked a cheap plastic box out from underneath his bed, and rummaged through what appeared to be an assortment of junk. He settled on a small tube of what, when he removed the cap, was clearly superglue. “Come here,” he said to me, and I obeyed. He gently peeled back the tabs on the diaper and added a string of glue to them, before replacing them a little snugger than I had originally done them up. In a few moments, he had finished them all. “Stand totally still,” he told me, and I did my best to remain motionless as the taste of his cum continued to trickle down my tongue.
After he was sufficiently confident that the glue had dried, he sent me back to Tyler.
Humiliated, I made my way back down the corridor, downstairs, and to the kitchen. Tyler broke into laughter when he saw me standing there in just the diaper. “Oh my god,” he said, “Ryan was totally right. You’re fucking wearing that from now on!” He kept laughing. “Hold on,” he said and stood up, digging into a drawer under the counter. “Get on all fours and stick your ass in the air.” I did as I was told, without words. Behind me, I could feel the pressure of his hand on my padded ass, and the smell of permanent marker. I guess he was writing or drawing something on my diaper. Whatever it was, I couldn’t see.
“Alright,” he said, “you can take out the trash.” No idea what he wrote, but I figured it was probably better that way. It was harder to move with it on. I grabbed the bag and the boxes, took a deep breath, and made my journey outside to find the cans.
It took a minute, but eventually I was finished with the task, and back in the house. I don’t think anybody saw me out there.
“Alright fag,” Tyler said. “You’re done with work for now, so time to get in your box. You’re still in trouble for pissing on the floor last time.” He led me upstairs and into the bathroom. The gear was all still there, just as it had been when I left. Resigned to my fate, I cooperated as Tyler cuffed my hands together and unceremoniously pushed me into the disassembled box. He picked up the missing half of the top and slid it in, trapping my head in place. He took a small padlock and attached the cuffs to a ring in the top of the box – a new edition. I could no longer drop my hands down to waist level, but they dangled from the top of the box instead. Tyler locked the cabinet door. I opened my mouth as he swung the toilet seat into place, though right before he could attach it, I managed to ask “how long?”
That was all I got out before he shoved the tube past my lips and into my mouth, securing the gag portion around the back of my head. “Don’t worry about it,” he told me, “I’ll let you know when you’re done.” Once again, I found myself inescapably imprisoned as a frat toilet, a thick rubber tube transforming my face into one part of a sewer. The tightness guaranteed that no drips would be permitted to leave my mouth, that everything ushered down the pipe would either be swallowed or would stew on my tongue. And of course the diaper Ryan had superglued shut would keep their floor unspoiled by wayward piss.
I want to be clear that if it seems like I was too obedient, too eager to cooperate, it was solely because of what they had on me. Because I knew at this point that resistance was useless, and that they would get what they wanted out of me regardless of what I wanted. That was the arrangement here. If it looked like cooperation, that appearance was illusory.
Initially there was less traffic than the first time they had strapped me in here. They had been excited about Ryan’s new custom made equipment, and so they had crowded in to watch it in action. This time was different. I sat alone in a dark bathroom, bound inside a box, with a toilet seat protruding from my face. It was silent except for the sound of my own breathing.
Eventually a guy I’d never seen stumbled into the room, leaving the lights off. (How many guys were in this frat?) He was clearly hungover, and he said nothing to me. He merely lifted the seat up, obscuring my vision, and released a heavy, acrid torrent of piss into the bowl. I heard him spit into it as well, but the concentrated urine was powerful enough that spit was too subtle a flavor to discern. I swallowed it quickly as it cascaded down my throat. It tapered off, and he left as silently as he had entered. The aftertaste was almost as foul as the original.
Another twenty minutes passed in silence, in the dark bathroom barely illuminated by the hallway light peeping through the ajar door. Not that I could see anything beyond peripherals with the seat up. But soon enough that would change.
I heard the hinges creak and my eyes winced as someone flipped on the bathroom lights before closing the door behind them. I had no way of knowing who it was and my eyes hadn’t adjusted to the sudden lighting change when the seat dropped down. I felt the bowl pull me forward slightly as some guy seated himself in front of me, with the support cables taking most of his weight. My eyes adjusted, but from this angle it was impossible to tell who it was. I looked up his back. Light brown hair, closely cut. A old green t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and the number 27 printed on the back in yellow. I could barely make out the name on it, and it was unhelpful for identification: “Big Lion.” Some kind of team nickname, I assumed. Muscular triceps graced each side of him, with an unreadable black tattoo on the right. And of course where the t-shirt stopped was a bare ass, spread inches away from my nose. I heard the sound of him playing some game on his phone.
A stream of piss sloshed down the bowl and into my waiting maw, followed by a slow fart. It was putrid, and I became apprehensive about whatever nastiness he was going to feed me. The wait wasn’t long. I heard his asshole open up as a soft dump sprang forth. The first parts dropped into the shallow bowl, resting at the edge of the tube. The first part slid backwards onto my tongue as it slowly hydroplaned across the slowing stream of piss. It was thick and soft and not quite as bad as it smelled. Not that it was pleasure for me; far from it. It tasted like shit: slick on the outside and bitter as I mashed it with my tongue. He said nothing to me as his morning waste snaked its way down my throat.
Shortly after his piss stopped, the shit stopped sliding into my mouth as well. He wasn’t finished, of course. Another three minutes passed as he emptied his ass into the bowl, me waiting patiently for the inevitable. Finally he started wiping, tossing the paper into the conventional toilet directly in front of me. How did all of these guys I’d never met know the procedure so well? Did they have some kind of newsletter that they emailed around? “TKE News – Ryan and Brett to enjoy another year on the university soccer team. Greek Life calendar on page two. Oh, and if you’re going to shit in the house fag’s mouth, be sure to throw the TP elsewhere because we’re not trying to murder him.” At any rate, I guess I was glad that I didn’t have to consume that, too.
Finally Big Lion stood up and pulled his pants back up. He raised the seat again, and retrieved the scraper from its container next to the toilet. Once again I was blind as the equipment obscured my vision, and I heard the sound of heavy rubber on rubber, followed by the sudden rush of moist shit into my mouth. One second my mouth was empty and the next a gigantic mass of man shit weighed down my tongue. Big Lion’s crap was nasty, but I chewed as quickly as possible – the sooner I finished, the sooner I could stop tasting it so strongly. The taste wouldn’t go away, of course, but it would fade. It was hard to keep up though – I guess that newsletter had nothing in it about pace. I choked as Big Lion shoveled a giant log in on top of the sticky pile already filling my mouth. I filled my cheeks with it in order to make room, trying not to choke, but soon I was swallowing unchewed chunks of it just to keep up. My mouth was crammed to capacity to the point that I could no longer chew, when I heard the scraper return to its home. I did my best to work my jaw as much as possible, but it was slow going. If I didn’t go too quickly I could get down little bits without choking, but if I were to try and bite down the bulk of it would fill my throat.
The lights went out as Big Lion departed, leaving me to finish eating his morning dump in the dark. I was so focused on getting it down without choking that I barely noticed that my building bladder pressure had decided to release itself without my notice. A warmth spread through my crotch and down my taint as the diaper I’d been forced to wear absorbed it all. The sensation registered in my mind, but like I said, I was too focused on finishing Big Lion’s shit to pay it much attention. Gradually I worked the giant mess down to a more manageable amount, with my cheeks still full, but finally able to chew and swallow again. Another minute or two and I had finished even the shit which I had stuffed in my cheeks. So I sat there quietly, the foul aftertaste lingering in my mouth, in the dark, with my junk wrapped in my own warm piss.
Part 10
I was starting to get somewhat used to the taste of shit, but Big Lion’s morning dump lingered in my throat. My mouth felt slick with the residue left after swallowing down the bulk, and the aftertaste was sharp.
So far, my experience with my frat captors had taught me that they pissed way more than they shit, and I found myself hoping that someone might come relieve themselves in order to wash the flavor out. It was probably the first time I had ever wanted a guy to piss in my mouth. Not that I wouldn’t have preferred a glass of water and a bottle of scope, but you take what you can get.
I waited. There was nothing else to do; it was almost meditative. Big Lion had shut off the lights when he left the bathroom, and he had also raised the seat which blocked my vision. I shut my eyes and focused on my other senses. Inside the penalty box it was warm and humid, and my arms were aching from the position they were locked in. I was still trapped in the diaper Ryan had superglued shut, and I could feel the plastic of the chastity device flush against my junk. I had already wet the diaper and it was a little uncomfortable, but not terribly so. I still wondered what it was Tyler had written on the ass of it in the kitchen. Down the hall, I could hear guys moving about, but none of it seemed to concern me.
I waited in the dark. Fifteen minutes passed, and I did my best to muck out the corners of my mouth with my tongue. Finally, someone came in and flipped on the lights. Of course the seat prevented me from seeing anything clearly. Some article of red clothing in the peripheral was all I could make out, and whichever frat boy it was said nothing to me. A moment passed and I could hear the sound of piss hitting the rubber bowl that drained into my mouth.
I had been expecting his piss to clear out the taste of Lion’s shit, but I hadn’t really thought it through. The bowl was still filthy from his dump and as the urine cascaded down my toilet gag, it washed the remnants along with it. The shit-infused urine just magnified the flavor, if anything. The guy in front of me finished up and left, wordlessly flipping off the lights again on his way out.
A couple minutes later, the scene repeated itself: lights on, unidentifiable guy takes a piss, I taste the shit again, and he leaves. More guys were up and awake now, and I found the bathroom traffic picking up. Fortunately each new batch of piss came back with less and less shit, and after six or seven guys, I was finally only tasting the flavor of urine.
The flipside, of course, was that you can’t drink the piss of nearly a dozen guys without needing to go yourself. I felt the pressure building up in my own bladder. There wasn’t much reason to hold it though, I guess, since they had diapered me up for exactly this reason. Besides, Tyler had implied that I was going to be in here for awhile, so there was no real benefit to making myself uncomfortable. I let it go, and felt the diaper flood with piss, soaking in around the edges of my thighs and slightly down my asscrack. It had already been damp from when I had done this earlier, but now it felt downright soggy. Maybe pissing myself had been a bad idea.
A couple minutes later, the lights flipped on again and I prepared myself to drink dude piss once again. Not my luck, though. The seat came down on the contraption they had put me in, and there stood Ryan looking down at me.
“It’s lunchtime, fag!” he said to me grinning. “Hope you’re hungry! I’ve got some leftover ramen for you.” He turned around and pulled down his shorts and boxer briefs, and his bare ass occupied my field of vision. “Well, not exactly leftover,” he said as he sat down, cheeks spreading over the bowl. “More like ‘gently used.’ I’ve got some gently used ramen for you.”
A moment later, a swift river of piss gushed down the bowl and into my mouth. A putrid smell wafted silently up from the bowl, and I knew this was going to be a bad one. Not that there were any good shits, but some were worse than others. There was a “thunk!” sound and my forced feeding began as a single, walnut-sized chunk of shit rolled onto my tongue. It was dense and dryer than Big Lion’s had been, and I had a little trouble wedging it in between my teeth to bite into it. The gag part of my toilet prison allowed me just enough room to do a small amount of chewing, but not enough room to open up very far. The sole purpose of leaving me that amount of room was in order to give me enough space to actually consume their crap without giving me enough freedom to speak or spit something out. Normally it was enough, but with the more condensed shits, it was sometimes challenging to actually manouvre.
I succeeded in biting down on Ryan’s turd and a bitter, salty flavor hit my tongue. It was twice as bad as Big Lion’s had been, and I very nearly threw up. Ryan heard me gagging and started laughing, the vibrations of his laughter reverberating through the gag into my face. “Don’t worry,” he said to me, “I got plenty more for ya!” He wasn’t lying. There was a crackling sound as his ass opened up, and although I couldn’t see it, I felt a massive log drop into the bowl a moment later. It was soon followed by another, and then the sound of smaller bits coming down after it. Fuck, this was going to suck.
I had finished the only part of it to roll into my mouth on its own, and now I was simply waiting for the inevitable moment when Ryan would pick up the scraper and shovel the rest into my mouth. I watched him from behind as he reached for toilet paper, and then shoved it down between his legs, wiping his ass with it. Knowing that I wasn’t particularly happy with what he was feeding me, he found yet one more way to torment me. I watched him stand up, toilet paper still in hand, and he turned around to look at me. Grinning that sadistic fucking grin he had, he leaned over and brought the TP towards my head. Instinctively I tried to back away from it, but my head was trapped in place and there was nothing I could do. He brought it to my face and gently-but-firmly wiped a streak of shit on my upper lip, just under my nose. The paper came away, but the smell didn’t. I was going to be breathing his shit all day.
He tossed the paper in the other toilet and set about the task of feeding me the rest of his dump. Locking eyes with me, he shoved the scraper into the bowl, and nudged the first log down the plumbing. His dense, heavy shit slid across my tongue, and I worked to break it in half with my tongue. He never looked away, and I felt a new sense of humiliation, the kind that only he could instigate. He might not be yanking his dick right now, which made some sense since he identified as straight, but on some level he was clearly getting off on forcing me to eat his shit. I could see it, the sadistic pleasure he drew from this power over me.
Almost as if to read my mind, he spoke to me. “I’ve got something else for you later,” he said ominously. “But it’s a surprise.” I sweat a little at this.
The next moments, you can imagine. It took about ten minutes, but Ryan watched me eat every last bit of his shit. It was foul and I gagged multiple times, but in the end, it happened. He got his way, and I got an aching stomach crammed and overfull with the sewage remains of these frat boys.
After Ryan finally left, a couple more hours passed for me in the penalty box. I drank the piss of ten more guys (I think, I lost count), and both Tyler and Jason made me eat their shit. I felt nauseated, but it was far outside of my control to shut it off. None of this was what I wanted to be doing.
It was late afternoon when Ryan sauntered into the bathroom again, with Sean and some guy I’d never seen before in tow. I gathered that Sean must have come back home from work, but I had no idea who this other guy was. He looked a little older than the frat boys, maybe 25-28? In decent shape, and with similar features to Sean’s.
“I told you I had a surprise for you, fag,” Ryan said. “This is Michael, he’s a graduated brother. Lived in the house a few years back.”
“Pleased to meet ya, fag,” he said to me. Obviously, I said nothing.
Ryan continued on. “You know, Michael had some hidden talents, and Sean reminded us of one of them just last night. What was it again Sean?”
“Oh, it was hypnotism, Ryan!” he said back, playing along with the taunting presentation. I made no acknowledgement. This was the surprise? I was a little relieved. I had no confidence that his hypnotism would work. After all, what is it they say? You can’t hypnotize someone who doesn’t really believe in it, and you can’t use it to make someone do something they wouldn’t normally consider doing? At least that’s what I’d always heard.
Ryan looked me in the eyes. “I can see you don’t think it’s going to do anything,” he said to me. I guess he knew me better than I thought. “That’s fine,” Ryan said to me, “it doesn’t really matter if you think it’ll work or not. We got ya covered.”
Michael pulled out an old pocketwatch on a chain. Jesus, this couldn’t be any more cliché. A pocketwatch? He might as well yank a string of brightly-colored handkerchiefs out of his sleeve and a flower button that squirts seltzer water. It was risible.
Michael smirked with a sadism a shade lighter than Ryan’s, but sadism nonetheless. “Forget what you’ve heard, shitbreath” he said to me, getting close to my face. “It actually does work whether you want it to or not.”
It actually occurred to me then that everything I knew of hypnotism was based on hearsay and television. What if he was telling me the truth?
Michael placed a barstool directly in front of me and sat down on it. The watch on the chain came out, and he began the metronomic swaying of it back and forth, a ritual I had seen reproduced in hundreds of Warner Brothers cartoons. I thought about looking away, but for some reason I didn’t.
Back. Forth. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. The watch swung for an eternity. I faded in and out. My surroundings became muted somehow, my attention span frayed and broken. And soon I was out of it.
Michael spoke, and I heard it distantly, as though I were submerged in a swimming pool and the words were being spoken from above. I heard them but thought nothing about them. They were for me, but did not belong to me, and so they were not my words to think about. But here is what he spoke.
“You are this fraternity’s personal toilet. Each day, you are to remind yourself of this at least twice. This is unchangeable.”
“Each time a man shits in your mouth, you will experience it in detail. You hate the taste of shit. But each time you eat shit, you will taste it fully. You will compare it to other times you have eaten shit, and you will think about how it tastes. You hate the taste of shit and you will never learn to enjoy it. Even though you hate the taste, you will still eat every part of it. That is what toilets do, and you are this fraternity’s personal toilet.”
“You are a one-way toilet. Even though you hate the taste of shit, you will not gag or vomit. You will swallow it all down, even if you are full. You will not be a toilet that backs up: you will not vomit. If you get too full, you will push it through your digestive system faster. When you are serving as a toilet, you will always shit yourself before you even consider throwing up. You are a toilet, but you are not a toilet that backs up.”
“There are several words that you are to memorize but never think about. These words are ‘bears,’ ‘penguins,’ ‘iodine,’ and ‘pork chops.” Repeat those words in your mind. Bears. Penguins. Beer. Pork chops. Whenever you hear a man say one of those words, you will empty your bowels and bladder. If a man says bears, penguins, beer, or pork chops, you will shit and piss yourself. These are magic words and they have power over you. You will not think about these words, but you will recognize them and relieve yourself when you hear them.”
“You may or may not be summoned back to this house. But you will feel compelled to come, even if you are not summoned. You are the fraternity’s toilet and you belong in this box. Even though you hate the taste of shit, you will crave it. If more than a few days pass, you will feel driven to return here, because you know you are the fraternity’s toilet.”
Michael stood up from the stool, and kept the watch swinging back and forth.
A few moments passed and I felt like I was coming back to earth. This guy who looked like Sean was standing in front of me, and he appeared to be putting an old fashioned watch back in his jeans pocket. I felt like I knew him, like we had spoken, but I couldn’t remember what about. It was there, it was just beyond my grasp. I quit trying to remember.
I also couldn’t remember why the door to my penalty box was open. It had been closed a moment before. I was of course still locked in bondage, my hands cuffed to the roof of the box, and a wet diaper superglued shut around my waist. I’d probably have to cut that off with a knife when I finally got home.
These guys were watching me inside the box and I was puzzled by it. What were they doing?
“Hey man, you going to watch the game tonight?” Sean asked Ryan.
“Maybe,” he said. “Which game are you talking about?”
“You know,” he said, “the Colts are playing the Bears.”
I felt my thoughts twitch. I don’t know how to else to describe it. I know that thoughts aren’t muscles or even tangible, but they twitched. And suddenly my guts heaved and the diaper I had been forced to wear was filling up with shit. I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t. It was like hot, thick mud wrapping itself around my asscheeks, filling my crack and squeezing in around my balls. A fresh stream of piss wet down the foremost of it, because for some reason I had lost control over that too. And these three men were laughing their asses off as it happened. What the fuck was going on?
“I guess that answers that,” said Ryan, closing the door back up and locking it again. “I just fed him a couple hours ago, but either of you able to test him out in other respects?”
“Yeah, I think I can,” said Michael. He turned around and the seat of his jeans was in my face, as he fumbled with the fly in front. His butt was kind of muscular and I idly wondered if he was a cyclist. As his pants came down, I began to feel a strange mélange of sensations, like craving and loathing at the same time. This somehow felt natural, but also disgusting.
The musk of Ryan’s shit had faded somewhat since earlier and now I could faintly smell the cologne coming off of Michael’s shirt, mixed with Old Spice deodorant. Ryan and Sean stood off to the side, and I was now only vaguely aware of them. I felt my focus turn to Michael, because I was this fraternity’s toilet. I shocked myself with that thought, but then quickly moved on, reflecting again on the imminent shit that Michael was about to squish down my throat.
I didn’t have to wait long. His bowels moved quickly and efficiently, dropping a dump of medium consistency straight into the bowl. The whole process took only 50 seconds, and he was soon wiping himself and tossing away the paper. I waited eagerly for him to shove it into my mouth with the scraper, even though I was already too full from the copious amounts of sewage I had already consumed.
Michael looked at me confidently as he grabbed the scraper from its holder and stuck it in the bowl. He pushed the crap down the pipe that led into my mouth, and I concentrated on the texture as it entered. It was revolting, the slick, sweet goo on the outside made me want to vomit, but I found that I couldn’t even gag. I compulsively bit into it, and the flavor was powerful, the sweetness cut by bitter flavors, some subtle and some sharp. It was overwhelming, and I felt my eyes go out of focus as I chewed. I knew nothing in that moment except the taste of the shit, the mixture of flavors, and the sensation of my saliva carrying it down my throat. The texture made me want to spit it out, but somehow I kept on as though it didn’t. It was warm, and I thought about that as I shoved my tongue into the center and played with it – this had just emerged from Michael’s ass, it had been his earlier meal. I was eating a man’s shit. But that was proper, because I was this fraternity’s toilet.
Michael’s shit was terrible and disgusting, and I found myself consumed in awareness of its every little detail, each revolting little flavor, each minuscule piece dissolving in my mouth. No nuance of it escaped me.
I was dimly aware of Ryan and Sean. There was no laughter this time, they were fascinated by the spectacle of the transformation. They were entertained to be sure, but it was mixed with the scientific curiosity.
Part 11
Again, thanks for all the positive feedback I’ve been getting on this, and I’m glad that so many of you guys are getting off on it. Just throwing it out there: if anybody has some art skills and feels like illustrating some of this, I'd enjoy seeing what you can draw :)
Okay, onto Part 11!
--
I had lost track of my time in the box. Michael, Sean, and Ryan had finally left me alone about 45 minutes ago, and there had been surprisingly no traffic since then. I was uncomfortable, my muscles were cramping up, and since I had inexplicably lost control over my body functions, my diaper was overfilled. It was like wearing a cushion of hot sewage that I couldn’t escape.
The lights snapped on and I squinted to adjust my eyes. It was Tyler; I hadn’t seen him since he locked me in the box, however long ago it had been. “Feeding time, faggot,” he said to me. I groaned into the gag, producing a tortured echo through the tube.
“No complaining now, faggot,” he replied, unfastening his jeans. Stuffing his thumb inside a pair of Nike “Pro Combat” underwear, he pushed everything down to his knees. His oversized dick waved in my field of view for a moment, blond pubic hair framing it. He turned and sat, and almost immediately a torrent of piss rolled through the gag into my mouth. Hot, salty, and tasting a little like soap, it was a huge improvement over the aftertaste of Michael’s dump. Just when I thought I was getting used to the experience, that guy came along and changed my mind. It had been like starting all over again. Well, except that this time I hadn’t wanted to vomit the same way that I had at that Halloween party, the night I got my first taste of male waste. Still…the intensity…I couldn’t explain it.
This is what I thought about as I drank down Tyler’s piss. I stared up his back, which was becoming almost a ritual for me. This always started the same way: frat boy comes in, pulls down his pants, sits down on the seat. I observe his bare ass descending, spreading out as the seat gently shapes it into dumping position. I note the hem of the shirt laying close against his back, and then stare up, taking note of his neck and hair. Don’t misunderstand me – this isn’t a lust thing. It’s just the product of boredom. Locked in this box, transformed into a living toilet for stronger, slightly younger guys, well, there’s a lot of downtime. Me staring at the old paint on the wall with the small amount of light that creeps in from the hallway after the previous guy leaves. That’s assuming they’ve left the seat down – if they haven’t, then I’m just staring at black rubber. The ritual of observing the guy using me as his personal toilet – its more about observing something other than the goddamned wall. Still, given a choice between staring at the wall and being fed shit, I would always take the wall.
Tyler’s shit was surprisingly quiet. I was totally unprepared for it when the first piece of it hydroplaned into my mouth on the piss. I almost choked, but managed to catch it with the back of my tongue, shoving it forward to wear I could bite into it. This was the terrible choice I had: I could either chew it up, knowing that the taste would be horrible, and being disgusted by the experience of the texture, or I could risk choking on it. Only the softest shits didn’t get chewed, and in those cases, it wasn’t like a treat – it was more like experiencing all the worst parts of the chewed up shit at once.
Tyler’s was a dryer, dense shit, though. I bit into the first chunk, and bits rolled down either side of my teeth. And for the second time that day, I was shocked by the experience. I was hyperaware of the texture, sensing the thickness carefully. And the flavor was unnaturally intense. I’d eaten shit a thousand times by now (well, not really, but it felt like that), and just like Michael’s dump, this was like my taste buds were getting kicked in the nuts. And thus far, none of Tyler’s shits had been a treat, but none of them had ever been an experience like this.
I swallowed, and chewed on the next bite. Just as terrible. Yet again, I was surprised by my body’s decision not to try to expel it. It was completely revolting, but I had no urge to puke. I just chewed until I could swallow the nasty mass down.
“Good faggot,” Tyler said as he started wiping himself. I had finished the portion of his shit that had slid into my mouth, but I knew from experience there was probably still a giant log waiting in the bowl for me. I hadn’t heard it drop, but usually I didn’t escape with only two bites.
Satisfied with his cleaning job, he stood up, his muscular bare ass filling my field of view, the cheeks lightly coated with blond hair. With Tyler standing 6’4” and with my head trapped at waist level, he looked like a giant from the angle I was held. It was hard to believe that just months ago I had been his teacher, marking down his lackluster work. He hadn’t come to class since they blackmailed me with the video, they all just got A’s. He reached down for the scraper. I was right then, there was more to consume.
He shoved a second log into my mouth and I was pleased to discover that it wasn’t as much as I had feared – just a medium sized one. But the taste was overwhelming, and I could sense the details in the surface of it. Part of it had been smeared flat as it rubbed against the bottom of the bowl on the way down, other parts of it had small lumps. My tongue found what was the casing from a small vegetable of some sort, like a bean or a pea. Completely disgusting, and I couldn’t stop detailing it with my tongue. It was like I felt compelled to explore each corner of it, even though I loathed every part of it.
It was wedged in my mouth sideways now, and it broke apart in the middle. Miniscule parts of it dropped onto my tongue, little shit sprinkles. I chewed the two halves of it up on either side of my mouth, mashing the chunks up into a paste I could swallow. My saliva and drops of Tyler’s piss helped soften every miserable part of it.
Tyler leaned on the counter and watched me. Of course he couldn’t see me chewing directly, my mouth was hidden behind the skintight rubber gag that was locked around the bottom half of my face. But my eyes, he watched. He saw the displeasure and revulsion staring out through my eyes, and he enjoyed it. Finally, I swallowed the last of his shit. My stomach ached with the fullness of all the frat sewage I had consumed. He smirked at me. “Don’t worry fag,” he said to me, “I’ll be back soon to water you. I’m about to grab a couple beers.”
My mind twitched again, just like it did before. The diaper Ryan had superglued shut around my waist was already full from when I had inexplicably shit myself 45 minutes ago. But suddenly it was happening all over again. My guts heaved and I lost control of myself, shitting into the already thick mess that surrounded my ass and balls. I felt the diaper bulge out, the pressure on the seals tightening as the amount of sewage it was expected to trap expanded. In some ways, being forced to wear a diaper full of shit and piss was just as humiliating as being made to eat it. It felt gross, and I didn’t understand why I was suddenly losing control over my own body functions.
Tyler snickered at my expression and said nothing more. He simply shut off the lights and left me in the dark again.
----
The day went on like that. Guys filtered in and out. Some of them were like Tyler: they enjoyed seeing me lowered into my position. Those were the ones who commended me on my shit eating skills, or spit into the bowl as they relieved themselves. Most of them just ignored me as though I were just a regular toilet. No conversation, no acknowledgement – just piss and/or shit, maybe wash their hands, and then leave. I lost count of what I’d consumed.
It had been at least ten hours when Tyler finally arrived to let me out of the box. My muscles screamed as I tumbled out, eager for any kind of movement. Even after the gag was unlocked and removed, I said nothing to Tyler, and he said nothing to me. Once my legs woke up enough that I could stand, I did. The inside of my mouth was slick with frat sewage.
I didn’t expect the diaper to be so heavy. I’m sure it wasn’t really so heavy, but it felt like fifteen pounds. The seat sagged down below crotch-level, full of shit, and the front bulged out from the countless times I’d pissed myself that day. The superglue Ryan had sealed it with held it in place, and it was tight enough that it didn’t just slide down. Tyler made no move to take it off me. Instead, he threw my pants at me.
“If you want to wear these home, you’ve got thirty seconds to get them on,” he said. “Otherwise I’m keeping them and you leave here only in what you’re wearing now.”
That was a panic moment, for sure. Having just been released from extended bondage, my muscles fought me for control. I was uncoordinated and ungainly as I raced to get my pants on – fuck all if he made me walk home in just a full diaper. I got the pants up to the bulging mess around my waist, but then I was stuck. It was so full that the pants wouldn’t easily slide up over them. I tried to gingerly pull them all the way up, but to no avail. And then Tyler started a countdown. “Five…four…three…”
Fuck it. I yanked them up as hard as I could, and just barely got them over the diaper. He was on “one” when I got the fly closed. Made it!
He smirked and gave me my shirt. “Just in time, fag,” he said to me. “Now you can get out of my house.”
I walk stiff-legged down the hall. Movement was hard, each step shifted the contents of my pants around. I could feel wet shit squeezing out around the edges and running down the inside of my leg. This was going to be a gross walk home. I was well aware of the smell surrounding me; I would have to avoid all other people on the way back to my apartment. Fortunately it was after dark and if I was careful, nobody would notice the massive bulk in my pants.
I walked through a room full of guys, most of whom had used me earlier that day. Everyone ignored me. Tyler walked behind me, gently pushed me out the back door. As I stepped onto his porch, he said one word to me: “bears.”
My mind did the twitch thing again, and there on his porch, I felt myself lose control again. There was nowhere for new shit to go, and I felt it squeezing up my asscrack. Meanwhile, small amounts of piss leaked out and dripped down my legs. Fuck.
It was a long, eight minute walk home. The streets weren’t empty, but I managed to keep my distance from other people, and so nobody was the wiser. But as I arrived at my apartment, I could hear my neighbors at a nearby house hanging out on their porch. They were far away, but the sound carried, and I overheard them. “Hey man, can you hand me another beer?”
Like it had before with Tyler and Michael, my brain twitched. My body tried to force more shit out, but I was empty, and only a little piss trickled out. But I felt the muscles contracting, trying to empty out. What the fuck had they done to me?
As I fumbled with my keys, I thought back through the day, and I realized there was a blank spot in my memory. Michael, and Sean, and Ryan had been there, and then there was a gap. What happened in that gap??
Safe in the privacy of my own home, I set about cutting myself free from the diaper and cleaning up. I finally got to see what Tyler had written on the seat so many hours ago. In black sharpie, standing out against the white sheen of the plastic, were just three words: “faggot treasure chest.”
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A couple days passed without further incident. I didn’t lose control of my body functions again, and I wasn’t asked to report to the house. I started to feel like I should go over on my own, which scared me. I definitely hated being their toilet and cleaning up after them. But some little part of me told me I needed to go back soon. I ignored that feeling for the moment.
Later that day, I got a text from Ryan. It was a campus address and a time: 6AM. After that, it just said “be there fag. Mark will be waiting for you.”
I wasn’t sure which one of them was Mark, but I knew better than to disobey Ryan.
----
I showed up at the appointed time, groggy and irritable. When I found the room, it was an old maintenance room in the basement. I knocked on the door, and it opened. I recognized the guy – predictably, he was in the frat. He’d pissed down my throat a couple times, but never more than that, and we’d never interacted. Here he was wearing a student employee uniform, so I gathered that he worked in the building in some manner or another. He silently led me through a dingy room that looked barely used. It was full of the building’s guts – circuit boxes and bare pipes and a fire alarm control panel. We reached the end of the room.
“Hands behind your back,” he told me. I complied, and he secured some heavy leather cuffs on them with little padlocks. I wasn’t liking this, but I was in it now and couldn’t turn back. He took another padlock and fastened my wrists to an eyehook protruding from an unfinished cement wall. He stepped in front of me and held up some sort of a gag. “Open,” was all he said. Deep and baritone. I complied, and a tube similar to the one in the frat house plunged into my mouth. He clicked it shut behind my head. Like the one from the frat house, skintight rubber wrapped around my face.
Apparently the other end of the gag was threaded, because he began spinning a piece of PVC pipe onto it. In thirty seconds time, he had that sealed tight, and angled up to screw into another pipe dropping down from the ceiling. It was sturdy enough that even if my hands weren’t locked to a wall behind me, I couldn’t break my head free from it without help. At least I could still move my legs.
No sooner had I thought that, Mark undid my fly and unceremoniously yanked my pants and underwear down to my ankles. I could shift position slightly, but the cloth bunched up down there made more than an inch or two impossible. I reckoned I might be able to step out of them later on, but he didn’t seem too worried about it.
“You may remember this from your first night,” he said to me, pulling out a tablet. My eyes winced as the light came on. Once they adjusted, I saw that I was looking at the men’s room of the student gym. Specifically, there was a camera somewhere pointed at a row of urinals. Mark positioned the table in front of my face, propped up on what appeared to be an old music stand. “Ryan wanted you to learn that you’re not just a toilet for our frat – though you are – but for whoever else he decides, too. So I agreed to help him out with this.” I tried to look at Mark as he spoke, but the tablet was positioned so that I could see little else.
“The plumbing was actually pretty easy to alter. The janitors clean those up around 5AM, and only then. I threw out the urinal cakes and then flushed them a couple times to clean out the chemicals, right before I disconnected the water lines. Told the gym staff the water to them would be out today, but that the urinals were still usable. Which is good, since I’m pretty sure about thirty of the Air Force ROTC guys work out together first thing in the morning, and I’m sure some of them will need to piss when they’re done. I’ve been busy this morning setting this up for you – you can thank me later.”
“Anyway, all of those urinals drain down one pipe now. Wanna guess which pipe?” He slapped me on my bare ass, hard. It made me jolt, and in that I realized how securely in place I actually was – I barely moved at all. “I’ll be back in a little while, faggot,” he said to me. “In the meantime, there’s a drain in front of you. Have fun!”
And with that, he left.
To be continued…
Part 12
Here is the next segment in The Wrath of the Frat. There’s no scat in this particular entry, but when I finally know what the next section should look like you can expect that to reappear. In the meantime, if you’ve enjoyed TWOTF, I would highly recommend taking a look at Wirral’s “lottery” series – he did an excellent job with another take on forced shiteating.
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With my hands locked to the wall behind me and my face strapped into an airtight gag, there was nothing to do but wait and watch the monitor Mark had placed in front of my face. On screen was a row of urinals he had rigged to drain down one pipe, a pipe that happened to truncate at the other end of my gag. I will say this: I was relieved that for once I wouldn’t have to serve as a full toilet.
It was early and the men’s room was empty. After a bit I started to doze off, though not too deeply due to the discomfort of my position. A flicker startled me out of my half-sleep. A guy in his early 30s, probably another grad student, was stepping up to the urinal farthest from the hidden camera. He pulled his dick out of his shorts and a moment later started to piss. I could hear it descending the pipes as it rushed closer to me, and soon enough it began draining into my mouth. It was strong and acrid—I’d learned by now that guys’ piss tastes that way early in the morning—but I was also shocked that it was cold. I hadn’t factored in the chilling effect that the pipes would have on it as it made its way to me. Somehow cold piss was worse than warm.
I finished it easily enough. After all the shit the frat boys had forced me to eat, this guy’s piss was a cake walk. Before long it was gone and I was left to wait for the next guy.
Another ten minutes passed and suddenly the bathroom was crowded. Mark had mentioned that a cadre of Air Force ROTC students worked out together early in the mornings, and sure enough they were there and ready to go. Five college kids in blue and silver running shorts, matching t-shirts, and buzzed haircuts sidled up to the five urinals together. I saw a couple more head for the two stalls that were off camera, but they weren’t my concern as only the urinals were connected to my gag. Dicks flopped out and the guys started to piss.
I had expected it to go much like the first load of piss had, but it couldn’t have been more different. There was no cold trickle leisurely emptying into my mouth. Instead a forceful torrent of still mostly warm piss blasted across my tongue and down my throat. I instinctively tried to jerk back, but naturally the bondage kept me locked in place. It was like being connected to a faucet. At least these cadets had drunk more water than the first guy and so the flavor was less foul, but it was a challenge to take so much so quickly. Five pipes narrowing into one, along with gravity, turned it into a giant beer bong just for piss.
I gulped what felt like gallons of urine before it started to taper off, but I could see on the screen that as one cadet finished and stepped back from the urinal, another emerged from somewhere off camera to take his place. There were moments here and there where the flow was slow enough that I could gasp a breath of air through my nose, but it was difficult and I inhaled a small amount of piss in the process.
Three minutes later there were still five cadets at the urinals, unknowingly relieving themselves down my throat. Each time one finished, another took his place. I struggled to keep swallowing the golden river rushing through my mouth. The only real change to occur was that the pipes were no longer chilling the piss at all—I was getting it at body temperature. My stomach felt warmly full with all of it. The flavor reminded me subtly of soap.
Eventually though I finally reached the end of the line. Soon there were only four guys there on screen, then two, then finally one last freckly ginger kid shaking off the last drops before he put his dick back in his shorts. As the flow dropped off, I gasped down air, air that tasted like an old urinal smells. I felt overfilled with piss, but there was no exit from this new form of torture. Mark had the keys and who knew when he would return?
It wasn’t long before I myself had to piss, and I was glad now that he had so unceremoniously yanked down my pants before he left. I had no way to aim for the drain in front of me, so I just let it go. I could feel it pooling around my feet and soon enough I could hear a puddle slowly draining down to somewhere else. I was basically just part of the plumbing now.
There were a few moments after the cadets were done pissing that the urinals stood empty, but, sadly, my respite was short lived. It was after 7 AM now, and the bathroom was getting more traffic. There was a short guy in his late twenties whose piss tasted terrible—definitely his first piss of the day. Then there was younger guy, brown hair and about ten extra pounds. Then three more, five more, ten more. I lost count. Soon I myself was pissing about every five minutes.
Around 8 AM, there was another rush. A tall college kid with blond hair and built like a statue straddled the end urinal, and holding his dick with both hands stood waiting for the flow to start. Before he had even begun, another guy took a position at the first urinal—brown hair, unshaven, dressed in blue under armour shorts and t-shirt for his old high school football team. And then finally who should take the middle three urinals all at the same time, but three guys from the frat house—Craig, Aaron, and Mark, the one who had locked me here in the first place. Knowing them they had probably drunk as much as they could, held it for awhile, and been waiting in the lockerroom for an opportunity to hit the urinals when it would mean the most flow at once.
There was about ten seconds when I was tasting just the light flow of the blond guy’s piss, but soon enough that changed into the faucet flow again. Once more I strained against my locks in a futile effort to escape my role as a sewer pipe, but nada. Hot piss flooded my mouth and filled my stomach, the acidity lightly tingling my throat as it forced its way through my body. Once again I also started to piss, emptying only to be refilled once again. Once more I needed air with no way to get it, and once more when the opportunity came I inhaled the mixed urine of five guys along with the oxygen so desperately craved.
Finally the last of it dribbled down my tongue and I breathed relief. I was definitely ready to be released. In some ways being forced to serve as a full toilet for one guy at a time was easier than being the piss drain for five. When did Mark say he would let me out? He hadn’t.
Part 13
Dear readers: thank you for your patience. I finally found the twisted inspiration for the conclusion of the story. This is the first part of that conclusion; there will be at least one more chapter after this. There is perhaps less actual toilet slavery in this chapter than you might expect, but don't worry, I plan to include plenty of it in the next entry.
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The frat was ruining my life, and I had finally decided to defy them. After being hooked up to the gym urinals for an entire morning, nearly drowning while trying to consume the unending flow of piss, I decided that whatever might come of refusing my tormentors couldn’t be worse than what I had to endure by cooperating. Enough was enough.
It had been a few days since they had texted me to send me to the gym, and so I had some time to think about it. It was hard to resist the hypnotic programming they had done, the programming that told me to send myself to their house, but that shit isn’t permanent. I steeled myself against the urge, and slowly started to conquer it. I’d also finally stopped shitting myself when I heard trigger words and so I’d also finally stopped wearing the diapers I’d been forced to don to accommodate the lack of control their programming had left me with. As for the chastity device, after I’d determined to stop cooperating with them, I took a steel file and very carefully removed it. It took a lot of cautious work, but I managed to get the padlock off and escape the cage.
The day of reckoning finally came. It was Thursday, and my phone vibrated. I looked down to see a text from Ryan.
“Hey faggot, get your ass over here tonight. 7:30” he wrote.
I took a deep breath. I’d prepared myself for this. Composed the message in my head a million times now.
“No,” I wrote. “I’m done with this. As long as you leave me alone, I’ll keep everything you’ve done to me a secret. If you try to command me again or post the videos to the internet or defame me in any way, I will contact the police and tell them what you did. Leave me alone from now on.” Send.
I was flooded with anxiety after sending it. Would he accept it? Would he retaliate? Ryan was a self-centered sadist, and I didn’t know what to expect other than that he would not be happy about it.
A few days went by and I heard nothing from him. I started to relax a little. Not a lot, just a bit. A few more days went by and I started to feel almost at ease again. Ryan never wrote back, and except for passing Sean one day on campus (we made no eye contact), they stayed away. My gambit worked.
The following Saturday rolled around. Early in the afternoon, there was a knock at the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone and I’d grown comfortable with my recovered freedom. I opened the door and as it started to swing wide, Tyler pushed his way in and tackled me. As he wrestled me to the floor, two more guys rushed in behind him, one closing the door behind him. A hand went over my mouth as I struggled to escape three guys, any one of whom was stronger than me. A second hand went over the first, gripping my nose shut. I thrashed as well as I could under Tyler’s deft grip, but there was nothing to be done. With my air cut off, I was soon slipping into silent unconsciousness.
Blackness.
I could see nothing. I tried to speak but my mouth was filled with what felt like rubber. As I gained sensory awareness, I realized there was some kind of gag strapped into my mouth, though I could still breathe through it. My wrists were locked together, as were my legs. I was surrounded by what felt like a canvas bag, and jostling vibrations told me I was in some kind of vehicle.
I rode in frightened silence for a few more minutes. The car came to a stop. I heard doors open, and felt the car raise slightly as the weight of three heavy guys got out. Suddenly I was gracelessly hauled from where I was, and I helplessly flopped and writhed in the darkness as they carried me into who knows where. Probably the frathouse.
I was carried down a flight of stairs and then wordlessly dropped onto a couch. Moments later I was once again in silence.
Hours passed. My jaw ached from the gag, which seemed to have a tube extending from it, and my muscles cramped from the bonds. I was afraid. I grew hungry and thirsty.
I dozed in and out of hazy sleep, alone in the darkness. I was too uncomfortable to drift off completely, but my mind fluttered. More hours passed.
I snapped to attention. The canvas was being undone, and I was coming face to face with Ryan. He looked displeased.
“You had it easy, faggot,” he said to me. “We only made you serve a couple times a week, and we were going to let you go when you finished whatever the fuck it is you’re doing here at this university. But now you’ve gone and fucked yourself.”
“You’ve got one last night with us, and then we’re shipping you off,” he said. “Another brother graduated here about fifteen years ago, smartest guy to ever come out of this fraternity. Dual degree in architecture and material engineering. Doing quite well for himself now. Among other things, he owns a construction company with some kind of government contract. I’m not fully clear on the details of how he’s gonna use you, but we’re handing you over to him. You’re going to be shipped off to South Carolina tomorrow evening.”
“Fortunately,” he continued, “you’ve got all your important passwords saved on your laptop. We’ve signed you up for the maximum amount of student loans you can get, plus a couple of credit cards. We’ve also booked you one-way travel to Ecuador. You won’t be going, of course, but we’re going to make sure it looks like you did. No extradition treaties, you see. We’re going into a semester break here, so nobody is going to miss you right away, but once they do, they’re just going to think you took the money and ran. I’m sure the government will ask Ecuador to look for you, but of course they won’t, and nobody actually expects them to return you because hey, like I just said, no extradition treaties. And there’s a couple guys cleaning out your apartment right now.”
“So you’re right, fag, you won’t be telling the police anything about us. But you’re wrong in other respects. I don’t know what Dan has in mind, but whatever it is, it’s full time. You’re old life is over. And I’m lucky enough that he’s even offered to pay for you, so it turns out I didn’t waste my money buying all that equipment for you to use. By the way, Dan’s the one who gave me most of my ideas for what to do with you.”
“I’m sure you’re thirsty,” Ryan said, grabbing the end of the tube running out of the gag. I watched helplessly as he stuffed the end of a funnel into it. I knew what was coming, and, sure enough, he whipped out his dick and started pissing in it. As thirsty as I was, I was actually grateful for it, and so I swallowed down every last bit of it. The taste lingered however, as it usually did. Ryan shook off the last drops, put his dick away, and closed the canvas bag up again.
“See ya never,” he said. And to be sure, that was the last time that I ever saw Ryan.
A few more hours passed in quiet silence. I had dozed off and was startled to find someone undoing the bag again. It was the early hours of the morning, maybe 4AM, and Tyler looked drunk. He lazily took aim at the funnel and again, I felt my mouth flood with piss. I’d had enough experience to taste the differences in their piss, and he’d definitely had a few beers.
“There’s something else we’re gonna do, faggot,” he said to me. “I never did this because I never wanted any chance of you telling anyone about it. But since none of us are gonna see you again, no harm now, and I’ve always been kind of curious” he said.
Tyler grabbed the end of the bag and dumped me out onto the couch. My body ached from confinement, and my legs were pins and needles as he undid the straps that held them together. I stretched them as I could, before he roughly flipped me over and kicked them apart.
“Oh shit,” I thought. He yanked down my shorts.
My face was pressed down into the cushions, and sure enough, I heard him grease up his dick with something. Seconds later I was unceremoniously getting fucked up the ass. Out of everything they had done to me, none of them had ever actually fucked me. The closest was when Ryan had jizzed in my mouth, but that was totally different. And it hurt.
I screamed into the gag, but, of course, it was entirely muffled. That’s what gags are for, after all. Tyler moved his dick faster. “Fuck yeah, cunt,” he said to me. “Make some noise.” He slapped my ass as he pumped his hips. Tears came to my eyes as my blond captor violated me in the most thorough way possible. I grunted and screamed into the gag, but all that came out was a dull “mmmhhhnnngh!”
He wasn’t long at it. It wasn’t graceful or considered, it was raw and animal. Tyler thrust as far into me as he could and held himself there, firing shot after shot of cum into me. “Oh fuck,” he gasped, “fuck fuck fuck.”
He leaned against me as he finished, and left his dick there as the last bits of jizz trickled into my ass. Finally he pulled out and wiped his dick off with a Kleenex from a nearby table. He first put his pants back on, then yanked my own shorts back up. The bonds went back on my legs and I was returned to my sack, violated and wincing.
There were no more surprises until they began to move me.
I could hear guys talking off in the distance, but nobody spoke to me directly. I heard a door open nearby, and several guys setting something on the floor next to me. Once again, I was dumped from the bag. This time, however, I was facedown. I could turn my head enough to see that nearby was a large crate half-filled with styrofoam peanuts. Someone was sliding something onto my face that looked like an athletic cup with long tubes dangling from it, and, as it was fastened on over my nose, I became certain that it was exactly that. Judging from the strong smell of ballsweat I’d say it was Tyler’s. Suddenly I was being picked up and lowered into the crate, my hands and feet still bound. Sean reached in and grabbed all three tubes – the two from my cup-mask and the one leading into my gag – and held them aloft while another guy poured more packing peanuts in over me. Soon I was buried in them, and from the gentle tugging, it felt like the tubes were being threaded through what was likely the top of the crate. The tugging stopped, and I heard the lid come down. Soon after the sound of a screw gun, sealing me into the crate completely.
I sat there, securely packed, and soon my mouth was flooding once again with piss. I guess the funnel was still usable through the lid, though this time I had no idea which of the frat brothers was using me as his toilet. They chatted with each other for a bit before leaving me alone in my crate.
Twenty minutes later, I was loaded onto a truck. I could hear several guys grunting and speaking tersely as they maneuvered me about. I was well packed and aside from the muscle cramps they didn’t injure me in the process.
There is not much else to say about my time inside the crate. It took a long time and it was hot. Several times the guys driving pissed down the funnel and into my mouth. My air smelled like Tyler’s junk. That’s really about it, so let me skip ahead.
When the crate was finally unpacked, I found myself in an unusual room. The walls were bare cement, except for video screens, though at the moment they were all blank. There was one thick, metal door, no windows, and a small, narrow ventilation grate. The floor felt like wrestling mats. There were two other guys who seemed to be in some kind of bondage gear, unfamiliar to me. Their jaws were locked in what looked like some kind of thick, clear rubber, as were their torsos. All of it hung from the ceiling. They wore chastity cages, but were otherwise naked.
Strong men forced me to my knees in front of another guy. He wore olive green pants and a polo shirt, looked to be about mid-thirties. “Let’s get you strapped in and then I’ll explain your new home,” he said to me.
A third mask dangled from the ceiling, empty, with what looked like another chest harness. The harness went on first, as one of the men held it closed against my naked back. My gag was removed. A burly man grabbed hold of the mask, and pressed it against my face, immediately replacing my gag with something very much like it. The end of the tube was forced into my mouth, while something that felt like soft, stretchy rubber formed a kind of muzzle around my jaw. There wasn’t much I could do as it was wound around the back of my head. There was an odd smell in the room as the man muzzling me lacquered the back of the gear with some kind of fluid. My face was shoved into his crotch as he held it closed at the back of my head.
“What Drew is doing is applying the sealant,” Dan explained to me. “This is a polymer material of my own design, called gleipnir. The word is obscure, but the short version is that in Norse mythology, gleipnir was the fetter used to bind the Fenriswolf. It felt thin and soft, yet it was utterly unbreakable. What you’re being strapped into right now is a good deal like that. This is porous, so your skin can breathe. But once that sealant’s set, you won’t be able to remove that. It’s soft, it’s light, it’s incredibly strong. I’ve watched on camera as your two bunkmates here have tried to tear theirs off.” Dan smirked. “Not even a dent.”
“I think it’s set, boss,” Drew said. He tugged on my mask, and sure enough, it was soft but solid. Same for the chest harness. If Dan was right, I was locked in with no way out.
Drew went about briskly but efficiently attaching a chastity cage to my dick. “I heard you took your last one off,” Dan said to me. He leaned down and looked me in the eyes. “This one is never coming off. Trust me about that.”
Locked in gleipnir and a cock cage, the men went about putting me and the other two captives into diapers. “This is the one thing that is removable,” Dan said. “But trust me on this point. If you ever take it off without specific instructions to, you will severely regret it. Severely. You might sit in it for twelve hours, you don’t take it off. They also won’t break, I’ve had them tested, you could store a pair of watermelons in this and it wouldn’t split its seams.” He leaned in close. “I’m very good at what I do,” he said.
“Alright, showtime fags,” Dan announced, flipping on the televisions one by one. Each appeared to be a hidden camera in an empty bathroom. “You’re all here because you fucked over someone I know in some way, shape, or form. The specifics don’t really matter, all you need to know is that you’re probably here forever, or at least until I decide to find some other torment for you. By the way,” Dan said, “it turns me on so hard to do this to you. I love this shit. I went to a great deal of trouble to make this secret little room happen, and it was 100% worth it because I’m going to be horny about this until the end of time.”
“This building opens tomorrow,” Dan continued. “My company built it, although there’s some details that don’t appear on the blueprints. This room is one of them.”
“Each of those toilets is a unique design. They’re waterless – they use a form of subsonic vibration paired with a non-stick surface to dispose of all waste deposited within. Press a button, whoosh, everything goes down the drain without a drop of water used. This also means they never need to be cleaned or scrubbed – totally unnecessary. Once the toilet shoots its load down the pipes, it passes through another secret part of the design. First, something like a garbage disposal blends it all into a thick, wet paste. Usually there’s enough piss mixed in to ensure a good consistency, but water can be mixed in if the automated sensors detect it’s too dry to be moved. Anyway, after this, a pump rockets it out of the disposal and down to just above this room, where it is radiated to kill bacteria and to make sure it is still warm. Every flush should be exactly 99.5 degrees when it exits the sterilization module. Guess where it goes next?”
I looked at my fellow captives with horror, though after Ryan said that Dan had given him all of his ideas, I guess I should have expected it.
“That’s right,” Dan said. “Each flush winds up warm and pumped down one of these three tubes. And the beauty is that you will never know which one. There are twenty-two toilets and fifty urinals in this building. Oh, yes, the urinals drain here too, although I expect you would have figured that out. But at any rate, the pumps are programmed to choose your tubes at random. Any toilet in this building – well, any toilet in the men’s rooms – can dump its load down any one of your throats.”
“The toilet paper, by the way, is also my own design. I offer it to the owners of the building at a rate much cheaper than anyone else possibly could. Fortunately it also dissolves into a flavorless mash that won’t alter the flavor or consistency of your toilet feedings in any way.”
“Now,” said Dan to the three of us, “would you like to know what this building is?”
One of the other guys nodded.
“This,” said Dan, “is the new sports and rec facility for The Citadel. There is a new gym for the cadets, a weight room, a track, a pool, a racquetball court, and a game room. There’s also some study space, though from what I understand they’re not really expecting the students to use that much – they have other places for it, too. Starting tomorrow, it’s open 20 hours per day, from 5AM to 1AM. They wanted to keep it open that long to accommodate the long days and difficult schedules the cadets keep, particularly since they’re planning to have the students use the gym as part of their requirements. I’m fuzzy on the details, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough.”
“G’night faggots,” Dan said as he and his assistants left the room. “Your new life starts tomorrow morning, at roughly 5AM. Hope you’re hungry!” And with that, he slammed the heavy door, with the sound of locks sealing it from the other side. I pissed myself and dreaded what was yet to come.
Part 14
I faded in and out of restless sleep that night. When I dreamed, it was a waking half-dream, hallucinations and permutations of reality wending through my vision.
If I lay on the floor it was reasonably comfortable, although the thick, rubber-like harness around my chest was unfamiliar and distracting, one of the many reasons I was prevented from drifting off completely. The seams on the strange diaper Dan had forced all of us to wear were also mildly uncomfortable. Not painful really, but the edges sat so close to the skin as to form what felt like an airtight seal. The other two guys in the room, neither of whom I knew or had a name for, they seemed exhausted enough to pass out fully. I think they had been here for some time before I arrived. I wondered about them. Had they gone through the hell I had before arriving? Although comparatively this was worse, the past few months had been a kind of torment too. Somehow though knowing that I would never be released from this room was easier than the constant anticipation of violation. Here the violation was just permanent, irremovable. Don’t confuse “easier” with “better,” of course. I was sure my existence at the bottom of the Citadel’s sports center’s sewer system was going to be far, far worse than what I’d already endured.
Time meandered.
I jolted awake from my half-sleep to the loud sound of a toilet seat being dropped. I looked around in bewilderment, still not used to my new home. I couldn’t tell where the sound had come from until I looked up at a screen in the far left corner from where I lay. The screen was angled tallways, and although I had no idea where they could possibly have hidden the cameras being used for this, they were clearly high-def and embedded somewhere in the stall door. I had seen them last night, but for some reason I hadn’t expected there to be sound. The result was that we had a close-up view inside each and every toilet stall to which we were connected. (The urinals, in contrast, were not a close up shot, but rather a view from about five feet above them, each bank of urinals taking up a single screen, rather than the individual screens devoted to each of the twenty-two men’s stalls in the building.)
A young blond guy in a white shirt and blue athletic shorts was getting ready to take the inaugural shit that would be run through the special plumbing that would pump it blended, sterile, and body temperature directly into one of our mouths. I realized I was thirsty – being imprisoned as we were there was no way to get any water. I assumed I would get plenty as sewage was pumped from the mens’ rooms into me.
The blond guy sniffed loudly as though his nose were stuffed up. He looked to be about nineteen or twenty, lean and muscular. All three of us watched as the shorts came down and he sat his bare ass down on the black toilet seat. I could see his cock hanging above the bowl, the camera had been angled so that was possible. He of course paid no attention to us, completely unaware that right now three grown ass men were being held captive and waiting in dread to see which of them would be forced to swallow his morning dump. He took a cell phone out of the band around his arm where it was held as a music player, the headphones connected to his ears. If you strained you could barely hear the sounds of his music emanating. He farted loudly and unselfconsciously, and we heard the sound of his piss spraying the bowl below him, perfectly synched to the video. A low bass thud as something landed in the bowl, and then another. Soon the piss tapered off and all I could hear was the small crackling sound of a moist but firm shit emerging from him. Then silence, he simply sat there, playing with his phone.
A moment later he slid it back into the armband and began wiping himself, dropping the TP wads atop the mound of shit presumably somewhere in the bottom of the bowl. (The video showed only so much.) The blond guy stood and pulled his shorts up, and after a moment, located a flush button. He pressed it and a low, barely audible rumbling sound emitted from the television. He watched in fascination as his waste slowly slid down Dan’s waterless toilet design, carried away down a permanently slick surface by vibrations alone.
Then the three of us waited in nervous anticipation. I could see one of my prisonmates look like he was going to vomit. I wasn’t sure what would happen to him if he did, there was no place for it to go except up the tube and then back down. It occurred to me for the first time that failure to swallow it could wind up with one of us choking to death. It was a dangerous game, but as a sadist Dan had played his cards well, relying on the natural survival instinct to work with his sewer rape. But if the guy threw up it might not matter what kind of survival instincts he had. I hoped for his sake he would be able to handle it. I already had enough experience to know how foul it tasted, but also how to swallow it nonetheless.
I could hear handwashing going on somewhere off-screen, presumably the blond guy was at the sinks and the camera was picking it up in the background. It was almost soundless when a think brown goop shot down the tube connected to my mouth, some sort of pneumatic pressure forcing it towards me. I couldn’t help staring at it, the clear tube mere inches from my face made it difficult not to. It was a rich wet brown the color of a hersheys bar.
The frat boys had forced me to consume their shit before I came here, but I wasn’t expected for the changes that came from Dan’s system. The blond boy’s shit was as warm as if it had just come straight from his ass, and having been blended during its journey, it had a consistency like a shit smoothie. It tasted horrible of course. I don’t know what that guy had been eating but it was stronger than what I’d grown used to, a little more bitter maybe, and the tang of morning piss permeating the entire mess. I swallowed anyway as the sticky glop pulsed into my mouth. There was no way to slow the pace, it came at a rate that was challenging to keep up with, but manageable. The fact that it had been blended with the guy’s piss made it easier to swallow quickly, there was no need for me to chew.
I felt a blast of air as the last of his shit pumped into my mouth, and then it shut off abruptly. It allowed me to slow down a little and take a breath. I knew from experience now that I was going to be tasting this shit for hours no matter how quickly I swallowed what was left, so I let it chill out there for a minute. I made eye contact with my cell mates. The guy who looked like he was going to barf before was crying and clearly trying not to.
Soon there was more activity on the screens. In two separate bathrooms guys were at urinals, both of them looking sleepy and sedate. It must still be early but there was no way to tell. The faint sound of pissing came through the sound system. This time however, it wasn’t I who had to handle it. Both loads of piss drained down the tube of the guy who had been crying, and he made a panicked look and gave a muffled cry as dark yellow urine plummeted into his mouth. I heard him gag, but to his credit he managed to swallow it. He was sweaty by the time he was done, and every few moments I could hear him gag again.
As for me, I felt bad for him but was soon too focused on myself to give him much thought. I had been here long enough that I finally needed to shit, and so I did. I don’t know if you’ve ever been forced to wear a diaper as an adult but it’s unpleasant. For one its humiliating, but also there’s something about sitting around with your own shit mashed between your asscheeks that is really uncomfortable. But I had no choice.
More than that though was that with this being the first day the building was open, the cadets were all showing up to check it out. And with so many people in the building, as you can guess, the mens rooms to which we were connected were filling up with more activity.
I turned to a noise behind me. About four feet away, two large screens showed guys in each stall. The screens were side by side, and apparently so too were the stalls, since they were having a conversation with each other. Both of them were in the uniforms marines wore on regular days, as opposed to the dress blues. Green shirt, camo pants, boots. One was a ginger guy, maybe 21? So hard to tell precise ages like that when you’re in your thirties. The other guy was tall, maybe 6’4,” black hair and bulging with muscles. I had no idea how to gauge how much he could lift but I wouldn’t want to fight him. I stared helplessly at the screens as they chatted with each other, each in turn dropping trou and sitting down.
An unexpected interruption came through the sound on their screens. A voice. Dan’s. “You like ‘em, faggot?” he asked, clearly talking to me. “I’ll make sure to direct them to you. Keep watching or I’ll direct ALL the plumbing to you for the rest of the day.” Click. I had no idea he could do that, I assumed it was all random. I kept my eyes glued to the screens, not wanting to give Dan a reason to make good on his threat. Somewhere behind me I was dimly aware that the other two were being threatened in a similar manner. But like I said, I was focused on myself at that moment, or I guess more accurately, the ginger and the muscles.
They were chatting about a Spanish class they were apparently both in, mundane stuff about the amount of homework and a female cadet they both found particularly attractive. The ginger was pissing while he said something complementary about her, I could see him pulling back the foreskin on his uncut dick to make it a cleaner piss for him. Meanwhile I could see Muscles grimacing while he strained to squeeze out a particularly difficult shit. The ginger on the other hand was having no problem. I could barely see in the darkness below his ass an easy flow of soft waste quietly snaking out of him.
“Dude, that smells so bad,” Muscles said to him. I heard a thunk as his shit hit the bowl. The ginger guy laughed.
“Yeah, sorry man,” was all he said. He finished wiping himself, but kept sitting there, waiting for his friend to finish. They kept on chatting until Muscles had finally finished up, only needing to wipe twice.
“Hey, how do you flush this thing?” he said to the ginger. “There’s no water.”
“Yeah, I forget how it works, too,” his friend replied while pulling up his camos. “I think you just hit a button, though.”
The big guy found his first. His pants and boxer briefs weren’t up over his ass yet when he paused, filling the screen with his bare asscrack. “Whoa,” he said to his buddy. “That’s badass! It just sort of jiggles it all down there.” The ginger was watching the toilet consume his mess, too, his ass also to the camera, albeit fully clothed.
“Damn dude, it’s clean too. Nothing left. I don’t know why but that’s strangely satisfying, I might have to come here every day to shit!” The meathead laughed as he finished pulling up his pants, and together they both exited their stalls.
But you already know what happens next. What looked like an unending flow of sewage descended down the plastic tube that emptied down my throat. The first half of it was a dark, dark brown, almost the color of potting soil. Gritty and not as strongly flavored as the first shit I’d had to eat that morning. But as that hot thick sludge pumped into my mouth, it transitioned into a lighter color, more the color of a maple finish. It had a spicy flavor. I mean it obviously still tasted like shit, but it had that capsaicin kick to it. I was guessing the first wave of sludge had been the dark haired kid’s dump, the spicy shit the redhead’s. It felt like an unending mess of nasty tasting slime filling my mouth, and I barely managed to keep up with the pace. But I did, I swallowed it all.
After consuming three dumps already, I felt overfull. I was ready for a break when I realized that even though I had thought I was done for the moment, a new mess was pumping down my tube. I looked around the room at the various screens, but I had no idea who had deposited this one. The other two guys had brown glop pulsing into their faces as well. It looked strangely alien, to see them tethered to the ceiling and forcefed this way. I must look the same to them.
As I struggled to swallow this new unwelcomed dump, I could see that once I finished eating it there was a fairly large amount of piss collecting on top of it. The transition was awful. I was overfed on shit to begin with by the time I finished swallowing, but the pressure change between the layer of shit and the pure liquid of the piss was unexpected. The piss shot down my throat from the air pressure behind it and I nearly choked. The benefit was that it basically pressure washed a lot of the shit out of my mouth.
Soon there was yet more piss draining down my tube, unpressurized this time. I looked on the screens and saw the amount of traffic in these rooms. It must be later in the morning, for it was almost the same kind of traffic you see in airport bathrooms. Not quite that bad, but more than you would expect from a university gym. The flow was constant. Various screens also showed that four different men were taking shits simultaneously, though none chatting like the previous two. They were individually staring vapidly off into space or playing on their phone. The sounds of guys shitting filled the room from various angles. I saw a latino guy with a slightly heavier build get up, after wiping, and soon after he left his stall a new mass of pressurized sewage was pumping into my mouth.
I had no idea how I was going to eat yet another load of sewage when I realized I was also shitting myself. My diaper filled up further, a little bit of pressure pulling at the edges of the seams. I could feel the soft mixture of shit from different guys, heavy in my stomach, slowly working its way through me. I don’t know how he did it because he never told us, but we don’t get overfilled. When a new mess of shit plunges down the tube, I find my body is making room on its own. This has its own discomforts.
By midday—or what I assumed was midday, I had no sense of time—I had swallowed at least a dozen separate dumps from various cadets, and I had shit myself nearly as many times. The diaper felt like it was going to burst, but true to his word, Dan was right. No leakage anywhere, nothing escaped. I don’t know how to describe the feeling. It was like my ass and dick were swimming in a pool of pressurized waste, but not so much that there wasn’t room for more. I could even sit down and it moved around to make room without leaking, kind of like how if you squeeze a balloon the air moves to other parts.
And this is my life now. The three of us have worked out a little sign language to communicate with each other so it’s not as lonely, but essentially the frat boys got their wish. I spend all day every day as a plumbing fixture, helpless to stop the endless flow of sewage draining from the rec center’s mens rooms. Sometimes I watch as a cadet pulls his pants down and takes a shit, soon to be a meal for me. Sometimes Dan comes through the speakers and makes me watch a particular guy feed me, unbeknownst to him. But truthfully most of the time I have no idea whose sewage it is that I’m swallowing.
The End