by: grovelslave
His toilet
Jack was fed up with His ‘slave’. It had started well as Master/slave relationships tend to do but the old problem of monotony and ‘i’m too tired tonight to be a slave’ had become all too familiar. Plus, in the early stages, there had been hints of being up for ‘darker action’, which would be ‘only a matter of time’ that were now seemingly forgotten and abandoned. Jack had made no secret of His desire for scat action as being fundamental to Him and the slave had promised that it was into all of that too but that the time had to be exactly right, the mood right, the sub head space right, the moon in its proper phase and the stars aligned most likely, for any of that to take place.
The greatest danger of all was that Jack found His dominance being slowly drained out of Him. The slave now was calling the tune. OK, not exactly with regard to what happened within a session but definitely WHEN that session would take place and essentially, what would go on in it, too. The slave was in danger of becoming every real Master’s nightmare - the passive aggressive bottom who subtly got what it wanted while seeming to be submissive and compliant. This had to stop. Somehow, the whole thing had drifted into a pastiche of a Master/slave relationship, rather than the real thing. It was being acted out and not experienced and Jack knew He was responsible for that. He had indulged the slave, besotted by its good looks and fit body. He had encouraged it in every way in terms of maintaining peek physical form but, unfortunately, the psychological development of the slave had been neglected.
Drastic action was required. Jack knew that deep in the slave was a submissive nature which had not yet been fully tested. He would reclaim it as slave, hold it to all its promises, and they would either move forward or the relationship was over.
The plan He devised was designed to trick the slave into a situation that He, as Master, wanted; and to do so was easy, as all He really had to do was get the slave into a bondage scene which it loved all too well and then, rather than some minor play with whips and paddles or clamps and increased bondage, He would proceed entirely on HIS terms. And what He wanted, more than anything else, was a toilet. The slave had promised dehumanisation, humiliation, degradation, objectification as aims to be worked towards and the closest they had come to that was making it a gimp in full rubber, with extensive bondage, leaving Jack to twiddle his thumbs once the desired degree of immobility had been achieved while the slave floated in sub-space. It was Jack’s deep passion for raunch that had created the problem. It had been an everyday reality for Him before He met the slave but He knew the little bastard was pretty much a novice. So He had stepped back and believed all the promises of things happening - ‘when we both know it’s the time’. And month followed month. Jack was not a Master but an enabler.
So, it was payback time. He would play on the slave’s perceived strengths - mostly inescapable bondage, which would be the ‘hors’ d’oeuvres’ of the meal - and pile on His own deepest desires to create the main course.
And so, here is the slave before us. Once again, it is the rubber encased gimp it so much enjoys being. it had first put on its rubber body suit with feet and gloves attached; a thick rubber hood was tied in place - it had a detachable blindfold, which was firmly in place; it usually had a detachable rubber gag but that had been set aside on this occasion; a rubber collar was placed around its neck. The familiar rubber sleep sack was to one side, waiting for the slave to be helped into.
All so safe and good, all so predictable and habitual.
However, there were a few novelties. The main thing was a long, narrow, wooden box. It had been constructed quite roughly and cheaply. However, the box excited the slave as it sensed a new dimension to its encasement. ‘Jack is a great Master,’ thought the slave. ‘He knows how to bring new things into play so that our play is never boring.’ He was also excited by the new gag - thick, thick rubber with a wide tube extending two inches on the outside and one on the inside. It was something of a strain for the slave to extend its mouth to accommodate the tube. it felt that its mouth was held open wider than it had ever been. Why so wide an opening? Breath control of some kind? Yes, that had been mooted months ago but never carried into practice. A bit worrying, that idea.
Patience, patience, all would soon be known and Master Jack was the safest and sanest and most trustworthy of Masters.
The rubber gimp was now guided into the box, stepping into the sleep sack. it was pressed gently towards its position and carefully it lay down as the zip was pulled to the neck. Why no mattress? Even through two layers of rubber, it wasn't comfortable. And always its cock and balls had been allowed to remain outside and Master would stroke them while the gimp floated in its blissful sate of ‘total submission’. Yet here they were secured behind the rubber layers. it felt like protesting but could not articulate words. This excited it, too. Yes, it felt a bit more like an object than it had in previous sessions. The box was a snug fit but that definitely added something extra to the experience. it felt more immobilised than it had ever done before. its head rested on a little wooden step of a pillow and while it settled down, yet another novelty was added. Cords were attached to the D rings on either side of its collar and it felt them being tightened and tied in place. Then, yet another surprise…two wooden plates moved to pinion its head in place and were screwed tightly in place. No matter how much it tried, it could not move its head up or down or from side to side. it could not move its body to any real extent and though familiar a feeling, this box allowed less movement than its previous experiences of bondage.
it was fixed totally in its wooden box. its cock strained wildly against its rubber prison but this too was incapable of any movement.
the gimp moaned in an excess of ecstasy, of bliss. This was the best, this was what it had dreamed of becoming. This was gimp Heaven. Already, it began to experience that strange, spacey, almost out of body feeling that slowly stole upon it when it was confined in even a lesser degree of bondage. The deeper it slipped into that floating head space, the more it seemed that it left its body. The experience was almost religious, as if its spirit left its body, floated above it and looked down upon the body it had just vacated. And never had it experienced it so completely as now. How much time passed like this? it was beyond even considering that. Time just disappeared and it did so easily and there was just the feeling of the ever present now. No past, no future. Just now, which was eternal.
it floated…
And then, the perfection of the eternal ‘now’ was broken by a voice. its Master’s voice. Close. Master must have knelt and lowered His head to His slave’s head.
‘Tonight… Tonight… Tonight,’ whispered its Master.
‘Oh no! Please don’t speak, please shut up,’ thought the gimp. ‘Why are You spoiling this? This was perfect and now You disturb it and break it up.’
‘Tonight, u cease to be a slave.’
‘What the fuck?!’
‘Tonight, u cease to be a gimp.’
‘What’s he going on about? I am a slave. I am a gimp. Just look at me. And You brought me here. Now just go away and let me enjoy it!’
‘Tonight u become an object. u promised me u would. I now hold u to ur promise.’
‘Yes, i want to be an object. That is what i am. i love it, really love it. Do You want thanks? I’ll give them when it is over but it’s just started and damn it, yes, You are ruining it.’
As if reading its mind, the Master continued, ‘This is only the start of ur objectification. And can u guess what kind of an object u have become and will continue to be?’
it racked its brain, it searched its mind. ‘Worm, maybe? i feel like a gimp but maybe its something else but worms can move so it can’t be a worm and that’s animal or insect or something, not an object. What are those things called that are like rigid bondage? Casts or something. But i’m not in a cast. Wouldn’t mind trying it some day, though. Wonder what it’s like. it must be like firmer mummification. So I've discounted those things and it’s not a dog, and anyway i’m more pup than dog, dog is more humiliating somehow, while pups are loved and lovable and what else do guys get up to? Pig, no it cant be pig because dogs and pigs and all that move around and i’m fixed in place and i’m an object and.. pig. No, no. It cant be that and… Pig… No, pig needs building up to and i can't go there yet, i know i can’t and why am i thinking pig all the time?’
it sensed movement. it sensed things happening up above it and it found its mind turning to the impossible, to the unspeakable ‘OH, my God. Oh, my God. oh, my God. But no, calm down, it can’t be that. No way. He didn’t lead me to it. He knows i have to go slowly. He wouldn’t, it’s a joke, that’s all.’
its Master’s hand reached down and pulled the blindfold from the rubber hood and it found itself looking up at its Master through a toilet seat, it was a rim chair, and it could just make out words painted on the underside of the toilet seat - shit eater. ‘Shit Eater. SHIT EATER. Oh, sweet Jesus. He cant be serious. No way can i go there. This has to stop. It has to.’
it struggled and strained and yet there was scarcely any movement whatsoever to discern. It was immobile. Speaking was impossible. All it could do was emit the fastest of strained, virtually silent screams. More the squeaking of a machine as it was prepared to be used.
its Master was smiling down at it, looking benign and… HAPPY!
‘So now u know. u are not slave or gimp but an object. u are what I have always wanted. u are a toilet. u have no feelings or emotions. u are a waste disposal unit. u process the products of my body, u deal with them like a machine. Without thought or feeling, u deal with waste. No matter what comes down that tube, u deal with it. I call u shit eater now as I am kind enough to see this evening as the first stage in ur transformation. u might best process this in ur mind at this stage as u being a shit eater and I am ur feeder - but I will take u further. u give up all human thought when u are strapped in place, when u become an object, when u become my toilet.’ Suddenly He knelt beside the box and His hand went to the object’s groin area. He pressed and felt the object straining back. Despite its horror, it was hard!
‘I will get rid of all ur humanity as I evolve u to ur new state of being. Machine, waste disposal unit, processor of shit, and piss and snot and vomit.’
The words chilled it but at the same time it was only too aware of its excitement. it was confused. How could horror and sexual excitement come together? its brain was screaming ‘no, no, no’. its instincts were saying, ‘i can’t believe this but part of me wants this, needs it. Can i go there is it possible? Can i handle it now if i stop my brain’s chattering and still myself and become a machine? Can i switch off thought and be a toilet? i have to try, it’s the only way. i am a toilet. i am an object. i am a toilet. i am a machine. i am a waste disposal unit. i am a toilet.’
And as it thought these thoughts, its Master’s arse was descending onto the toilet seat, blocking out all light, helping it forget its human life and human world, as, to its own surprise, it slowed the mind and it stopped trying to squirm and it stilled itself and a calm began to descend on it as its tongue began to poke up the ‘feeding’ tube and it felt the first turd begin to slide to its open mouth and it found the only thought in its head was like a mantra - ‘this object is a toilet, this object is a toilet’, and as the shit entered fully into its mouth, it continued over in its mind, ‘it is a toilet, it is a toilet, it is a toilet…’