On this third day of Anna's relentless use of her French toilet, the human sensed a shift in the air. His eyes widened as he beheld the breakfast spread before him: scrambled eggs covered in thin, runny diarrhea mixed with a healthy serving of his Mistress's feces. The smell was overwhelmingly rancid, his stomach churning in revulsion. He knew that he would have no choice but to consume every last bite as per Anna's orders.
The French toilet stood there, trembling with fear and dread. His mind rebelled against the idea of ingesting such foul matter, but his body forced him to move forward. He took a tentative step towards the table, his head spinning with the combination of nausea and sheer panic. As he reached out to pick up the first bite of food, he felt a cold, clammy hand clasp around his wrist.
"Remember your place," came a cold, hard voice through the room. Anna stood behind him, her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes drilled into the back of his head as she relished in his discomfort. "You are nothing but a toilet to me, and this is your role. Now eat."
The human could hardly move, much less respond. His willpower was broken by the cruelty of his mistress. Slowly, he lifted the spoonful of vomit-inducing mixture to his mouth and forced himself to swallow. He repeated this process multiple times until every last bite was gone. His stomach churned violently, threatening to expel the feces-filled meal.
Anna watched with relish as the French toilet struggled to keep the disgusting meal down. She couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at his misery. "Now clean up," she commanded, gesturing towards the mess on the floor.
The French toilet looked down, his eyes widening in horror. Amongst the scattered food and filth were remnants of his own excrement. Anna nodded towards them, understanding his hesitation. "Yes, slave. Pick it up with your hands and feed it back to me."
With tears streaming down his face, the French toilet obeyed. Kneeling down beside the mess, he gathered up bits of food and feces with his trembling hands. He recognized pieces of his own diarrhea mixed with Mistress Anna's feces—a truly horrifying realization. With difficulty, he picked up the disgusting mixture and rose to his feet, offering it to Anna on the spoon.
She took it gratefully, licking the disgusting mixture off the spoon with relish. "Good boy," she purred. "Now, get back to your place and await further instructions."
The French toilet stumbled back to his position against the wall, head bowed in shame. He felt filthier than ever before, both inside and out. He knew there would be no escape from this living nightmare until Mistress Anna ended her punishment, but he feared for how long that might last. All he could do was endure and try not to lose himself entirely in the depths of his degradation.
