Natalia Kapretti: Feast on My Slavegirl's Sweet, Nutritious Feces
As a captive audience, you've been eagerly awaiting the next course, and now it's time for the main event. You're about to indulge in a unique and exquisite meal that will leave your taste buds tantalized and your stomach full. Today's menu features none other than my slavegirl's precious feces and golden urine.
Your eyes dart across the room to where my slavegirl lies curled up on the floor, her body trembling as she holds back her impending defecation. She's been trained to hold it all in until she receives your command, and now she trembles with anticipation of being relieved of her burden.
"Take a deep breath, my sweet little toilet," I whisper as I approach her. My voice is soft and soothing, like honey on her ears. I squat down beside her, my skirt billowing around us in a gentle dance. With one hand, I gently caress her cheek, and with the other, I pull apart her lips, exposing her teeth.
"You're doing so well, my pet," I murmur as I rub her jawline tenderly. "It's almost time for you to be released from your discomfort." My slavegirl whimpers softly, her eyes closed tightly as if she's in pain. But deep down, she knows this is what she's here for – to serve me, to please me, and to provide sustenance for those in need.
"Say after me, my love," I coo as I stretch out my hand, palm up. "I am a toilet." She opens her eyes and looks up at me, tears of gratitude and submission welling up in them. "I am a toilet," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
"That's my good girl," I smile, patting her head affectionately. "Now, let's get you to eat your own shit. It's time for your meal." I stand up and command her to follow me over to the corner of the room where a large wooden trough awaits. The trough is filled with fresh straw, making it a comfortable nest for her to lie in as she savors her meal.
I pick up a small serving spoon and scoop out a generous helping of my slavegirl's feces, placing it in front of her on the straw-covered floor. The mixture smells sweet and earthy, like a freshly turned garden bed after a summer rain. My slavegirl hesitates for only a moment before lowering her face into the trough and beginning to eat.
As she devours her own waste, I watch with a sense of satisfaction and pride. This is what I've trained her for – to be a willing, obedient, and self-sufficient provider of nourishment. And she's so good at it. Her cheeks bulge with each mouthful, and I can see the pleasure on her face as she savors the flavors.
Once she's finished, I command her to lie down in the trough, nestling herself into the warm straw. And then, I scoop up another serving spoonful of her golden urine, the fluid glistening in the candlelight like liquid gold. I carry it over to the trough and gently pour it over my slavegirl's body, letting it trickle down her chest and stomach, filling her nostrils with its heady aroma.
I step back to admire my creation – a human toilet, created for my pleasure and satisfaction. And as I watch, she begins to fumble with her hands in the straw, searching for any remnants of her meal that might have been missed. Her tongue darts out, tasting the air, seeking out any remaining traces of her excremental feast.
In this world of degradation and humiliation, my slavegirl has found purpose and meaning. She is no longer just a body, but a living, breathing toilet – my toilet. And for that, she will be eternally grateful.
