The day after their marriage, Mistress Isabella woke up with an idea. She knew that her new husband, Paris, was still reeling from the shock of their wedding night when she had turned him into her personal sissy and toilet. Now she decided it was time to push him even further.
She walked into the bedroom where Paris was sleeping soundly, wearing his frilly nightgown and a pair of feminine panties. With a smirk, Mistress Isabella picked up a bulky object from the corner of the room and held it in front of Paris's face.
"Wake up, sissy," she said, shaking him gently. "I have something special planned for you today!"
Paris's eyes fluttered open, terror filling his heart as he recognized the object in her hands. It was a colostomy bag—a large, stomach-churning contraption that would be used to collect his waste once she had relieved him of his bladder and bowel functions.
"No, please, not that," he begged, his voice trembling. "Anything but that."
"Oh, but sissy," Mistress Isabella purred, running her fingers through his neatly combed hair. "This is going to be so much fun for both of us."
She slipped the colostomy bag over Paris's head, securing it tightly around his waist. Then, with a sinister smile, she grabbed his shirt and forced him to stand up.
"Now," she said, guiding him towards the bathroom, "it's time for you to experience the true meaning of being my colf."
Paris's heart sank as he realized what was about to happen. He had been dreading this moment since their wedding night. Mistress Isabella had revealed to him that she was into collar and leash play, enemas, and other forms of humiliation. He had never imagined that she would actually make him her toilet.
As they walked into the bathroom, Paris could feel the sweat breaking out on his forehead. He tried to resist, but Mistress Isabella's grip on his leash was unyielding. She marched him over to the toilet seat and sat him down, her hand firmly on his head.
"Now, sissy," she said. "Remember what I've taught you. You need to stay still and quiet while I do my business."
Paris whimpered as he felt her warm urine hitting the sides of the colostomy bag. He closed his eyes, praying that it would all be over soon. But Mistress Isabella wasn't finished yet. With a wicked grin, she reached into the bag, grabbed a handful of his "cum"—as she called it—and brought it up to his mouth.
"Don't worry, sissy," she purred. "You'll get used to it."
She forced him to drink his own "cum," chastising him when he tried to pull away. By the time she had finished, Paris felt like he was going to be sick. He could hardly believe that this was his life now.
As Mistress Isabella stood up, her stomach rumbling loudly, Paris knew what was coming next. His heart sank even lower. He had never felt more humiliated in his life. But he also couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of arousal at the thought of being her personal toilet.
And so, as his new mistress prepared to take a huge shit in front of him, Paris tried to find some kind of comfort in the depths of his humiliation. Because he knew that this was just the beginning.
