As I walked out of the bathroom, my gaze landed on the small plastic bin by the toilet. It was empty, and I felt a pang of disappointment. I had been hoping to find some fresh human feces inside to use as a toy for my new pet.
I turned towards the man who was kneeling next to me, head bowed in submission. His eyes were filled with nervous anticipation, but he knew better than to ask what I wanted from him. "Stand up," I commanded, my voice cold and harsh.
As he rose slowly to his feet, I inspected his body. He was young and toned, dressed in nothing but a pair of black briefs that did little to hide his erection. He was a willing participant, eager to please me in any way he could.
"Spread your legs," I ordered, walking over to my desk. I could see him shiver as he obeyed, knowing full well what was coming next. On my desk was a small dish, filled with what appeared to be chocolate pudding.
"Open your mouth," I ordered, and he did as he was told, parting his lips hesitantly. I scooped up some of the pudding with my fingers and pushed it into his mouth, letting him taste the sweet, rich texture.
"Now close your eyes," I commanded, and he did as he was told. I reached back into the dish, scooping up another handful of pudding, this time mixed with what looked like fresh, human feces. I placed it carefully into his mouth, letting him feel the coarse texture against his tongue.
"Swallow," I ordered, and he did as he was told, despite the strong urge to gag. I could see the disgust in his eyes, but he knew better than to show it.
"Now beg for more," I said, and he dropped to his knees, head bowed as his voice trembled with fear and desire. "Please, Mistress, I want to taste your shit. Let me be your shiteater."
I considered his request for a moment, thinking about the power it would give me over him. Finally, I nodded once. "Very well," I said, scooping up another handful of pudding mixed with feces. "But remember, you are now my shiteater, and you will eat anything I put into that mouth of yours."
His eyes grew wide with understanding as he parted his lips once again, ready to taste whatever I would give him next. And so it went, back and forth between pleasure and pain, until he had cleaned the dish of every last morsel, his face smeared with the remnants of our twisted encounter.
Finally, I dismissed him, allowing him to rise slowly to his feet and leave the room, a broken man who would forever be marked by our encounter. I watched him go, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction wash over me. For I had truly made him my shiteater.
