As the lazy afternoon sun beamed through the windows, I found myself at Ludovica Luxury's studio, eagerly anticipating our little experiment. My friend and I had always been curious about human toilets, and this was our chance to indulge our desires. We carefully considered our plans, knowing that this was no ordinary task.
Our first step was to ensure our subject understood his purpose. We made him lie naked on the cold tile floor, his back pressed against it, reminding him where he belonged. We started slow, taking our time to savor the experience. My friend squatted over his face first and began pissing into his mouth. He opened wide, eagerly swallowing her stream, his eyes half-closed in pleasure. Not a single drop escaped; he gulped in rhythm with her, showing her just how grateful he was.
His eyes widened as my friend suddenly tensed her body and let out a deep, wet sound. Without warning, warm, soft shit cascaded from her anus, hitting his face and chest without mercy. She didn't stand up - she stayed crouched, feeding it to him directly, her expression one of pure pleasure as she watched him struggle to hold it all in.
He tried his best to follow her instructions, but he was overwhelmed. His mouth was already full from swallowing her piss when the shit hit him. The first dense, warm blocks dropped right onto his open tongue, filling his mouth quickly. Then came the muscle control: she pushed gently with her muscles, releasing more of the thick substance, controlling the flow until he was completely covered in it.
His eyes snapped wide open, filled with terror as he tried to hold onto the putrid mixture in his mouth. But it was too much. After barely two minutes, he broke down, spitting it all out in a disgusting gush that covered him from head to toe.
My friend rose slowly from her pose, her cruel smile never leaving her face. She picked up a small piece of the spat-out shit with two fingers, still warm, sticky, and yellowish. Without a word, she brought it to his lips, pressing it against them and forcing him to open his mouth again. He hesitated for a split second but was unable to resist when she pressed it against his tongue. She fed it to him deliberately, sliding the fragment inside her index finger until she felt it settle on his tongue. He coughed, struggled, and swallowed with difficulty, tears streaking his face, but he got it down. The taste made him shudder, yet his cock throbbed harder against his stomach.
As soon as he finished swallowing the final mouthful, my friend didn't waste time. With her fingers still filthy, she gathered up the remaining leftover shit from his chest and the floor, smearing it slowly over his body. First, she smeared it across his chest, her slow movements creating thick layers of glossy, sticky yellowish residue on his pecs and sternum. Then, she moved lower, coating his cock and balls in the warm, dense mess, wrapping his erect shaft in the soft cream before sliding her hand up and down, moaning quietly as he did the same. Every pass made him dirtier, more marked, more hers.
Finally, after thoroughly coating him from head to toe in the revolting mixture, she began to write. Moving slowly, deliberately, she traced her name across his chest with her fingers, digging into the mushy layers of shit to make permanent grooves. Then, without pausing, she added my name right beside hers. Her strokes were slow, precise, each one leaving an imprint on his skin, making it clear who this ruined body belonged to.
He breathed short, ragged breaths, chest trembling under our signatures. My friend stepped back a moment, looking down at him with satisfaction before ordering him, "Jerk off with the shit on you. Use what we smeared on your cock." His compliance was immediate; his right hand, already covered in the thick yellowish cream, gripped his shaft and started pumping up and down. The wet obscene sound filled the room as he slid the filthy substance across his skin, coating himself in it, pushing it out of the way with each stroke.
As he came, it was explosive: white spurts mixing into the filthy yellow on his chest, stomach, and hands. We left him there, lying in a puddle of his own waste, humiliated, marked, and still shaking. A debut human toilet, already completely ours.
Tomorrow he'd be back. And next time, he'd have to keep everything inside much longer.
