As I descended the staircase to my lavish loft, I couldn't help but wonder about my slave. He had made the long journey from his country just for a taste of my exquisite feces. It was both flattering and intriguing to know that humble individual would take such lengths for my filth. I reached the bottom and took a moment to survey the studio. Everything was in its place: the designer toilet, the mahogany chair and footrest, and various accoutrements scattered about the room.
There he was, kneeling before me, eyes locked on my every move. I could see the yearning in his gaze as he awaited his first taste of my poop-filled sandwich. I didn't want to overwhelm him with too much at once, so I took my time preparing myself before finally sitting on the gold-plated toilet.
My slave watched anxiously as I released a large pile of caviar onto the white porcelain. He watched intently, his mouth watering in anticipation, as I carefully smeared it around with my finger, leaving a trail for him to follow. When I nodded towards him, he moved closer, his face just inches from my finger, and began to lick it clean.
The sound of his wet, eager tongue against my skin sent shivers down my spine. "Nonna mia cazzo," he muttered between licks, his eyes never leaving my finger as he cleaned it. I couldn't help but giggle at his endearment laced with profanity; it was such a unique blend of reverence and rebelliousness that it made me want to taste him even more.
As he finished with my finger, I nodded towards the toilet bowl. Without hesitation, he leaned over it, his nose just inches from the brink as he awaited further instruction. With a soft chuckle, I pushed him forward till his face was buried deep in my excremental delight. "Eat," I commanded gently, watching as his tongue darted out, tasting every inch of my creation.
I took a moment to light up a cigarette, enjoying the sweet smell of Italy wafting through the air as I watched him devour every last bit of my masterpiece. His face was now covered in shit, but he didn't seem to mind as he sucked on my feces like it was a fine wine. "Merde!" he exclaimed between mouthfuls, his head bobbing up and down as he savoured every bit of my filth.
By now, my imagination was running wild. I hadn't had enough of his tongue on my feces. "Get your cock out," I ordered calmly, lifting up the cellophane that pinned him down. He hesitated for a moment before pulling his pants down and exposing his erection. "That's it," I encouraged him as he began jerking off, his cock slick with anticipation.
I leaned forward, my face mere inches from his shuddering member. "Swallow it all," I commanded as he did as he was told, his cock disappearing into his mouth as he began to chew and swallow my poop. It was a sight to behold: the devotion in his eyes, the determination on his face, and the way he moaned as he tasted every last bit of my essence.
As he finished, a look of pure ecstasy washed over his face, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride. "That was exceptional. Now clean yourself up." I watched as he struggled to his feet, covered in a thick layer of feces and my cum. He looked at me, eyes pleading for more as he started to lick himself clean.
It was then that I realized how much power I held over him. He was nothing but my slave, my plaything, and I could do whatever I wanted with him. The thought sent shivers down my spine, and I couldn't wait to see what other depraved ideas would cross my mind. For now, though, I took one last drag of my cigarette and watched him lick himself clean.
