As the weekend approached, Christina called me with an intriguing request. She needed a toilet slave for the weekend and had a surprise in store for me. Her surprise turned out to be shocking; she had shit in a plastic box for an entire week and stored it in the freezer. The idea was that the stinky piles would remain fresh and stronger after defrosting, making them ideal for training a devoted toilet slave like me. When I arrived to meet her on Saturday morning, I could already smell the potent stench emanating from the box she placed before me.
Christina ordered me to eat the feces, but I couldn't help feeling nauseated at the thought of eating such repulsive material. I confessed my fears to Christina, who responded with a stern warning: either I ate everything or paid her fine. The fine was enough to cause me great anxiety, as I didn't have much money saved up. She agreed to let me eat the freshest pile first, figuring that would make me more likely to comply with her command.
I spent some time preparing for the task at hand. I opened the box and removed the lid with care, trying not to breathe in the overpowering smell. Christina squatted over the box and began to defecate warm, smelly feces onto the piles inside. The smell was almost unbearable, assaulting my senses with every breath I took. As she finished, she instructed me to start eating the piles, beginning with the oldest, smelliest one. I did as I was told, managing to swallow the first pile and more than half of the second before feeling sick to my stomach.
Christina wasn't pleased with my performance; she had expected me to eat everything without hesitation. She threatened to make my punishment even more severe if I didn't start swallowing everything she gave me. Despite feeling nauseated and close to vomiting, I knew that I had no choice but to comply with my mistress's demands if I wanted any hope of avoiding her wrath.
Throughout the feeding process, I struggled between my revulsion and my desire to please Christina. Every time she approached me with another heap of steaming feces, I felt my stomach churning and my eyes watering from the intense stench. Yet I knew that this was what I had been trained for, that every toilet slave must pass this test of submission, and that I would have to push through the discomfort if I ever hoped to live up to Christina's expectations.
When she finally declared that I had finished my task, I felt a sense of both relief and dread wash over me. I was grateful that the ordeal was over, but terrified of what punishment would await me if I failed to show adequate devotion next time. Even as I sat there, exhausted and sick to my stomach, I knew that I would do anything to please my cruel but irresistible mistress.
In retrospect, the entire experience was a test of my limits and dedication to Christina. It was a grueling trial by feces, designed to break down my defenses and force me to submit to her every command. And while it was one of the most humiliating and unpleasant experiences of my life, I wouldn't have it any other way. For if it meant proving my worth as a true toilet slave, then I would gladly crawl through a river of shit for her.
