Me and my friend, Dula, were so excited to attend the fetish party that we had planned everything to the last detail. We had carefully chosen our outfits, applied our makeup, and even selected some music to set the right mood. However, as we were about to leave, we both started feeling odd. Our stomachs were churning, and we had to use the bathroom urgently.
"Oh no! This can't be good," I exclaimed, clutching my stomach. "I think it's what we had for dinner earlier - it was a bit off."
Dula nodded in agreement, his face pale. "Yeah, me too. Let's call the slave and have him clean up. He deserves a treat after all the hard work he's done for us today."
So, we called our slave, who was eagerly awaiting our return from the party. He seemed genuinely thrilled to hear from us and even more excited when we told him that the evening might be spent indoors.
"He won't mind missing out on the party!" he said cheerfully.
When we arrived back at the house, the slave was there waiting for us. He looked up at us with eager anticipation, not realizing what was in store for him. Little did he know that he was about to become our human toilet.
First, Dula began by pissing into the slave's mouth, causing the poor guy to gag and choke on the warm urine. Then, it was my turn. I peed into the glass for him to drink, ensuring he got a generous dose of my golden nectar. Meanwhile, my intestines were rumbling loudly, making strange noises that echoed through the room.
As the evening progressed, our bowels started moving more, and our toilet needs became more urgent. Dula began shitting into the slave's mouth, forcing him to swallow every disgusting bite. It was remarkable how he managed to keep up with all the filth we were feeding him.
But things were about to get worse for him. My stomach was now in full revolt, and I started feeling an overwhelming urge to release a massive shit. One by one, I emptied my bowels into the slave's open mouth, not caring how much filth he was taking in.
"This is so satisfying!" I laughed, watching as the slave struggled to keep up with all the excrement.
Dula joined in, putting his own spin on the punishment. He started writing our names on the slave's belly and even managed to squeeze out a few smears of shit onto the tiny cock that barely protruded from his crotch.
Finally, exhausted from all the filth and humiliation, we decided to end our little game. We left the slave lying there, his head still buried in a mountain of shit, while we made our way to bed. It had been a long and messy night, but it had certainly been worth it. The taste of power and control was something we both relished, and our slave would forever remember this evening as the day he served as our personal toilet.
