ENGLISH
On the third day, the slave in the dungeon felt a rumble in his stomach. It had been two days since his last meal, and he knew what was coming next. As he prepared the Kartell toilet chair, he couldn't help but feel a mix of dread and anticipation.
His mistress, Miss Dula, soon entered the room, looking every inch the dominatrix she was. She wore elegant Zanottis shoes, a skirt that hugged her curves, and a studded top that highlighted her powerful figure. She walked over to her throne and sat down, a cigarette already lit between her fingers.
The slave knelt before her, trembling with excitement and fear. He knew his place, and he knew what was expected of him. He opened the small chest that held her treasures and took out a silver dish. On it lay a small piece of dried up shit.
Miss Dula's eyes flashed with cold satisfaction as she watched him approach. He bowed his head, waiting for her command.
"Has my shit been savored enough?" she asked, blowing a perfect smoke ring.
The slave nodded eagerly, his mouth watering at the thought of tasting her again.
"Then feed it to me," she commanded, her voice commanding.
He took the small morsel and carefully placed it in her open mouth. She closed her lips around it, and he felt her tongue brush against his fingers. He could almost taste the sweetness of her shit mixing with the champagne he had drunk earlier.
For a moment, they stood there, locked in a primal dance of power and submission. Then, with surprising gentleness, she lifted her legs onto the toilet chair and positioned herself underneath.
The slave knelt before her, ready to meet his mistress's demands. She leaned forward, placing one Zanottis-clad foot on his shoulder. He felt the weight of her body pressing down on him, making him feel even smaller and more insignificant.
"Eat my shit, slave," she hissed, her eyes gleaming with dark promise.
And so he did. He opened his mouth wide, preparing himself for the onslaught. She began to fill his mouth with her precious shit, stretching his jaws to their limit. He felt the warm, moist globs of her shit sliding down his throat, coating his tongue with her unique flavor.
As he swallowed each bite, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction. The mixture of her scent, taste, and the power she exuded was intoxicating. He was completely under her spell, ready to do anything she asked.
When he couldn't take any more, she held him by the hair and forced him to drink the remaining shit from the dish. He choked on it, fighting to breathe through the thick mass filling his stomach. Yet even in his moment of agony, he couldn't help but feel a perverse thrill at being so completely owned by his mistress.
Finally, she released him, and he fell to his knees, gasping for air. She smiled, her lips curling in satisfaction.
"Good boy," she purred, taking one last drag of her cigarette before crushing it beneath her pump. "Now, get me another glass of that fine Dula shit."
With newfound determination, the slave rose to his feet and obeyed his mistress's command.
