It was the fourth night of torture for the slave in Miss Dula's dungeon, and the fourth time he found himself waiting eagerly for his meal. He had grown accustomed to the pain, the humiliation, and the disgusting tasks she subjected him to, but food was his only escape from reality. The thought of her excrement filling his mouth made him nauseous, but he knew it would sustain him until the next day.
Miss Dula hurried back to her chamber after her busy day at work. She couldn't resist the urge to pamper herself on the edge of her luxurious toilet before attending her evening engagement. She licked her lips in anticipation as she sat down, her soft, round ass hovering above the eager slave's mouth. Shemuttered under her breath, "Wait until you taste this sweet treat."
As she opened her legs, he could see the gleam of her ass cheeks and felt a gush of warm liquid between them. He knew what was coming next and his stomach churned with revulsion. Miss Dula lowered herself gently onto the toilet seat, her plump buttocks descending right in front of his face. The stench of shit filled the air as she leaned back against the wall, giving him full view of her asshole.
"It's time for me to empty myself, slave," she purred, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. She grunted softly, pushing out a fat turd that slipped slowly out of her asshole and onto the floor, just inches from his face. Another followed, then another, each one larger and more disgusting than the last. He tried to hold his breath but couldn't help but gasp as the first fart caught him square in the face.
Miss Dula's fingers danced along her slit, teasing herself while she watched her slave struggle to contain his revulsion. She smirked as he whimpered, knowing full well that he would soon be eating her shit. "Open your filthy mouth," she commanded, and he obeyed without question, his tongue trembling as he prepared himself for the worst.
With a wicked grin, Miss Dula positioned her ass directly over his face, her turd-covered hand ready to force-feed him her excrement. The first spoonful hit his tongue like a wave of nausea, but he forced himself to swallow as she continued to shovel shit into his mouth. She sighed in contentment as she watched him choke down her shit, savoring every moment of his humiliation.
Finally, she pulled the slave's head up by his hair, forcing him to look into her eyes. "You better hurry up, slave," she warned, "or you'll make me late for my dinner." With that, she stepped away from the toilet, leaving him to clean up her mess. He groaned as he tasted her shit on his tongue, knowing that there was little hope for escape from this living hell.
As Miss Dula left the dungeon, her heart racing with anticipation for her evening's events, the slave remained behind, curled up in a ball on the dirty floor, praying for death to come quickly. But death was not an option; he was Miss Dula's property now, and she would make sure he understood that until the bitter end.
