It was a long and arduous journey for the slave, but today was the day they had been training for: the day Miss Dula declared his shit-eating skills were finally complete. The Italian Mistress was back from a few days' vacation, and the slave knew he had to prove his worth once again. She had been gone for what felt like an eternity, but the slave had spent every minute imaginable cleaning up her chamber and preparing for her return.
The moment Miss Dula stepped through the door, the slave fell to his knees in front of her, his mouth watering at the sight of her glory. She stood there, tall and imposing, her soft curves barely concealed by the lacy black lingerie she wore. Her smirk was devilish, and the slave could feel his heart race with anticipation.
"Well, well, well... it seems my little slave has been missed," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. The slave couldn't help but nod his head in agreement. He had missed her too, and not just because of the pain he would endure later. There was something thrilling about being in her presence, about knowing that she held all the power over him.
She walked over to the golden throne that was her toilet and sat down gracefully. The slave couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the mass of shit waiting for him. It was massive, and he couldn't help but wonder how she had managed to produce so much in just a few days. But there was no time to question; Miss Dula had a routine, and he was expected to follow it.
Slowly, he crawled towards her, his mouth gaping open like a fish out of water. The smell was overwhelming, but he forced himself to keep going. He knew that if he didn't, he would be punished severely. As he got closer, he felt her eyes boring into the back of his head. It took all of his willpower not to tremble under her gaze.
Finally, he reached the foot of the golden throne. He looked up at her, his eyes pleading for permission. She stared back at him, unblinking, before nodding slowly. With shaking hands, he reached out and took the first bite. It was worse than he could have imagined – warm, sticky, and reeking of filth. But he forced himself to keep going, chewing slowly and swallowing with as much grace as he could muster.
Miss Dula watched him intently, her eyes narrowing as she studied his every move. He could feel her satisfaction as he ate more and more of her shit. With each mouthful, he felt himself growing more and more connected to her, more like the toilet she needed him to be.
Finally, he had finished. He looked up at her, expecting to be praised, but instead, she just stared back at him blankly. He wondered what he had done wrong, but before he could ask, she stood up and motioned for him to approach.
With a trembling hand, he took her soft, supple foot and began to lick it clean. She let out a soft moan, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him. He had passed her test, and she was pleased.
As he continued to clean her foot, he thought about how far he had come. It had been a long and difficult journey, but it had been worth it. He knew that from now on, he would be her toilet, her personal shit-eater. And even though it wasn't what he had ever imagined for himself, he couldn't deny that there was a certain thrill to it, a certain power that came with being so completely owned by another person.
And so, the slave continued to clean his mistress' foot, his face beaming with pride and gratitude. He knew that this was his new life now, and he would live it to the fullest, no matter how demeaning or disgusting it might seem to others. Because to him, this was the ultimate act of submission, and he loved her for it.
