It was a cool autumn evening, and I found myself anxiously pacing the sidewalk outside Alina's university. My heart raced with anticipation as I thought about the filthy task that lay before me. She had just called to inform me that she needed to find a suitable place to take a particularly large shit and had decided upon me as her personal toilet slave.
After what felt like an eternity, the taxi pulled up, and there she was; my beautiful mistress Alina, stepping out of the car with her long, slender legs stretched in front of her. Her smile was both naughty and innocent as she locked eyes with me. "Hello, my lovely toilet slave," she purred, leaning in for a soft kiss on my cheek.
"Shall we go?" she asked, graciously extending her hand to me. I took it hesitantly, feeling the warmth of her palm against my skin. This was always an intense experience for me—the mixture of fear and excitement that coursed through my veins whenever she spoke openly about her dirty needs.
We walked side by side towards the nearest public restroom, the sound of our heels clicking against the concrete like a perverse symphony. "So, how have you been?" she asked casually, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
"I've been good, mistress," I replied, trying my best to sound calm. Inside, however, my stomach churned with nerves and excitement. I couldn't wait to see her huge turd grace my tongue once more.
We entered the restroom, and she went directly to one of the private stalls. I stood outside, ears perked up, listening intently for any sign of her messy business. The sound of her zipper lowering sent shivers down my spine. "Are you ready, my little toilet slave?" she asked playfully from within the stall.
I couldn't speak, could only nod vigorously. A moment later, she flushed, and out she came - looking more stunning than ever after relieving herself. She wore nothing but a tiny skirt and blouse that barely contained her ample assets. As she sauntered past me, I caught a whiff of her unique scent—a heady mixture of sweat, perfume, and freshly excreted feces.
Kneeling down before her, I took her precious offering in my hands, savoring the cool, smooth texture against my palms. Gently, ever so gently, I guided it into my mouth. Oh, how I loved the taste of her poop! She moaned softly as I lapped at her anus, cleaning her thoroughly. "Mmmm," she purred, "that's my good boy."
We left the restroom together, our secret pact still unspoken but forever etched in the memories we shared. As we walked down the empty street, arm in arm, I couldn't help but feel grateful for her trust in me—and excited for our next encounter. We didn't speak much; there was no need to. Our connection went beyond words.
As we parted ways at her front door, she turned to face me one last time. "Remember, my little toilet slave," she whispered sensually, "my bowels are always yours." And with that, she disappeared inside, leaving me there with a grin plastered on my face and the unmistakable taste of shit in my mouth.
The following day, I got a text from Alina: "Meet me at the park after university. We have something special planned." My heart skipped a beat! This was our routine now—our twisted dance of dominance and submission. I couldn't wait to see what filthy acts she had in store for me this time. To be her personal toilet slave truly was an honor.
