Barbara Contessa Calucci and I, masters of human toilets, had found the perfect living toilet slave. His eagerness to please us was exceeded only by his capacity to swallow our waste. I watched as Contessa spit in his mouth, marking him as our own. She then took her seat on the lavatory and released an explosive stream of urine directly into his open mouth. The yellow liquid gushed down his throat and overflowed onto his chin. He was so used to the taste and texture of his mistress's piss that he swallowed every drop without hesitation.
Next, it was my turn. With a satisfied smile, I assumed the same position as Contessa and let loose a torrent of golden piss onto our slave's upturned face. It splattered against his skin before cascading into his awaiting mouth. His eyes watered slightly from the force of it but still, he kept swallowing. I took pleasure in the look of humiliation on his face as he was drenched in our waste.
After finishing our business, we pulled him out from under the toilet and admired our handiwork. We were both exhausted but satisfied. Contessa approached him slowly and bent down, presenting her womanly region to him. With trembling hands, he began to lick the remaining traces of urine from her delicate folds. As he worked, I felt a familiar stirring in my loins. It was time for round two.
I moved into position behind him and slipped my aching member into his tight, lubricated ass. He moaned softly as I began to thrust slowly at first, then faster and deeper. I grabbed his hair roughly and forced his head down towards my crotch. The shiny, fresh odor of feces filled the air as he took me into his mouth once more. Our slave's efforts were not in vain; he knew that this was his reward for enduring our filth.
We took turns using him as an impromptu toilet, filling his ass and mouth with our excrement. It felt exhilarating knowing that nobody knew about the activities taking place in this dingy bathroom. The more we abused him, the more loyal he seemed to become. Sometimes we would even encourage him to swallow an entire turd just to see if he could handle it. And every time, he never failed to impress us.
After an intense session, we finally released him from his duties and allowed him to clean himself up. As he left the bathroom, we couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of how many people walked past him without realizing what he had just been through. It was our little secret, and we cherished it deeply.
Although no words were exchanged between us and our slave during these sessions, we could tell that he understood his place in our twisted world. He was our living toilet, and we were his mistresses. It was a strange yet satisfying dynamic, one that we knew would continue for as long as he was willing to serve us.
