The sequel to the infamous Scatfest event was finally upon us. As the anticipation built up, I couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and dread. The first Scatfest had been a truly unforgettable experience, filled with humiliation, filth, and degradation that had pushed my boundaries to the brink. But this time, I was determined to embrace it all and dive headfirst into the depraved world of toilet slavery.
Upon arriving at the secret location, I was greeted by the disgusting yet irresistible aroma of feces and urine. It was like a sickeningly alluring perfume, drawing me deeper into the darkness. As my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I saw a row of toilets lined up in front of me. Each one was occupied by a different woman, their asses pointing towards me invitingly.
Without hesitation, I knelt down in front of the first toilet and extended my tongue, waiting for the feast to begin. To my surprise, though, none of the women moved. They just sat there, smirking down at me while their asses quivered with anticipation. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the first woman stood up and slowly lowered her ass onto my face.
"Take your time, slave," she purred. "Savour the scent and taste of my shit."
I nodded eagerly, my face buried deep in her warm, smelly crack. She began to rock back and forth, grinding her ass against my face as she released a steady stream of diarrhea into the waiting toilet. I could feel the hot, thick liquid trickling down my throat as I lapped at her moist entrance like a hungry dog.
One by one, each of the other women followed suit. They took turns sitting on my face, each with a unique scent and texture to their shit. Some were watery and acrid, like biting into a lemon; others were thick and paste-like, coating my tongue in a sticky, disgusting film.
As I struggled to keep up with the overwhelming onslaught of filth, I began to lose track of time. Hours seemed to pass as I was subjected to this revolting ordeal. But through it all, there was one constant: the intoxicating blend of fear and arousal coursing through my veins.
Just when I thought I could take no more, the final woman rose from her toilet throne. She stepped away from the others, her hips rolling seductively as she surveyed her handiwork. Slowly, she lowered herself onto a golden stool, her ass pointing towards me in invitation.
"This is Scatfest, Death," she said softly. "You must thank me for being here."
I nodded gratefully, my soul filled with a perverse gratitude for this twisted opportunity. Then, I lowered my face to her ass, tongue extended. For what felt like an eternity, we stared into each other's eyes: the Mistress of Scat, and her most devoted slave.
Finally, she gave a slow, wet smack against my face. I welcomed the salty sting of her spit as it mixed with the remnants of her feces and urine. As she grinded her ass against my face, I tasted the bitter sweetness of human excrement for the very first time.
And as she unloaded her final load onto my eager tongue, I knew beyond a doubt: there was no price too high for this illicit pleasure. For I was a toilet slave, and this was Scatfest.
