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The Human Toilet

He comes to me to be used, to be degraded, to become nothing more than a double-ended piece of pipework. A sly winking poke-point on one end, a gaping wide receptacle on the other, there to catch the slurry of filth my body produces. 

To feed him. 

To force him. 

To make him. 

His only purpose is to be my human toilet. 

I do not need him. This isn't about me. This is about The Hole. The Hole needs to be trained. The Hole needs to be forced. The Hole needs to become. The Hole needs. The greedy fucking Hole.

He arrives on his hands and knees, naked except for a leather blindfold bound around his head. He arrives. I don't need him to see or speak. He crawls into our space, moving with the grace of a three-legged pig. Suitably obscene, our space is an abandoned psychiatric hospital. Tall ceilings. Tall, greasy broken windows. Amateurish paintings of cartoon characters half chipped off the walls. Broken. His hands and knees travel along a floor littered with the residue of the insane. 

Dust.

Glass.

Flaked paint.

I bend down and slip a leather collar around his neck, fixing it with force, fixing The Hole. I attach a lead to the collar, a lovely Victorian pull chain for my little crawling cistern. How fucking ornate my bespoke little Hole looks. Pulling The Hole along, I stop him occasionally by jerking abruptly on the pull chain. He stops. The slow tapping of my shiny, black PVC boots is all that he hears circling around his body. 

Tap.

Tap. 

Tap. 

Stop.

Behind him. Bare arse. The Hole. Boots. I bend my knee and bring the heel of my boot in line with the vertical cleft in his arse. Hole. Flexing my foot, I push my heel forward and penetrate his little rancid plughole with six inches of tapered spike. The Hole hisses and gurgles as if he has a faulty valve. He is a useless piece of mechanics, all pipes, levers, and wax rings made flesh. I laugh and continue my campaign of sodomy against his delicate inner workings. 

Hiss. 

Gurgle. 

The ridiculous sounds he produces only serve to increase the brutality of each thrust of my heel, violently working in and out, fucking his disgusting little shit-valve with the tapered arse-end of my boot. His arms buckle beneath him, and he is left flattened on the ground, prostrated like a beggar with the sole of my boot pressed firmly into his lower back. I hold him steady, withdrawing my heel from his greasy plughole while grinding the sole of my boot into a ridge of bone. 

My amusement is complete. 

Get. Up. 

The pull chain is jerked again and The Hole is drawn forward. He follows me down the length of a pale green corridor, his hands and knees continue to crunch against the detritus on the floor. My heels continue tapping, the pull chain continues pulling. Echo. Hole. The combined sensations urge him in the correct direction until the sound ceases, the pulling ceases, and The Hole stops. 

Door.

Hinge.

Clich├ęd creak. 

The light changes and the tapping and pulling begin again. A new sensation invades The Hole. He is flooded with the stench of sewage and bleach. Mildew. Damp. Hole. The persistent dripping of water. The floor feels cold and waxy beneath his palms, knees, and toes. He continues to follow until the pullchain is jerked once again.

Sit. Up. 

Prop.

Spread.

The Hole sits rigid against the cracked porcelain of what was once the official shit swallower of lunatics. Goat ladies. Catatonics. Dirty protesters. His arse and balls sit bare on autumn coloured stains that are probably older than he is. His legs straight, his ankles a maximum distance apart. Broken tiles. Black grout. Toilet relic. I step between his legs, grab his jaw with my gloved hand, and force his head back towards what is left of the bowl. His face and cock both point up towards a large hole in the ceiling revealing another ward. Hole. 

Turning around, I squat and then sit on top of his upturned face. Throne. Queen. The latex skirt I am wearing curls back, all the way to my hip bones, revealing my clean shaven cunt. Smooth. Alabaster. My pelvis moves in a circular motion, grinding the wet slit of my cunt into his face.

Nose.

Mouth.

Chin.

I feel his tongue frantic, working inside of me like an eel out of water. Wriggle. Flick. Arch. Occasionally, I lift myself up just enough so that he can gasp for air before drowning in the fluid and weight of my crushing cunt. Hole. Face fucking drain. The Hole bends his elbows back to provide two porcine armrests for me. Clever fucking Hole. 

Pressure.

Fullness.

Release.

My hands grab onto the armrests and lift my arse and cunt off of The Hole's face just enough to relax and discard a liquid pillar of piss into my human fucking toilet. Heavy, it streams into his mouth like a ray of liquid sunshine into the bleak grey of the hospital. His mouth fills with the acid river before he begins to swallow, no time to test the Coriolis effect. Thirsty fucking Hole. 

Flushed.

Quenched.

Hungry.

I drop my arse and cunt, still dribbling with piss, back down onto his face. A wet seal forms. Once again, he cannot breathe. I wiggle and press harder. The armrests begin to quiver until I lift up again and The Hole gasps for air. Breathless. Poor fucking Hole. 

The panting and quaking stop. The Hole becomes wider. Famished beggar. I reach behind my arse and untie the blindfold to provide The Hole with his first view. Sensations alter, readjust. Overcompensations regulate. 

Arse.

Cunt.

Clit.

His view focuses just in time to see the tight pucker of my arsehole begin to dilate. It relaxes and reveals a bud of shit pushing forth, growing into bloom. The shit emerges. The shit lengthens like an anonymous, filthy fucking cock poking through a glory hole. Hole. The shit reaches towards The Hole, a tentacle searching for a crevice to hide inside. The Hole grimaces, drawing his lips back to reveal his teeth. Hungry fucking Hole. 

Slide.

Lengthen.

Stretch.

The Hole catches the shit between his teeth, stretches his head further back, pulling the shit out of my arse until it flops down onto his mouth and face. Half inside The Hole, the rest of the shit lies exhausted on his chin. The Hole begins to chew, suck, and manipulate the lifeless shit down his throat. The shit disappears into his system of pipes and bends, drowning inside the mechanics of my toilet. The Hole reeks of sewage and cunt, his teeth are stained like the autumn coloured floor. 

I straighten from the squatting position that I was in and bend forward to provide The Hole with his next task. Snapping the pullchain once again, The Hole sits bolt upright. Standing with my ankles a maximum distance apart, the only view he is provided with is that of my arse and legs spread wide open. Start with the heels.

Spike.

Curve.

Length.

The Hole crouches onto his hands and knees, his chin nearly touching the floor. He begins with the spiked heel of my boot that was firmly embedded in his useless little pucker only a short while ago. Diligently, he works his tongue up and around the heel, cleaning off every speck of shit and lunacy until it shines brilliantly with his saliva. His tongue continues to travel up and around the curve of my heel, the indentation of my ankle, and the gentle round of my calf. His tongue leaves the slick surface of my boot and meets the remnants of a trickle of piss on the soft skin of my inner thigh. Following this trail, The Hole laps his tongue, removing all traces of piss, while travelling further up my thigh until he arrives. The Hole arrives.

Cunt.

Arse.

Smear.

The filthy shit licking begins. The Hole winds his tongue back and forth over my arsehole, cleaning away every last trace of smut and debris, relishing the spicy, acrid residue of my bowels. Once he has finished cleaning the outer surface and creases therein, he stiffens his tongue and begins probing it deep into my anus. Hole. He winds it round and round, carefully collecting small bits of dirt, and curls his tongue back into his mouth like a thirsty cat. His breath reeks of faeces as he continues to gently fuck my arsehole with his eager tongue. Mistress is clean. 

Straighten.

Circle. 

Return.

Again, the tapping of my heels echoes through the room as I draw The Hole by his pullchain over to a rusty, exposed pipe on the wall. Looping the chain around and in between the pipes, I grin with the satisfaction of having found a use for my wretched little human toilet. The Hole sits upright with his back against the wall and pipework. Attached. I reach between my tits pressed together inside a latex top and withdraw a tiny padlock and key. 

Hook.

Twist.

Snap.

The padlock sits resolute and secure around the links of the pullchain. The Hole will remain. The human toilet I've installed within these crumbling walls is going nowhere soon. One last time, I reached my gloved hand forward, grasping his jaw and forcing it open. I place the tiny key to the padlock on his tongue and gently close his shit-smeared mouth. 

Gag.

Strain.

Swallow. 

The key disappears down his pathetic pipework and into his sad and hollow inner sewer. Slowly leaning down, I hold his gaze for several seconds before spitting directly into his face. A splash of bubbled saliva travels in splattered streaks down his abandoned face. I straighten up, turn, and slowly begin to walk away. A broad smile stretches across my face as I imagine The Hole desperately sifting through his very own special delivery of shit for that tiny key to freedom. Frantic fucking Hole. 

Tap. 

Tap. 

Tap. 

Door closes.

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