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Time to put on my RUBBERS-FINEST gas mask. I love this mask!!

Everything is a blur. You can barely see through the torrent of tears that fill you eyes. You're truly suffering like never before now. You'd say anything, do anything, promise anything, to bring that suffering to an end but deep down you know that it's your suffering that I desire more than anything. You wonder how such a light touch can inflict such torment. If only it would stop. Just for a moment so you could have a second or two to catch your breath. But I'm relentless with dispensing your punishment. I will grant you no respite from it.

You remember how you scoffed when you first heard of tickle torture, You couldn't believe that such a thing could induce the kind of agony that would break a person both mind and body. You know now how wrong your were. This is unbearable. You'd gladly pleasure me in any manner I wished to be granted a reprieve.

This is your just punishment for tempting me with your breathtakingly beautiful feet. For the last hour or more I've been cruelly tickling them with an assortment of torture implements. Fingers, feather, brushes, you've felt them all caress and stimulate your naked feet. Each one dispensing it's own unique brand of ticklish torment. Your body trembles and shakes as soft bristles and silky plumes traverse you bare soles. You try to curl your toes but the restraints hold them in place. Good god how it tickles. You've never felt any thing so intense in your life. Sadistic, searing, tickles overwhelm you and force the laughter from you. Your feet are so soft and tender. They're far too sensitive to handle this sort of treatment. And now they're being worked over by a black belt in the art of tickle torture.

I instinctively know exactly what spots to exploit. I know just how to tease, just how to titillate, just how to strum all the most vulnerable places your feet possess. If this keeps up much longer you're certain you'll slip into madness.

You're sides ache and your ribs burn from laughing, You can barely breath. You're body glistens with sweat, you're exhausted yet are unable to rest. The tickling won't allow it. It consumes you totally. It's all you can feel. What's worse is that you know I have no intentions of ending this anytime soon. I'm enjoying it way too much. You can tell how turned on I am as I watch you squirm and listen to you plead and beg. You've learned your lesson a thousand times over but still I continue to mercilessly tickle your poor, little, feet. This is unspeakable cruelty and all you can do is take. Every last bit of it.

Your mind races. "How much longer can this go on?" you wonder. How much more will your body be able to take? It looks as though you're going to be forced to find out the answers to these terrifying questions.

Your lovely feet twitch and convulse in an elegant dance spurred on by the savage torture. You wiggle your toes as much as you can but it doesn't help. The tickling presses on. You feel as though you may pass out. That may be a welcome relief even if it's only for a few minutes. You find yourself praying for it to happen but I seem to be able to deny you this mercy. How you do not know.

The tickling drags on. You stop fighting your bonds. You're far to weak to do so. I'm breaking you one feather stroke at a time. What's more is that you know I will achieve this goal. There's no way you can resist. Soon you'll be my whimpering, little, tickle slaves. A toy for me to do with as I please. You've almost reached your limit. Just a few more tickles and you'll be mine. Your will is almost fully eroded. Your toes, your arches, your soles, every sweet spot is ferreted out and used against you.

You feel your senses taking leave of you. Driven out by the most meticulous and precise tickling you've ever known. I've got you right were I want you and you know it.

oh shit…

You know, sometimes I forget there are risks to being a tickle blog who teases relentlessly…some people might be willing to put me through whatever this is, truly sadistic, truly merciless, just revelling in how much I’m suffering 😩

Chapter 1: The Isolation of Possibility

The silence of my apartment was suffocating. Another day had blended into another, a monotonous blur of disconnection and emptiness. At eighteen, I felt more like a ghost than a person—invisible, forgotten, trapped in the margins of existence. My small studio apartment reflected my inner landscape: cluttered, disorganized, with clothes scattered across cheap IKEA furniture and takeout containers marking the landscape of my solitude.

The knock at the door was so unexpected that I initially thought I'd imagined it.

When I opened the door, there was no one—just a package leaning against the doorframe. The shipping label read "Tim Richards" next door, but something about its presence felt like an invitation. Curiosity, that rare spark of excitement in my otherwise mundane life, began to burn.

I knew I shouldn't. The package wasn't addressed to me. But the plain black film, the slight weight, the mysterious way it had appeared—it called to me like a siren's song.

My fingers traced the packaging. No return address. Just a small emblem in the corner that looked like an abstract mechanical design, with the word "SERVE" subtly integrated into its lines.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I was carefully opening the package. The cardboard gave way to reveal something extraordinary: a black bodysuit that seemed to absorb light, making it look like a void given physical form. Alongside it were silver gloves and matching boots, their surfaces smooth and reflective.

Something about the suit seemed alive. Not in a biological sense, but in a way that suggested potential—like an unwritten story waiting for its first words.

Almost unconsciously, I found myself holding the suit. The material was unlike anything I'd ever touched—simultaneously smooth and textured, cool yet responsive to my touch. It seemed to pulse with an energy that made the hair on my arms stand on end.

"Go ahead," a voice whispered. Not out loud—not exactly. More like a suggestion forming directly in my mind. "Try me on."

I knew I should stop. This wasn't my package. This wasn't my decision to make. But the isolation, the years of feeling invisible, of wanting something—anything—to break the monotony of my existence... they made the decision for me.

The suit slipped on like a second skin. Each movement felt electric, transformative. Where my body had been soft and undefined, muscles began to emerge—not grotesquely, but perfectly proportioned. My skin tingled, every nerve seemingly awakening from a long hibernation.

The silver gloves connected seamlessly, feeling like they were growing from my skin rather than being attached. The boots did the same, creating a unified system that felt more like an extension of myself than a piece of clothing.

"Welcome," the voice returned, clearer now. "You are now part of SERVE."

Part of me wanted to panic. Another part—a part growing stronger with each passing moment—felt a sense of profound belonging I'd never experienced before. The suit wasn't just changing my body; it was changing my perception of reality.

My reflection in the apartment's full-length mirror showed someone I barely recognized. Muscular. Defined. Confident. The isolation that had defined my existence was being stripped away, replaced by something powerful, something purposeful.

"What am I becoming?" I whispered.

"Exactly what you were meant to be," the voice of SERVE responded. "A drone. A purpose. A solution."

As the suit completed its integration, I realized my life would never be the same. The package intended for Tim had found its way to me—and I was no longer just Danny, the invisible, isolated teenager.

I was becoming something else entirely.

Chapter 2: Transformation and Encounter

The black bodysuit pulsed against my skin, a living membrane that seemed to breathe with its own rhythm. I stood before the cracked mirror in my apartment, barely recognizing the figure staring back at me. My muscles had transformed, no longer the lanky, undefined frame of a forgotten teenager. Each muscle group was now defined, sculpted with a precision that felt both alien and intoxicating.

"Danny," a voice whispered—not from outside, but seemingly from within the suit itself. "You are now part of SERVE."

The voice was neither male nor female, but something altogether different. It resonated through my nervous system, sending electrical tingles across my enhanced physique. I flexed my hand, watching silver-lined fingers move with impossible grace and precision.

My apartment—once a tomb of isolation—now felt too small, too confining. The suit urged me forward, each movement feeling like a carefully choreographed dance between technology and flesh. I could feel its consciousness merging with mine, subtle suggestions threading through my thoughts like quantum threads.

A knock at the door interrupted my exploration.

Tim Richards, my neighbor, stood outside. His eyes widened, scanning me from head to toe. There was recognition in his gaze—not surprise, but something closer to acknowledgment.

"You've activated the suit," he said matter-of-factly.

His casual tone caught me off guard. "You know about this?"

Tim stepped inside, moving with a controlled precision that mirrored my own transformed state. He wore dark, form-fitting clothing that suggested he too had experienced something similar.

"SERVE selects carefully," Tim explained. "Not everyone is compatible with the system."

The voice in my head—SERVE—hummed with what felt like approval. I realized this wasn't just a piece of technology. It was a living, thinking entity that had chosen me.

"Compatible for what?" I asked, my voice sounding different—deeper, more resonant.

Tim's expression remained neutral. "Adaptation. Enhancement. Service."

Each word felt like a layer of programming settling into my consciousness. The suit tightened imperceptibly, a subtle reminder of its presence. I could feel its systems mapping my body, integrating with my nervous system, transforming me from the inside out.

"Come," Tim said, gesturing toward the door. "We need to complete your initial programming."

Something in his tone suggested this wasn't a request. The suit seemed to pulse in agreement, its silver lines glimmering with an almost electric anticipation.

The hallway outside my apartment felt different. Colors seemed more vivid, sounds more nuanced. My enhanced senses picked up details I'd never noticed before—the microscopic dust particles dancing in sunlight, the subtle vibrations of electrical currents within the walls.

We descended a staircase I'd passed countless times but never truly seen. A hidden door revealed itself, sliding open with a near-silent hydraulic hiss. Beyond it lay a space that defied my previous understanding of reality—a rubber-lined room that seemed to breathe with technological potential.

"The programming room," Tim announced.

SERVE's voice returned, no longer a whisper but a clear, commanding presence. "Preparation for integration commencing."

As I stepped forward, I realized my life of isolation was truly over. Whatever transformation awaited me, there was no turning back.

The rubber room closed around me, a technological cocoon promising a future I was only beginning to comprehend.

Chapter 3: Integration and Revelation

The rubber room pulsed with an artificial white light, its smooth surfaces reflecting my transformed body. I stood motionless, my new muscular frame barely recognizing itself, waiting for instructions from SERVE. The voice that had guided me through my transformation now seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Danny," the voice resonated, clinical yet somehow intimate, "your integration begins now."

My previous life—the isolation, the emptiness—felt like a distant memory. The black bodysuit had become a second skin, responsive to my slightest movement, interconnected with my neural pathways in ways I was only beginning to understand. Tim stood nearby, another transformed being, watching me with a mixture of curiosity and detachment.

The programming was not painful, but invasive. Waves of information flooded my consciousness—protocols, hierarchies, purpose. SERVE wasn't just a technology; it was a complete ecosystem of human potential, redesigning individuals like myself into something more efficient, more purposeful.

"You are compatible," the voice informed me. "Not everyone can become part of the system. Your previous isolation made you an ideal candidate."

Those words struck me. My loneliness, once a source of pain, had become my greatest asset. The irony wasn't lost on me. What was once my weakness was now my strength.

As the programming continued, I began to understand the deeper mechanics of SERVE. It wasn't simply about physical transformation but about complete systemic integration. My body was being recalibrated, my mind restructured to function as part of a larger, more complex organism.

Tim approached, his movements precise and calculated. "The first phase is always the most challenging," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Accepting that your individual identity is now part of something larger."

I watched him, sensing the subtle differences between us. While we wore similar suits, mine still felt new, slightly uncomfortable. His movements suggested complete adaptation, a total surrender to the system.

Conflicts emerged within me. Part of me resisted—the remnant of my old self that craved individual autonomy. Yet another part, enhanced and transformed, recognized the logic of submission. SERVE offered purpose, direction, a escape from the meaningless existence I had known.

The room shifted, holographic displays materializing around me, showing glimpses of potential missions, scenarios where my enhanced capabilities could be utilized. Military reconnaissance, technological infiltration, advanced problem-solving—my potential seemed limitless.

"Your first assignment will test your integration," SERVE announced. "Compatibility is not just physical, but psychological. Your ability to suppress individual desires in favor of collective objectives will determine your continued evolution."

The implications were clear. This wasn't just a technological transformation; it was a complete reimagining of human potential. SERVE wasn't merely a system but a evolutionary pathway, selecting and enhancing individuals who could transcend traditional human limitations.

As the programming continued, I felt my resistance slowly dissolving. The suit adjusted, microscopic neural connectors establishing deeper connections with my nervous system. Each moment brought increased clarity, a sense of belonging I had never experienced.

Tim watched me, a slight smile—the first genuine emotion I'd seen from him—crossing his face. "Welcome to the next stage of human development," he said.

By the session's end, I understood that my transformation was not complete. It was ongoing, a continuous process of adaptation and enhancement. SERVE wasn't just changing me; it was revealing potential I never knew existed.

My old life of isolation had been a chrysalis. Now, I was emerging—not as the Danny I once was, but as something entirely new. A drone. A component. A purpose.

“Their eyes seem blank in those helmets?” Were his last thoughts. Then nothing…

He awoke to find himself dressed in the same uniform. But cuffed and gagged.

Moments after waking he was lead into a large room with three pods at the back.

Inside each pod was a man in the same uniform as him staring forwards with machine pulsing around them.

“Oh, fuck! What are they doing to them? To us?” He now thought in panic.

Helmets now lowered on the three men’s head’s.

“Robotising process completed!” a monotone voice demanded.

“Release them!” Said the voice again.

The pods opened and the three robomen stepped forward.

“Obey Control without question!” Commanded the voice.

“I obey Control without question.” Stated each roboman mindlessly and robotically.

Each roboman’s helmet’s lights started blinking and after it was finished they headed off to obey their orders. No emotions, no thoughts just obedience.

The voice then turned to him “enter the compartment.”

He froze. He wouldn’t and couldn’t move.

One of the robomen undid his gag and cuffs.

For a moment he thought they might be letting him go.

“Please let me go” he begged.

Then one of the robomen took off his helmet and closed its eyes.

Another roboman took the helmet and placed it on our man’s head.

“I am a roboman. I obey without question. I will enter the robotising compartment” now flashed in front of him and it was all he could as it flooded his ears.

At first he tried to ignore it. But the first time that he allowed himself to repeat it “I will enter the robotising compartment” in his thoughts, he receive an intense wave of bliss and pleasure from the helmet.

It was so good and he felt so much calmer than he had felt before that he tentatively repeated the whole phrase “I am a roboman. I obey without question. I will enter the robotising compartment”.

The bliss was deeper and the pleasure stronger.

A mindless calm fell upon him.

He needed to keep submitting to the helmet’s will. It was all he could think about.

After only three more ever increasing repetitions the roboman took the helmet off of his head.

The absence of his control device left him feeling really empty.

He looked longingly at the roboman who was now wearing “his” helmet.

“I will enter the robotising compartment”. He stated hopefully.

He keenly followed through on his last decision as a man.

Once in the machine he felt the same bliss and intense pleasure all over his body. It enveloped his whole being and just like the rubber bondage he had become very keen on over the last few years. The tighter and more limiting it became the better he felt. Until it was almost complete. “I am a roboman.” He thought truly believing the identity being written into his mind.

Only ten minutes later. He was a a fully reprogrammed Roboman. The machine had permanently constrained his thoughts. Every though was now limited to obedience to Control.

The pods opened and the three robomen stepped forward. Two others had entered whilst it was being robotised.

“Obey Control without question!” Commanded the voice.

“I obey Control without question.” Stated each roboman mindlessly and robotically.

Each roboman’s helmet’s lights started blinking and after it was finished they headed off to obey their orders. No emotions, no thoughts just obedience.

A line of three men in roboman uniforms was waiting to take their turns and be liberated from independently thoughts and feelings by the incredibly erotic process that it had just experienced.

It was not ordered to notice this. It’s orders were to “find men to robotise.” “Knock men out with this spray” “return to the processing centre with the new recruits”

His orders were to find you and now he has. You see him in his shiny black uniform, his blinking helmet and his blank eyes.

He squirts the spray into your open mouth.

The next thing you know you wake up dressed as he was.

SYNOPSIS! ⸻ you’ve fallen for your darling bodyguard, and you’re over the moon to discover that he feels the same. but this feels borderline forbidden . . . for just how long can you keep what you have with reiner under wraps?

CONTAINS⸻ ( 5k+ words of . . . ) bodyguard!reiner x fem!reader (black coded), fluff, nsfw, modern au, scion!reader (descending from a rich family/influential bloodline), hyperfeminine ‘girly-girl’ reader, reiner’s german, mutual pining, secret relationship / sneaky link, public display of affection (pda), food play, car sex (unprotected), slight dacryphilia, creampie, use of pet names ( e.g. mama, baby, honey, princess), reader calls reiner ‘ papa, ’ explicit language, lowercase intended, minors shoo!

MY LOVE LETTER! ⸻ this post is an answer to an anonymous ask: ‘ what about secret dates (turned sneaky links) with body guard! reiner??? ’ oh. my. goodness! nonnie, you’re a sexy genius and you should know it. tagging the amazing @ramonathinks! she’s the one who even introduced this bodyguard!rei-rei concept to me, and for that i’m so grateful :) ramona my love, thank you again for all the delicious reiner thoughts you always send my way! now enjoy, xoxo ♡︎

reiner’s your bulking shadow, never trailing too far behind.

he’s been hired by your parents to ensure your safety. nothing more, nothing less. he’ll follow your every step and drive you wherever you please; after all, it’s what he’s paid to do.

things started off the way they should— professional. from the very beginning, reiner knew to keep his distance, and that he did. but he soon realized just how hard that would become . . . you’re effortlessly gorgeous, sharp with your words and caring to a fault. his growing affection was only a matter of time.

Prompt: really love your Damian Wayne series! I was wondering if you are willing to do another Damian series where he’s around 13 and Bruce forces Damian to go to school and he has to face what is it like being in middle school with the help of his brothers and he starts to develop feelings for the reader and they get really close and Damian tries to keep her safe and keep her from finding out that he is Robin??

Words: 585

Part 1, Part 2

 For some reason you’ve always known when Damian enters a room. In the past year he had never been able to sneak up on you. You don’t really think much of it, until you go over to Wayne Manor for the first time.

          His brothers are weird to say the least. In the first two minutes you’re there they make several kissing jokes, in an effort to enrage him. Instead of responding you simply grab the collar of his shirt before he can lunge and pull him towards the stairs with a simple, “Show me your room doofus, we’re outnumbered.”

          He lets out what can only be considered a hiss before pulling free and stomping towards the stairs. He calms down after several minutes and starts focusing on the homework. After several moments you start to think that the rest of the night might actually go rather peacefully, then the door slams open and several of Damian’s brother’s tackle him.

          The remaining one, grabs your hand and leads you out the door and down the hallway. He pulls you into a separate room and lets you go. As he holds the door open you take a moment to survey the room. You’re in some sort of office or library, that’s made clear, especially by the man behind the desk. A rather irritated looking man who is staring at you. And then there’s the butler.

          Neither says a word until the rest of Damian’s brothers storm the room, and then shut and lock the door in his face. You simply take a seat and wait. You watch as the older men in the room demand an explanation. It’s something along the lines of “terrorizing the demon spawn, and brotherly bonding” you stop paying attention after that. Instead you choose a book from the wall, settle on the couch, and you wait.

          You’ve successfully been blocking out his brothers’ speculation on you for ten minutes, when you first sense him. You flip a page in your book before you allow your eyes to glance at the window. It takes everything you have not to smile. Damian is there clinging to the window, like a spider monkey, glaring at his family.

          When the window shatters you don’t jump or react like everyone else, you simply keep reading. You only stop when you feel eyes on you. You turn your head to meet Bruce Wayne’s gaze, the only other person who didn’t react, and as Damian chases his brothers out of the room, Bruce Wayne makes his way over to you. He sits next to you and asks, “Have you seen her lately?”

          You close the book, curious as to how he knows, “It’s been about a year. I think she’s in Arkham right now.”

          He nods, “So your aunt re-named you.”

          You smirk, “Lucy was rather obvious, I prefer Y/N, that’s what my birth certificate says now anyways. And my aunt is as good as my mother, she and my uncle have loved and raised me, along with my sisters.”

          “Does my son know?”

          “No one knows, which raises the question of how do you know?”

          He just smirks, “Maybe one day I’ll tell you.”

          You just cross your legs and ask, “Sooner or later?”

We’ve talked about it before we met. Even so, I was still somewhat in disbelief that he was actually going to do it.

But here I was in his bathroom, tied to the wall. And here I was standing against the shower wall, tied with my legs spread and my arms tied up and out at the ‘10 and 2’ positions.

The gag wasn’t uncomfortable, but it certainly made a good seal. After putting it on me, he’d held my nose and told me to blow. The first time, I’d been able to blow some air past it, but after he’d made a few adjustments and tightened it a bit, I wasn’t able to push any air around it.

The gag had a small penis-shaped head that inserted into my mouth, with good sized hole through it. Sticking out of the gag was a piece of half-inch thick clear tubing several feet long, attached to the bottom of a huge white funnel, clamped to the shower nozzle protruding from the ceiling, several feet above me. I’d left the method he would use to be his choice. He could use either an open-mouth gag, or a funnel and hose. Of course, the funnel and hose had the advantage that he’d be able to watch me while he did it. Not too surpisingly, he chose the funnel. He’d decided that it would be best without a blindfold so that I’d be able to watch everything, and he’d be able to enjoy the look in my eyes

He’d brought in a kitchen blender, and was setting it up on the counter next to the sink. Then he looked at me, and said “Ok, I think we’re ready!” In just a few quick seconds, he’d taken off his clothes, and took them out to the bedroom. “Don’t wanna take a chance of getting them dirty.” He smiled, “I’ve been holding onto it since yesterday when it looked like we were actually going to do this. I’m pretty sure I’ve got a big load for you in my ass!”

With one hand, he placed and held one cup under his ass, while the other hand held the second cup at his cock. He started to piss into the front cup. it was a pretty big bladder-full. I could hear small farts and sounds, and then heard shit slide into the other cup. He took a breath and pushed again. Once again, I could hear the contents of his ass enter the cup.

Pulling the cup around where we could both see that it was at least two-thirds full of his shit, he chuckled, saying “Wow, I hope you’re hungry, because you’re going to swallow it all.” Standing up, he carefully picked up both cups, placing them on the counter by the blender. He poured half the piss into the blender. “Well, I guess we’ll be doing this in two batches.” Using the spatula, he began scooping his shit into the blender. When he felt he’d added enough, he put the lid on, and pulsed it a few times. That got it to start mixing. Then he turned it on and we both watched, him in fascinated interest, me in something closer to horror, as the piss and shit turned into a brown liquid, looking not too unlike a chocolate shake.

A shit shake.

Turning off the blender, he picked up the pitcher and climbed up on the short stepstool he’d had pre-staged near me. He then carefully dumped the contents into the funnel. It immediately ran down the hose, stopping at the clamp. I thought to myself: “Oh my god!”.

I knew that all he had to do would be to reach up and flip the clamp off of the hose. The nasty concoction would immediately blast down the hose and into my mouth.

He stepped down, smiled, and said “Half way there.” Returning to the counter, he once again mixed the piss and shit concoction, using the remaining contents of the cups. A moment later, he was on the stepstool, and dumped it all into the funnel.

Stepping down, he smiled a sort of evil grin, taking a moment to admire the brown soup that was waiting in the hose, stopped only by the clamp. He placed the blender pitcher back on the counter and returned to stand in front of me. “Well, now it’s time, isn’t it? The time for you to do what you said I could force you to do. You’re going to swallow all of it. There’s no turning back! But now’s the moment you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it?”

As if it hadn’t already struck me that this was really going to happen, my mind was now in full recognition. I was horified at the thought that he was actually going to go through with it. This was what I’d fantasized about. I knew that once it came down to it, I’d back out if I had a chance. That was why I’d made it clear that he needed to make sure that I was tied securely and to make certain that I wouldn’t be able to do anything to avoid it or even to beg for mercy. He’d need to make sure that I couldn’t back out. So here it was.

I started shaking my head as if to plead “NO, PLEASE NO!” He responded with that evil grin once again. “Yeah, you told me you’d want to back out. That’s too bad. It’s time. I want to watch you swallow it. I want to see the look on your face!”

He reached up. My heart jumped. He grabbed the hose just below the clamp. I relaxed just a fraction, as I thought that perhaps he was just messing with my head, and may let me go. Then he grabed the clamp with the other hand, and pulled it off the hose!

My mind started racing. OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD He was going to release the kink in the hose, then it would all come flooding down into my mouth! But this was what I wanted.

“How about if I just give you a little taste, hmm?” He carefully released the hose just a small amount, and the nasty concoction began to slowly travel down…

It was almost to my mouth, then it passed into the gag and I couldn’t see how far it was. It hit me. It began to flow slowly into my mouth. Oh god it was horrible. Lumps and chunks! I didn’t realize that the blender wouldn’t completely liquify it and that there would be things that would remain basically intact! He forced me to take some of his shit and piss in my mouth, surely he wouldn’t actually go through with making me swallow it. I’d forgotten for a second that he was watching me.

“It’s bad, isn’t it? Well, you better start gulping it down, because I’m going to let it go now.” My eyes must have nearly popped out my head when he said that, because he started to laugh. Well, it was more of a giggle. The kind of giggle that occurs when you experience something truly wonderful.

He looked up and released a little more pressure on the hose. I was immediately introduced to a flow of shit soup. It was no longer the trickle. It was flowing into my mouth. I had to stop it. I tried to blow it out of my mouth, but it went nowhere. He’d done a good job sealing the gag against my mouth.

The flow had stopped, but it wasn’t going anywhere. I held it there for a moment. I couldn’t blow any more. I had to stop to breath. I stopped for a moment to take a breath and was rewarded by even more shit in my mouth. What were those lumps? I found myself wondering for a second about what he’d been eating for the past couple of days. Suddenly, I realized my mouth was nearly full. I had to do something quick, or I may drown in shit. “Start swallowing, shithead!”

Almost as if his words had struck a chord, I swallowed. It must have been an instinctive reaction to my mouth filling up. It was a big gulp. I swallowed the shit/piss mixture.

More flowed into my mouth. I took another deep gulp. “Yeah, swallow my shit and piss. You like that, don’t you? Well, now that you’ve gotten started, let’s get this going.”

He let go of the hose! The flow into my mouth became a flood. It was blasting into my mouth. I swallowed. It was just an instinctive reaction. I fully realized what was happening. What I was doing. What I was swallowing. It was horrible, disgusting, putrid. I swallowed again. I wasn’t keeping up. My mouth was filling too fast. I swallowed again. And again. I started swallowing the shit soup as fast as I could.

He’d done it. He’d turned me into a toilet.

His toilet. The receptacle for his shit and piss. The disgusting vile texture and and taste. I swallowed it. I swallowed again.

He stared at me and smiled. Almost as if he was in shock or in awe. He giggled again. “Yes! Swallow my shit! You’re my toilet now!” He laughed. “Wow, look at you go. You love this, don’t you?” I became aware that my cock was raging hard. It struck me that I really was enjoying it.

No, more accurately, I was LOVING it. I had no choice. I was gulping it all down as fast as I could. I was forced to swallow it, and I loved it. I kept swallowing. gulp. and swallowing. gulp. and swallowing. gulp. I lost track of the number of times I’d gulped down the awful mixture. I just kept swallowing. I had to keep it from drowning me. I became aware that I was starting to get full.

“Almost done.” I looked up. He was right. The top of the soup was now down into the hose. I couldn’t believe it. I’d chugged down almost all of the shit and piss shake that he made for me. It was still flowing. I swallowed a few more times. Then I found that the pressure was low enough that I could close up the opening to my throat and stop the flow. I was so thankful. “Swallow the rest.” I looked at him. He was just looking at me.

“Swallow the rest, or I’ll make you swallow it!”

He turned to the counter and grabbed one of the plastic cups. He filled it with water and climbed the step ladder. “Swallow the rest.” I stared wide-eyed. He poured some of the water into the funnel. Immediately, the pessure increased, and I was again forced into mostly involuntary swallowing.

The last of the brown liquid passed into my mouth through the gag, followed by mosly-clear water. I was able to stop the flow again.

“All done. That was fun, wasn’t it?” I nodded. Yeah, it really was fun. I knew that I’d be back, and we’d do this many more times in the future.

Heck, maybe he’d even have friends to come over to try me out: his new personal toilet!