Slave to a Man Hater

By: beatenboy

There I was, a 36-years-old guy, fairly successful, not bad looking but

personally unfulfilled, with a string of failed relationships behind me and

utterly hopeless that that would ever change. Thousands were spent on

therapy only to conclude what I already innately knew: that I was a

hope-to-die masochist. At this point, what difference did it make what

incidents in my early development made me this way? My cravings for total

subjugation at the hands and feet of a sadistic female were not going to be

"resolved"; they were permanent due to some aberrant glitch in my psyche.

I'd long given up confessing my proclivities to the women I'd date as they

were unilaterally met with total revulsion. As hard as I tried, it was

simply impossible to connect with a "normal" girl. I was just some deviant

freak, condemned to a life of frustration and loneliness.

Tens of thousands of dollars poorer, money that went into the hands

professional Dominants and cunning golddiggers for fleeting and empty

thrills, I was pretty well jaded. 99.9% positive that the kind of woman

I needed just does not exist. But it was that 0.1% of hope that lead me to

placing just one more personal ad. I had placed many in the past . The

responses I received were curiosity seekers or those women who were just

really seeking a normal relationship with a kinder, more gentle man.

I had noticed that the local community throwaway paper personal section

added a "specialties" category. "What the hell", I thought, it didn't cost

anything and "who knows....?" The rules were simple: they put your 30

words or less ad in for 4 weeks, give you a voice mailbox and pass code to

retrieve your responses.

I wrote the ad. No point in subtly, I reasoned, just lay it out. It went

like this: "SEEKING GENUINELY CRUEL WOMAN WHO WOULD LOVE TO PHYSICALLY &

MENTALLY ABUSE & DEGRADE A SINCERE, SUBMISSIVE, 36 YEAR-OLD SWM.

I placed the ad, recorded my voice introduction which basically confirmed

what the written text said and just kind of put it in the back of my head.

I had zero expectations that I would get any responses. I waited a couple

of days until after the paper came out before I called to check my mailbox.

The digitized female voice announced tersely "There are no new messages in

your mailbox". I could even sense a note of scorn in that voice. Yeah, it

seemed even a computer generated female representation was saying, "Get

real, loser. No woman would want a demented weirdo like you!"

So it went for the next 2-1/2 weeks. Every couple of days I'd call in �

with the digitized bitch telling me the same thing. "Loser, freak,

pathetic!" To be honest, I wasn't even disappointed; as I said, I expected

nothing. Then, one night at around 6:30, I realized I hadn't checked for a

few days, I dialed the retrieve number, punched in my pass code and was

stunned when the voice hit my ears. Instead of that terse mocking, my

computerized vixen sang a happy note: "You have...'one'... new message in

your mailbox". Wow, I thought. This must be a mistake. I pressed '1' to

listen. It was a woman's voice all right � a real woman. She had a slight

accent, Latin maybe. It was short, and to my ears very sweet: "This is

Carmen. If you're really looking for what you say, phone me during the

evening between 7:30 and 11:30 at ###-####." That was it. Jesus, my heart

started to beat fast. I listened to it a few times and double checked that

I copied the number correctly.

I looked at the time � it was an hour before I could called. I thought

about calling right then but no that wouldn't show a whole lot of

obedience. I paced, turned on the TV, flipped through a magazine but

really I just waited. When my clock flashed 7:30, I picked up the

phone...but just held it. Maybe my clock was a little fast. So, I waited

until 7:31 and dialed. It rang three times and the same voice answered.

"Hello..."

"May I please speak to Carmen?"

"Speaking."

"Hi, um, this is Ben. You left a response to my ad."

"So are you ?"

The question threw me. "Am I...?"

Irritation crept into the accented voice, "Really looking for a woman to

abuse and degrade you"?

"Oh, yes, I am. Definitely".

"Hmmm", she snorted. "Where do you live"?

I told her. She was pleased as it turned out we lived about two miles from

one another. She asked me whether I rented or owned and what I did for

work. I gave her the answers. Then:

"When can you meet"?

"Whenever you say".

"Very good", she praised. "Tomorrow evening at this time?"

"Yes".

She named a local coffee shop, said I should be in the waiting area, told

me what she'd be wearing. She wanted me to bring copies of all my bills,

i.e.: rental agreement, phone, utilities, credit card, etc. as well as

copies of my most current pay stubs, and checking and saving account

statements, drivers license, ATM cards, credit cards and all of the unused

checks I had.

I went silent, heart sinking, 'Just another golddigger', I bemoaned to

myself.

Then, she came out with, "I know what you're thinking and it is not that.

I have my reasons for wanting to see those items. You'll find out what

they are when we meet." Then, with a mirthless chuckle, she added, "Don't

worry, I'm not after your money, I'm after your soul". That last statement

sent a chill down my spine and a rush of blood up my cock. I agreed to her

requirements and confirmed that I'd be there.

The next day I gathered all the documents she demanded, put them neatly in

a large envelope and anxiously waited for the appointed time.

I got to the coffee shop 10 minutes early, just to be sure. I sat in the

waiting area, very nervous. 7:30 came and went. Of course, I'd stay and

wait. At 7:40, I saw a woman approaching from the parking lot, dressed in

the gray suit and brown shoes Carmen said she'd be wearing. For just an

instant, I had a pang of disappointment. She looked sort of dowdy, in her

late 30's or early 40's, average height and medium build. The pang came

from my long, nurtured fantasies, in which the Goddess to whom I forever

was going to devote mind, body and soul, either had to look like a

statuesque Amazon Warrior or a nubile, bitchy princess like Shannon

Dougherty. Of course, in real life, my only experiences with those kinds

of women had cost fortunes and even if they did look like that, if their

attitude wasn't right, the attraction died.

All those fantasy thoughts evaporated quickly as Carmen came closer.

Despite her conservative attire, she was indeed attractive. Definitely of

Latin descent with thick black hair cut short, a dark olive complexion and

a curvaceous body � full but not flabby, actually fairly well toned. She

had a saucy strut and I could see her voluptuous ass and hips undulate with

each step. But it was her face that struck me the hardest. While it was

by no means an ugly face, I couldn't exactly call it pretty either. It was

harsh and determined. Her mouth seemed to be naturally set in a

contemptuous sneer.

I obsequiously scurried to the door and opened it for her. She gave me a

quick glance. It was neither one of approval or disapproval. We quickly

introduced ourselves and were seated at rear booth., away from other

patrons.

After placing our drink orders, Carmen quickly took command. She began

with, "Because it will irritate me if I have to sit here and listen to

questions I've heard before, I just want you to listen to what I have to

say very carefully. By the time I'm done, you will have answers to all

the questions you have or at least to those I believe you need to have.

You may acknowledge with 'yes or no ma'am' or by nodding your head.

Nothing more until you have my permission. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am" I uttered, barely audible.

She continued, "First let me make it clear that I want a slave or as close

to one that is, in the reality of these times, possible. Let me also make

clear that I am not a 'Mistress or Goddess or Duchess' or any of those

other ridiculous affected titles those in the quote scene like to anoint

themselves with. I am a woman with an intense, spiteful, sadistic streak.

I carry a lot of baggage � hostile baggage towards men. I am a true

man-hating bitch but unfortunately, I have little or no lesbian tendencies

so that leaves me with needing a male slave.

I sat there hearing these amazing words, completely absorbed by her

incredibly powerful presence. She went on to give me some history. She

was raised in a traditional, Latin household. Her father was a brute who

constantly verbally and physically abused her mother. She grew up fearing

him and pitying her. Her father didn't treat Carmen much better. She had

brothers who were of the same ilk as their old man. She had become

indoctrinated with the belief that this is the way life was between men and

women. She got married at age 20 and soon found out that her husband was

just like her father, a macho, hard-drinking bully who used her sexually

and made her do everything, work a job, take care of the house and cater to

his needs while he was out partying and fucking other women. During the 15

hellish years this marriage lasted, his abuse of her got worse, culminating

in a beating he gave her during the seventh month of her only pregnancy at

the age of 31. It was so severe that she lost the child. She was

devastated, naturally, but still could not find the strength to leave.

"After all", she smirked with condensation, "the Church forbade it." What

made the whole incident worse was that this slime of a husband blamed her

for the loss of the baby and the abuse intensified. Finally, 5 years ago

when Carmen was 35, her husband left for a younger woman. She couldn't

understand it, but at the time she was very hurt by his abandonment, even

though deep down she despised the guy.

Over the next 3 years she struggled to put her life back together. She

feared men terribly and rejected all advances for dates. She worked menial

jobs to put herself through school with the desire to become a legal

secretary because she knew that they made good money. Successful at her

courses and sharp as a whip, she quickly landed a job at a prestigious law

firm for one of the senior partners. She was feeling more self-confident

but knew she had a lifetime of internal wounds that hadn't been dealt with.

She tried counseling but somehow the counselor seemed only to push her to

take the responsibility for her choices and stop playing the "victim".

Carmen understood that theory but there was a seething anger underneath

that the therapist hadn't a clue how to resolve.

A little over a year ago, she started dating again for the first time since

the divorce. She met a guy who she liked. He seemed kind and gentle. She

wanted to take things slow, holding off on being physical for a while, so

she kept his advances at bay, explaining her reasons. The guy seemed to

respect them. Then, one night after an evening of dancing and drinking,

the guy got very aggressive. He was drunk and slobbering all over her.

When she pushed him away, he pushed her back,calling her a prick teasing

cunt. The next moment something within Carmen snapped. Something that

would define her for the rest of her life. She had never hit anyone or

acted out any kind of violence before. But she swung a backhand that hit

his face with such force, that it knocked him flat on his ass.

The cork had popped! Years of repressed anger and hatred came spewing up

through her. She saw him on the ground and let lose with a crushing kick

to his gut. He was a lot bigger and stronger and she was sure he was going

to get up and beat the crap out of her -- but she didn't care. Whatever

the consequences, she wasn't going to take it without a fight. But to her

shock, the guy started to cry and beg for her forgiveness. As she towered

over him, a rush of power she had never felt before made her heady. She

continued kick and beat the guy, spit on him, called him the vilest names

she could think of. All he did was whimper and beg. Finally, grabbing him

by the hair, she tossed him out of her front door, all battered and

bruised.

Afterwards, she felt drunk, giddy, somehow liberated. She also found that

she was wet. The incident had aroused her.

Over the next few days as she came down from the 'high', she was stunned at

herself for what she did and the reaction it caused. She was equally

stunned when the guy kept calling, pleading with her to see him again. He

vowed to always obey her and would take whatever punishment she dished out.

He called her Mistress and promised to be her slave, etc. She got a big

turn on out of that � but an even bigger one denying him an audience.

Inside, she was yearning to give him another, even more savage beating but

since he had exhibited that vulgar side, she really wanted nothing more to

do with him. She strung him along for a while, amused and turned on by

his pathetic calls. Eventually, he stopped. But it left her with the

knowledge that there were men out there that were into being abused.

Fueled by the spring of deep rooted hatred that boiled within, Carmen

began having a flood of fantasies, or 'visions' as she called them. Images

of doing the most disgusting and viscous acts to a male, without the

slightest regard to his feelings or even well-being.

She began a journey of research. She attended some 'Alternative Lifestyle'

seminars and briefly joined a B&D organization. But these just didn't

correlate with the ideas she had. She regarded the theatrics of leather

costumes and dungeons as mildly amusing and the rules for a good 'Dom' to

follow completely incongruous. She wasn't interested in a lover or partner

where role-playing was a part of their life. She wanted something

different, the real deal as she put it. Little of what she heard from

these people came close to her 'visions'.

I sat there in total silence and listened to Carmen, absolutely riveted.

She told me that over the past year, she had answered ads and even placed a

couple. She talked to a lot of guys but she was not interested in the

scenarios they presented her. She had no desire to dress a certain way for

a man or cross dress them to their liking or act out specific fantasies for

his enjoyment. She did meet a couple of guys who in the beginning had

promise. But they didn't make it. They could not stretch their limits to

where she needed them to go.

Her dark brown eyes bored into my questioning face at that point. A little

grin played on her lips as she said, "I know what you want to know, so we

don't waste anymore time, I'll tell you my two most extreme visions.

These are things that are unconditional requirements. Vile, painful acts

that my slave will incur on a daily basis..."

She let that hang there a moment, then started, "The first, is that I will

kick you in the balls as hard as possible whenever I feel like it which

will probably be quite often..."

Letting that sink in, Carmen took a sip of coffee. I just sat there and

nodded. She smiled and continued, "The second and equally arousing for me

is the thought of having a full service, human toilet. And I do mean full

service. I stress that because there are many men who love drinking a

woman's urine. But I want a man to literally eat my shit whenever I have

to go. I know it can be unhealthy and you could get sick. It wouldn't

matter to me, you would still be required to serve me in this manner

throughout the term. But since I do tend to eat healthy, that should

reduce the risk. Those two duties are where the others fell short. One

ran away right after the first 'nut kick'. The second made it through

several ball bashing's but vomited at the mere smell of my bowel movement,

even before it hit his lips. He wanted to keep trying but I knew he'd

never make it, so I dismissed him." She paused, looked at me, then asked,

quite seriously, if this was the kind of abuse and degradation I meant in

the ad I placed.

I gulped, "Yes ma'am", my voice was a hoarse whisper.

Her eyes narrowed on me, "And what makes you think you will succeed where

the others have failed? Go on, you have my permission to speak."

"Uhm, well ma'am, I have experienced both in prior relationships to one

degree or another."

She sat silent, eyes seemed to be digging right into my soul. Then, she

said, "Yes, I get the feeling that you're different. That you really know

you're place. That you need and crave to be nothing more than a human

sewer and kicking post. Am I right?"

"Yes ma'am".

She then briefly listed other forms of abuse she's passionate about trying.

They included: denial of sexual release, smothering, starvation while

forcing me to watch her eat (she's real big on deprivation); Also, full

contact punches, slaps and kicks to all parts of my body and face. And

then she cooed with an ominous hint "...and of course there are my

nails..." Almost involuntarily, I glanced at her hands where I saw the

sharpest set of fingernails I've ever seen. They were painted clear and

the tips were as fine as razors.

She got extremely serious, and said, "You can see that what I want is a

slave � not a lover, a partner or a friend." Sneering at me, she asked

rhetorically, "I mean, a friend wouldn't take a dump in your mouth or spit

snot down your throat, would she...?" My mind was reeling at that point,

this was one seriously nasty bitch! She went on, "The energy I'll put into

you will be for the sole purpose of crushing you Not only physically but

emotionally and spiritually as well. I guarantee, if you become my slave,

you will be reduced to nothing but a shell of what you are now and you will

most likely never fully recover". She eyed me as I digested this. Then,

"Is the dynamic I require crystal clear to you?"

"Yes ma'am".

"Is it a commitment that you are prepared, willing and able to make right

now? Take your time with this one", she cautioned.

She was right, lots of thoughts were swimming through my mind. This could

be dangerous, I might discover I'm really not as submissive as I thought.

I mean, in past � the sessions with pros, the golddiggers, they were really

just play for a finite time. I knew that Carmen demanded something much

more. But every thing she said, including the frightening reality that she

most likely would crush my spirit forever, had me so hot, I was ready to

explode in jeans at that moment. I knew that if I passed on this

opportunity, I would regret it for years.

I took a breath, "Very much, ma'am".

CRACK...! Her hand whipped out like lightening. The slap had my cheek

stinging, my mind stunned. Her eyes were ablaze with fury. She hissed at

me, "Did I give you permission to say anything other than the pre-approved

words?" I shook my hanging head. "Listen, pig shit, I'm not fucking

playing games. That won't happen again, will it?"

"No ma'am."

She threw me a glare of complete derision, that twisted into a scary grin.

"I believe you. My instincts tell me that you are ripe for this. Since

you've already said you are willing and able, I am going to accept you as

my slave. But I am not going to go through any game playing tests with

you. As of now, consider yourself my property".

As the shiver ran though my body, I could feel the pre-cum oozing out of my

dick.

"Now", she said, "let's talk practicalities. You said you worked as a

graphic designer out of your home, so I assume you make your own schedule?"

I nodded. "Good. This will be a full commitment for you. You will give

up any hobbies, regular social obligations, friends -- everything else in

your life except your work. That might even change later on, but for now,

I have no intention of 'keeping' any man until I decide if I want this to

be permanent".

She went on to outline what other duties I'd have to perform. She said she

already had a cleaning crew that comes to her condo twice a week that she

was happy with and since she had no desire to spend any time and energy to

train me in domestic chores, I would simply be limited to maintenance in

that area. However, I would be cooking for her when she wanted, running

errands, doing the shopping, sometimes chauffeuring her, giving massages --

any little drudgery that needed to be accomplished. Then, she gave a

little chuckle and said "Everyone of the maggots I've spoken to boast how

they will give me the most wonderful pedicures and manicure. I suppose

that's something you'd want to do?"

"Yes ma'am!" I answered eagerly.

"Well, that's too fucking bad, scum wad", she snarled. "I go to my little

place down the street from my job three times a week. Those Korean girls

pamper and relax me beautifully." She took a moment, then added the punch

line, "And they know exactly how I like my nails done..."

With that, she leaned forward, reaching an arm across the table, finger

pointed. She poked the talon-like tip of her nail into the center of my

forehead and dug into it for a good 30 seconds. It hurt like hell but I

just sat there stiffly and silently. The gleam of pure sadistic joy in

Carmen's eyes made my cock ache. Finally, she sat back, looked at me and

let out a loud chortle. "You look like one of those Hindu women, you know,

the ones who have those red dots on their foreheads." Out of reflex, I

touched the spot she poked. There was indeed a drop of blood on my

finger. Then, she held out her stabbing finger to my lips. I could see a

small chunk of my skin under it. "Clean it off, sewer mouth", she

commanded. I obeyed instantly and sucked my own ripped out flesh from her

lethal nail and swallowed. She pulled the finger out of my mouth,

inspected it, nodded that it was satisfactory, then wiped it dry of my

saliva on my shirt.

"Okay", she said as if what just happened was the most natural thing in the

world, "where were we? Oh, yes, your duties. Well, I think we've covered

the basics. You'll learn more as we go." Then, she glanced at the manila

envelope. "Can I safely assume that you brought all the documents I

requested?"

"Yes ma'am."

She held out her hand and I gave it to her. "As I said earlier, I want as

close to a genuine slave as possible. But as we know, slavery is illegal

and since there's no other precedent for one person owning another, I need

some potent tool of control. I have no desire to blackmail you though I'm

sure I could lure you into some kind of situation to accomplish that � but

that wouldn't suit my need to have a truly pathetic piece of garbage such

as yourself willingly surrender himself to me. So, I've devised another

method. Starting tomorrow, we will be entering a three-month term of

indentured servitude. Right now I want to know what the total amount of

money is to cover your basic expenses � rent and bills only, not food or

entertainment � for the next three months. Can you estimate what that

might be? Be truthful, now. I'll be checking it later. You have my

permission to speak, fuck face."

I did a quick calculation of my monthly expenses in my head and told her

the number.

She then rifled through the envelope and withdrew my checking and savings

statements. She looked them over quickly and nodded. "Well, you have

nearly two and a half times that in available cash right now. This is

going to work out very nicely". What you will do later is write out

checks for 3 months in advance to those payees and they will be sent off

tonight." Then, she asked, "Where do you do your banking?"

I told her the name. It was one of the major banks.

"Good, there's a branch right by my office. You will meet me there

tomorrow during my lunch break . You will close out your current savings

account and add enough to your checking account to bring it to the exact

sum of the checks you write tonight. You will then take the remainder of

your savings and place it in a 90 day high yield, sealed C.D. that cannot

be broken for that period. Are following me so far, slime ball?" I nodded

that I was. "A miracle...", she sang and continued, "You will arrange for

all your income to be placed directly into that account from your employer.

At the bank, you will purchase a security box in which you will place all

your remaining checks, the ownership papers for your car, your credit and

ATM cards, passport, any other forms of ID, and the receipt for the box

itself. Only you will be able to sign for access but I will remain in

possession of the key. I'll tell you now, that without that receipt and

proper ID, it will be an ordeal to obtain another key. I will be keeping

your drivers license just in case of some unforeseen emergency. See I'm

not that heartless", she smirked. "I suppose you'll be at some minimal

risk when driving around without me but if you do get stopped and get a

ticket, it will be little trouble to clear up. You'll just have to drive

carefully, sl-a-a-a-ve." She let the word roll off her tongue, like

savoring a fine delicacy.

She paused, staring at me, those dark brown eyes sparkling, like she was

realizing a long repressed dream. I wondered if mine betrayed the same.

"Now then", she was back to business, "when we're finished here tonight,

we will be going to your apartment where I will do a quick inventory of

your possessions. Anything of any significant value, you will place in a

self-locking storage facility. Again, you will be the only one with

signing access but the keys will remain with me. At the end of the three

month term, we will both evaluate whether or not we shall continue. But, I

can guarantee you that by then, you will be so broken, so deeply dependent

on my subjugation, that the choice will be solely mine. In any event,

should it be determined that we part ways, I will return the keys and you

will reimburse me the expenses I've incurred for your maintenance out of

the interest gained from the C.D. I will be keeping a log of it with

back-up " Then spiting out an evil little laugh as she said, "Actually,

you stand to make a bit of profit. You see, I don't intend to spend a

great deal on your upkeep. After all, much of your sustenance will be

second hand," then with a wink, "know what I mean, shiteater...?" She

sighed with anticipation, then continued, "On the other hand, should it be

decided that we will continue, I will implement a more permanent

arrangement. Until then, you will keep your residence as I know that's

where you do your work. However, you will rarely sleep there as � nature

being what it is � I will be needing your services during the night and

first thing in the morning. I've already had the cleaning crew clear out a

closet. It's not much but you can call it home."

She then outlined some basic rules. First she reiterated that the only

time for myself would be during my working hours. All other times would be

devoted to serving her or waiting for orders. She said that while she led

a fairly quiet life, she did have other aspects which I would have no part

of, such as socializing with friends and family, a reading club to which

she belonged, and other minor activities. There would definitely be times

that she would want nothing to do with me, so I would be relegated to the

closet until she had some use for me. If there were ever occasions that I

encountered any of her friends or family to whom she hadn't divulged the

nature of my position, I was to remain respectful and quiet while she

fielded the questions. Very important, was whether in private or public,

to always regard her with the utmost reverence. And while she has no use

for overt public displays of humiliation, if I perpetrated an infraction,

I could expect to be reprimanded on the spot as evidenced by the slap a few

minutes ago. While in public, I would be required to assume a docile

posture with eyes downcast and when walking, I am to keep a steady two

paces behind her. Equally important was her mandate that, other than

responding to a direct question or acknowledging or inquiring about a

directive, I am never, ever to speak to her without permission, unless it

was genuinely urgent. I am always to address her as "ma'am" or "Ms. De

LaPaz". None of that 'Mistress' bullshit. "I'm not some whore", she

pointedly noted. She stressed that all commands and directives were to be

obeyed immediately and absolutely without hesitation, question or

condition. She reaffirmed that my feelings and needs were truly of no

concern to her and should I ever try to assert them, that violation would

be dealt with in a most unpleasant and dire manner.

She leaned back and said she believed she'd covered everything but that I

might have missed something due to her awareness of my distraction -- at

that I felt her foot press into my rock hard dick --she would grant me the

opportunity to ask any pertinent questions, I might have.

I gave it a second or two thought, knew that she had laid everything out

thoughtfully and clearly and said, "No ma'am, any questions I had have been

answered."

"Is there anything you'd like to say? Think it over, this is a rare

opportunity."

After a moments contemplation, all I could come up with was, "Ms. De LaPaz,

I am thrilled and honored at the prospect of serving you in all the ways

you require, including your desire to crush me and I will do my very best

to selflessly fulfill your needs."

She smiled with sincerity and said, "Well put, asshole."

We'd been at the coffee shop for close to two hours when we left to go to

my apartment. There, Ms. De LaPaz picked out the items to be stored. I'm

not much on material things so it wasn't too difficult, TV, VCR, stereo

and a fairly valuable piece of artwork I'd acquired. She knew I had to

keep my computer for work but insisted that the bill of sale and serial ID

card would go in the security box. She watched as I wrote out the checks,

put them in stamped envelopes and took possession of them, my ATM card and

drivers license in case I had second thoughts about showing up tomorrow.

She walked to the door and just stood there with her back to me. After a

moment, she glanced over her shoulder and beckoned me to her. She ordered

me to my knees so I was inches away from her back. She hiked up her skirt,

revealing a sumptuous, panty-hosed ass. Bending slightly at the waist, it

spread to a magnificent, treacherous width. "I want to feel your nose

lightly touching the center". Shaking with utter excitement, I leaned my

face forward to the requisite spot. "Just hold that position, slave". I

did. I knelt there breathlessly with my nose just kissing her nylon veiled

asshole for at least two minutes. Finally, a long, languorous fart hissed

out. It seemed to go on forever. Ms. De LaPaz growled, "Smell it, ass

face." I inhaled deeply, through both my nose and mouth. My nostrils and

taste buds were assailed with a burning blast of sweet and sour pungency.

It was the most intoxicating aroma I'd ever smelled. I inhaled several

more times until it completely dissipated.

Ms. De LaPaz then let the hem fall back into place, turned to face my

trembling form. I was on the brink of cuming and she knew it. She leered

down at me and snapped, "Get used to that smell, boy." Then, she put her

foot on my crotch, tapped my engorged dick twice lightly and I lost it with

an explosive ejaculation. She towered above me as I convulsed and groaned,

just snickering and shaking her head as if I were the most pathetic thing

on earth. When my orgasm finally subsided, she roughly grabbed a handful

of my hair and pulled me to my feet. She stood so close, I could feel her

breath on my face.

"You may express your gratitude, slave", she whispered.

The words came naturally to me, "Thank you for your precious gift, Ms. De

LaPaz".

"You're welcome" she breathed back, and then suddenly, CRUUNNCH!! She

rammed her knee up into my balls, full force.

Searing pain shot through my body. I collapsed, squealing and writhing in

agony. I caught a glimpse of her face. Not a hint of sympathy. In fact,

it looked flush and radiant as she relished my anguish. When I started to

settle a bit, she placed her foot on the side of my head and pressed down

hard so my face was smushed into the floor.

"Tomorrow at the bank" she growled. "Don't be late."

And with that, my new owner turned and walked out, leaving me in a

quivering heap.

two

I laid there on my floor for I don't know how long. All five senses were

still on overload having been assaulted to such extremes: balls aching,

from both the draining and the busting; the lingering taste and odor of

Ms. De LaPaz's gaseous gift; ears echoing with the cutting Latin voice,

mocking and spiteful, spewing insults; and that final image of a contempt

filled bitch, standing over me relishing my anguish. I continued to lay

in that prone position and replay the events of the last 2 � hours. An

internal debate began. "Am I crazy?", I blurted out loud. In my head, I

answered: weird maybe, probably a little mentally off balanced with a hefty

appetite for kinky sex. But crazy enough to enter into this kind of an

arrangement? No. I've just been starved lately, and that led me to this

bout of temporary insanity, to even consider this path of lunacy. Get hold

of yourself, boy!!! At that moment, I resolved that I was not going

through with this. My reasoning took the following course: All this woman

wanted was someone on whom she could exercise her own personal demons.

Just a body and mind to use without any consideration for his well being or

basic needs. An emotionally ill soul that she could exploit in the most

grotesque and destructive ways. That wasn't going to do me any good. I

had to find a way to recover from my own maladies. And this wasn't it.

I started to get angry at this... this...Harpy! This deranged bitch with

the audacity to take advantage of my unhealthy, sexual compulsions for her

own sick needs. "Fuck her", I thought. With growing rage, I reviewed the

inhuman "duties" she required.... 'human punching bag'... starvation...

flesh gouging with those dreadful fingernails... being the receptacle of

all of her bodily wastes! HOW DARE SHEeeee... The anger quickly dissolved

and I found my rock hard penis in my hand, spurred by these same thoughts

that seconds ago enraged me. Now, once again, all I could think of was

being used ruthlessly, devoting my entire being to Ms. De LaPaz as her

kicking post, toilet slave and lackey. It only took a few strokes to

ignite another explosive orgasm.

Afterwards, I lay in doomed resignation. "Sick, crazy fuck", I thought

to myself. That's just what I am: a sick fuck who can't stop from

relinquishing control of my life to this woman. Hell, I sought her out!

My ad was plain as day. It begged for a genuinely cruel woman to abuse and

degrade me. She wasn't being unethical nor using me in the true sense of

the word. There was no gun to my head when I handed her my driver's

license, ATM and credit cards. In reality, she was doing me a favor,

giving me exactly what I wanted. She had been up-front and articulated

concisely what I could expect and graciously detailed the reasons for her

desires.

I dragged my sorry ass to the shower and sat down under the hot spray. I

thought about her plan. She had really thought it out. It was quite

brilliant, I mused. Then, I started looking for holes � just in case if in

a few days I decided I couldn't handle it anymore. After all, I wouldn't

be under lock and key. Just financially bound. And there were ways to

resolve that. I could always obtain a duplicate driver's license, go to

the bank and tell them I lost the key and receipt to the security box.

They'd check my signature on file and bingo � I'm outta there! Maybe she

wasn't so smart after all. I could always borrow a few bucks against the

CD until it matured. I'd have my credit cards, my...my... Suddenly, I

snorted out a cynical laugh . At that moment it became crystal clear how

cunning of a bitch Ms. De LaPaz truly was. She knew all that -- of course

she did. She said herself there was no real external way to enslave a

person. Her intuition told her from the beginning that this was the kind

of situation I deeply needed. Intense cravings that could not be repressed

for more than a few minutes at a time. Those were the real tools of

control. These machinations would simply serve as obstacles to quell any

fleeting thoughts of flight. With just the time it would take for me to

think through an escape, those thoughts would soon be smothered by my own

depraved needs. She knew she had me and now I knew she REALLY had me.

I jerked off twice more to the images of her abusing me that night and fell

into a deep sleep.

But it didn't last long. 3 maybe 4 hours and I was wide awake. I still

ached but I felt alive � and rumbling-gut nervous about what I was about to

undertake. I couldn't eat breakfast so I completed some work until it was

time to go to the bank.

Driving there, everything looked a little different, almost surreal. The

streets were same but there was a strange, unfamiliarity to streets I'd

traveled thousand of times. I couldn't pinpoint it at the time it, but

now I know it was my some kind of psychic foreshadowing, for I was crossing

the threshold out of my safe, old world into the dark universe of Ms.

Carmen De LaPaz, self-proclaimed and, proud of it, man-hating bitch.

I got there a few minutes before the appointed time. I stood in the lobby

of the tall office building that housed the bank stock still at attention,

like awaiting a superior. It was quite busy at lunch time as I searched

the sea of faces looking for her. Then, something strange happened: I

couldn't visual her in my head. The picture just wouldn't come. I

remembered having a similar reaction long ago, the first time I fell in

love. Every time I'd part from my young lover � "My Angel" I used to call

her � I was just unable to bring her image to mind. It was as if the two

of us together existed separate and apart from the rest of the universe,

unreachable from its harsh realities. Then upon reuniting and seeing her

sweet face, the rush of electricity deliciously mixed with a sense of

warmth & safety would sweep through my veins.

That recall brought a twinge of sadness. I suppose, like many who have

experienced the magic of an intense first love � that for one or another

reason didn't sustain � I have spent much of my life searching to recreate

that enchantment. In the many years since the completion of that

first-love relationship, I'd never come close to experiencing those

intoxicating feelings. Yet, at that moment, as I stood waiting with

burning eagerness for a woman who vowed to treat me as no more than a

cockroach who most people wouldn't give a second thought about crushing

beneath their heel, emotions so similar were boiling up. The sadness came

not from the memory of the long, lost love but to the curve that my

emotional interpretation had taken: onto a twisted path of darkness and

deviance.

Suddenly, my legs wobbled as my vision hazed into a dream-like state. My

eyes locked onto her like a magnet, striding through the throng with an

arrogance usually reserved for royalty. My mind was no longer blank. Even

from this distance those insolent, rolling hips and organic sneer of

contempt were as big as if projected on a panoramic movie screen.

As she strode to my position, the only hint of acknowledgment was a brief

glance. Her strut didn't slow even a step as she passed. I fell in behind

her at the requisite two paces. We crossed into the bank, my eyes

inextricably drawn to the grand-sized bottom that had abused me so soundly

the night before as it protruded brazenly, hugged by a tight, knee-length

skirt.

Everything at the bank went quick and smooth. I just followed Ms. De

LaPaz's lead and it was done just like she had outlined the prior evening.

She walked me to my car, parked in the subterranean garage. She demanded

for me to review my instructions for that afternoon. I recited I was to

place the items she decreed into storage and arrange for my employer to

automatically deposit my next three months paychecks in the sealed account.

She nodded her approval. We were standing between my car the one next to

it. She remained silent for a minute. Then, quite sincerely she asked if

I had been having any second thoughts.

I replied honestly, "Yes, ma'am".

With a genuine smile that I thought almost winked at me, she said, "Good.

"If you weren't scared out of your mind then I might have something to

worry about. And believe me, you should be scared".

"Yes ma'am".

Then she asked if I was caught up on my current work project or was I under

any kind of pressure.

It so happened, that I was just about finished with it. I informed her

that I needed no more than an hour or two to complete it. She was pleased

and ordered me to finish it up this afternoon when I returned from the

storage place. I would be taking the next day off � a Friday � as she

wanted to start me on a specific conditioning process on a day that she

would go to work. It would be a good transition going into the weekend.

She then gave me her address, told me what to bring � a tooth brush, extra

tee-shirt, change of underwear and a towel. She wanted me at her place by

8pm and that I would not be released until the next Monday morning. She

handed me a pager with orders to keep it on my person at all times when not

in her presence. Knowing I had no money or access to any, she handed me 2

ten dollar bills. One, I was to keep to be for used gas only; she'd be

checking my receipts. The other was for the dinner I'd be picking up for

her at a local Chinese restaurant. She told me to call ahead and provided

me with the number items she wanted.

She then moved very close to me. With her 2 inch heels she was my height,

maybe even a little taller. Her perfume, the scent of which had loitered

in my senses from the first moment I saw her, made me shiver. Wrapping an

arm around my neck, she grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled brutally on

it. I was bent back by her grip and she was leaning over me, her face just

two or three inches above mine, her other hand clutching the front of my

shirt.

From a distance, if anyone had seen us, the pose would have appeared as two

lovers in a passionate embrace. But with the harsh pain in the roots of my

head, I knew better. She stared into my eyes with a fierce intensity.

Then, her nose and mouth contorted slightly and she snorted. I could hear

mucus shoot back. That was followed by a hocking from her chest, giving

rise to a sheet of phlegm into her mouth. I could see her tongue working

like a mixer as the combination of snot and phlegm swirled between her

cheeks. Those dark eyes were smiling. I knew just what to do and opened my

mouth as wide as it would go. Her glossy lips parted and the glob slowly

appeared. It was a bubbly cloud of yellow and white. It gradually

lowered, hanging on by drooling strings of saliva. Finally, gravity did

its thing and the mass fell, landing on my tongue. It felt sludgy, rich in

texture. My taste buds came alive and I found this rather base offering

rather delicious.

"Savor it, pig", Ms. De LaPaz instructed.

Strange, I was no longer bothered by the relentless, vicious hair pulling

as I swished her swill around my mouth. After a good couple of minutes,

she snapped, "Swallow!" I could feel its thick trail as the slimy lump

slid down my throat and into my stomach. She continued to hold me in

position, that same slight grin of derision played on lip as it did the

night before as I knelt in the cloud of her fart.

Then, she abruptly let go, giving me a little shove so from my awkward

position, I fell on my butt. As she turned, her shoe carelessly stepped on

my out-stretched hand that broke the fall. I swallowed a yelp as she gave

the heel a little twist. Walking off, she barked, "Get off your ass and

get moving, snot rag. You've got a lot to do before you come see me." And

she strode away without even a glance back.

Once in my car, I found myself tingling all over and horny as all hell.

This woman's debasement of me had an effect like no other. As mentioned

earlier, I had quite a bit of experiences with pay-for-play dominants. I

had been spit on by many of them as that act usually played a part in many

of the scenarios I'd requested. But that was merely play-acting to

satisfy a client. What just transpired was no game. Ms. De LaPaz was the

initiator and Ms. De LaPaz did it for not anyone but herself.

I went warp speed through the rest of my tasks for the afternoon. After I

was done, I realized, that except for Carmen's slurp, I hadn't eaten all

day. I was empty but still too nervous to eat. Then, recalling her fancy

for food deprivation and the ominous promise of "second hand meals", I

rustled up some sandwich concoction from my refrigerator and forced myself

to eat it.

By 7:45 I'd picked up her Chinese food. At 7:50 I sat in my car in front

of the address she'd given me. Through the drawn curtains of the front

unit of the newer built four-plex condo building, I could see the

silhouette of someone dancing to a steady rhythm. Actually it looked more

like an aerobics workout. I wasn't sure, but I thought it could be Ms. De

LaPaz. The figure was kind of short and solid. I would soon find out.

At 7:58, I got out of my car with my sparsely packed gym bag and the savory

order of Ms. De La Paz's dinner. I approached the door of unit 1, her

unit. From within, I heard the thumping beat of driving music. I checked

my watch and at 8 on the dot I rang the doorbell once. No answer. For ten

minutes I stood there, contemplating whether or not I should ring the bell

again or perhaps even rap loudly on the door. Then, it was yanked open.

Ms. De LaPaz was in the doorway, dancing in place, singing along with the

lyrics of the still-playing music. She had obviously heard the doorbell

when it first rang and simply let me wait until she was ready. She

motioned me in. She was a sight to behold. Wearing only a white leotard,

already half soaked with sweat, it accentuated the smooth, presently

glistening, olive skin. It was the first time I really got to see her

figure. I guessed she was 5'4" and a solid 145 pounds. Her bust was larger

than I initially detected when in her business suits, the waist was tight

as it mushroomed into those wide, sultry hips atop a set of powerful, full

thighs. I'm sure my eyes dawdled a bit too long between those thighs on

the damp gusset from which curls of black pubic hair obscenely sprouted.

She curtly snatched the bag of food from me as she used a remote to mute

the music. She said she was going to go put the food in the kitchen and I

should be totally stripped and on my knees by the time she returned. I

couldn't help stealing a glance at that awesome derriere, its supple meat

packed tight in the leotard jiggling to her step.

When Ms. De LaPaz came sweeping back, she looked down at my naked, kneeling

form and announced with great enthusiasm, "Now comes the fun part of my

workout! She grabbed me by the ear and pulled me on my knees into the

spacious, carpeted living room. There was an area cleared for her

workouts. In the middle of it was a bizarre looking contraption -- a

double tiered harness that hung from the ceiling. It was attached to a

steel roped pulley. She told me to stay on my knees directly beneath the

harness. Then, she reached to the pulley, gave it a yank and guided the

harness down to my level. She stepped back to me and instructed that I

should pay close attention as this was going to become a regular part of

her 5 day a week workout. She made me raise my arms as she slipped the

harness over my head, then pulling up so the upper thong was surrounded my

armpits. She had me lower my arms through the upper thong so they were

flush against my sides. Then, she yanked on a strap so the upper thong

tightened. My arms were now completely immobile but I hardly noticed as

she was so close to me and I couldn't help but to get drunk off the scent

of her sweat. She ignored my growing cock as she bent and tightened the

lower thong around the very top of my thighs. Moving behind me she

attached a leather band to each of my ankles. Then, bending them back

towards my legs, she hooked a length of strap from each ankle to the lower

thong. At that point, I was practically suspended, except that my knees

still rested on the carpet. She turned backed to the pulley, tugged on

it. I was lifted off the ground to Ms. De LaPaz's eye-level. She stood,

hands on hips, to admire her handi-work, and said more to herself,

"Beautiful..." and smacked her lips.

I had a terrible feeling about what was going to commence. My fears were

soon confirmed as Ms. De LaPaz flicked the driving music back on and

started dancing around my suspended, completely vulnerable & indefensible

form like a boxer. Only there were no gloves on her hands. I watched in

horror as she bobbed, weaved and jittered about my face wearing only what I

could describe as a malevolent grin. I barely saw the first blow. The

fist landed hard right between my eyes. I saw stars as I swung back a bit

on the harness. Swinging forward, I braced myself as a vicious right

smashed into my gut. It went on like this for something like 15 or 20

minutes.

I thought back to when she said the term 'human punching bag'. At the

time, I honestly assumed she was using it as merely a metaphor. But there

I was, strapped in this harness that hung from a ceiling, swaying this way

and that way while Ms. De LaPaz threw uppercuts, straight arms, jabs,

overhand punches to every part of my body and face. Fast, furious and

solid blows. Woozy from the relentless beating, I felt like I was in some

kind of cheap horror movie from the 50's � a nightmarish sequence of

insanity with the music pounding and flashing glimpses of Ms. De LaPaz's

gritting features, followed by thud after thud of her fists on my flesh.

Finally, thankfully, the music was muted. My tormentress stood before me,

a gleam of pure exhilaration in her eyes as she breathed in and out. She

was now soaked with perspiration. I could only imagine what I must of

looked like, no doubt a pitiful sight, dangling in the air like that,

quivering uncontrollably. I felt a small trickle of blood from my lower

lip and I was sure that the rest of me was bruised and battered. She

looked at me with a raised eyebrow, "Didya like that...?"

How could one in my current position respond to that? But I knew I had to

try. Actually, two answers came to mind: for myself, I didn't. I was

hurting. I mean, I just got the shit beat out of me. But I was no longer

living for myself. I had desired to be a true slave long enough to start

to accept that. My owner looked so happy at that moment and that's what

truly counted to me. So I answered truthfully, "Yes ma'am".

"Because it pleased me?"

"Yes ma'am".

She grinned. "Good. Then, you're really gonna love this." She spun back

to the pulley, gave it a yank and I suddenly dropped about a foot or so.

Once more she cranked up the music, and with hands arrogantly resting on

her hips, she started a new dance. A brain-jarring bare foot crashed into

my cheek. Another shattered into my chest. Her feet, propelled by those

powerful legs, delivered three times the force of her fists. She must of

hurled a hundred kicks -- all full contact to my head, face, ass, ribs,

kidneys, stomach. I was feeling nauseous and faint by the time she dealt

the coup de grace � four straight-on shots to my exposed balls.

Then, the music went silent. Ms. De LaPaz watched with an excited twinkle

as I heaved and convulsed, still hanging on the harness. I even saw her

touch her mound. The bitch was turned on. After several, agonizing

minutes, I started to regain myself a little, though my body was still

shaking. She turned and left, returning a moment later with a towel for

herself. She was literally swamped with sweat from head to toe. She moved

to me, unlatched the two thongs. With my ankles, still bound by the

leather bands, I fell flat on my face. She giggled and then unhooked them.

She reached down and grabbed me by the hair, pulling me to my feet. I was

not in very good shape. Pretty much just a useless, twitching spastic.

There wasn't an ounce of compassion in her face as she ordered me to the

kitchen. There, I was to wash my face and hands, make her a plate of food,

zap it in the microwave and bring it and a diet coke to the den, just off

to the side. Aching, I moved rather gingerly. My laggardness earned me

punch to the back of my head.

"I'm hungry, shitheel. I wanna eat now, not in ten minutes. Move your

pathetic ass!"

Despite my pain, I ran like a bunny. In the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of

myself in a mirror. Face puffy and red. Ugly splotches starting to form

on my neck and chest. Man, was I a sorry sight. As, I prepared my

owner's plate, I looked at the clock. 8:56. Damn, I thought, I hadn't even

been there an hour and I already felt like a broken soul. What the hell

have I gotten myself into...!!??

three

I carried her dinner into the den. It was obviously her hang-out room. A

wide, lush sofa on one wall facing a 35" TV. There were shelves lined with

books (she is an avid reader), and a fireplace. A moment later, Ms. De

LaPaz entered, holding a towel. She studied the sofa as trying to figure

out an important equation, then shrugged.

"I want to sit on the sofa and watch TV as I eat but I'm so sweaty, I'm

afraid it will soak right through and stain it." She glanced at me, "You

look fairly dry". With that, she laid the large towel on the sofa, took

the tray of food from me and told me to lie on it and bend my knees so they

face the TV. I complied and after she made an adjustment to my knees'

position, she propped a pillow against them. Then, the most wonderful

sight came into my view. Ms. De La Paz's magnificent ass hovered me. It

lowered onto my upper chest. I felt her lean back against the pillow as

her feet, then legs extended past my face. Adjusting herself for comfort,

she slid forward so her ass pushed into my face. Shifting again, her

bottom lifted, inched forward until it settled square onto my mouth, where

it spread to an overhang. Though my nose was buried under her crotch,

tickled by the protruding coarse, pubic hairs, I could just get enough air

through a half-covered nostril so I wouldn't suffocate. When she was

finally satisfied with her position, muffled as it was, I heard her chirp,

"Ooh I like this. It really is comfortable. I think we found another use

for you, recliner boy!"

I've read and heard more than once, coming from some of the most celebrated

psychological minds in history, that many men (possibly some women too)

crave nothing more than a return to the source of safety and warmth from

which they sprang � the womb. It's a theory I wholeheartedly and instantly

identified with. And there is no more comprehensive act to simulate that

event � one which is a literal impossibility to re-create in actuality �

than to have your face sat on by a glorious set of expanded, shapely

haunches belonging to a full-bodied Butt Goddess. To be totally engulfed

by a feminine asshole and the vagina that precedes it, consumes one so

wholly into a woman's natural moisture and essence, that the nirvana such a

'pressing' evokes, must be a sexually developed adult's interpretation of

re-connecting to his nest of origin.

Facesitting, queening, being throned � whatever you want to call it � has

truly been the overriding passion of my life. I'd been obsessed with the

female rump since my post-toddler days. I can recall as a little five or

six year-old boy, being on the beach and � innocent as it was then

(...?...) � gawking at the parade of bathing suit clad (bikini and

otherwise) tushes that bounced past. Young or old, taut or lumpy, white,

black, yellow, brown � it didn't matter; they all bewitched my child-eyes.

It was the reason I nagged so often to go to the beach as I really didn't

care much for ocean's waves or building sandcastles. Just the sight of a

prominent female posterior would stir something deep within my young soul

that was, at that undeveloped stage, completely inexplicable. Most

everyone of those awe-inspiring set of fleshy globes separated by the

mysterious, magnetic dark cleft � that when the wearer was situated in

certain positions would swallow up the patch or string covering it � seemed

to beckon to me.

Driven by that calling and a slew of nagging curiosities: 'what did they

feel like, what smell did they emit, how did they TASTE?!', I began to

venture out for closer encounters with the objects of my wonder. Zeroing

in on a face down woman tanning her back, I would innocently run to

retrieve an "errant" ball, strategically placed by my own design near my

target of bulging plumpness. Feigning clumsiness, I would "trip" making

sure that when I fell, my face would land smack in the middle of her

buttocks. Most would immediately shriek out. Knowing that my window of

opportunity was brief, I'd whiff in as quickly and as much as my little

lungs could take, before my startled "victim" would shift, giggle with

relief as she smiled sympathetically at my blushing and innocent face,

holding my strayed toy-ball, without any suspicion of my true motives.

These forays culminated in one incident that will remain forever ingrained

in my mind. While sitting on our beach blanket, I spied a group of teenage

black girls who were just setting up for the day. They were all still on

their feet wearing the latest in bathing suit fashions. As I panned along

their lower torso's, scrutinizing each caboose, I came to one that must've

set off some kind of bizarre chemical reaction in me. It was the classic

bubble-butt that is characteristic of the African American female. It was

an awesome vision: two melon-shapped hunks of tight, black beef protruding

far beyond the confines of the skimpy material around it. The rest of her

wasn't fat at all, actually quite petite. She and her friends were about

10 yards away from me and, oblivious to the fact that I was gauging when

this bearer of the most radical rear end I'd ever seen would lower herself

to the blanket. As she began to squat, it happened. Some uncontrollable

fuel pumped through my body and launched me into a full on sprint and

subsequent dive and roll, timed perfectly so that most bulbous of butts

plunked square on my upturned face. The ebony, teenage Ass Queen initially

squealed at the shock but her reflexes didn't immediately lift her off.

She looked down between those chocolate thighs at my face buried beneath.

A grin of amusement played on her lips as this time there was no stray ball

to fake finding. No, it was clear to her and her friends that this was a

purposeful invasion on my behalf. That I was right where I intended to be.

She gave my face a little grind and said something like, "Yuze sho' a

nasty lil' white boy, aintcha, bitch...?" Then she stood as my mortified

mother, now convinced she had horribly perverted kid, ran up, apologizing

profusely. As I was dragged away, I glanced back at the girl with what

must of been a dreamy look as she and her friends reacted with raucous

hoots and hollers.

After that my folks gave me all kinds of reprimand but did that quell my

obsession...? Obviously not. That was only the beginning. In the ensuing

years of childhood, I developed an intense interest in professional

wrestling, especially women's wrestling. Any time there was a female match

on, I'd be glued to the tube and every so often I was treated to the

display of a face straddle. Later on, in that time of male adolescence,

when young men begin expressing their sexuality to each other in the most

crass of terms, I felt set apart from my peers, maybe like that of a young

homosexual. While my "buds" were blustering about "feeling up knockers"

and giving "hot beef injections" to that girl or this one, my only

fantasies around the girls that attracted me, were of their asses squashing

my face.

It might be worthy to briefly note the first time a female sat on me by

her own volition, without any manipulation on my part.

It was in Jr. High school, during reading period in the library. As was my

daily habit, I lay on my back in a corner by myself reading. One day, I

felt a presence standing over me. I looked up and standing there directly

over my face, a female shod foot on either side, was Lori. A tall,

model-like blonde, one of the best looking girls in school who because of

my shyness had never before interacted with. Looking straight up those

long legs, beyond the hem of her skirt, I saw the breathtaking view of a

strip of cotton white panties disappearing into the skid-hole of a pert,

young tush. Lori bent over and leered down her button nose into my eyes.

She uttered the only words she ever spoke to me during the years we were in

class together, "Everyday I see you like this and everyday I think about

doing this". With that, she half squatted above me and knocked the book

from my hands. Then, in one sudden move, she dumped her firm, hard bum on

my face. She just sat stock still with her full weight for about a minute.

I lay there beneath her, in this position that previously could only be

conceivable in fantasy, in total darkness, not daring to even draw a single

breath. Then, she simply stood up, flashed me a smirking grin and walked

away. We never spoke again. I don't know if Lori ever gave it another

thought, but to me it was the highlight of my adolescence. It provided

masturbation fantasies for years afterwards. Even more profound, the

incident was like a sign from a Higher Power that defined what my calling

in life was to be � seat cushion for a lady's backside.

Apologies to the less patient for the long digression. If you find this

telling worthy of further attention, hopefully this prelude detailing the

history and depth of this obsession of mine for face sitting will be

appreciated when perusing the upcoming passages.

To review briefly: I was laid out on Ms. De LaPaz's sofa, knees bent with a

pillow propped on them. My Latin owner, had just taken her place atop my

body, back leaning against the pillow, sitting on me as one would lounge on

a pool chair. Her wide, spongy bottom, dripping with fresh sweat from her

recent, vigorous workout, was splayed across my face as she ate her dinner

while watching TV. Now, I had experienced many queenings at the hands of

professionals, and those times that my powers of persuasion were able to

coax a "vanilla" lover into the act. This was something different. Like

Lori, the beauty in Jr. High, Ms. De LaPaz had elected, due to her own

predilection, to sit on me. Add to this, the fact that I would be in her

service for an indefinite future, those first minutes beneath Ms. De LaPaz

ass were something akin to a religious experience. The brutal beating by

her fists and feet, that minutes before I had endured, seemed like nothing

more than a minor bump in the road to this heavenly destination. Just a

small price to pay to then find myself in a state of unequaled emotional

and sexual bliss. The luscious weight of her heated body covered me like

the ultimate blanket of warmth and security... the sopping leotard bottoms

dripped salted, delicious perspiration through my lips and onto my waiting

tongue... the unbelievably scrumptious female funk that permeated my entire

being. What more could a guy ask for!?

Above, I could hear the muffled TV and the clinking of silverware as Ms. De

LaPaz dined comfortably on her human divan. It sounded like a sitcom and

when she shrieked with laughter, the motion rippled down through her body,

contacting her anus, releasing a puff of its savory ripeness. At one

point, a dainty little toot snuck out that made me tingle with submissive

amour.

As was shown by the events of the previous evening, a mere whiff of a

woman's inner perfume can instantaneously bring me to the brink of orgasm.

I suppose, while in my pursuits to become intimate with the female

derriere, the need to be humbled by that shrine developed to such heights,

that many hours were spent day-dreaming about being nothing more than a

woman's own, personal windbreaker.

As I relished the lingering fart, I celebrated my position as the object of

Ms. De LaPaz's scorn with renewed enthusiasm. Sure I'd have to tolerate

some more unpleasentries but where else could one find such ---sniiifff---

fringe benefits. Laying there in my reverie, it took a little while to

notice a dull ache start to creep into my muscles. "Embrace it", I rallied

to myself. Absorb this Goddess' wrath and rejoice in the fact that it is

me and not someone else who has been bestowed with the good fortune to be

the instrument of healing for this wounded but supreme woman. A woman who

suffered horrible indignities at the hands of boorish members of my own

gender. Yes, Milady, I now exist solely to assist in your purging!!!

15 minutes had passed. She hadn't moved at all. The dull aches were

starting to cause discomfort. Nothing too bad. Warm was turning to hot,

stiffening joints, the dripping perspiration had my eyes stinging,

breathing slightly more labored. I could make out the sounds of the

commercial break and assumed that she would finish watching the show and

then get up and shower. I could certainly stand another 15 minutes under

the sexy body atop me.

Another ten minutes ticked by. The aches were then more like sharp pains.

The oppressive weight bearing down had my face and head throbbing. The

warm security blanket was gone replaced by a the iron lid of a steaming

cauldron. Most of the sensual titillation that swooned me initially had

left. Yet, I dared not move a muscle as she seemed to be enjoying the show

immensely. Her laughter seemed to apply more pressure on my body and head.

I beginning to want out....BAD!! All I could do was hope to survive the

remaining 5 minutes of her show. When I finally heard the closing theme

play, I was bursting with anticipation of Ms. De LaPaz's rise off of me.

I could just imagine the cool air sweeping over me, gulping in lungful's of

the stuff. I salivated at the thought of being relieved of that 145

burdensome pounds.

Finally, movement from above. She leaned forward, providing relief for

my numbing knees. Shifting her legs gave me a partial sight-line of her

on top of me. Her eyes never even glanced down. The look on her face gave

the impression that she was oblivious that she was sitting on me. Then, to

my dismay, she thrust the remote forward, switched channels and leaned back

on my knees. Then, even more horrifying, she shoved up so her ass was now

covering my entire face. All light was completely blotted out and worse

yet, my meager air supply was totally cut off. Could she really have

forgotten that I was beneath her, that what she sat on was just an

inanimate object, not a living, breathing being? Or was she simply void of

any capacity of concern for my welfare?

I did not know which was true nor did it really matter as I lay there,

panic starting take over, sweltering and suffocating, yet terrified to do

anything about it. I was dizzy, feeling like I might pass out. For fear

of savage retribution, I quickly quashed the impulse to throw her off me �

though I doubted at that point I had the strength � so I took the most

passive action I could think of � I began to softly whimper. Yes, I

squeaked and whimpered in the complete desperate hope that the bitch on top

of me would allow me a basic necessity to keep on living -- a breath of

fresh air. She seemed to not hear it, engrossed in the show she was

watching. Then, I squeaked louder and lightly touched her thigh.

With sudden abruptness, Ms. De LaPaz slid back off my face and sat heavily

on my chest. As I gasped and sputtered, she glared down at me with outrage

and screamed, "WHAT???

I stammered, "I-I-I'm s-sorry, ma'am. I-I-c-c-couldn't breathe".

She stared at me, absolutely incredulous. SPLAT!-CRACK! Her hand went

back and forth across my features. Then, her voice a scathing hiss, "For

that, you disturbed me from my show!? You selfish piece of shit!" There

wasn't even a hint of mockery in her tone. SPLAT!-CRACK! The second set of

slaps really set my cheeks ablaze. Then, with a growl of genuine

irritation ,"You need to breathe, I'll make sure you do, you useless slug.

Just don't bother me." With that, she plopped her ass back down on my

face, leaned back against my painfully cramped knees and turned back to the

TV.

The explosive interruption had allowed me to haul in a few good breaths, so

for the moment I was okay. Seconds turned to minutes and once again, I

was smothering under those dominating orbs of flesh. She had promised to

let me breathe...when, goddamit?! The panic started to return along with

faintness. But by then I had neither the courage or even the will to

indicate another alert. Had my human, survival mechanism been so

shattered, that rather than disturb the woman perched so carefreely on my

crushed face, depriving me of the ability to pull air into my lungs, I was

resigned to the real probability that I would expire in a few minutes?

Snuffed out beneath the lethal mountain of ass meat belonging to one Ms.

Carmen De LaPaz. Just when I accepted my fate, there was movement above.

Ahhh...saved!

As she rose, not more than a quarter of an inch, the pulverizing weight

eased slightly, just enough for me to steal a breath. As I started to

deeply inhale, FWAAAAAP...! it was a deafening, shocking burst along with a

simultaneous gust of searing wind. The tremendous fart shot straight into

my lungs igniting a horrific burning sensation. "Told ya I'd take care of

you", she snickered. That was followed by a wicked chuckle and Ms. De

LaPaz's observation, "That tofu and cabbage dish does it every time!" and

sat down once more, adding a little wiggle of triumphant arrogance.

So began a sadistic cycle: smothering me to the brink then, giving some

ease and timing my frantic groping for air with the unleashing of booming ,

fetid blasts of gas. To further her enjoyment of my torture, Ms. De LaPaz,

added a new twist of sadism. Each time after lifting her butt to deliver a

spluttering fart, she'd slam it back down as hard as could, further

battering my already beaten face.

So my heaven had turned to hell. No longer was I enveloped in the womb of

warmth, safety and sensuality but was being annihilated by the weapon of

choice belonging to a 145 pound, hot-blooded man hater, her ASS! All

together -- the thunderous expulsions, Ms. De LaPaz's gleeful cackles, the

stink, the burn in my lungs, the stifling heat, the relentless pounding on

my face -- was rendering my senses into oblivion. I could feel nothing

except for one base instinct that always seemed to transcend anything else:

raw, masochistic lust. At a certain point during the ordeal, I experienced

an explosive orgasm. I remembered it clearly for ejaculation came just as

I inhaled the most noxious fart of the night.

Ms. De LaPaz engaged in this repetition until � excuse the pun � she ran

out of gas. Somehow during the hour or so she sat on me, just enough air

sneaked its way into my lungs to allow me to survive, if you can call it

that. I suspected � no � it was more like I hoped that this occurred by my

owner's design rather than due to my own desperate efforts. I hoped this

because I was pretty sure that in the above described state of affairs, it

was nearly impossible for me to accomplish. So, I prayed that this woman

who I had willingly totally surrendered myself to, possessed, at least, the

most minuscule drop of regard for my well-being.

At the end of the second sitcom, Ms. De LaPaz clicked off the TV and

shuffled her punishing ass back so it then rested on my upper abdomen. By

then, I was simply a blubbering goof. My conception of time and place were

just a mushy blur. I think she was even shocked when she saw my wretched

state. I'm sure my coloring was blue and skin chaffed from the grinding

of the leotards coarse material. I could feel that my eyes had been

reduced to puffy slits. I felt my squashed nose slowly unfurling to its

normal position. Her eyes betrayed a sign of genuine, amazed fear � fear

that she was capable of leveling another human being to such a condition.

She stared for a moment as I laid beneath her, just a destroyed lump.

"Wow, you look pretty fucked up, slave", she commented sincerely.

Then, in an instant, the concern left her face and lit up like a light

bulb. She was exuberant, speaking directly to me, "This is one of those

moments that you just can't let pass". She hopped off me, skipped out like

an excited little girl. She returned a few seconds later, with something

in her hand. I couldn't yet make it out because she did a little leap in

my direction. Before I knew what was happening, her butt crashed back down

on my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. As I gasped and spluttered, I

caught a glimpse of her adjusting the flash on a camera. Ready to shoot,

she looked at my grimacing features and frowned. A bare foot smacked my

face a few times as she said, "C'mon, c'mon stop mugging. I want it to be

natural." I forced myself to ignore the most recent dose of pain and did

my best to look "natural".

After she flashed a few pictures of my raw, beaten visage, she set down the

camera and shimmied up my chest so she was straddling my face. Her crotch

hovered no more than an inch or two over my mouth. One of those deadly,

talon-tipped fingers, pushed aside the thin patch and I was transfixed by a

hairy, glistening, pulsing pussy. A powerful waft of twat stink, sweat

and urine had a drug-like affect as I became incredibly aroused. A slap to

my head broke my reverie. Ms. De La Paz's voice snarled down at me, "You

let just one small drop spill onto my couch, I'll gouge your eyes out and

smother you till you're a vegetable! Got it?"

"Yes ma'am". I shuddered. It was an extreme threat, one that she'd

probably never perpetrate -- but none-the-less one I knew she possessed the

capacity to do.

My mouth opened wide and a dark yellow trickle dribbled into it. Despite

the very bitter taste, I was extremely relieved to have my dry mouth wet

with liquid. It started to come faster and stronger. I was gulping

frantically as her piss gushed mouthful after mouthful. The hissing flow

was so furious, I was amazed and actually proud, that I didn't allow even a

single drop to splash astray. When the last of it slid down my hatch, Ms.

De LaPaz, sat back on my upper chest and neck.

Resting her chin her knees, she gazed down into my eyes. It was a dreamy

look and I started to think one of love or at least appreciation. She held

the gaze for a good two minutes and then, I saw her stroke her wet cunt.

At that moment, I realized that the gaze I so foolishly mistook for

affection was really just lust � not for me but a selfish, hedonistic lust,

fueled by the tremendous amount of degradation and pain she had inflicted

on me over the past few hours. Then, she suddenly rose to her feet,

quickly ripped off the white leotard and dropped her steaming, sopping cunt

onto my face. "Suck", she barked. And suck I did, snaking my tongue up to

find her clit. It must of struck a chord because before long she became

very animated, grinding into my lips, pounding down with great force, even

fucking my nose, like a dildo. Once more I was being thrashed but again

the heavy outpouring of heavenly pussy juice acted as an elixir and I was

feeling no pain. After 10 or so minutes of humping my face, my owner let

out a piercing wail of ecstasy, exploding in a magnificent orgasm. A thick

stream of pussy goo slithered out of her. My tongue greedily lapped it,

not wanting to miss a precious drop. My face was bathed in her slime as

she simply slumped down on it and leaned over to rest her head on the arm

of the couch. She stayed like that for quite a while as I just laid still

and silent, listening to her relaxing breaths. Once more my features had

to bear her full weight, but this time, my still-open mouth had access so I

was able to breathe.

When she finally lifted off me, she appeared sated and serene. There was

oddly no sign of the characteristic virulence. She simply said in a soft

voice for me to follow her upstairs.

She indicated her room tome where she was going to take a shower in the

attached bathroom. She opened the linen closet, handed me a large bath

towel and ordered me to go back downstairs to the service porch, put the

towel in the dryer and run it for 15 minutes on low. During that time, I

was to clear the den of her dishes, hand wash the leotard, hang it in the

service porch and when the buzzer rang, to retrieve the warm towel and

bring it to her quickly.

As she turned and walked towards her bedroom, I lingered for a look on her

for a moment. I saw a forty-year-old woman, with slightly sagging breasts

and an ass with crimps of cellulite. A hostile woman who had spent the

last few hours beating me savagely as punching bag, kicking my balls,

smothering me half to death, farting in my nose and mouth, and pissing down

my throat. A rush of emotion came over me. I thought back to those

feelings expressed earlier about my first love, My Angel. And it occurred

to me, given the choice of rekindling that magical first love or being with

Ms. De LaPaz and enduring her abuse, it was a no brainer: I'd stay right

where I was.

Holding the warmed towel for her as she stepped out of the shower, Ms. De

LaPaz wrapped herself in it and told me to go downstairs and bring my

belongings.

I hurried to do that and when I came back upstairs she was waiting in the

hallway. I was thirsty and hungry but I did not dare ask for anything .

Appearing sleepy, Ms. De LaPaz showed me a small guest bathroom, told me I

had 90 seconds to do whatever duties I needed and brush my teeth. There

would no shower for me tonight. I accomplished my bathroom functions in

more like 60 seconds. Then, she crossed to a door and opened it. It was a

small walk-in closet. It was empty except for a thin, bare cot mattress

lying across the length of the floor. Nothing else. No sheets, blanket or

pillows. I noticed with a twinge of fear that the door could be locked and

unlocked only from the outside. I also took note that the bulb from the

light socket had been removed. Ms. De LaPaz told me to put my "crap" in

there and the only time it was ever to leave the closet was when I took

them with me during the day so I could wash them. She ordered me inside

the tiny cubicle and said that most likely in the future, when she felt

more comfortable, she would permit me to massage her to sleep and allow me

to find my own way to the closet. And maybe, if things really worked out

well, I could, on occasion sleep on the carpet at the foot of her bed.

Until then, I would be locked in at night.

Without so much of a parting word, she closed the door and I heard the lock

turn. Then, I saw she checked it to make sure. I heard her footsteps fade

and I stood there in the pitch blackness. I ached everywhere, my stomach

was rumbling for food but luckily during my bathroom time I was able to

gulp down some water after brushing my teeth. I groped and lowered my

battered body to the mattress. It was clean but very thin. Luckily the

closet was carpeted. I was utterly exhausted but my mind was rife with

conflicting emotions. I mean, I had never spent time in these kind of

accommodations and it was really humiliating. But the overriding emotion

was that I had realized a long held dream of being a slave to a truly

dominant and cruel woman. With that thought, I masturbated, then drifted

into a long, restful sleep.

four

The sharp kick to my ribs jolted me awake. My groggy eyes looked up and

focused on Ms. De LaPaz, sneering down at me with sleep still in her eyes.

Her hair was a mess. She wore a short, silk robe that stopped at the hips.

It was open, revealing her bouncing breasts and thick black bush. She had

on high-heeled slip-on slippers � the point of one which had just served as

my alarm clock. She looked wildly sexy. In one hand she was holding a cup

of hot coffee. As I started to rise, I winced as the soreness in my body

announced itself. With her free hand, she grabbed my hair and snapped,

"C'mon pig, I'm bursting from both ends."

She dragged me out of the closet and tossed me in the general direction of

the guest bathroom. "60 seconds", she barked. As I began to scurry to the

bathroom, she wailed, "Wait! Wait! Wait!". She turned her back and spread

her naked ass. Still in the haze of sleep, I just stood not sure what to

do. "Hurry up", she screamed. "Get your sorry face in there". I dove to

my knees, and put my face in the deep crevice of her ass. I couldn't help

noticing how hairy it was. A long, burst of flatulence erupted. It was so

sharp, tear literally came to my eyes. A moment later, another even

stronger blast came. This one was wet and I could feel ass slime spit all

over my face. "I don't hear your appreciation, slug". I immediately

started inhaling as deep and loud as I could. Then, she stepped away and

kicked me. "Go do your 60 seconds and then run to my bathroom. I can't

hold everything forever!"

I had a sick feeling I knew what "everything" meant. But after all I'd

been through, I couldn't bear to contemplate it so I rushed through my 60

seconds and sprinted to Ms. De La Paz's bathroom.

Standing in front of the toilet waiting for me, she commanded, "On your

knees, toilet". I complied and she grabbed my hair, bending my neck back

so I faced the ceiling. She then stepped a-straddle my upturned face and

lowered her cunt onto my open, waiting mouth. This time, the piss gushed

out full force from the get-go. I gulped and swallowed as fast as I could

but still some overflowed, ran down my body and onto the tile floor. It

seemed like she peed forever. When it finally stopped, she shoved my head

lower and wiped her dripping pussy on my hair. She commanded me to quickly

lick up the piss I spilled. As I did, she sat her ass on the toilet seat.

She reached over yanked me by my urine soaked hair and shoved my face

between her parted thighs. My head sank below the rim of the toilet, nose

just inches from the clear water as she closed her legs, locking me in a

tight thigh grip. My heartbeat raced as I knew what was coming. Her words

echoed off the walls of toilet. "Remember I told you about the

conditioning, I needed to put you trough?"

"Yes ma'am".

"Well here it comes!" Then a gust of gas released, followed by a slick,

long, thick turd, sliding smoothly out of her flowering anus. It dangled

for a second or two, millimeters in front of my eyes. Then it broke off,

falling in the bowl. Its splash sprayed water in my face. Several more

followed. These were smaller chunks of shit, probably 5 or 6 of them,

dropping off fast, like a B-2 releasing its bombs. It was truly the most

unreal sight I've ever seen. After it stopped, I gawked at the bunch of

turds floating on the water. Up until then, I had been holding my breath,

terrified of the smell. "I don't hear you appreciating it down there", her

voice threatened.

Oh, man, well here goes... I took a whiff... Ugh... It was rank... I got

lightheaded.

"Innnn-annnd-ouuut", she sang

What choice did I have? I mean she was real clear about this part of

servitude. And being trained as total toilet slave had been a fantasy I'd

been harboring for years. Not that I had a taste for shit itself, hell it

repulses me as much as the next person. But to me, with the degradation

involved, there is no greater act of service and adoration, then to

function as a woman's commode. While I honestly believed that, it had

mostly remained as pure fantasy. What I was facing here was real, just ask

my nose.

I had told Ms. De LaPaz that I did have experience in this � which was

technically true. Once, with one of the aforementioned golddiggers, a

stunning, lithe 19-year-old Asian girl, on whom I spent thousands at Neiman

Marcus and Nordstroms for the privilege of having her slap me around and

an occasional munch on her pussy, allowed me, after much begging, two licks

of her dainty butt hole following a movement. In that situation, I

actually found the taste of the little bit of residue girl-shit rather

erotic. Another time, when the fantasies became so intense that I just had

to try it, I paid a professional dominant a "shit-load" of money to take a

dump on my face. She had taken a laxative and when it was time, she laid

me in the bath tub to do it. But when she squatted over me and I saw it

start to come, I wimped out and scooted up so it landed on my chest and

stomach instead. Even that was too much reality for me as I gagged and

nearly threw up.

"Do it!", Ms. De LaPaz barked.

There was no place to run, my head locked between her strong thighs with

her hands firmly planted on my back. Again I inhaled, 4 or 5 times. I

felt like retching but I knew that would really piss her off and somewhere

in my perverted heart, I truly did not want to insult my owner who I

worshipped.

"Pretty fucking gross, I'll bet" she cackled. "But so what? You're just a

goddamned slave, a human toilet, on your way to becoming my own personal

one man, full service sewer system!" She laughed hysterically at that.

Then, "Whoa... hold on tight, here comes some more, I think..." I heard

her grunt and strain...then, a loud WHOOOH...! as a stream of steaming hot,

chunk-filled loose shit just flooded out of her asshole. My stomach was

churning. Nausea came over me. I was fighting a losing battle not to gag.

She screamed at me to take a huge breath. I braced myself and sucked in

the foul odor... and I lost it. I was retching uncontrollably.

She savagely yanked my head out of the toilet. SPLAT!-CRACK! her hand

smashed viciously back and forth across my cheeks "You gutless, little

pussy! How dare you fucking disrespect me like that!" she yelled, then

spit in my face. "You better get it through your head, boy � you're a

slave! You have no rights! It's your place to take whatever I give with

humility and gratitude! What you just did offended ME! It shows that you

have concern for yourself! If you had been thinking of ME and only ME,

like a real slave should, you would have kept yourself under control. But

NO! You have to insult and humiliate me! (I humiliated her???) Well let me

tell you something, you WILL become my toilet slave whether you like it or

NOT...!" That's when she locked her arm around my head, holding it tight

against her bosom and brought the fingers of her other hand to my cheek.

The razor sharp nails of her thumb and forefinger formed a two-pronged

claw. "...because IF YOU CONTINUE TO DISRESPECT ME..." and she started

digging into the flesh of my cheek, working the nails in deep. The pain

was so intense, I started to cry. She pulled the chunk of skin out and

forced it into my mouth. "...I WILL RIP EVERY BIT OF..." She went for

another hunk on the opposite side, barbarically clawing away at my cheek.

I wanted to scream but couldn't as her arm pressed hard against my vocal

chords. "...FLESH OFF OF YOUR FACE!!!" She pushed the second chunk of my

hide through my lips. Without a second to catch my breath, Ms. De LaPaz

shoved me back down into the bowl, latched even tighter with her thighs

that I thought my neck was going to snap. My face felt like it was on

fire. The tears rolling down only stung the wounds. My moment of

self-pity was broken by a loud expulsion of gas as another good sized turd

dropped and without being told I took deep sniffs. I didn't gag. Not that

it didn't smell repugnant � it was the fear of facing those talon-nails

again that quelled any impulse I had.

Then, she announced that she was through. Her thighs loosened and she

pulled me up. She pushed me and told me to sit with my back to the wall.

Quivering in pain and fear, I quickly complied. I watched her stand up. I

noticed very clearly that she neither wiped herself with toilet paper or

flushed her spending.

She walked to me, very deliberately, a coy little grin on her face. She

stood above my seated form, placed her hands on her hips and leered down at

me. Spoke very evenly. "You know what's next. I hope you don't

disappoint me..." Then, with a graceful whirl, she turned and presented

her ass to me. It was only 3 or 4 inches from my mouth. I could see

traces of brown on the outside of the crack and could smell the feces

emanating from within. "Spread `em" she hissed as she bent slightly.

Taking a breath, I put a trembling hand on each bulbous globe and gently

pulled them apart. All I could do was just stare. Shit was smeared up and

down the deep crevice. It was everywhere. The thick mane of hair was

matted with sticky brown. Deeper in, little giblets clung around the anus.

It was thick, gooey and revolting. Yet, I was determined not to

disappoint her. "Okay, ass wipe. Here's the deal. You're gonna spit-shine

my butt and shit hole with your tongue until it sparkles . When you're

done, I'm going to check it by wiping my crack with toilet paper. If I see

one streak, just one little smudge of shit, you're gonna be eating

everything in that toilet bowl. Am I clear?"

"Yes ma'am", I choked.

"Go to it!"

I pressed my face into the fetid cavern.... it was unbelievable... the

odor...the moisture...the whole idea of what I was doing. Blanking my

mind, I ran my tongue along the wall of each cheek. I tasted shit. It was

sharp and bitter. A wave of nausea raced through me but I fought back the

heaves by making my mind plug into the fantasies I had long harbored. And

it started to work! I thought to myself, I am actually doing it! I'm

really serving a woman as human toilet paper and the thought was wildly

exciting. My prick was rising as I delved in further with vigorous

enthusiasm. My lips wrapped around the excrement-matted hairline.

Lovingly, I sucked each little strand clean. I heard Ms. De La Paz gasp.

Then, she thrust back so my head rested against the wall. My tongue probed

deeper, heading for the tip of the anus. I could feel it gathering her

sludge so I sucked back to dispose of it. She let out a moan, pressing

back even harder, letting my head bear the brunt of her weight. My tongue

poked up the anal cavity, collecting any and all morsels. I felt her hips

sway as my entire face was swallowed up by her beautiful ass. Then, she

gyrated up and down, swabbing my features with her crap as my tongue

stabbed up her filthy poop chute. Somehow, as I was engulfed by those

massive butt cheeks, I could feel my owner frigging herself. Goddam, Ms.

De LaPaz was hotter-than-hell from having her ass licked clean! She was

grunting out things like "That's it shiteater, get it all. It's all you're

good for!" As my tongue strained up to the deepest point of her rectal

cave, it came in contact with a fresh clump of poo. It was the richest,

most acrid yet. As I scooped it up and swallowed it was all too much for

the both of us. Ms. De La Paz began to shudder at the start of a

tremendous orgasm, while my cock spurted a massive load of cum. Hers was

protracted, ass-slamming my face, banging the back of my head against the

wall.

When it was over, her butt forced my head to the floor and she sat on me,

taking a few moments to recover. Then, she raised to a squat and granted

me one last chance to make sure she was completely washed. I looked

carefully. There were some splotches on her cheeks that I immediately

licked off. Inside, there was just a giblet or two hanging around her

anus. I stuck my mouth around it, creating a suction and sucked in hard.

I felt the tiny pieces of shit fly back against my throat and down. I then

confirmed that her ass was spotless.

She stood up, tore off a piece of toilet paper and worked in and out and

around her crease and rectum. It was going to be a thorough test. She

pulled it up and examined it. Not a speck. She nodded, impressed. I was

so relieved. All I wanted was for her to leave so I could take a shower

and even more so, to rinse my mouth.

As if reading my mind, Ms. De La Paz said she would give me a mouth rinse.

I waited patiently as she moved to the sink and brushed her teeth. When

she turned back to me, I could see that her mouth was filled with tooth

past and the swill she'd brushed off. She leaned over and told me to open

my shit stained mouth. It wasn't exactly what I had in mind but with what

I just experienced... She spit the contents into it, told me to rinse. I

did, then swallowed it. She regarded me for a moment with a look of

triumph and disgust. "You should see what you look like. Hell, if that's

not a piece of human toilet paper sitting before me, I don't know what

is..." Then, she swung the door so the full length mirror was accessible.

"Go on, take a look". With apprehension, I turned. The reflection I saw

stunned me. Shit was spread all across my face, a glob on my forehead,

another below my eye. Brown smears covering just about my entire face,

thick in some places, streaked in others. Ugly red gouge marks glared from

each cheek. All this on top of the pounding I took last night. At first,

the grotesque sight made me want to cry. Then, I remembered my purpose,

the position I willingly pursued and some perverse sense of satisfaction

came over me.

She checked the clock and said she had to get going. To my shock, she

grabbed my hair and pulled me back to the toilet, shoving my head in once

again. She then pulled my arms so they completely circled the bowl. A new

horror came over me as I felt the handcuffs snap on my wrists. I could

barely move as my face dangled above the bowl of turds. She then spoke

with sincerity, "Believe me slave, you're going to appreciate this

conditioning exercise by the time next week rolls around. So I want you to

become very familiar with the crap in there, I want you to....bond with

it..." She was damn serious! "Now, I don't expect you at this point to

'personally dispose' of what's afloat in there but I will say that if some

of it was gone by the time I return this evening..., I would be very

pleased..." With that she lowered both the seat and the cover so they

rested on my neck. Then, I could feel her moving around and felt the

pressure of the seat increase as she wrapped a strap from around the base

to the top and snapped the latch in. There was now no way to raise up from

the armada of turds beneath by nose. I'd be there until she returned from

work.

Then in a chirpy voice she said, "See you later. Think of me while I'm

gone..." And she walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

I hadn't yet even begun to comprehend the reality of the situation. Bound

as I was, I knelt in my porcelain 'stockade' listening to the sounds of

Ms. De LaPaz moving around in her bedroom preparing to go to work for the

day. She was humming cheerily and I wondered if that was a touch to add to

my humiliation or had she already callously put me out of her mind. A few

minutes later, I could no longer hear her as she had left for work.

It still took a while for me to accept where I was, where I'd be for next

eight or nine hours. When I finally did, my first impulse was to scream

and SCREAM... I did. It only served to hurt my ears as my pitiful wail

bounced off the toilet bowl walls, boxing my ear drums. Then, I just sort

of whimpered, then cried. That seemed to do no good so I stopped. My body

was cramping terribly. I attempted to adjust my position but the handcuffs

left so little slack that there was no where to go. I tried stretching out

my legs but that left my chest resting on the rim and bearing my weight. I

couldn't take that for long so I went back to the kneel. Thoughts came.

Thoughts of the rest of the world, what they were doing right then.

Working, having nice breakfast's, getting ready for a fun weekend, etc. I

wondered if there was another person somewhere in the big, giant world who

was at that moment in the exact situation as I was? Maybe some CEO in a

Dominatrix's dungeon? Could be. Or perhaps this is how they torture

prisoners in some barbaric third world country...? You never know... These

thoughts started to depress me so I stopped. I refocused on the island of

dump below. Look at it just laying there, I thought. Then, a frightening

realization hit: I had become accustomed to the stench. It no longer

offended me. Oh, God, she was doing it. Ms. De LaPaz was conditioning me

to be a real toilet and it was working! I stared at the crap again. There

was lump sticking up right at my mouth that seemed to be taunting me.

Then, her words echoed in my head, "...if some of it was gone by the time I

return this evening, I would be very pleased..." I took a long look at

that turd, closed my eyes, held my breath and started toward it.

As soon as my lips grazed it, I recoiled. No, I can't... not yet... not

like this... maybe after more conditioning. I tried to put it out of my

mind but it refused to retreat. Her proclamation...my natural

resistance...the turd beckoning...every fiber of my soul SCREAMED to rebel

against the thought...a virtual war raged in my head...it's too sick...it

would please her...it's immoral... it would PLEASE HER...

I was shocked awake by a spray of water splashing my face and a

thunderous, rushing roar. The first thing my hazy eyes saw was the pile of

shit being flushed away. I could feel that the toilet seat and cover had

been lifted. I turned my stiff neck to see the beaming smile on Ms. De

LaPaz's face. "I am so proud of you. I didn't think you would do it. But

from what I could see, practically half of it was gone! "You know what

that means, shiteater? That tomorrow your conditioning time will be

reduced to, oh.... five, no say, six hours..."

I stared up with foggy vision. I must've fallen asleep, passed-out or

something. Ms. De LaPaz throbbed in and out of focus. One moment her

voice was booming, the next it sounded distant. But I heard every word

she spoke.

"...And if you continue to progress at such a rapid pace, we might even

start the real thing on Sunday...! Now, it appears as if you peed on my

bathroom floor. But since I am so pleased, I'll let that slip, just this

once. These are your instructions. Are you listening, hmmm? Good. Clean

up that piss, use the toilet paper. We're not going to be needing so much

of that around anymore. Then, I want you to go the guest bathroom, take a

nice hot shower, get all clean and dry, and meet me downstairs. By then it

should be time for my workout!" She turned and started to leave.

At the door, she glanced back and announced, "Oh, I stopped and picked up

some to-go food. Mexican. Yuuuuuum....!"