SLAVE TO A MAN HATER

(a saga of a life of pain and degredation)

by beatenboy

Synopsis: The ad read: "Seeking genuinely cruel woman who would love to physically & mentally abuse & degrade a sincere, submissive, 36 year-old SWM." The woman who answered took him to depths of depravity he'd never imagined.

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 ½ 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....!"