Becoming Her Personal Toilet

Marcus had always known he was different. While other men his age fantasized about conventional sex—missionary position, blowjobs, maybe the occasional doggy style if they were feeling adventurous—Marcus found himself drawn to darker, more degrading desires. He spent countless nights scrolling through femdom toilet slavery porn, watching videos of dominant women using submissive men as their personal human toilets, and reading erotic stories about scat consumption and piss drinking submission. He had never acted on these fantasies, convinced that no real woman would ever participate in such extreme toilet play. That all changed the day he met Goddess Veronica.

It began innocently enough—a chance encounter at an upscale coffee shop in the financial district. Marcus was thirty-two, a successful software engineer with a comfortable salary and an empty social life. He had just finished his Americano when she walked in. Veronica was everything Marcus had ever dreamed of in a dominant woman: tall, at least five-foot-ten in her stiletto boots, with long raven-black hair cascading down her back in waves. She wore a form-fitting leather skirt that hugged her voluptuous hips and a burgundy blouse that strained against her ample breasts. Her eyes were the color of storm clouds, piercing and intelligent, and when they locked onto Marcus, he felt his breath catch in his throat.

She approached his table without hesitation, her heels clicking against the polished concrete floor with an authority that made Marcus's cock twitch in his pants. "You're staring," she said, her voice a smooth contralto that vibrated through his chest. "Most men have the decency to look away when caught."

"I—I'm sorry," Marcus stammered, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to be rude. You're just... striking."

Veronica smiled, a slow, predatory expression that revealed perfect white teeth. "Striking. That's a polite way of saying it." She pulled out the chair across from him and sat down without asking permission, crossing her long legs in a way that drew Marcus's eyes to her thighs. "Tell me, what's your name?"

"Marcus. Marcus Chen."

"Marcus," she repeated, tasting his name like fine wine. "I'm Veronica. And Marcus, I couldn't help but notice the website you were browsing before I walked in. Femdom toilet slavery stories, was it?"

Marcus felt his blood turn to ice. He had been reading on his phone, and he thought he had minimized the browser. His mouth went dry, and he fumbled for words, any words that might explain away the humiliating discovery. "I—it's not—I was just—"

"Relax," Veronica interrupted, holding up a manicured hand. Her nails were painted a deep crimson, the color of fresh blood. "I'm not here to shame you. In fact, I'm intrigued. Most men hide their toilet slave fantasies so deeply they never acknowledge them, even to themselves. You were reading about human toilet training in public. That takes either profound stupidity or profound courage. Which is it?"

Marcus swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs. "I don't know. I've never... I've never told anyone. About any of this."

Veronica leaned forward, her perfume—something dark and musky with notes of sandalwood and amber—enveloping him. "How long have you fantasized about becoming a full toilet for a dominant woman? About drinking her piss and eating her shit? About being reduced to nothing but a living bathroom fixture for her pleasure?"

The bluntness of her question sent a shockwave through Marcus's body. His cock, which had been at half-mast since she sat down, sprang to full attention, straining painfully against his tailored trousers. "Years," he whispered, unable to meet her gaze. "Since I was a teenager. I've watched thousands of hours of toilet slavery porn, read hundreds of scat fetish stories. I've always wanted to... to serve a woman that way. Completely. Without limits."

"Without limits," Veronica echoed, her eyes narrowing with interest. "That's a dangerous phrase, Marcus. Most people who claim they have no limits discover they have many once those limits are tested. But I appreciate the sentiment." She reached into her designer handbag and withdrew a business card, sliding it across the table with two fingers. "My personal number is on the back. If you're serious about exploring human toilet slavery—real toilet slavery, not just fantasy—call me tonight after eight. If you're not serious, throw the card away and we'll never speak again. But if you call, understand this: I take toilet training very seriously. I have converted many men into my personal scat slaves, and I will do the same to you if you submit. Is that understood?"

Marcus picked up the card with trembling fingers. It was heavy cardstock, embossed with gold lettering that read "Veronica Ashford—Professional Dominatrix & Lifestyle Goddess." The title sent another thrill through him. "Yes, Goddess," he said, the honorific slipping out naturally, as if he had been waiting his whole life to say it.

Veronica's smile widened. "Good boy. I like that. You may call me Goddess from now on, if you call at all." She stood, smoothing her skirt, and Marcus caught a glimpse of her magnificent ass, round and firm and utterly commanding. "Remember, Marcus. After eight. Don't keep me waiting."

She walked away, her hips swaying with hypnotic rhythm, leaving Marcus alone with his racing thoughts and his throbbing erection. He sat in the coffee shop for another twenty minutes, the card clutched in his sweaty palm, trying to process what had just happened. A real dominatrix. A woman who understood his darkest desires. A woman who might actually turn him into the toilet slave he had always dreamed of becoming.

At 8:15 that evening, Marcus dialed the number.

Veronica's home was in an exclusive gated community, a modern mansion of glass and steel that spoke to her success in her chosen profession. Marcus stood at the front door at precisely 9:00 PM, as instructed, wearing the outfit she had specified in their brief phone conversation: black dress pants, a white button-down shirt, and nothing underneath. He felt exposed, vulnerable, and incredibly aroused.

The door opened automatically, and a voice came through a hidden speaker. "Enter, slave. Close the door behind you and proceed to the living room. Remove all clothing and kneel in the center of the rug. Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not touch yourself. Wait for me."

Marcus stepped inside, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. The interior was even more impressive than the exterior—minimalist decor with expensive art on the walls, leather furniture that probably cost more than his car, and subtle lighting that created an atmosphere of intimate menace. He made his way to the living room, following the sound of soft music—something classical and ominous, Wagner perhaps—and found the white bearskin rug she had mentioned.

With trembling hands, he undressed. His clothes fell in a heap beside him, and he knelt naked on the rug, his cock already hard and leaking precum onto his thigh. The position was uncomfortable, his knees pressing into the thick fur, but he didn't dare move. He was here to serve, to submit, to become what he had always dreamed of being.

Fifteen minutes passed. Then thirty. Marcus's knees began to ache, and his erection had softened slightly from the discomfort, but he remained in position, his eyes cast down at the floor. He was determined to prove himself worthy of her attention, worthy of the training that awaited him.

When Veronica finally entered, Marcus gasped despite himself. She was wearing a black latex bodysuit that clung to every curve of her spectacular body like a second skin. The material shone under the soft lights, highlighting the swell of her breasts, the narrowness of her waist, and the powerful curves of her hips and thighs. Her hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, and her eyes were lined with dark kohl that made them look even more penetrating. In her right hand, she carried a riding crop, which she tapped against her palm as she approached.

"Look at me, slave," she commanded.

Marcus raised his eyes, and what he saw took his breath away. Veronica was magnificent, terrifying, the embodiment of every dominant fantasy he had ever entertained. She was Aphrodite and Medusa combined, beauty and danger in perfect harmony.

"You kept your position well," she observed, circling him slowly, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. "That's the first test, and you've passed. Many men would have moved, would have touched themselves, would have called out for me. You have discipline. That's important for a toilet slave. The training I'm going to put you through will require tremendous discipline. You will learn to consume everything I produce—my piss, my shit, my spit, my sweat. You will learn to crave it, to need it, to feel incomplete without my waste filling your belly. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Goddess," Marcus whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Good. But before we begin the toilet training in earnest, I need to assess your current limits. I need to know what we're working with." She stopped in front of him and used the riding crop to lift his chin, forcing him to look up at her. "Have you ever eaten a woman's ass before, Marcus? Have you ever performed analingus on a dominant mistress?"

"No, Goddess. Never."

"Have you ever tasted a woman's piss? Have you ever had golden showers from a femdom?"

"No, Goddess."

"And obviously, you've never eaten shit. You've never served as a human toilet for scat play. You're a complete novice. A blank canvas." She smiled, and there was genuine pleasure in her expression. "I love novices. They're so eager to please, so desperate to prove themselves. Stand up, slave. Let me see what I'm working with."

Marcus stood, his legs stiff from kneeling. He kept his hands at his sides, resisting the urge to cover his nakedness. Veronica circled him again, inspecting him like a piece of livestock at auction. She ran her hands over his chest, pinching his nipples until he gasped, then tracing down his stomach to grip his cock in her latex-clad hand.

"Average size, but good thickness," she observed, stroking him slowly. "And very responsive. I can feel you throbbing in my hand, slave. You're desperate for this, aren't you? Desperate to be my toilet, my property, my possession?"

"Yes, Goddess," Marcus groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily into her touch. "Please, I've wanted this for so long. Please train me. Please make me your toilet."

Veronica released his cock and stepped back, her expression hardening. "You don't get to ask for things, slave. You get to accept what I give you. And right now, I'm giving you a choice. We can proceed slowly, with gradual toilet training—starting with ass worship, moving to piss drinking, and eventually, after weeks or months, to full scat consumption. Or we can do this the way I prefer: total immersion. Tonight, you will begin your transformation into my human toilet immediately. You will worship my ass, drink my piss, and yes, eat my shit. All of it. If you accept this, there is no going back. You will be mine, completely, utterly, irrevocably. Choose now."

Marcus didn't hesitate. He had spent his entire life fantasizing about this moment. "Total immersion, Goddess. Please. I want to be your toilet tonight. I want to eat your shit, drink your piss, serve you completely. Please, Goddess, use me."

Veronica's eyes gleamed with dark delight. "Excellent. Follow me, slave. Your training begins now."

She led him through the mansion, down a hallway lined with doors, to a room at the end that looked like a cross between a bathroom and a dungeon. The walls were tiled in black marble, and in the center of the room stood a specialized toilet chair—more throne than commode, with plush red velvet padding and restraints at the armrests and legs. Beside it was a cabinet filled with toys and tools: enema bags, butt plugs of various sizes, paddles, whips, and other instruments of domination.

"This is my toilet training room," Veronica announced with pride. "Every slave I train spends time here, learning their place beneath me. Tonight, Marcus, you will experience what it means to be a true toilet slave. But first, we must establish the power dynamic. Kneel before me and kiss my boots. Show me you understand your inferiority."

Marcus dropped to his knees immediately, pressing his lips to the shiny black leather of her stiletto boots. The leather was cool against his lips, scented with polish and something else—her essence, her power. He kissed each boot in turn, then the instep, then the toe, worshipping her with every fiber of his being.

"Good," Veronica purred, running her fingers through his hair, gripping it tightly and pulling his head back so he was looking up at her. "Now, slave, we begin your education in earnest. Ass worship is the foundation of all toilet slavery. You must learn to love my ass, to crave it, to find your purpose in serving it. My asshole is your new god, Marcus. You will pray to it with your tongue, your lips, your face. You will bury yourself in my crack and inhale my scent until it drives you mad with desire. And when I allow you, you will taste me. You will lick my asshole until it shines, until I've had my pleasure, until you know the taste of my most intimate place better than you know your own name. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Goddess," Marcus breathed, his cock throbbing with need. "Please, let me worship your ass. Let me taste you."

Veronica released his hair and walked to the toilet chair, positioning herself over it with her back to him. She reached back and unzipped the latex bodysuit, peeling it down to reveal her magnificent ass—round, firm, with a deep crack that promised heaven and hell in equal measure. She wasn't wearing underwear, and as she spread her cheeks with her hands, Marcus saw his destiny: her asshole, a tight pink starburst surrounded by darker skin, winking at him in invitation.

"Come here, slave," she commanded. "On your knees. Face in my ass. Now."

Marcus scrambled forward, his heart hammering with a mixture of terror and ecstasy. This was it—the moment he had fantasized about for years. He positioned himself behind her, his face inches from her glorious crack, and inhaled deeply. The scent hit him like a drug—musky, earthy, slightly sour, the unmistakable aroma of a woman who had been wearing latex all day. It was the most intoxicating smell he had ever experienced, and he found himself pressing forward, burying his nose between her cheeks, inhaling greedily.

"Good boy," Veronica moaned, pushing back against his face. "Smell me. Get addicted to my scent. This is what you'll be smelling every day from now on, slave. My ass, my sweat, my waste. Breathe it in."

Marcus obeyed, taking deep, shuddering breaths of her ass scent. His cock was leaking precum onto the floor, his balls tight with arousal. He had never been harder in his life, never more aroused, never more certain that he was exactly where he was meant to be.

"Now, lick," Veronica ordered. "Start at the bottom, at my taint, and work your way up. Slowly. Tease me. Show me you know how to worship properly."

Marcus extended his tongue and made contact with her skin. The taste was sharp, salty, slightly bitter—utterly divine. He licked slowly upward, tracing the path from her taint to her asshole, circling the puckered entrance with reverence. Veronica moaned softly, her body tensing with pleasure.

"That's it, slave. Worship my ass. Show me how much you love it."

Marcus lost himself in the act of adoration. He licked long, slow strokes up and down her crack, covering every inch of skin with his saliva. He kissed her asshole, pressing his lips against the tight ring of muscle, feeling it flutter against his mouth. He probed with his tongue, flicking the sensitive flesh, making Veronica gasp and push back harder against his face.

"Inside," she commanded, her voice rough with arousal. "Push your tongue inside my ass. Fuck me with it. Make me feel how desperate you are to be my toilet."

Marcus obeyed, pressing his tongue against her sphincter until it yielded, sliding into the hot, tight channel beyond. The taste intensified—more bitter, more earthy, the raw essence of her body. He thrust his tongue in and out, fucking her ass with desperate enthusiasm, his face buried so deep in her crack he could barely breathe.

"Yes, yes, that's it," Veronica panted, grinding back against his face. "Eat my ass, slave. Make me cum with your tongue in my shithole. Oh god, you're a natural ass whore, aren't you? Born to be a toilet, born to serve."

Marcus couldn't respond, his mouth too full of her ass, but he redoubled his efforts, sucking and licking and thrusting until Veronica's legs began to shake. She reached back and grabbed his head, holding him in place as she rode his face, using him for her pleasure.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm going to cum," she gasped. "Keep going, don't stop, make me cum in your mouth, you filthy ass-licking slave!"

Marcus felt her orgasm building, her asshole clenching around his tongue, her body tensing. And then she was cumming, her scream echoing off the marble walls, her juices running down her thighs as she ground her ass against his face with abandon. Marcus kept licking, kept worshipping, determined to give her every ounce of pleasure she deserved.

When she finally released him, Marcus fell back, gasping for air, his face covered in her ass juices and his own saliva. He looked up at her with adoration in his eyes, his cock throbbing painfully, desperate for release.

Veronica turned around, her face flushed with post-orgasmic glow, and looked down at him with satisfaction. "Very good, slave. You have a talented tongue. But we're just getting started. You think ass worship is degrading? You think licking my shithole makes you a toilet? We're barely scratching the surface. Stand up and get on the chair. It's time for your next lesson."

Marcus rose on shaky legs and approached the throne-like chair. Veronica directed him to lie back on it, and he discovered that it was designed for exactly this purpose—his head rested on a lowered section, tilted back at an angle that left his face pointing upward, exposed and vulnerable. She fastened the restraints around his wrists and ankles, securing him completely, and then positioned herself above him, standing over the chair with her feet on either side of his head.

"Look up, slave," she commanded. "Look at my pussy. Look at what's going to feed you."

Marcus looked up, and the view was breathtaking. From this angle, Veronica looked like a goddess towering above him, her pussy lips glistening with arousal, her clit swollen and prominent. He could see the moisture gathering at her entrance, and he licked his lips in anticipation.

"I need to piss," Veronica announced casually. "And you're going to drink it. Every drop. This is your first taste of what it means to be my toilet, Marcus. Open your mouth wide. If you spill a single drop, you'll be punished. Understood?"

"Yes, Goddess," Marcus said, his voice trembling with excitement. He opened his mouth as wide as he could, his eyes locked on her pussy, waiting for the golden stream that would mark his transformation from man to toilet.

Veronica relaxed, and a moment later, the first drops of her piss landed on Marcus's face—hot, acrid, smelling strongly of ammonia and something uniquely her. Then the stream began, a forceful jet of golden liquid that arced downward and splashed against his tongue. The taste was intense, sharp, slightly salty, utterly humiliating and utterly arousing. Marcus swallowed greedily, gulping down her piss as fast as she could produce it, determined not to waste a drop of this precious nectar.

"That's it, drink it all," Veronica encouraged, adjusting her aim to ensure the stream went directly into his mouth. "Swallow my piss, slave. Let it fill your belly. This is what you're for now—drinking my waste, consuming my fluids, being my living urinal. How does it taste? Tell me."

"It's delicious, Goddess," Marcus gasped between swallows, his voice muffled by the stream still flowing into his mouth. "I love it. I love drinking your piss. Please, give me more. I want it all."

Veronica laughed, a rich, satisfied sound. "Greedy little toilet. Don't worry, I have plenty for you. I've been holding this all evening, waiting for the right slave to feed. And here you are, drinking it down like a good boy. Keep swallowing. Don't stop."

The stream continued for what felt like minutes, filling Marcus's mouth again and again. He swallowed and swallowed, his stomach beginning to feel full and warm with her piss. Some of it splashed onto his face, running down his cheeks and into his hair, marking him with her scent. He didn't care—he was in heaven, finally experiencing the golden shower submission he had craved for so long.

When the stream finally slowed to a trickle and then stopped, Veronica reached down and squeezed the last few drops from her pussy onto his tongue. "Clean me," she ordered. "Use your tongue to wipe me dry. Make sure I'm spotless."

Marcus eagerly obeyed, extending his tongue to lap at her pussy lips, cleaning up every trace of piss and arousal. He sucked her labia into his mouth, running his tongue along every fold, ensuring no moisture remained. When he reached her clit, he flicked it gently, making her gasp and shudder.

"Good toilet," she praised, stepping back and looking down at him with satisfaction. His face was wet with her piss, his hair damp, his mouth tasting strongly of her urine. He had never looked more pathetic, more debased, more perfect. "You've done well with your first golden shower. But we're not done yet. I told you—total immersion. You've drunk my piss, but you haven't tasted the main course yet. You haven't eaten my shit. You haven't become a true scat slave."

Marcus's heart raced at her words. This was the ultimate fantasy, the deepest degradation, the most profound submission. He was terrified and aroused in equal measure, his cock throbbing against his stomach, precum pooling on his belly. "Please, Goddess," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Please feed me. Please let me eat your shit. I want to be your full toilet. I want to consume everything you produce. Please, Goddess, shit in my mouth."

Veronica smiled, a slow, wicked expression that promised both ecstasy and agony. "You beg so beautifully, slave. I think you're ready. But understand—once you eat my shit, there's no going back. You will be marked as my toilet slave forever. You'll crave it, need it, feel empty without it. Are you absolutely certain?"

"Yes, Goddess," Marcus said without hesitation. "I'm certain. Please, use me as your toilet. Shit in my mouth. Make me eat it. I want to be your scat slave. I want to consume your waste. Please, Goddess, I'm begging you."

Veronica's eyes gleamed with dark delight. "Then open wide, slave. Your final transformation begins now."

She repositioned herself, turning around and lowering her magnificent ass toward his face. Marcus stared up at her asshole, which was already slightly open from his earlier rimming, and watched in fascination and terror as she began to push. He could see her sphincter bulging, could hear the faint sounds of her bowels moving, and then he saw it—the tip of her turd emerging, brown and firm, pushing its way out of her body and toward his waiting mouth.

The smell hit him first—strong, earthy, pungent, the unmistakable odor of fresh human waste. It was overwhelming, making his eyes water, but he didn't pull away. He kept his mouth open wide, his tongue extended, ready to receive his goddess's offering.

"Here it comes, slave," Veronica grunted, straining to push out her shit. "Open wide. Take it. Become my toilet."

The turd emerged slowly, inch by inch, a thick, solid log of brown waste that descended toward Marcus's mouth. He positioned himself carefully, ensuring his lips were aligned with her asshole, and then he felt it—the hot, heavy weight of her shit landing on his tongue. It was warm, surprisingly so, and the taste was immediate—bitter, earthy, intensely fecal, the raw essence of her body's waste.

"Chew," Veronica commanded, her voice strained with effort as she continued to push. "Chew my shit, slave. Taste it. Savor it. This is what you wanted, isn't it? To eat my shit? To be my human toilet? Then eat. Chew and swallow. Take it all."

Marcus obeyed, his stomach churning with a mixture of disgust and arousal. He began to chew the mouthful of shit she had deposited, breaking it down into smaller pieces, the taste flooding his mouth with its intensity. It was the most degrading thing he had ever done, the most humiliating, the most profound—and he loved it. He loved every second of it, loved the feeling of being used so completely, loved the knowledge that he was eating her waste, consuming her filth, becoming her toilet.

"Swallow," she ordered. "Swallow my shit. Take it into your belly. Make it part of you."

Marcus swallowed, forcing the chewed mass down his throat, feeling it slide into his stomach where it would join her piss. He had done it—he had eaten her shit, swallowed it, made it part of his body. He was truly a toilet slave now, marked forever by this act of ultimate submission.

But Veronica wasn't done. Another turd was emerging, and then another, each one landing in his mouth, filling him with her waste. She shit again and again, using him as her personal toilet, depositing her entire bowel movement into his eager mouth. Marcus chewed and swallowed each load, his jaw aching, his belly filling, his cock throbbing with arousal despite—or perhaps because of—the degradation.

"That's it, good toilet," Veronica praised, watching in amazement as he consumed everything she produced. "Eat it all. Don't waste a bit. You're doing so well, slave. You're a natural scat eater. I knew you were special from the moment I saw you. Look at you, covered in my piss, mouth full of my shit, belly full of my waste. You're not a man anymore, Marcus. You're my toilet. My property. My possession."

Marcus could only moan in response, his mouth too full of her shit to speak. He swallowed again, taking down another mouthful, his stomach now bloated and heavy with her waste. The smell was everywhere, filling his nostrils, coating his tongue, becoming part of his very being. He was marked by her, owned by her, transformed by her into the toilet slave he had always dreamed of becoming.

When she finally finished, her asshole empty and clean, Veronica stood up and turned around to inspect her handiwork. Marcus lay on the chair, his face smeared with shit, his hair damp with piss, his belly visibly distended from the massive load he had consumed. He looked utterly debased, completely broken, perfectly submissive—and she had never been more aroused in her life.

"Clean me," she commanded, presenting her shit-smeared asshole to his face. "Lick me clean, toilet. Make sure there's not a trace left."

Marcus eagerly obeyed, extending his tongue to lap at her soiled asshole, cleaning away the remnants of her bowel movement. The taste was strong, intense, the concentrated essence of her waste, but he didn't hesitate. He licked and sucked and probed with his tongue, ensuring every speck of shit was removed from her skin, leaving her asshole spotless and shining.

"Good boy," Veronica moaned, grinding against his face as he cleaned her. "Such a good toilet slave. You took everything I gave you. You ate my shit like it was a gourmet meal. I'm so proud of you, Marcus. So proud of my new toilet."

When he finished cleaning her, Veronica stepped back and released his restraints, helping him sit up on the chair. His stomach was full and heavy, the weight of her waste settling inside him, and he felt slightly nauseous but also profoundly satisfied. He had done it—he had become a true toilet slave, consumed her piss and shit, submitted completely to her will.

"How do you feel?" Veronica asked, her voice soft now, almost tender. "Are you okay? That was an intense first session."

Marcus looked up at her, his eyes filled with adoration. "I feel amazing, Goddess. I feel complete. I've wanted this my whole life, and now I finally have it. Thank you. Thank you for making me your toilet. Thank you for feeding me. I want to do this again. I want to do this every day. Please, Goddess, let me serve you again. Let me be your permanent toilet slave."

Veronica smiled and stroked his hair affectionately. "Oh, Marcus. You will be. That was just the beginning. I have so much more to teach you, so many more ways to serve, so many more depths of submission to explore. But for now, you need to rest. Your stomach is full of my waste, and you need to let your body adjust. Come, let me draw you a bath, and then you can sleep in my bed. Tomorrow, we begin your formal toilet training."

She helped him stand, supporting his weight as he wobbled on shaky legs. Together, they walked toward the bathroom, Marcus leaning against her, feeling her strength and power flowing into him. He had found his purpose, his place, his goddess. He was no longer just Marcus Chen, software engineer. He was Toilet Slave Marcus, property of Goddess Veronica, human toilet and scat eater extraordinaire.

And as he settled into the warm bath she had prepared, his stomach still full of her precious waste, Marcus knew that he had finally come home.

The next morning, Marcus woke in Veronica's bed, alone for the moment, his stomach still slightly bloated but otherwise feeling surprisingly well. The events of the previous night felt like a dream, a fantasy made real, and he lay there for a moment just breathing in the scent of her on the sheets—perfume, latex, and the faint lingering aroma of her waste that still clung to his skin despite the bath.

He was still naked, his cock hard with morning arousal, when Veronica entered the room. She was dressed in a silk robe, her hair loose around her shoulders, looking less like the terrifying dominatrix of last night and more like a beautiful woman waking up in her own home. But the power was still there in her eyes, the absolute certainty of her dominance, and Marcus felt himself responding to it immediately.

"Good morning, toilet," she said, her voice warm but commanding. "How's my property feeling this morning?"

"Good, Goddess," Marcus replied, sitting up in bed. "Very good. Hungry, actually."

Veronica laughed, a rich, delighted sound. "Hungry? Already? My, you are eager. That's perfect, because I have a very special day planned for you. Your formal toilet training begins today, and it's going to be intense. By the time I'm done with you, you'll be the perfect human toilet—able to consume anything I produce, anytime, anywhere, with gratitude and enthusiasm. Are you ready for that level of commitment?"

"Yes, Goddess," Marcus said, his cock throbbing at her words. "I'm ready. I'll do anything you ask. I want to be the best toilet slave you've ever trained."

"Then let's begin," Veronica said, dropping her robe to reveal her naked body beneath. "But first, I need to relieve myself, and I don't feel like walking to the bathroom. You're right here, conveniently available. Open your mouth, slave. Breakfast is served."

Marcus scrambled out of bed and knelt on the floor before her, looking up with adoration as she positioned herself above his face. This was it—the beginning of his new life, his new purpose, his new identity as her permanent toilet. He opened his mouth wide, ready to receive whatever she chose to give him.

Veronica smiled down at him, her pussy already glistening with morning arousal, and began to piss. The golden stream arced downward, landing perfectly in his waiting mouth, and Marcus swallowed gratefully, his throat working rhythmically as he consumed her morning urine. It was stronger than last night's, more concentrated, with a sharper taste that made his eyes water, but he didn't flinch. He drank it all, every drop, until she was empty and he was full of her piss once more.

"Good toilet," she praised, stepping back and looking down at him with satisfaction. "Now, for the main course. I've been holding this all night, saving it for my new favorite slave. Open wide, Marcus. Time for your morning scat feeding."

Marcus kept his mouth open, his heart racing with excitement and submission. He watched as she turned around, presenting her magnificent ass to his face, and spread her cheeks to reveal her asshole. It was slightly open, ready to release its load, and Marcus could see her straining, pushing, preparing to feed him.

The first turd emerged slowly, thick and dark, coiling into his mouth like a snake. It was warm and heavy, filling his mouth completely, and Marcus began to chew immediately, breaking it down, savoring the intense flavor of her waste. It was stronger than last night's—more pungent, more bitter, more everything—and Marcus loved it. He chewed and swallowed, making room for the next load, which followed immediately, and the next, and the next.