The birds awoke us the next morning. I couldn't believe the depths of depravity that I'd been reduced to the night before. I'd cleaned you up with my tongue last night, however residue of your delicious indiscretion remained. I lovingly cleaned your pussy while you semi-dozed, accepting, and consuming your morning pee, adding to mine, and swelling my lower abdomen painfully.
"Time for Training Day, my love. Come with me." I followed you into the bathroom and got into position for you. One morsel. Swirl. Swallowing when told to. Two morsels. Swirl, swallowing again. A third.
"Can you taste the garlic shrimp, and the come that I'd swallowed yesterday?" I couldn't, in fact, but it was heaven to be under you, serving this way. We'd crossed a bridge, together, and it felt beautiful that we'd shared it.
I was getting better at serving as your toilet slave. I learned to love and crave the honor of receiving your morsels. It wasn't every day, but each time, I manage to consume more and more. It thrilled me to see that you were pleased with my progress. I knew deep in my heart that I existed to serve you. While locked, controlled, and mercilessly tormented. It had been 6 months locked by then.
The photos of your lunch came to me every day after that. Usually accompanied by teasing texts that would make me swollen and suffering for you. Tuna Nicoise. Vegetarian, Salads, very often Beans and Rice. It made me happy to see that you were eating healthy. Your morsels were fed to me each morning. Training me to be a better toilet. A Thursday arrived, and the pattern changed. Eggs Benedict, with bacon at 9AM. A bagel smothered with cream cheese at 11. Steak Tartare(you never eat beef!) at 2PM. A McDonalds Big Mac at 4PM! "WTF?" I'd never seen you eat so much food!
That evening we went out for dinner. I've never seen you so ravenous. After a huge, expensive dinner, followed by several rich desserts, I noticed that your belly looked a bit swollen, and uncharacteristically "poochy". You always keep yourself in such amazing shape. I'd never, ever mention it to you, but there was an obvious bulge in your belly. It made me think about all the things you'd eaten that day, and about what was going on inside your beautiful, sexy belly.
We made love, with me wearing the long, fat, cock sleeve over the cage, feeling almost no sensation, and you came hard. I felt and heard your stomach gurgle ominously as we fell asleep together.
"Wake up, slave. It's graduation day." I was a bit groggy from a late night of serving you, and suffering for you. I was ready to do anything for you, however.
"Go get the large glass mixing bowl. I want to play a game."
I wasn't sure what you were up to, but I obeyed you without question. "Set it there. On the floor." I watched, eyes rapt with attention as you took The Key from around your neck. The only key to the cage in existence, since you'd decided to flush the "emergency" spare key.
"Clink." I'm not a stupid man. I remembered the "story" that I had so blithely penned for your amusement. I knew what that key drop meant.
I watched, helplessly, as you squatted over the glass bowl containing the key, and let it go. I've never seen so much come out of a person other than in those ridiculous videos that we'd seen online. It's been a year now. Locked up for a year. Constantly aching for you.
I watched as you covered the key with more of your gift than any human could possibly consume, nearly filling the bowl to the rim. I felt a deep sense of despair. "Go fetch a spoon. This will be your first of three attempts allowed. You have ten minutes, starting now. If you fail, we'll try again next month. One spoonful at a time, starting at the top. If you cant get to the key by month three, you will be locked and denied forever, and spend the rest of your life as a slave to me, and my lovers
Of course I failed. The task was impossible, but I tried. "Aw, my poor slave! The timer has expired, and you haven't even finished half of it! I want to help you try to complete your task for me. From now on, this is will be your only solid food. You'll do well to remember that I can see your credit card statements, and I will be thoroughly enforcing this rule, so there will be no cheating. We'll track the daily caloric intake on your Fitbit app. I want you to serve me for as long as I want you to live!"
"I'll supplement your diet with Soylent drinks, if I can't supply you with enough calories to keep living. They are a complete nutritional dietary supplement, but they are rather bland, and chalky. I want to train you to crave and appreciate only the earthy, flavorful and nutty, tastes, textures, and aromas that you can get from my gifts."
Thankfully, your office was near our home. On most days, I got enough calories. On days where I had to travel, it was either the dreaded, bland, Soylent drink, or if practical, a frozen Poosicle kept in a cooler in my car. I adjusted my work schedule whenever possible to ensure that I'd be within an hours drive if you wanted to evacuate your bowels.
This was the only intimacy with you that I was allowed, and I always stiffened inside the cage when I'd get a text from you. Just a 💩 emoji. That was all, but I knew what it meant. I'd patiently wait, or race home to wait for you, to get a feeding from you. I'd then sadly watch you leave after I'd hungrily consumed every morsel, then cleaned you with my tongue. Your tongue. My employer began asking why my expense reports no longer included any meals, and I explained that I was on a 'specialized, personal, diet plan".
This was the only intimacy that "I" was allowed. You, however, were getting all the fucking and intimacy that you desired. Your bull had lots of friends, and weekends were your time for "parties". He would come over with a friend or three, and I would be relegated to watching, or serving, as suited you.
By month three, I was thoroughly conditioned. It had been nearly 15 months since you had allowed your cock to be free.
After the first night, and my failure to take in all of your bull's length, you'd started me on a training program. The progressively larger dildos that you'd used to train your tight ass to accept your bull were now training tools for me. Sometimes, you'd use them first, and leave residue of your gift on them to inspire me. It worked. By the end of three months, I'd learned to relax my throat and accept your determined, merciless thrusts with the largest and longest.
