Becoming His Toilet Paper

Author's note: This story is not for everyone! This is the tale of a woman exploring the darker and dirtier depths of her sexuality. If you are turned off by urine, dirty anal play, or any other similar topic, this story is not for you.The characters, ideas, and acts depicted are works of pure fiction. I do not recommend trying anything you read below at home. Every character portrayed is over the age of 18.

To those who don't mind getting a little dirty, I hope you enjoy!

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Boredom is a powerful thing. Combine that with irrational amounts of lust, and you have a recipe for disaster. At this point, Disaster seems like a far more fitting name than Natasha, though I suppose it would raise a few more eyebrows. Despite how mild mannered and normal I may seem to friends and family, for as long as I knew it was a thing, I have had something of an unhealthy sexdrive -- to the point where my grades suffered in college from my hours spent habitually edging online instead of studying.

I did manage to walk away with my bachelor's degree, though that took a considerable amount of time on my knees during office hours to accomplish. I'm not particularly proud of that fact, but I can't say I regret it either. Just one of my many dirty little secrets that most people around me would be shocked to learn.

Despite all my "extra credit" efforts, I never managed to really do anything with my degree. No, during the week, you could find me sitting behind the reception desk at a local spa, right next to a revolving door of high school graduates needing a summer job before heading off to college. Oh well. I made enough to be comfortable, and it gave my mind plenty of time to wander. Maybe too much time...

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Chapter 1: Steering into the Skid

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It was the summer of 2020, just as the pandemic was ramping up. Easily being one of the least essential businesses around, the spa was closed indefinitely as Covid hit. As you can imagine, it didn't take long for me to start feeling quite bored sitting around the apartment. Meanwhile, having been deemed quite essential, my fiancé was working more hours than ever. Given that I was something of a habitual cheater (I know, I'm not proud), this would normally be a godsend, but it seemed even adultery was made more difficult by the pandemic. My usual avenues for hooking up with guys were no longer available with everything locking down.

Around July I remembered that I had made an account on a fetish hook-up site some years prior, and decided to try my luck on there once again. I spent an afternoon taking progressively revealing selfies and began crafting my profile.

I decided to throw my inhibitions into the wind and come out with some of my dirtier kinks and fantasies that I normally would never think to open up about. I had always had a thing for older men, something that dated back to my teen years -- probably having to do with some combination of George Clooney and that bit of exploration I did with a few of my teachers in college.

On top of that, over the previous few years I had been exploring a much more deeply submissive side of my desires. This led me to an embarrassingly misplaced craving to show utter devotion to not just an older man, but a complete stranger in increasingly and shamefully dirty ways. I suppose it's something I should have seen coming, as my sexuality had been steadily vearing off down a path of degradation, objectification, and self destruction for years. I can't say I quite understood it at the time, but that didn't stop me from embracing it wholesale.

With knots in my stomach, this rabbit hole led me to create the following profile:

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Username:

Devoted2You

Introduction Title:

Let me worship you...

Tell others about yourself:

I'm looking for a selfish and dominant older man (or woman) that wants to be tended to and worshiped. I am a devoted sub with an obsessive oral fixation that desperately needs to be exploited. I want to greet you at the door after a long, sweaty day with a nice long blowjob and then give you a full body tongue bath from your toes up.

I'm not interested in being tied up or forced to do anything -- those things aren't needed. I just want to please you and show my devotion to you by doing dirty and degrading things for your pleasure. Don't worry about washing up, that's what my tongue is for... Let me be your bather. Your cumdump. Your urinal. Your

everything

.

Age: 29

Height: 5' 6"

Weight: 135lbs

Hair color: Red

Eye color: Green

My Ideal Person:

An older man or woman who desires and desires all out body worship from their loving girl. Should be firm but not cruel. Someone who acknowledges and embraces that your needs always come first. Would love to find someone to push my limits. Someone who will make me prove my devotion to them.

Tell me where you want my tongue first...

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Although I received a flurry of messages, I only ended up talking to a few guys and even a woman for a bit. Most everyone just wanted to rush into meeting and fucking, and mostly ignored my profile (aside from my thirst trap pictures of course). Through the mountains of bullshit, idiots, and more dick pics than you can shake a butt plug at, I ended up only keeping in contact with one man. His name was Bill.

He was in his mid 50s, divorced, had a bit of a dad bod, but you could tell there was some good structure under the pudge. Something about him clicked with me from the start, and the conversation flowed surprisingly naturally as we discussed our fantasies, our realities, and where we wanted the two to intertwine.

My profile made it obvious that I was hopelessly submissive, and he was dominant in just the way I like -- firm, confident, and grounded in reality. None of this "OK cool, you're my slave now. Call me master and you'll live in a cage for some reason" crap. He was real, he knew what he wanted, and he was not shy about it. The other thing that really attracted me to him was his tendency to push me into a dirtier and dirtier headspace.

We talked a lot about my more shameful and degrading desires, such as my strange craving for men to use my mouth and body as a urinal, and my fascination for worshiping a man's ass and even feet. I had more or less hinted just at these things in my profile, but he honed in on them immediately and forced me to expand on them.

As we talked over the next two months, he slowly pulled out the real depth of my fantasies. Depths that I wasn't consciously aware of, but he had smelled out almost immediately. He pushed me on why hadn't even mentioned sex in my profile, and why I was so orally focused on the dirtiest areas of a man's body specifically. I hadn't thought about it so literally, but that really helped to distill down what my desires actually were.

Why on earth would I desire to place my mouth -- arguably the most intimate and sensory loaded orifice of my body -- onto the parts of a man that gather the most filth by their very design? I didn't have an answer for him other than the thought made my stomach twist in a mentally masochistic, yet sickly pleasurable way.

He exploited this deep yearning I felt and we worked on discovering the root of the desire. Was it low self-esteem? That somehow I felt so low that I deserved not love from a man, but to be subjected to his filth? No, that wasn't it. I generally feel pretty positive about my own worth, my appearance, and my position in life. All that "dumb, useless slut" stuff never appealed to me.

Eventually we were able to figure out together that these filthy fantasies were in some sick way a result of my generally high self-esteem. We took stock of my life; I had loving parents growing up, a college degree, a good job, lived comfortably in a nice house, and had a wonderful and hard-working man as a fiance.

Possibly because of that, there was some terrible desire within me to push towards the self-destruct button. To pervert and corrupt what is by all accounts the dream life, and purposely lower myself far below what any rational girl would ever dream of. I got off on the idea of giving myself to this overweight old man with sick ideas in his head

specifically

because it was the exact opposite of what any woman in my position should want or deserve.

I wanted to willingly subject myself to being degraded, corrupted, and used by this stranger. I wanted him to make me do increasingly filthy things for his pleasure and amusement. I wanted to devote myself to him. To worship him. He didn't deserve me, but he would have me completely.

Meanwhile he made his intentions perfectly clear. I would be nothing more than a useful tool for him. A pretty little means to an end, and not much more. While I wouldn't be his "slave" as so many people fantasize, I would not be his equal. I was there to please him, and he didn't care about much else. I would be there for him to let out his stress, mentally and physically. I remember one conversation on this in particular.

He told me: "I don't care if you cum, that doesn't matter to me. Just don't let it come in the way of what I want, you hear me? If I ask you to do something, I expect you to do it. If I hear excuses or anything other than immediate compliance, then I guess you aren't really there for my pleasure, you just wanted to play out some sick fantasy. If you say you want to serve me, then do it. I don't have time for half measures by some silly girl who doesn't know what she wants."

With that, the desire became overwhelming. I even broke down crying one night after a particularly hot session with him. Why was I like this? Why was I doing this to myself? What the hell was wrong with me? I ghosted him a few times before better coming to grips with the situation. He wasn't the problem, it was me who had some sort of perverse sickness.

As I made my way to the precipice of this slippery slope that I was inching towards, he focused in on my oral fixation and my desire for that to be exploited in the worst way. We came to the agreement that a man being well-bathed and spotlessly clean before his woman rims him is missing the ultimate point of the act. Yes, it's for his physical pleasure, but more than that, it's for her to prove her dedication and devotion to him by doing it no matter the state of his hygiene.

Licking a thoroughly cleaned asshole or foot is really no different than licking the back of someone's hand -- it's just skin, afterall. No, the devotion comes from the fact that the woman is willing to put her mouth, lips, and tongue on a man's filthiest areas without concern. In fact, the dirtier those areas are, the more she is proving her devotion to him, and the more she is degraded in service to him. To that end, we agreed any girl can be peed on, but only the most devoted will swallow a mouthful of yellow piss outright.

We also agreed that some hair pulling, slapping, and spanking would basically have to be part of the process. It reminds a girl of her place more quickly than a scolding can, and further puts her in her place beneath him -- dignity be damned.

True commitment is for her to debase herself completely for his pleasure.

Over the months he went from hinting at these concepts to drilling them into my mind -- and he was completely right. If I wouldn't be willing to lick his feet and asshole clean after a long and sweaty day, then I wasn't really committed to his pleasure. If I couldn't do that, then I wasn't really committed to my ultimate self-destructive goal of debasing myself entirely for the benefit of someone else.

Eventually the time came for us to take these concepts and fantasies and turn them into reality. We planned everything out carefully weeks ahead of time, and picked out a weekend to make it happen. I came up with a good alibi for my fiance, who was so relieved at the idea of having the place to himself for a weekend that he didn't ask a second question.

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Chapter 2: Just How Slippery is This Slope?

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The meeting place was a small, cheap motel about 4 hours away from me (but over 7 for him). Seeing as we would only be staying a night or two, it of course would have been affordable to rent a decent room somewhere, but we both agreed that a seedy little place in a shitty part of town was more fitting for the nature of our little tryst.

We had discussed possibly meeting first in a public place to make sure both parties felt safe with the situation, but given the depth of our talks and the ultimate goal of the weekend, that didn't seem to make a lot of sense either. With the kinds of acts we were planning, there was no need to waste time with pleasantries, formalities, or "safety."

We agreed that he would not shower that day, to which he added that I would be lucky if he used A/C during his 7+ hour drive. The plan was for me to get to the motel first, and be ready to serve him as soon as he arrived.

I got there around 8pm at the agreed upon location, and was not disappointed with how shabby the place really was. After dropping a whopping $29 on the room, I left the lobby with an old and worn key and made my way over to our room. Despite being labeled a non-smoking room, the place of course smelled of old, stale cigarettes and had a faint stench of mildew.

As soon as I was inside, I went through my short checklist of what I was supposed to do before he arrived. I turned the heater on, stripped completely nude, and left the door leaning partially closed against the deadbolt so it wouldn't lock. Once I was done, I sent him a message with the room number as instructed.

I then got down onto the floor amidst the questionable stains in the carpet and waited on my knees for him to arrive. I spent that 20-25 minutes agonizing over what terrible decisions lead my life to this point, but just when my resolve was about to break, Bill arrived and opened the door.

"Hello there, my pet." He said as he came into the dingy room, dropping his bag on the table before turning back and locking the door shut. He was almost exactly as his pictures showed (though they were all clearly a few years and a few pounds ago), and his voice made my stomach twist with even more intensity than it had over the phone. He was bordering on obese, had thinner hair than his photos seemed to suggest and looked every bit of his 56 years on this earth.

"Well aren't you quite the sight. So I didn't get catfished afterall, eh?" He joked, walking over to sit on the bed. While I'm certainly no fitness nut, I do stay in decent shape, and being just 29 years old, gravity hasn't done too much to work against the perkiness of my chest or rear end.

I barely managed to squeak out a hi and a meek laugh before he called me over to kneel at his feet.

"So are you ready to prove your worth to me, little girl?" he said, looking down at my slightly shaking nude form beneath him. I took a deep breath and nodded yes to him, hoping he wouldn't see the real thoughts behind my eyes. Thoughts of doubt. Thoughts of running out of there and bailing on the whole idea.

Those ideas were interrupted as he leaned over and began squeezing my tits. I was a little taken aback at the sudden intrusion on my personal space, and the brazen familiarity with which he touched me, but I let it go. I was presenting myself naked on a dirty motel floor for a stranger I met on the internet, what was I expecting?

"Not bad at all," he said, squeezing them harder than would be comfortable, before slightly painfully tweaking one nipple. I winced a bit, and he chuckled. He grabbed my face with one rough hand and squeezed my lips.

"Open," he told me, still gripping my jaw firmly. As I opened up, he wasted no time in spitting heavily into my mouth -- again, shocked at the casual nature of the intrusion. I felt his spit over my tongue, slightly sour tasting, and I could tell he was a smoker. I swallowed it down and tried my best to at least display that I was taking it in stride.

"It's alright, I can see you're nervous. We'll take this slow, darlin. Why don't you start by removing my boots." I quietly muttered "ok" before working the laces on either of his work boots, pulling them off one by one as he lifted his feet to assist me. As soon as the first one was off, the smell hit me. It wasn't overly horrendous, but it certainly wasn't good. It was clear that these were well used work boots and that he had definitely followed through on his promise not to shower that day (or longer).

"Before you take my socks off, why don't you get a preview of what you're in for here. Like I told you last night. You are free to stop this at any time, no harm, no foul. I'm not here to make you do anything. You're here to prove to me and to prove to yourself that

I

deserve this, and that

you

need this. Alright?"

I sat back on my calves and avoided eye contact as he spoke, just looking down at his slightly yellowed socks as they rested on my thighs. I closed my eyes and took another deep breath, this time painfully aware of the odor emanating from his feet. Taking my inaction as his queue to continue, he spoke again.

"So why don't you give my foot here a good whiff" he said, raising his right foot up just inches from my nose. I leaned forward slightly and drew in the now even stronger scent. The smell was certainly what you would expect from a hard working man after a long summer day or two in boots. I was pleased at least that he was not battling a case of athlete's foot or any other kind of fungus, but the odor was not easy to bear.

"Go ahead, they won't bite, get your nose in there" he said above me. With a little hesitation I leaned closer in and pressed my nose into the space where his toes met the sole of his foot, and took him in. He lightly pressed his foot against my face for me to experience him more fully. His sock was slightly damp on my nose and lips and the smell was intoxicatingly pungent. I took a few moments to let that strange combination begin to make sense when he interrupted my thoughts.

"Alright, now that we're acquainted, let's get to why we're both here. I drove 7 and a half hours for this little tongue bath you've been wanting to give me, so let's get to it." With that, he stood up and began to strip down. He pulled off his pants, shirt, and then his underwear to reveal a pleasantly thick (if a little stubby), half-hard cock.

He sat back down on the bed and instructed me to remove his socks and to get started. The reality of what I was doing hit me as I was peeling each of his damp socks off of his feet. I had driven hours to this seedy motel to meet this complete stranger of an old man, and was removing his socks with the intention of licking his feet clean before moving onto the rest of his unwashed body -- and for what? The sick pleasure of it?

I felt numb as I tossed his socks aside. I wondered if this was really what I wanted, or if I was just getting caught up in the thrill of this obscene and perverse fantasy. Whichever option was the case, I was committed at that moment to not letting him down. To not letting myself down.

He pushed himself back on the bed, propping himself up slightly against the headboard and reached for the remote while absent-mindedly stroking his cock. He turned on the TV and began flicking through channels before looking back down at me with a look implying I better get to my "work."

I crawled up onto the bed and settled down at his feet, taking one last deep breath of his sweaty foot stench before reminding myself once again that this kind of service is what I needed and craved more than anything else.