Prequel 2

This is a prequel to "Grunting His Birthday Wish". Thank you all for your kind comments on the first two chapters, and I apologize for the delay in writing this again. I have drafts for a few new, longer chapters lined up: "Emma's Birthday".

After the intense toilet ordeal, Emma finds herself unable to bring herself to kiss her boyfriend again. Though she still loves him deeply, she desperately craves sexual release. Her birthday wish is to be single for her entire birthday week. In return, she promises to grant her boyfriend's wish once more and allow him to be her (cuckold) toilet. I'm just working on polishing these drafts to perfection.

Please feel free to share all feedback, as it is greatly welcome and incredibly encouraging. Sometimes, I can't help but wonder if there are girls out there reading this and finding inspiration to make some guys "lucky".

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It all began at a bar, mere days before my birthday. Emma and I were there, just the two of us, sipping beers and relaxing. We'd been together for a few years now, and our relationship had been smooth sailing. By all account I should be a perfectly happy, lucky guy. Our sex life was fulfilling, but undeniably vanilla. In stark contrast to the twisted toilet fetish that lingered in the recesses of my mind.

Emma casually mentioned she was desperate about my upcoming birthday, still clueless about what to get me. Seizing the opportunity, I told her I could share a kinky idea for she her to consider as my birthday wish.

"For the millionth time, I'm not letting you ruin my asshole!" she retorted quickly.

I chuckled and replied with a smile, "Actually, my idea goes almost in the opposite direction..."

She tilted her head, confusion etched on her face. "Huh? What does that even mean?" An eyebrow quirked upwards as she brought her beer to her lips.

I'm not sure what gave me the courage. The words spilled out as I gazed downward at my beer glass. "I want to be your human toilet", I declared plainly. I then added a few details about being tied to a chair with a toilet seat hovering above my face. Glancing up, I saw she'd paused mid-drink, a rivulet of beer dripping from the corner of her mouth to her chin. Her eyebrow climbed to new heights, embodying pure bewilderment.

"So, you want me to... pee in your mouth?" She grimaced. "No, wait. Not just that. You want to be a real toilet - strapped down, plastic seat on your face, lid and all?" She found the mere suggestion absurd.

Pedantic as ever, I replied, "Yes, well, I did say like a real toilet, so, you know, not just piss..."

She spat her beer across the table as the words registered, catching me off guard. I found myself suddenly drenched in a pyrotechnic spray of lager.

"WHAT?!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing through the bar.

I quickly ducked down and urged her to keep her voice low, not wanting to draw any attention. Then, I confirmed, "Yes, I want to be your full-time toilet. Your personal porcelain throne."

She stared at me, jaw hanging open, eyes wide with disbelief. "So, you're saying I'd have to sit on your

stupid face

and just... go? Like I would on the regular toilet? For fuck's sake, you've barely set foot in the bathroom while I'm taking a leak, and now you want to drink my piss? You do know I'm no Disney princess, right? My piss is just piss, not fucking chamomile tea!" She took a long swig of her beer, before continuing

"And if I really have to... you know..." She gave me a meaningful look. "What would you do once... once I'm done?"

I responded casually, "I guess I'd just try to be a real toilet and, well... flush, if we want to keep the metaphor going." Her less-than-amused expression beyond her raised beer glass told me she wasn't impressed by my attempt at humor. I tried to salvage the conversation.

"But hey, it might not even happen. I mean, statistically you only, y'know, go number two every few days. I was thinking of doing this whole 'transformation' thing just for the birthday weekend. At least to start."

Emma nearly choked on her drink "FOR A WHOLE FUCKING WEEKEND?!"

I quickly shushed her, noticing the concerned glances from nearby patrons. She continued, tone a bit softer but still incredulous.

"And what the hell do you mean by 'to start'? Are you saying you might want to do this shit again?"

I shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, I dunno... maybe. If you end up enjoying it, y'know?"

She started to look more angry than surprised at this point. Keeping her voice down as she mopped the spilled beer from the table, she said:

"I don't see how I could possibly enjoy swapping my boyfriend for a goddamn toilet. I'd have to sleep alone, do nothing all weekend, and mostly... degrade both you and myself by treating you like a piece of plumbing. How could you possibly think I'd like that?! What the hell is wrong with you?!" Her voice rose in pitch as her anger grew. "Not to mention, I'd definitely need therapy before I could consider kissing you again if we did this!"

By the end of her outburst, I could see tears welling up in her eyes. "Wait, wait, Emma. Don't take it that way," I said softly. "I imagine this must be very difficult, and I know I'm asking a lot. But I can only say all this because I love you too much to keep it from you." Her tears seemed to recede slightly as she listened. "And I was hoping that you would somewhat understand my desire to try out this fantasy, extreme as it may be, and maybe concede out of the same love..."

Her rage flared up again "That's a blackmail-love, and..."

"No, no, that's not what I meant at all," I quickly interjected. "Listen, I think this could actually bring us even closer together. I've never shared this fantasy with anyone before. And this is my way of showing you that I trust you completely. That I love you in a way that goes beyond anything I've ever felt before. A love that accepts and cherishes

all

of you." This seemed to give her pause.

"Besides," I continued, "you wouldn't have to be alone. I'd be the one strapped to the toilet chair - maybe we can call it

your throne

, that sounds less ominous." This managed to bring a faint smile to her face. "And in the meantime, you can go see friends and do stuff that I don't particularly enjoy. It's a win-win!"

Her face lit up as she considered the unseen benefit. "I've been dying for a proper girls' night out for ages. It's been forever since I went clubbing with Grace. I guess you wouldn't mind missing out on that," she mused, giving me a slight look of disappointment for my disdain of clubs. I hid behind my beer glass, feeling a bit sheepish.

She glanced up, a mischievous glint in her eye as she pondered aloud, "I wonder... if my boyfriend has turned himself into a toilet, does that make me single for the night?"

At this, I nearly choked on my drink, coughing and sputtering as beer sprayed from my mouth. She burst out laughing, winking at me playfully. "Relax, I'm just teasing you," she said, sticking out her tongue. "If I love you enough to agree to this crazy idea, you have nothing to be jealous about."

Sensing the shift in mood, I ventured hopefully, "So... you'll do it?"

She paused, visibly struggling within. "Fuck it," she said finally, shaking her head. "If you want to waste your birthday wish on this, I guess..." Her eyes widened as she saw my eager smile. "Actually, hold on. I can't promise anything, but I'll try. I'm just not sure I can go through with it once I look down at the toilet... and see your face instead of white porcelain. God, that's such a weird sentence to say..." She shuddered slightly at the mental image.

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I walked home with Emma that night feeling on top of the world. After putting our crazy toilet talk on hold, we had an amazing time together. By the time we got back to our place, we were both pretty tipsy.

As we showered together before bed, Emma bit her lower lip, a mischievous glint in her alcohol-hazed eyes. "I was thinking..." she said, slurring her words slightly. "Probably it's the beer talking, but... do you want to have a test run? I really need to take a wee leak, and the shower seems like the perfect place to try out your fantasy." She giggled, the booze making her bold.

I was surprised but nodded eagerly, acting like an excitable bobblehead toy. "So, how do we do this?" Emma asked, still giggling.

"Oh... here? I have no idea, to be honest," I admitted. "How do you usually go when you're in the woods?"

"I just squat and go," she said matter-of-factly.

"I guess we can try that. Let me see..." I said, awkwardly shuffling in the slippery shower, trying not to fall despite our inebriated states. I ended up laying on my back with my head on the cold, wet tiles and my legs propped up against the shower wall.

"That doesn't look very comfortable," Emma giggled, pointing the showerhead at the wall. "Well, maybe I can try to..." She placed one foot on the right side of my head and swung the other leg over to my left, facing my feet. "And then I suppose I just..." She started to slowly squat down.

What a glorious view, seeing those round, fit cheeks spread wide as she descended upon me. Her being a gym rat had some clear perks. She stumbled slightly on the way down, catching herself by placing her hands on my chest and her knees on my shoulders. In that sudden movement, a little toot escaped, washing over my face like a gentle, slightly stinky breeze.

"Oopsy!" she giggled drunkenly. "I guess that's part of the test too. Now you know what my farts are like!"

"Yeah, like you never farted under the covers while we were watching a movie!" I teased.

She gasped and laughed. "Hey! You weren't supposed to notice those!" She gave me a playful punch to the stomach. "Well, I guess I don't need to try and hide those anymore."

"Let me just..." She adjusted herself, crouching a bit to look between her legs and bring her pussy right over my mouth. "There. That should do it."

Straightening up and looking over her shoulder, she asked, "So, should I just...? Do you need a moment to...?"

"I don't think I can do much to prepare... and it's a bit late for a step-by-step guide now," I joked, a tad nervous.

"Fair enough," she sighed, trying to relax. "Here it comes," she whispered shyly.

I eagerly opened my mouth, my mind rushing at the anticipation of what was to come. Her pussy lips hovered over my upper lip as the end of her urethra rested over my open mouth. After years of fantasising that was it. It was happening. A heavy sigh, then a few drops fell onto my lips, then more reached my mouth. I was in pure bliss. To my surprise, it tasted essentially like water. I guess the amount of beer we'd both consumed helped mask any other flavors.

After a few seconds, the trickle stopped. "You good?" she asked. "Did you swallow, spit, or... flush? Still think I'm your fairytale princess?"

I swallowed the last bit and promptly answered, "Now more than ever! I taste a hint of chamomile perhaps?"

She forced a half laugh. "You liar!" she teased. "Well, mister toilet, open up. I have a bit more for you." I dutifully complied, and she resumed pissing deliberately slowly. After another mouthful, she was done. I gently kissed her pussy lips, lapping up a couple of urine drops, and thanked her for quenching my thirst.

She poked at my raging boner with her finger, shaking her head. "Does this mean you actually want to go through with it?"

"The chief has spoken!" I replied with a grin.

"Oh well, it is your wish," she mocked, rolling her eyes. "I can't believe that out of all the dirty things you could have convinced me to let you do to me, you chose to persuade me to pee in your mouth. No, make that be my full-blown toilet for a whole weekend!" She huffed, then quickly turned the showerhead right above my face as a playful protest. Still lost in a state of bliss, I failed to close my mouth and ended up choking on the sudden torrent of water.

"Now, of course this isn't as good as my home-made shower, but you're really need it!" She teased as she stepped out.

"I'm going to bed. Be sure to brush your teeth thoroughly. Hell, use the whole tube of toothpaste! If I get even a slight whiff of something I don't like, I'll sleep on the couch!" She threatened playfully as she wrapped a towel around herself.

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The next few days were a busy blur. Now that she had agreed to my wish, Emma had a ball teasing me non-stop. One evening, while we were watching a movie, she suddenly ordered me to get under the throw. Then, without warning, she let out a whopper of a fart, a rumbling thunderous boom that even drowned out the movie's soundtrack. I stayed under the cover, trying to prove to her (and myself) that I was ready and committed. After what felt like an eternity, her laughter subsided. As the room fell silent, save for the muffled sounds of the TV, she asked with mock concern:

"Hey, are you still alive under there? And more importantly, are you STILL convinced this is what you want?"

I stuck my arm out from under the throw, giving a decisive thumbs-up.

"Can I come out now to watch the movie?" I asked.

She giggled mischievously. "Just a moment," she said, and before I knew it, she had maneuvered my head between her legs, pressing my nose right into her crotch with a scissor tactic. She let out another long, silent fart, the hot air wreaking havoc in my nostrils. I could almost picture her biting her lower lip in concentration. I did my best to take it like a champ, but the rotten egg stench made me cough a bit. She laughed triumphantly and released me.

"This means nothing!" I quickly said, emerging from under the throw. "It was just the you squeezing my throat with your legs! Nothing more!" I joked and I moved to kiss her, but she put a hand on my face. "Nah ah!" wrinkling her nose "You stay on the other side of the couch, mister!" playfully but firmly.

I spent a good amount of time assembling the device in the spare room. I kept it simple, using metal legs from an old coffee table and a toilet seat. We did some testing, but there was little room for adjustment. The legs were a bit low, so even when I raised the seat, Emma's crotch was always slightly pressed against my mouth. It would make a better seal, I guessed. A little inflatable pool around my head would take care of any possible overflows. I showed Emma how to tie me to the chair, leaving my left arm with just enough reach to allow me to relieve my own needs in a bottle. I decided I could probably keep more solid waste at bay for just two days.

Before I knew it, it was Friday night, my birthday. Instead of snuggling under the soft covers together, Emma gave me a goodnight kiss before I slid under the device. She tucked me in -tying me to the metal legs- and went to sleep, leaving me trying to fall asleep on the cold, hard tiles, eagerly awaiting the glorious morning.