Amanda's Toilet

This isn't a story really, it's a confession. And though nobody will believe me, it's true.

That isn't to say that I've done anything wrong, not that I think so anyway. It's not that kind of confession.

But what I have done, or rather what I do, and what I am, is weird.

People, I know, will not understand.

People are sometimes disgusted by it; most are a little; some accept it; none understand it.

I have a girlfriend; we live together; it is every woman's dream, right, to be able to live a romantic, fun, sexy life without having to live with a man?

I dated men at university, and had unreliably good sex. That is to say that though some nights were amazing, others were crap, and I could never work out why. The romance was, always, rubbish. This isn't me hating on men: I think I was just unlucky, or maybe I had terrible taste.

Anyway, a few months after leaving university I hooked up with a girl, Amanda, my girlfriend, and the sex we had, from that very first weekend until now (and beyond) was amazing, all of the time, or practicably all the time: a dud in every fifty fucks, perhaps.

The romance is girly, and kind of more like a friendship than a relationship, though I think a good relationship should always be like that.

Amanda likes some pretty weird things in bed: dominating me, mostly; tying me up, and using me; slapping me about just for the fun of it. I love it as well. I am happiest when I am her sex slave, that is certain.

She was a proper lesbian before me, and had done a lot of freaky things with a lot of girls, not always one at once, and not always in the privacy of the bedroom. I was practically a virgin where girls were concerned.

Our 'scenes', as she calls them, started to get longer and longer: sometimes days or maybe a weekend long, with me as her slave, bound by a series of codified rules. But we started to feel that the romance of our relationship was suffering; I was always in character as her sub, and she as my dom. We were acting in those most intimate moments when one should really be able to be oneself.

So, we decided to skip it all, or rather almost all of it, keeping one element of our s&m relationship, and the genius was that it was determined not by either of us, but by nature, and thus it needn't even be on anyone's mind. We could continue our girly, fun, sexy, cohabiting relationship, with this small thing there to spice up our sex life. And my god it did, when we were just having sex, as girlfriend and girlfriend, with a bit of rough but no names or rules, it was better than ever, enhanced I think by this element.

I don't know why I'm building suspense: you've read the title: you know what I am.

I am Amanda's toilet.

When Amanda needs to go to the loo, she tells me, in a calm manner, and I undress from the waist up, lie down on the floor, and open my mouth ready to accept her waste.

It is, for us, a deeply erotic act, and a deeply loving one. I show her my love and my devotion to her by my consumption of her waste. And she -- this you may not understand, but trust me it is true -- she presents to me her love in the form of her waste.

The actual act is, obviously, disgusting. And I think that is the part that people won't understand. They think that I enjoy the taste of my girlfriend's piss. Nobody likes the taste of piss, or at least I don't, that's for certain: it is naturally repellent. But within the disgust is something deeply erotic: and the humiliation of performing the act turns me on incredibly.

Sometimes, after this event, we have sex, though most often we simply return to what we were doing: like a literal toilet. Any pent-up sexual feeling caused by it is simply left to stew, only to grow stronger, and thus making our eventual evening fuck even more powerful.

I am, of course, also Amanda's toilet paper, and must lick her vagina clean before she can continue. Frequently I am still lying on the floor and she's already gone to continue what she was doing. I redress and continue what I was doing.

Her bowl movements I did not initially participate it in, finding the whole concept of shit rather too repulsive, but over time watching Amanda go to use the actual toilet to shit in was depressing for me, feeling as though I wasn't fully doing my job.

First, I would follow her, and lick her clean afterwards, and then, one morning, I asked her to start using me fully, which she did, gladly.

We naturally did not wish for any of our friends to know of our strange doings, afraid that they would think us unnatural and distance themselves. But this meant when we have company Amanda would have to piss in the toilet, which would completely ruin my mood, especially if we had been drinking. Then one evening, when we had a few friends over, Amanda secretly asked me to come help her with something in the bedroom, and we scuttled away for some privacy: it wasn't the first time we'd done this, though it was the first time it had such dire consequences.

I was in the very midst of drinking her piss, with her playing with my breasts because we were both rather drunk and horny, when the door swung open and all three of our guests were standing staring at us.

We stopped them from leaving, annoyed and weirded out and never to return, and managed to explain our weird situation, and they were generally nice, though all a little put out that we'd done it whilst they were in the flat. At least without their knowledge. Knowing how important it was to me, they actually said that Amanda should just use me as her toilet when they were there, without sneaking off, just take me to the bedroom and use me. The first time was odd, but over the coming weeks it got less odd, and we even told a couple more friends, with only one person being so freaked out they fucked off for good -- and good riddance to that prude I say.

That was when, one night, drunk as fuck, our friend Samantha asked: 'can I use her?'

The room went silent, and everyone stared at Amanda, though she was staring at me. As she understood it, I was her toilet for personal use, and not to be borrowed by friends, though as the room clearly saw it I had no say in the matter. After all it was 'can I use her?' not 'can I use you?'

'I am,' I said, gulping a little, 'Amanda's toilet. Amanda, would you like me to lie down for Sam?'

Amanda nodded, slowly, and then a little more strongly, and then said 'fuck it, yeah,' and the room sort of erupted in nervous laughter, the tension seemingly gone, though the actual act had not yet taken place.

I did as I would for Amanda, and undressed to my waist, leaving the clothes neatly on the chair, and lay down with my mouth open on the floor. Everyone was momentarily fixated on my breasts: which I took as a compliment. When men had starred at me as a piece of meat I had hated it, but women doing it made me feel really good. I was down quickly, as I always am, because the whole process is pretty straightforward and unemotional for us, though I think this surprised Samantha, who was still starring at my nipples.

Maybe, she had assumed the answer would be no, and maybe we'd accidentally called her bluff. But she stood up, pulled down her jeans, and squatted over me. She still had her knickers on, but otherwise she was in position.

'You ain't pissing through them right, Sam?' Amanda said, with a laugh.

'Wait, shit,' she suddenly thought, 'did you mean like in the other room? We didn't think.'

'No, its fine.'

And she whipped down her panties and started pissing. Everyone starred at her cunt, like they had at my tits, and I suppose this hadn't crossed my mind, though it was clearly crossing Samantha's.

Now, Amanda's aim is pretty good: we are, basically, fucking pros at this. And Samantha, obviously, was not, which I really hadn't thought about. Her piss splashed all over my face, and though I tried my hardest to catch it in my mouth and swallow, most of it simply covered me. My hair got drenched: I could even feel it as far down as my breasts, and the feeling of piss on my breasts was really turning me on.

Amanda went to get a towel for me to dry myself with. And when she was finished, Samantha bobbed up quickly and moved to redress.

'Don't you want me to clean you first, Sam?' I said, still covered in piss, and somewhat unsurely she returned her cunt to my face, closer than it had been, for me to reach up with my tongue and tick clean. This was only the second cunt that I had tasted, and she was clearly a little turned on by the feeling of my tongue on her. Once I was finished she seemed reluctant to stand up again, expecting perhaps that I would eat her out, though of course I was no longer a sex slave, only a toilet.

Amanda coughed, as if to say fuck off, and Samantha quickly jumped up and redressed. Amanda towelled me down lovingly and then handed me my clothes to redress, when Alice said: 'I kind of need to go too.'

There was another silence, though it was clear that I was to become to toilet to the whole group, and from then on at our gatherings I was the toilet, and regularly would assume the position, in front of everyone, and drink anyone's piss. I spent most of our evenings topless, because it was just too much effort to redress every time, and the other girls started to get better at their aim.

One morning, when Alice was at the flat for coffee, she said that she needed to go to the toilet and stood up to go to the bathroom when I said: 'you can use me you know. I am full-time,' with a slightly playful winking smile.

She was clearly a little uncertain, and started to say, 'It's just that, you see, I need... '

'She'll eat your shit as well, Alice. She eats mine every morning.' Amanda is often blunt, like this, presuming that the ordinariness of a situation as she perceived it always extended to the whatever wider group was present.

Alice looked over at me for sign of approval, or perhaps wanting me to say no, but I just nodded.

'If you want to that is. There is never any pressure, dear.' Amanda said lovingly, giving her the option. How unencumbered we all were is also obvious to Amanda: she never wanted anyone to feel uncomfortable.

'No. I'll use her. If you're sure.' It was really sexy having them talk about as if I wasn't there, or as if I were really just an inanimate toilet, with any agency that a toilet might possess passed over entirely to my mistress: when someone needed to the toilet I was sub again.

I did the usual and assumed the position. First she peed in my mouth, which she was at this point very good at, and almost nothing was spilt, and then she repositioned with her arse over my mouth, and started to push out a large morning turd. We maintained a strange eye contact as I started to chew on her shit, swallowing it in large chunks, and then she started to push again. It was a large bowel movement, much larger than Amanda's, and the taste was markedly different.

I learnt from the girls just how different everyone's piss tasted, but hadn't, until this point, eaten anyone else's shit.

Cleaning her up had the beginnings of a rim job, as she was particularly messy, and Alice closed her eyes and actually started playing with her pussy.

Amanda coughed, and Alice suddenly looked frightened. 'I'm really sorry, I totally forgot where I was.'

'Why don't we all go to the bedroom? If you want a fuck?' Amanda sees my role as toilet as completely asexual: but if Alice wants a fuck we can all fuck!

In the bedroom we all undressed fully, and I could tell that Alice was a little put out when I kissed her, presumably tasting some of her own shit on my lips.

'Want me to go brush my teeth?'

'No, it's ok. I quite like it.' She lied! Though she wanted to like it, and so I allowed the lie, and kissed again, with tongues.

Then me and Alice made out for a bit, with Amanda eating me out, and me fingering our guest.

We all came a couple of times, and then when we were just lying in a three-way cuddle Amanda said: 'Now I fucking need a shit.'

So Alice sat on the bed, naked, and watched as Amanda unloaded her bowels into my mouth, as she does every morning, though normally alone.

The three-way was never repeated.

This isn't a story. I told you that. I don't have the imagination for a story.

So I apologise if this doesn't have what you want of one.

But it is real. And I guess most stories aren't: or maybe all stories aren't, and that's what makes them stories. Maybe that means something to you, or maybe it doesn't.

I am writing this knowing that Amanda is in the next room, and that any moment she might feel a call of nature and come and see me, or call me to her, and I will undress and lie down and drink her piss.

It is an exhilarating feeling.