Her Final Relapse

[Scat Warning]

She felt like on the edge of a cliff. Their marriage was barren and in shambles. They fought almost every day now. He did not care for her. He never understood her. She was a caged animal in that mirthless house of glass. The old memory was seeping into her brain like poison. The repulsion of remembrance almost made her throw up, but she began to look into the abyss and know that it was her only way out.

The dark days once haunted her for so long. She forgot how it all started, but since she was young she had problems with eating strange things - her own hair, paint peels from wall, cigarette butts her father's friends left behind when they finished watching a game. From there to the human waste was only a logical leap, or so she was told.

Or perhaps it was the teenage trauma of watching her father beating her mother with a long belt - "she was rolling on the carpet from one side to another while the lashing landed on her like a rainstorm; but I did not see it, I heard her scream. I was in the bathroom, on the toilet, my head buried in my knees sobbing..."

She became a toilet in college to a fellow student. He was studying philosophy and gained notoriety as a radical. He was always with a group of followers and opponents debating about this and that. He almost looked like a professor. She idolized him and would do everything for his kinks. She was shared among his friends, and sometimes they would fuck her and some other girls in a big orgy.

He called her the 'muse' of his life but dumped her after he got bored of her small town innocence. She nearly went mad. Disappeared for three months until she was found in the backseat of a truck halfway across the country, trying to hitchhike her way to the other coast as a free hooker and a toilet.

But then she was cured, graduated, went to the big city and married a nice young man who knew nothing about her past. So spent her past twenty years. Married one lucky son of bitch. They got richer and richer, and now she lived in one of those glass sticks overlooking the park and the city, and people below moved like ants.

But deep down something was never right with her. As if she wanted her life to fail and everyone who loved her to go away. The diabolical lust had once again intoxicated her, and she had thoughts for nothing else. She had to be a toilet, to eat a stranger's shit, and lick his ass clean with her unworthy tongue.

So one day she finally left without leaving a note. She roamed through the city at night. It was like a trance: the scaffolding, the littering, the smell of weed and piss, crowds of men. Under her trench coat she wore nothing. Every time she crossed a street, she undid a button. She walked in a way so her thighs could press together and stimulate herself.

She found a grimy public restroom and went in. The smell came close to knock her out, but when she recovered she felt more alive than ever. She checked beneath the metal stall doors: no one. Anticipation aroused her. She squatted between two urinals and opened her legs. She was in her best pair of stilettos. Glossy. Slender. Toes sharp enough to poke a hole.

Men came, drunk, joking with obscenities, the girls they were going to fuck, full of piss from beer. In the dim light they spotted her. She scared them, and then she turned them on. They decided she might as well be a wet dream. She blew them all but none could get hard. A disappointment seized her. Her heart turned cold as they finished showering on her with piss.

"Enough. Let me eat your shit." She implored. They laughed until they saw she was serious. Men felt slighted and got angry, and when they got angry, they got violent. One of them grabbed her wet hair and dragged her away from the wall.

"Crazy bitch!" Someone kicked her in the butt. She groaned and crawled on fours, pretending to flee. She was rewarded with another kick. "Harder!" She begged. They gave her some more. "Right on my cunt!" She rolled around in pain. "This is sick. We're leaving." She heard one say. They striped her clean and left her to her own devices.

When she was outside again it began to rain. She was stark naked and cold. It was late and bars were closed. She struggled to walk. Her butt was all purple and blue. The few people she came across tried not to look at her. She feared someone had called the cops on her. So she hid from the well-lit streets and searched for somewhere darker.

In a back alley sat a homeless's tent. Someone was in it. He heard the click-clack of her heels and came out. He was puzzled for a second; then, with a strange smile, his eyes staring and his teeth clenched, he advanced upon her. Trembling with excitement, she leaned against the wall. His rough black hands handled her body like a doll without pity.

He was huge and menacing. His cock was hanging out. Even in her heels she only reached his shoulders. He probably had not showered in months. She knew just his type. She wanted to lick his armpits. Looking him in his eyes, she murmured in a faltering voice, "Shit in my mouth... I am begging you."

He consented. She knelt behind him, her hands caressing his thighs, her mouth over his foul anus. She reveled in everything that was unpleasant. A big black asshole. At last she was to experience those joys of love, that delirium of happiness that she had despaired of forgetting forever.

He put his hand on the wall to support himself. She knew how to be patient. She moistened her lips and swallowed. Her throat was filled with a longing as she let it fall back and, half-fainting, weeping, closing her eyes, with a deep shudder she opened her mouth again, right on that fearful vortex, which also opened a little. She knelt, her heels touching one another, her white butt like a round moon.

The first tip of the dark turd emerged. She pressed her lips tightly around it, sucking on it tenderly, licking along the rigid surface. Its bitterness made her body coil. She couldn't breathe, her eyes were seeing stars, all was too overwhelming. It was sharp on end like a rocket. The stink flooded her nose. It made her behave. The philosopher's bitch. The turd slid until it reached the end of her throat, and stuck there. A muffled howl broke from her.

Her breast began rising and falling in rapid gasps. Her entire tongue protruded from her mouth. There was not enough air left in her lungs. Sweat was dripping from her pale face, which looked as if all blood had been drained from it. With the rigid point against her throat, she was suddenly seized with the urge to come that very minute, but something more powerful than herself drove her to wait. At the same time there was a movement in her own bowel, so sudden that it surprised her. She clenched her butt in tense anticipation. A toilet never shits herself.

Her eyes closed and she was crying in silence. She was thinking, she's sorry, she couldn't help it. She gagged, but bravely clamped her teeth shut. All the memories of her previous life as a toilet came flooding back, as if it was just yesterday. Spasms in her throat continued. She cried nonstop. It was so huge and dry. The pain was intolerable. She began to chew, slowly and thickly, while the unnamable taste made new saliva come into her belabored mouth, until she finished swallowing every bit with increasing familiarity.

Then she let loose and reached orgasm with the help of her hand. She came so hard that she nearly blacked out, her legs cramping like electricity were passing through, while a small turd slid from her own asshole, unto the ground between her parted knees, so tiny and pathetic compared to that of her new master.

There were several more turds from him, smaller and wetter ones, which she ate with a renewed enthusiasm. She licked the residual bits out of his anus. Her own anus gaped hard but no shit was coming out. All is silent. A mellow sweetness seemed to be spreading in her chest. She could feel her heart beginning to beat again and the blood flowing through her body like a river of milk.

The man turned around to jerk off to her marble-like body. The rain continued. She heard in the distance a vague, long-drawn-out siren from a police car, that lingered in the air. She listened to it in silence, the last vibrations of her tingling nerves ebbing away. She no longer looked so pale, and her face was masked in serenity, as if she felt a satisfying sense of revenge.

"Come closer," he ordered. She nodded her consent. He came all over her face. She didn't blink as the warm semen struck her. The sweet, thick smell of semen was like a dessert after a full course dinner. Some subtle influence had transformed her whole being. Never had her eyes looked so blue, so large, almost unfathomable, like a bottomless lake.

After that night she never went back home.

She becomes one of best toilets in the city. She dresses so fine now, almost like a star. If you happen to be in a tight spot but don't want to use the disgusting public restrooms, worry not: like someone relaxing in a steam bath, she will stretch out languorously, open her mouth, and surrender to your shit.

And she is always hungry. In the rush hour crowd her eyes shine on those who forget to take a dump before work. Around dinner time she will eat your shit so that you can fill up your belly again at those fancy downtown restaurants. She can tell what you ate for the last three meals, but she is never picky and always forgiving.

Between the peaks of passion, ecstasy, and rapture, she exists only as a ghost, a shadowy emptiness, always ready, always waiting to be filled up by things vile and visceral. She glories in it, feeling no remorse, no anxiety, no disquiet, like all born-to-be toilets do.