Date: Tue, 24 Jul 2007 23:27:25 -0600
From: stories@mudcub.com
Subject: Eating At Work (scat, authoritarian)

Eating At Work

by Mudcub

stories@mudcub.com

I stayed late after work. All of my co-workers have long since left the
building. It's almost 9 pm, and I should be at home, too. But I'm not. I've
got more work to finish before I can go home.

The building's not quiet, though. There are three shifts on the factory
floor, and the late shift will arrive soon. Those poor bastards have to work
"swing" which starts at 10 pm and goes until 6 am. There are two breaks, but
as busy as the company's been lately, most of the guys just work the whole
night through.

I don't know what kind of guy it takes to work such odd hours. Some of them
are loners, and like the relative peace and quiet compared to the day
shifts. Some guys took this job because it was the only shift available.
They have to get used to getting up when most people are safe at home in bed
- working until the morning when none of the bars are open. The night shift
usually gets the real vagrant type of guys - unwashed and hard living. Those
are the kind of guys I like.

I have to confess. I'm a "suit". That's what the guys on the shop floor call
management: the fat cats living on "mahogany row". I started with the
company right after college... so I never had to work my way up the ladder.
Instead, I started at an almost-six-figure salary and got hefty raises from
there.

Sometimes, I think the blue-collar guys have a bit of resentment. I don't
get to talk to them much, but the conversation will always stop or get real
quiet when one of the bosses walks into the room. It's a shame, because I
often fantasize about hanging out with the shop monkeys. Huge, well-muscled
guys dripping wet with honest sweat. Randy horny men ready for a blowjob or
a fight, either one will do.

Which is why I find myself walking into the basement changing room at 10 pm
on a Tuesday night.

Push open the door and the smell hits me. It reeks down here like a barnyard
- like sweat and body odor. And grease and oil, and who knows what else.
Maybe a scent of shit and piss here too. And that's why I'm here. Yeah, my
dick starts to get hard from the smell even before I set one foot inside the
locker room door.

It's not much to look at: a forty-by-forty foot room. Dimly lit and tiled
everywhere in that industrial garage-looking feeling. The tile makes it easy
to hose down the place, although by the looks of things, it doesn't get a
cleaning except once or twice a year. There are black and brown streaks on
the walls, probably from where someone rubbed up against something with
dirty work clothes on. But that doesn't explain the dirt on the ceiling...
no idea how THAT got there.

There's only four guys in the changing room so far. It's still early for
second shift to get out. In about an hour, this place will be packed with
half-naked guys - some smeared with muck and filth, some stripping down to
their underwear to put on stained work uniforms still wet with sweat and
grime.

It's not too strange to see management down here sometimes. Maybe the other
guys think I've just had a meeting with one of the foremen. Usually, they
just don't care. The four guys getting off shift are laughing, yelling at
each other. Nobody gives me a second look as I slip into the bathroom at the
back, around the corner from the main room in sort of an "L" shape.

I go into the farthest stall. It's the smallest one, and the light's not too
good there. But most of all, I had been ordered to prepare that toilet
earlier. The shitters here in the basement all have the automatic sensor -
kind of an electric eye that looks for changes in light and dark in order to
flush automatically. The facilities people had been complaining that the
working stiffs weren't doing a good enough job of flushing, and that the
toilets were getting clogged. So, the sensors were all installed.

All except the sensor on this toilet. A small piece of masking tape earlier
this afternoon had solved that problem.

Damn, even in this half-light I can see that my trick had worked. There were
three complete loads, one on top of the each other, festering since earlier
that afternoon. Shit, it looks like the guys weren't too picky. The first
guy must have used the toilet, not knowing the flusher was broken. But that
doesn't excuse why the next two guys added their load to the top.

I wondered about the second guy. He had probably just woken up, and his guts
were probably stirring from the odd hours he kept. To him, it was morning,
and time for a shit before work. I wonder what his face looked like when he
saw that the toilet was unflushed. Maybe the mystery worker didn't notice,
or didn't care. In either case, he must have dropped his pants and sat over
the stinking mess. He surely would have smelled the earlier pile as he added
his own turds to it - thicker and darker brown than the first. That's the
only way I could tell it was two different guys that had used the toilet
that day. Plus the fact that the pile was too large for a single human being
to produce.

And what about the THIRD guy? After the second dump, the pile of shit was
almost up to the seat. If I didn't have a shit fetish, there's no way that
I'd sit on top of that huge pile of shit. There was too much of a danger of
"splashback". But in any case, the third guy must have done it, because on
top of the two larger piles, there was a runny sauce, almost like the fudge
topping on an ice cream sundae.

Oh fuck, this is gonna be nasty.

I took off my coat and hung it on the hook at the back of the stall door. I
didn't want this to get messier than it had to. Then, I tucked my tie into
my shirt. Even if my white shirt got a little stained, I hope the tie and
jacket would cover it up when I walked out of this place. That is, when I
finish all the Orders that I had to accomplish. Maybe two or three hours
from now. If I'm lucky.

That reminds me, so I get the piece of paper out of my jacket pocket. I had
printed it at home before work, but hadn't read it. My Master told me not to
read it until I was safely in the stall. I don't know if he was afraid I'd
chicken out. Or maybe he just didn't want me to lose my nerve. Either way, I
had been hard all day at my desk... excited and nervous about the night to
come.

I pulled down my pants and boxer shorts, and sat on the toilet. I wanted the
other guys to think I was taking a shit, while I calmly read the
instructions.

HELLO SHITSLAVE,

YOU KNOW I OWN YOUR ASS. I OWN IT WHEN YOU ARE AT HOME, WHEN YOU ARE IN MY
DUNGEON. AND NOW I OWN IT AT WORK. THERE IS NOWHERE YOU ARE SAFE.
EVENTUALLY, I WILL TURN YOU INTO A WHIMPERING ANIMAL... A DROOLING SHITEATER
WHO HUNGERS FOR THE TASTE OF MEN'S SHIT.

The caps were annoying, but they got my attention. My dick was already
semi-hard, and dripping pre-cum. I started to stroke it while I read the
words:

YOUR FIRST ORDER IS TO GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES and WORSHIP THE TOILET. IT IS
WORTH MORE THAN YOU. YOU SHOULD LICK AROUND THE BOTTOM ON THE FLOOR, WHERE
ALL THE GUYS HAVE PISSED. THEN, WHEN YOU ARE DONE, YOU WILL LICK THE RIM,
AND ALL UNDER THE RIM. ONLY WHEN IT IS CLEAN WILL YOU READ ON.

Oh fuck. This is really going to happen, isn't it? Before I could change my
mind, I spun around off the seat and got on my knees. I wanted this part
over with before more guys showed up. I mean, if anyone looked under the
partition, they could clearly see that I was kneeling. It was kind of
obvious. my pants around my ankles, my legs almost sticking out from under
the door.

When my knees hit the tile, I realized that the floor was really wet. I felt
a wetness soak into my pants. Aw fuck. Well, this suit is ruined. I bent
down and put my tongue to the floor, into the puddle. Yeah, it was piss.
Cold, too. I starting lapping it up like a dog on all fours. It didn't taste
too bad. Salty and a little rancid, like it had been sitting there a long
time. But there was way too much of it to lick it all up... the puddle ran
into the stall next door.

So, I decided to concentrate on the part of the floor where the tile met the
toilet. Oh fuck, even in the dim light, I could tell this was going to be
tricky. The custodian who cleaned the stalls wasn't too detail-oriented.
There was several year's worth of brown and green and black sludge forming a
line around the toilet base. I tentatively took a bite. It was like sinking
my teeth into axle grease. But it tasted worse, like rotten vegetation.

I had to use my two front teeth to scrape away at the crap. I could feel my
nose and cheeks getting brown, as I had to quickly mash my face into the
edge of the toilet. I wasn't getting too much accomplished. I took my
fingernails, and scraped away a finger full of the sludge at a time. After
the first few bites, it didn't have much of a taste at all. Kind of like
black Crisco. However, I wasn't getting the base very clean. I would have to
report back to my Master that I couldn't clean the base of the toilet very
well. I was sure he'd make me come back tomorrow night, and bring along a
knife or sharp object to make sure I got every bit of crud hiding in the
tile.

I switched to the top of the toilet, and I got up off my knees into a
crouching position. That way, I wouldn't bee as obvious from someone looking
under the stall. They'd see a pair of legs, maybe my ass. But it wouldn't be
obvious. I hadn't heard anyone come into the bathroom part yet, but I could
hear more voices and shouts around the corner, and the night shift started
filing in.

I licked the seat. It was mostly clean, rubbed dry from all those guy's
asses. Still warm from where I had been sitting on it. But I licked it
anyway, just to get my mind into a sub-space. I fantasized about worshiping
this toilet. "Oh thank you, toilet." "Thank you for giving me Your food." "I
don't deserve to worship You... I hope someday to become as good as You at
holding shit."

I was lost in my fantasy with my eyes closed, so I didn't even notice when
one of the guys got into the stall next to me. I froze, and didn't make a
sound. I heard the guy pull his pants down. I bent over to look... all I saw
was a pair of really oily workboots under some overalls. The guy grunted,
and I heard the unmistakable splash of a large turd hitting water. The guy
grunted again, but nothing. Then I heard piss splashing into the bowl, and
an audible sigh as the guy relaxed. I, on the other hand, was holding my
breath, dick hard and throbbing in my hand.

The guy must have relaxed enough, because the next thing I heard was a whole
lots of runny shit exploding out of his ass. He grunted again, and it
sounded like someone pouring wet concrete. Poor guy. He was grunting and
sweating, and I could smell the stink he was raising, even over the huge
pile in my own stall. It ook him about ten minutes to get it all out. I just
crouched there motionless until he was finished. When the guy stood up to
wipe his ass, the toilet sensor automatically kicked in and the thing
flushed. Fuck. I should have stopped up that toilet, too.

When the guy zipped up and stomped off, I relaxed. I wished I could have
been his toilet paper, licking his shitty ass clean for him to start a long
day of work. Every guy needs a blowjob to start the day! But I had other
work to do.

I realized how much trouble I was in when I lifted up the seat. That's where
the splatter goes. The underside of the seat was brown with dried shit. That
third guy must have sprayed the whole bowl. Plus, now that the seat was
lifted up, I could see the huge mound of shit. The stench was a lot stronger
with my face a foot above the pile, too.

I licked the underside of the seat. My mouth instantly got a little dry. It
was going to take a lot of spit to moisten that stuff. I wished I had a
bottle of water with me. And then I thought... I've got all the "water" I
could ever need.

Oh fuck. I re-thought the consequences of what I was going to do. I noticed
that the pile of shit in the toilet was off-center. if I cupped my palm, I
could scoop up some liquid, and put that in my mouth. I rolled up my
sleeves, so they wouldn't get wet. Then, I put my hand in.

I misjudged the room in the bowl, and the side of my hand mushed into the
pile of shit. My hand shaking a little, I slurped up the handful of liquid
and swished out my mouth. That was better. It tasted like piss, but it gave
me enough spit to clean off another inch or two of the seat.

Dip and lick, dip and lick. Eventually, I was able to get the seat mostly
clean. The water in the bowl was mostly piss, but I didn't mind. I hadn't
eaten anything since lunch, and I was kinda hungry. I knew I would be eating
soon enough.

The last part of the Order was to lick the rim. This was harder, since there
was a LOT of piss crusted up on top. I swiped my tongue across the top, and
the acrid taste of piss burnt my tastebuds. Damn that was strong. Not watery
like the bowl. I kept rinsing out my mouth between swipes, but even then, my
mouth was getting sore from all the licking.

Under the rim was even harder. Plus, when I was licking under the rim, my
nose was almost buried in the pile. I couldn't seem to get enough traction
to really lick under there. I rubber my finger under the rim, and my finger
came away coated in dark brown shit. I licked it off like frosting. After
the burning piss, the taste of shit was not too strong.

Fuck, I think I would have to tell my Master I failed again. This toilet
needed a good scrubbing, maybe with my own toothbrush. But my finger wasn't
going to cut it. Time to read the next instruction.

IF YOU ARE BEING A GOOD BOY, THE TOILET IS READY FOR YOUR MEAL. CLEAN ENOUGH
TO EAT OFF OF! HOPEFULLY, THERE IS TOILET PAPER. FISH A WET CLUMP OF TOILET
PAPER OUT AND SUCK ON IT. CHEW IT 100 TIMES BEFORE YOU SWALLOW. THEN DO IT
AGAIN. MAKE SURE IT HAS A LOT OF SHIT ON IT.

Ok, I've eaten worse. There was a lot of paper in there. Most of it soaking
with wet shit. I grabbed a clump, and it instantly disintegrated in my hand.
So, I had to scoop it up with both hand. a wet mass of brown-ish white,
dripping with fluid.

I shoved the goop into my mouth. It tasted more like wallpaper paste than
paper. It was hardly solid at all. My tongue mashed it up to the roof of my
mouth, and a gush of shitty water hit my tongue. Fuck, it was like sucking
on a sponge soaked with an enema. Incredibly nasty. After three or four
bites, it was drier. most of the liquid swallowed down my throat. Then there
was just the papery mass to chew.

As I counted to 100, I imagined that I was a spy, and I had to destroy some
evidence. It felt like I was eating an entire code book, there was so much
paper in my mouth. Fuck, this was taking a long time. Finally at 100, I
could swallow, but I gagged a little bit. The wet sludge got stuck halfway
down my throat. I warmed myself to be more careful. The last thing I wanted
was to choke to death of shitty toilet paper - my co-workers finding me in a
pile on the floor with shit in my mouth.

The second handful was worse. I must have grabbed a section that was mostly
shit. It was a lot wetter, and took a lot of mushing before all the brown
liquid shit was out of it. The taste was horrible. 100 bites seemed to take
a lot longer. I hoped the rest of the orders weren't to eat all the paper,
because there was not way I would make it. I was already feeling a little
ill. Instead, I should have expected something different:

PIG, NOW IT IS TIME TO FEED. YOU WILL EAT EVERYTHING IN THE TOILET. IT IS A
GIFT TO YOU, AND YOU SHOULD MAKE ME PROUD BY RECEIVING IT. I DON'T CARE HOW
LONG IT TAKES, BUT IT WILL ALL GO DOWN YOUR THROAT EVENTUALLY.

Oh fuck. I almost shot my load of cum without touching my dick when I read
those words. This is it: this is why I am here. I am a faggot shit-eating
cock-sucker. I am a worthless toilet, good for nothing but eating shit. This
is not about my dick or asshole. This is not about my pleasure, it's about
serving my Master, and eating shit. And I've got a whole load here in front
of me, doodie that's waiting for my duty.

In a frenzy of lust, I grabbed a fistful of shit off the top. I shoved it
into my mouth, without smelling it. My cheeks bulged and slime dripped down
my chin. I swallowed, and grabbed another handful. Again and again, just
devouring it, not caring it I was making a mess or not. I could taste the
different types of shit. One had lots of hard things in it. Nuts I guess.
The runny stuff was bitter, as it the guy was kind of sick. It all went down
my throat quickly.

I've eaten shit before, but not so much. And not so fast. I guess my eyes
were bigger than my stomach, in more ways than one. I was almost down to a
single handful... the remains turning to brown liquid in the stirred-up bowl
- when all of a sudden I felt my stomach heave. Fuck, I was in trouble. I
thought I was doing ok, but my guts thought otherwise.

With a sudden heave, a fountain of shit erupted from my throat. I splattered
the seat again, as I almost didn't have enough time to aim. My stomach
emptied itself again and again, as I held onto the sides of the bowl for
dear life. I must have been puking for a few minutes when I heard a rap on
the outside of the stall.

"You ok in there?"

Fuck, the night shift was all in the changing room, and here I was making a
lot of noise.

"What's goin' on?" A low gruff voice asked.

"I dunno. someone's sick in there."

A heavier fist knocked on the door, "You ok?" He barked.

My mouth was full of shitpuke, but I managed to mumbled out, "Gimme second."

By now a small crowd had gathered outside the door. "What's going on" "Who's
in there?" "What's up?"

Then I heard something than made my blood run cold.

"I think it's Mr. Stevenson," someone said.

That was me. That was my name. Who saw me go into the stall? Did they
recognize my shoes?

The gruff voice ordered, "Everybody go back to work!" There was a grumbling
from the crowd, and the man continued, "Git along now!"

After the noise quieted down, I settled my stomach a little. By then, I was
just down to dry heaves.

The voice outside the door finally said, "Frank, you in there?"

I think it was Charlie, the foreman. I had spoken to him once or twice in
the past, a real fireplug of a man, easily over six feet tall and built like
an ox. Hairy and always covered in grease and dirt.

I spit into the toilet and answered, "Yeah."

"You ok?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah," I replied, "Gimme a minute."

"OK," Charlie said. "It really stinks out here!"

I was embarrassed by that. I bet I was really churning up the smell.

Charlie finished, "If you need me to get you anything, just let me know."

And with that, he was gone.

I was fucking embarrassed. I had no idea what the other guys must have heard
(or smelled). I bet I looked like hell, and they only way out of this was to
wait it out until the gang had gone back to the factory floor.

I remembered the note wasn't quite finished, so I fished it out... it was
stained with shit, and wet from laying on the floor.

FINAL ORDERS: ANYTHING YOU PUKE UP GOES BACK DOWN. NO EXCEPTIONS. TAKE OUT
YOUR DIGITAL CAMERA AND TAKE SOME PHOTOS OF THE RESULTS. EMAIL THEM TO ME
ALONG WITH NOTES OF YOUR PERFORMANCE, AND I WILL JUDGE YOU.

There was a camera in my jacket pocket. I took a photo of the toilet - now
splattered with shit puke almost up the wall. The janitor would really have
a job to do tonight. Then, I bent down, and scooped out a handful of
pukeshit into my palm. I slurped it up and took a photo of myself doing so.

There was still about four pints of liquid shit in the toilet. But without a
cup, I didn't think there was anyway for me to finish the job properly. I
guessed it was one more thing my Master would have to punish me for.

I stood up, my back aching from being bent over. I grabbed a bunch of toilet
paper to wipe my face the best I could. There was no longer any clear water
in the toilet to rinse with. I threw the paper in the toilet and flushed it
all away. I straighten my tie, and smoothed my hair and sweaty face and
noticed my stomach was settling down after puking up so much shit.

There weren't any sounds from the locker room. All the workers must be
changed and gone. I peeked out the stall door. Nobody there. I put on my
jacket, stuffed the camera ion the pocket again, and made sure I looked
semi-respectable. I thought if I walked fast I could make it through the
changing area, out the door, and around the corner to the parking lot. Three
minutes from now, I'd be at my car. I stepped around the corner into the big
room and.

"Frank!"

Charlie was there. He was standing by the door, blocking my exit.

"Um," I said, wondering what I looked and smelled like.

"I thought it was you," Charlie said, walking towards me with a big smile on
his face.

I noticed he was grabbing his crotch, a hard dick outlines through his dirty
work pants.

I stammered, trying to explain. "I'm not feeling well... I'm going home."

"Yeah," Charlie continued, stepping even closed while fondling himself. "I
peeked over the top of the stall when you were. busy." He was standing so
close I could smell his body odor even over my own stink. "No wonder you're
not feeling well."

I took a step around Charlie, "Yeah, well, sorry."

Charlie grabbed my arm. "Yer not going anywhere Frank." He twisted my arm
behind my back a little, hurting me. "I know whut yer into, and I know whut
yer gonna do fer me."

With a shove, he pushed me back into the bathroom area. Charlie growled, "I
got a real full ass, boy, and you got a lot more eating ahead of ya. The
night shift doesn't get off until morning, and I bet they're gonna want to
use you too."