Date: Thu, 11 Nov 2021 08:33:36 -0800
From: Bad Dad <domdadtop@gmail.com>
Subject: UNCLE, GRUNGE and LOVE, CHAPTER FIVE

UNCLE, GRUNGE & LOVE: Chapter Five

I woke the next morning - early - which was not normal for me, since it was
my only weekday to sleep in. But I was wide awake and decided not to fight
it.

Next to me Uncle Jayson snored.

You know how when you start falling in love - or even lust - everything
that the guy you're falling in love with is sexy, even though the stuff
he's doing isn't normally sexy? That's the way it was with Uncle Jay. And
that's what was happening with his snores.

Maybe it was his snoring that woke me up, but I don't think so. It wasn't
loud. You could hardly hear it. It was just deep and sonorous and so damn
sexy. Long slow intakes of air, followed by just the slightest moan of
release. It was like what you might hear in a movie soundtrack - the
perfect snore ... if there was such a thing.

But then my mind started wandering to what could occur in these morning
hours between us, hours we'd been unable to share before, because of my
work schedule, and I realized why I woke up.

Alert and energized, feeling the sex on my skin from the night before, I
slid out of bed. Jay groaned, reaching for me, but grabbing a pillow
instead. It was the cutest thing I'd seen out of the dude - I was really
falling, hard, and trying to figure out whether I should say anything about
it, show what I was feeling, or just keep moving through life.

I watched him sleep from the door, sprawled on the bed, magnificent ass
half-covered by the neoprene sheets. I took a moment to unfold the
piss-stained covers from the prior day and lay them over his naked frame.
Then, I moved through the morning, wrapping my head around the next hurdle
we faced on the way to the completion of our compulsion.

I went to the bathroom - a place that had taken on a whole new dimension.
It had become the nexus of our eroticism and standing in it I could smell
the sharp taint of our transgressions. I also imagined even more profound
transgressions and as I did so, my penis pointed straight up.  Jayson had
left a tub of grease in here and I used it to apply lube to my hole, even
though it was moist and wet already. The use that my ass had taken these
past many days was beyond anything I had ever experienced. But, even though
there was tenderness, there was no pain. It felt puffy and wet and open -
and I relished that - enjoyed toying with its mild extrusion. The more he
had fucked it the more it had become the new center of my sexuality. I
loved that it seemed alive like another organ - that it periodically
belched out slime and scum, mixtures of lube and cum and piss. I LIKED that
it was wet and pliant - cunt-like.

Fingers in ass, lost in thought, I looked out of the open door and spied a
bottle of poppers. This is what I was looking for - I walked out, picked it
up, snorted just a bit to push my erotic morning buzz to another plateau
and then went back to the bathroom where I stood - then knelt - in front of
the toilet. For just a fleeting instant I wondered what he would do if he
caught me in this position and then I realized I wanted to be caught. I
imagined a future day where he would find me here, having knelt for an hour
or more, waiting to be used as his personal toilet - sending a message of
wretchedness that I knew would push his darkest buttons. Unable to help
myself I took another hit of the bottle, then put it down carefully, on the
counter behind me, which was eye-level to where he would sit this morning.
Then I bent forward, softly moaning, frigging my slimy slot and imagining
the unimaginable.

My cock had fallen flacid, which didn't bother me. Parts of this journey
had nothing to do with what hung between my legs. It had to do with my
butt, my senses and the organ between my ears. Getting to where I wanted to
go - where he wanted to go - where we said we wanted to go together - would
take time and focus. It would also take repetitive imaginings of the worst
things that men could do together, in order to normalize and eroticize
them.

Slowly, the moment passed. I breathed deeply, body draped over the toilet
bowl. Then I rose, looking around.

A mistake of architecture made the bathroom unnaturally dark, due to a
small and dirty window that looked out over a thin alley and a brick
wall. We were on a lower floor in an old converted manufacturing building
that had been divided into small one-bedroom and studio units. But the
darkness of this room afforded us privacy and seemed to welcome the
deviance we could do here. I went to the kitchen, pulling a few tea-lights
from the junk draw. I lit the candles and placed them strategically. It
made the room glow - it would also burn away some of the tougher smells
that were bound to occur, making their incorporation more possible.

Uncle Jay's removal of the door had been a master-stroke. Turning the
bathroom - the toilet - into an extension of our living space had
normalized the room and what went on in it. The problem was that our
schedules had segregated us from sharing our bodily functions.

Not this morning.

I went to the kitchen, balls tightening now, thinking of the man in my bed
(our bed?) and put on coffee. I contemplated bacon because bacon always
wakes up a hungry, horny man, and it sure as hell would have given the
pending aromas a smokey spin. But, it was the diuretic that was essential
for my plan this morning.

I made it extra strong and then waited, patiently. I wanted my own cup but
I knew what that would do to my digestive system and this morning was about
him and his needs. At least that's how I framed it in my head.

I had planned on waiting for him to wake. But a back-up plan had also been
set and when I heard no movement coming from the bedroom, I put that in
action.

I poured a large cup of coffee, took several deep breaths to steady myself,
and then headed back to the bedroom. My cock was back at full hard now - my
heart was racing.

Jesus! Why did this excite me so much? I didn't even plan on doing anything
but serving as witness to his morning ritual. But intimacy and taboo were
powerful forces. When I got to the door I slowed, then cracked opened it.
There was a slight squeak and when I looked in there he was, sitting up in
bed, covered up to the waist, looking at me with quiet curiosity.

"Good morning," I whispered.

"Hi," he said. "I missed you."

This simple sentence struck me like a small arrow and I flinched, smiling
with appreciation.

"I woke up early."

"I see."

"Had some things to take care of."

"Hmmm," he said, not willing to ask - but not willing to remain stoic,
either. "Why don't you come back to bed?"

He gestured to the empty place next to him. I walked in, sitting on the
edge, but not moving close like he wanted. It was difficult not to dive
back in, snuggle, rub, sniff, kiss and then make love, but as I said ... I
was on a mission this morning.

"I brought you some coffee," I said, passing it to him. This was not a
surprise - I'd been holding it as we whispered. "I thought I'd - " and then
my throat caught. I was flushed. He saw it - was able to see and smell my
heat and like a stalking cat, was immediately attuned to it. I handed him
the cup and he grasped it. His big hand closed over mine - holding it. I
looked away from him.

"I thought I'd meet you in the - um..."

Suddenly well. .. the best laid plans, you know? You get so focused on the
planning of a thing, but once that thing is upon you, the enormity of it
and the reality of it overwhelm you. I barely had any breath.

"I'll be in the bathroom," is what I said. I pulled my hand away but he
maintained the grip. Then I looked at him, pleadingly. In my eyes I tried
to communicate that I needed to escape, now, before my nerve was broken -
before the erotic build-up was shattered and I couldn't continue.  He saw
me then - naked - which I was. But my additional nudity was what he
comprehended and he released my hand. I rose, heading for the door. All of
this passed in an instant - a quick moment - so that what I said next was a
simple continuation of my prior sentence.

"Waiting."

"I'll be in the bathroom. Waiting." That's what I said. But the implication
was dripping with desire and disgust. The subtext was not at all
subtextual.

I would be waiting for him. For him to shit.

I flushed red, then exited. By the time I got to the living room my breath
was heaving. I steadied myself then stood in the door - wondering if I
should hurry back, but I was determined to move forward. Only forward, I
kept thinking - only forward. It had served us well so far.

Then I was confronted with another conundrum. In truth, I hadn't really
thought this through.  Maybe it wasn't such a good idea - maybe talking
first was best? FUCK - I had no idea how to have a relationship - let alone
a fucked up kinky one. Should I kneel at the toilet? But then, how would he
sit there? I would be in his way. Should I stand? That just felt ... weird.

Obviously I couldn't block the door, but that was my instinct.

Finally I realized I was fucking panicking. And over-thinking. So I sunk to
my knees outside the bathroom door, but to the right and at a right angle.
This permitted him entry, but also gave me a full view of the toilet. Then
I waited.

And he kept me waiting. I won't know what he was thinking - whether he was
angry or disappointed at my refusal to rejoin him in bed. Perhaps he had
wanted more sex - just plain hot, long morning sex. Or, maybe he sensed the
eroticism roiling within me and knew that waiting would let it build.
Perhaps he understood that my arousal was tenuous and giving me time to
settle was precisely what I needed.

Perhaps he was the perfect lover for me - understanding me more than I
understood myself.

No matter what, the waiting calmed me. I closed my eyes and practiced a
meditation, thinking of his cock and his balls and his ass - most
importantly his ass - and what his ass would do this morning.

And then he was in the room. I kept my eyes down but sensed his presence.
Now, wherever he went his pheromones and scent went with him. Then I saw
his feet. He was standing close but not too close, taking it all in.
Finally I looked up. When I did I gasped. There were still times in a
certain light where he took my breath away. He was naked - of course - his
cock was half-hard, so sticking out, but hanging down - heavy. From behind
his foreskin the eye of it winked with a glistening wetness. His thighs
were thick and solid. His torso formed a perfect 'V' and one hand gripped
his waist, arm akimbo. The other held the cup of coffee loosely in his
hand.

He was magnificent.

He was also a blank slate - showing no emotion - just staring at me. I had
nothing to go on and I desperately wanted to kiss his feet in that moment,
but this was not the time. I looked back down, waiting - and clearly
submitting.

"What is all this?"

"It's for you."

"Ahhh," he said, briefly. "But ... for you, too, it would seem."

His implication was clear - I blushed heavily, but did not object. He was
correct, of course.

Then he lifted the coffee and sipped at it. "Thanks for the coffee."

"You're welcome. Sir." I was trembling.

"It's strong."

He moved closer. His cock now hung directly in front of my face. It was a
tease - I knew it to be.  But it was a perfect one. Now the smell of his
crotch - the mingled scents of our debauchery the night before - wafted
under my nose. I looked up - directly at his cock - and whimpered,
silently.

The cock swayed, nearly brushing my lips, which twitched in anticipation.
But I refused to lunge. I had turned my back on him in the bedroom. I
waited now for a clearer understanding of our immediate future and for any
instruction he might give - question he might ask.

And then, he did.

"What is it you want this morning, Stewart," he asked. Again, it was a
question without nuance or tone - a true request to clearly articulate my
need, so that he could understand it. I had hoped for this. There were some
lines I was not ready to cross - not by a long shot. But there were other
lines that I WANTED to cross. Those lines were essential to the future
lines that were lines too far... for now.

I cleared my throat, then looked up at him.

"I want to watch, Sir. If you will let me. Be with you when you do it." I
was breathless, my voice shaky, but my intention clear.  "I think - I know
- it's important for me to witness."

He just looked at me. He had gotten very good at holding his responses in
check. I had gotten just as good at reading his silence and stillness and I
saw the slightest - but most profound - tremor ripple through his
musculature. His cock also betrayed him. It spit out a flow of semen that
hung in the air before me.

"Hence, the coffee," he said. His voice was deep.

I nodded.

"What else do you want this morning, Stewart."

I looked up. I knew what he was asking. Although I wanted to know what HE
wanted, I understood, instinctively, that this was on me this morning, not
him.

"Nothing more, Sir. I don't think I can do more - I'm pretty sure I can't."

He nodded. I sensed a small relief. This thrilled me. He wasn't ready to
feed, either. But I pushed the envelope, just a bit, because I understood
what happened when things started igniting between us - especially around
this deep taboo.

"But, this is an important step ... I think ... Daddy." I whispered that.
It always seemed to charge him up when I used that word. "And at some
level, I never know what might happen with you, you turn me on so much."

He looked into the bathroom. Looked at the candles - the lube and poppers -
the toilet, then looked back at me.

"You're right, son," he said. "This is an important first step."

Then he took a long drink of the coffee. As he did so he rubbed his belly,
gently, then placed the cup down on a bookshelf on the other side of the
bathroom door.

"And you're also right - hard to say what will happen. Guess we'll just
have to find out." Then he grabbed my head, firmly, and pushed his dick
into my mouth. I took it, moaning loudly, and let him push to the back of
my throat and beyond.

He was all in now - he never did anything half way. As soon as he
understood the parameters of this engagement, he climbed into the saddle.
Any lingering frustration from moments before - from being left along in
the bed - were gone.

He was the one, after all, that had removed the door to this room. The goal
of doing was to reveal, not hide. Revelation meant witness. And here I
was. It was also morning. I knew this is when he did his thing - and here
we were at first light. There was no hiding at first light. It had only
been a few days since we had named our desires and in those days we had not
had the opportunity to share this experience.

Now was the time. And, of course, he called it out.

As his cock drilled deeper in my throat, lodging there, he said, "Just to
be clear, Stewart, you want to watch me take a shit, right?"

"MMMMmmmm, mmmm," I grunted, gluttoning on his meat.

"Watch your Dad do his business," he grunted, pulling out.

"Yes - yes Sir - it will be an honor," I said, breathless. Now the tears
were back - the emotion. It was wrong of me to feel so privileged to
witness this act, but it was more wrong to hide that feeling. Articulating
it revealed my shame - and he reveled in it.

"Fucking privilege," he said, shoving his cock mercilessly down my throat,
thrusting deeply, legs spread wide. He was grooving on my throat and my
throbbing excitement. For a moment I felt like he would cum he was so hard
and aggressive. His dick did that when we danced around raunch - it got
steel hard and electric. It was my signal that we were a matched set -
deeply twisted and ready to delve in our dirty digression.

But then he pulled out, swaying just a bit, one hand clutching the door
frame.

"Sick fuck," he said, his body tensing. I couldn't tell if he was talking
about me or him, but I didn't care. Then he stood up straight, cock
bouncing in the air. He took a deep breath then, too, and his entire body
tensed. Out whispered these words. "It's coming."

"Awwwwfuck," I barely whispered. He moved into the bathroom, turned and
sat. He was fully engaged now - his entire muscle structure was controlling
his internal functions. His eyes stared at me like a hawk.

"Where you wanna be?" he growled.

"Don't know - never done this before -"

"Too far away," was all he said, and I nodded in agreement -

"Yes - I know - " I was breathing heavily. I think he realized that he
needed to take charge. I'd set the scene - but he was the Top.

"Here," he clicked his fingers, like I was a dog, pointing to the space in
front of him.

I moved quickly, taking position.

"Fuck, kid - " was all he said. I just looked at him.

"I know," I said, frightened.

From there, instinct took over. With one hand he gripped my neck, harder
than he ever had. He pulled me into him, eyes beady, mouth open, face
getting red.

"This is sick," he said.

"I know. Fuck I know," I said, and then I grabbed his cock which was still
urgent but conflicted.  I am sure he'd never been this hard and this turned
on while evacuating - I also urgently wanted whatever piss may rush out in
the release.

"Oh fuck - oh yeah - play with my cock you disgusting little fuck," he
said, then he spit on my face. I just opened my mouth, whining for
more. His grip tightened. He was hurting me, and I loved it. He spit again
- this time in my mouth - then kissed me hard - it was an almost brutal
kiss - his teeth scraping my lips - I jumped in pain but lunged into it,
not away from it, and then he growled. He was holding back - which was so
fucking hot - he was making this last.

He pulled away, eyes narrowed. With his other hand he grabbed the poppers.
I was grateful - so grateful -

"Thank you -"

"For what," he spat at me. He shoved the poppers under my nose, then leaned
in and snorted, hard. We snorted together. He nodded slightly, encouraging
me, and I caught the cue. The poppers were mine to control - to use when I
needed them: to help me through this next intimacy or goad his deviance...
or both. I grabbed the bottle from his trembling hand.

"For what, Stewart?" he hissed, harshly, his eyes slitted.

"For your shit," I groaned, leaning into him - trying to catch a glimpse
under him. He leaned back, spreading his legs, giving me a better view.

He was, in that moment, like something I'd never seen. He was a King -
reveling in our debauchery - enjoying the power he had to propel me - his
subject - to this degradation.

"Seems like a fucking waste," he said to me, rubbing his belly. His
implication was clear.

"OOOOOHHHHHGODDD," I whispered, but it was so loud in that small space - so
revealing. I was conflicted now - wondering if I should reach under him to
grab at it - but I remained frozen in place. "I know - I know, Dad."

"All the things I do for you - fucking cock-hound. Has anyone ever given
you more cock than me?

"No Sir," I grunted. I pushed into him - wanting to be closer to him.

"Ever had better cock than this?" he asked.

"NO - Fuck no," I said, moving closer to his dick now, which meant closer
to his ass.

He was getting loud now - letting himself go.

"I mean Jesus-fucking-Christ, kid, it seems like the least you could do - "
he said and then he completely surprised me - he slapped me in the face -
hard. The NOISE was overwhelming. I jerked back, crying out, but he was
ready for that - the vice grip on my neck tightened and pulled me close -

"The least you could fucking do is eat my crap," he growled bitterly and
angrily.

My head was ringing now - the poppers had made me slightly dizzy - either
that or my hyperventilating did. A scene I had started had moved beyond my
control.

"I know," I cried. "I know - I want to - I want to so bad, Daddy,"

"Say it then - say it to my face."

His eyes were crazy now. I was filled with erotic fear. This was both
precisely my fantasy and unlike anything I'd ever imagined.

"I want to eat your shit, Dad. I want you to feed me your shit."

And then he smiled. The smile was evil.

"Fuck yeah - that's what I wanted to hear. See how easy it is, kid, when
you tell daddy what you want?"

I just nodded, crying now.

He became still.  He released me, grabbing for the poppers. He took a huge
snort, then passed the bottle back to me.

"Better keep that close," he said. I snorted, then looked up at him. I
could barely control myself I was so overwhelmed with emotion and depraved
desire.

"Suck my cock," he said, and I did. His legs were spread. His cock was only
half-hard.

"You're filthy, you know that?"

I nodded, agreeing.

"Your sucking my cock while I take a shit."

I made moaning sounds of debased arousal.

"And you're gonna be here again, Stewart. This is only the first time -
you're gonna be here again and again - is that understood?"

"Yeththir," I said, mouth full, watery eyes looking up at him.

"It's gonna be the most natural thing in the world for you to kneel in
front of a man and watch him take a huge crap - first thing in the morning
- or in the afternoon. Or after dinner."

He was hardening again. The man was amazing.

"And then -" he grunted, face widening. It was coming. I could sense
it. "One day you'll beg for it. You'll get jealous of the toilet - you'll
want to BE the toilet. You'll get tired of watching and want to start
being. That will be a great day, baby," he said. "The day when you become
my toilet will be a great day - for me and for you."

I felt his hand on my head. I snorted the bottle one more time, knowing I
would need it, keeping the lid open, and then he pressed me down on his
cock. At the same time he groaned the grunting groan of a man experiencing
the relief a huge dump.

"Fuck - aww FUCK. Here it comes, kid. So good - feels so FUCKING good -
fuck fuck FUCK yeah," he said and then I felt it move through him - move
out of him. There was no splash or sound. It was long and impressive - I
felt the presence of it. It joined us in the moment - became a part of our
shared sexuality. And the relief I sensed from him was sensual and
monumental.

I held my breath - knowing the stench could make me wretch - but relishing
his arousal and expecting what came next: a huge rush of urine which
splashed in my mouth and drained down my waiting throat. I needed this -
unable to eat his shit I had to demonstrate my endless thirst for his
urine. I gulped and gulped, eagerly drinking his expellation, which also
allowed me to avoid the smell that I knew was enveloping us - filling the
room.

"God FUCKING damn you are a TWIST fuck - and this feels SO SO SO fucking
good." I felt waves of pleasure wash over him - immediately understanding
he had never experienced such rare pleasures. He was relishing the moment -
bathing in the sexualization of expulsion.

Without thinking, I reached up and flushed. He flinched for a moment, then
continued to touch me, experience my presence with him in this moment of
extreme intimacy.

Then I pulled off his cock - I wanted to experience more and by now
completely arouse - his cock was rigid and throbbing. At the same time, he
was taking his cues from me - this was the delicate moment where the
reality of a shit scene intruded upon the fantasy of that scene. I turned,
opening the hot water faucet. Then I breathed in, through my mouth. When I
did I heard him take a breath, too, but a deeper one, through the nose.

"Fuck, kid," he said, rawly. "It's not that bad - that's what I think." His
tone was debauched and jock-like - cock all stiff and flexing - but also
there was a lightness to it that encouraged me to be braver than I felt.

I shuddered and sniffed. It was bad. But I held my ground.

"You can do it, son, that's what I think - you can handle it - the only way
to it is through it."

He was right.

I turned around - a wreck, I'm sure - sweaty and wet with drooling slime
and arousal. I was shaking. Fortunately he was jerking his cock. More than
that - he was cocky as fuck. This was his stink, after all, and he'd just
had an experience that few man ever got. And he was loving it - loving me,
too, clearly - I could see it in his eyes. It was a deviant love. The love
of a man for his own personal toilet - and the respect that went along with
it.

I breathed in. Then out.

The air was foul. But the candles helped and the poppers helped and his
(and my own) profound personal funk also helped.

"Again," he said. It was an order. "You have to get used to it. Then you
have to fall in love with it."

I smiled again. But, I complied - breathing in and out.

"Again," he said.

And I did it again - and then I did it again and again and got a dizzy,
which helped, wallowing in the miasma of our decrepitude - and then I was
breathing normally. And then he smiled at me with pride. I was becoming his
shitpig.

I started shaking in gratitude.

"Thank you, Daddy," I whimpered, crying now.

He stood up, moved to grab me - to hold me - but, I stopped him gently.

"No Sir - not done yet, Daddy," I said. He was uncertain but again - a
conscious and instinctive lover. He followed my lead - knew I had a plan.

I turned, putting a wash cloth under the hot flow. I brought it back.

"Turn around, Daddy," I said, still shaking - a mass of arousal and
depravity. "Gotta clean you off, Dad."

He turned willingly. Then he pushed out his ass. "Good boy," is all he
said. He was digging this.  REALLY digging this. And he showed his ass off
the way a dude does when he's put in the squats and knows he's got game.

I looked at it - it wasn't that dirty. I fought with myself about using my
tongue, but knew this was a process - and anyway, when I gently wiped his
butt, folding the cloth over and making sure it was clean, he said, "Gonna
be you down there one day, son, making Daddy proud. Using that tongue of
yours to clean me up. You're gonna love that, kid. Another day to look
forward to, huh sport?"

And then I fell to my knees, crying, pressing my face into his cheeks. He
reached back and pulled his ass apart.

"Yeah - eat that ass now - the ass that just took a huge dump. Fucking love
that hole, baby," and I did. The understanding of what it had just done -
the fact that my face and mouth were now where they would eventually be
when his turds flowed smoothly into my mouth and down my throat, just like
his piss did now, effortlessly, was all too much. I started sobbing as I
sucked his opening - crying in ecstasy and revulsion for who I was - crying
more for what it felt like. His hole was hot - intensely so. It was
residually responsive to its core purpose - both tight and slack as it
received service from a boy-bidet.

He didn't even attempt to comfort me as I sobbed and licked into his
shithole. He kept me at it - kept me in my place - the place that I had
volunteered for from the moment I woke up that morning..

"Yeah - keep licking, baby. Clean up Dad's shitter.  Go deep - you can do
it. You wanted to be here, Stewart - so make me proud. Make me feel
good. Make your father proud - make me happy, baby - get in there - "

I got lost in that moment. The reality that the hole that I was sucking had
just expelled a massive male turd transformed me - I didn't even feel
present - just alive, in the moment, moaning and sobbing in shame and
hunger and ecstasy.

Eventually he turned, looking down on me. His cock was urgent with need.

"It's okay, baby. It's okay. Daddy wants you to be his shitboy." I looked
up at him now, face wet with ass sluice and snot and tears. I was wallowing
in the filth of us - my eye-sight was blurred - the cramped space was hot
and humid and decrepit. It perfectly matched my vision of self.

"It's okay," he kept saying. "It's okay - You're a true shit pig now,
honey, and Daddy still loves you." Then he did the most amazing thing. He
gently reached down and took the washcloth from my hand. Then, rather than
rinse it off, he opened it up to its dirty center and used it to wipe my
tears. It was by far the most debilitating thing anyone had ever done to me
- wiping my tears with a shit-rag. I was so startled that I stopped in mid
sob - mouth open - and when I did he pushed his cock into my mouth,
explicitly placing his needs above my own, further cementing our places in
this shared sickness.

"Poor little shit-pig," he said, as I choked on his cock. Then he held me
still - cock lodged deep in my throat. He signaled that he was done with my
crying - that we had graduated beyond my shame and toward the more noble
purpose of servicing Him.

I was surprised how long he held me like that - surprised I was able to
halt my choke and accommodate his massive girth and rock hardness. The
dizziness returned and he slowly pulled me off his staff, then yanked me
up, looking at me. I'd lost control of any agency - that was clear to me
and welcomed with gratitude.

His gaze was sphinx-like. My face was damp with tears and snot, and
streaked with butt-scunge from the toilet clothe.  But, I was happy. I
truly was. I smiled, showing that my emotional release was as much joy as
shame. I caught the bare glint of a smile then in his face -

"Gonna fuck you now, son," he said. It was straightforward. "You know
that's gonna happen, right?"

I just nodded - barely able to control my muscles.

He reached around, sinking a finger in my hole. "Oh baby - and you're ready
for me."

"Yessir - ready for you -" I huffed out.

"Was gonna take you back to bed but naw - gonna fuck you right here. Where
you belong."

"Uh huh," I whined, twitching now. "In the shit-room."

He picked me up and turned me around.

"Fuck my little toilet boy over the toilet - so he can learn to be a total
toilet for his man."

He grabbed the bottle from me, took a hit - handed it back - lined up his
cock.

"Dad's dirty boy." He grabbed my hips, firmly. The messaging was
clear. This was going to be a fuck.

"What do you say, Stewart," his tone intensifying.

"Thank you, daddy," I groaned, loudly. He slapped my ass, both cheeks, the
pushed in, to the hilt. I cried out. The pleasure was total.

"For what?

"For fucking me"

He plunged in now, deep.

"What else."

"For your cock -"

"What else, piggy -"

"Your cum - "

He was plowing me now, repeating himself, losing himself as he banged my
hole. "What else - what else - what else -"

"Your feet - your piss -"

"WHAT," he shouted, thrusting deep. "ELSE?"

"YOUR SHIT - THANK YOU FOR YOUR SHIT."

I was crazed with lust now - a shaking mass of twitching flesh - I started
crying again and then began to piss. He had full control of me - he was
using my body as a fuck-toy. The piss splashing everywhere only goaded him
on.

"Pig."

"Yes."

"Shit-eater."

"Wanna be."

"Not good enough."

"Gonna be - "

"There ya go -"

"Yes, Daddy -"

"Gonna eat my shit, Stewart?"

"YES SIR!"

"PROMISE?"

"YES - YES - YES - " and then I started cumming. No hands. Just a rapid
series of sperm and shouts.

"Jesus Christ you're cumming," he growled. I'm sure it was not lost on him
that I ejaculated while making that promise.

"TAKE IT," he roared. He'd never fucked me like this. It was brutal. My wet
hole was wide open, just like a cunt. And then he spoke his own truth - as
he was cumming - his words in rhythm with his explosions inside of me.

"BEST. FUCKING. CUNT. I. EVER. HAD," he cried, ramming into me. My face
pounded against the bathroom tile. He thrust and thrust and shot yet
another massive load as my hole filled the space with wet squelching
fuck-farts. I nearly passed out - I certainly lost my sense of time and
space and person.

The room spun ... his growling filled my ears just as his cock filled my
intestines.

And then - and then - and then - it was over.

He yanked out of my cunt and stepped out of the bathroom. I lost him in my
vision, which was blurred. My head hurt and my hole spluttered out a wet
mass of cum that landed on the toilet seat and floor. My lungs were
heaving.

I fell back, catching sight of him. He was dazed, swaying - but not at all
retreating from his masculine prerogative.

"Lick that up," was all he said.

"Yessir," I replied, complying. He stood - coming back to himself. Then he
went into the kitchen.  I heard him pour another cup of coffee.

I didn't know what to do - I guess I expected some kind of aftercare, but
that wasn't happening.  So eventually I blew out the candles. Then I raised
myself, stretching my legs. I moved slowly into the kitchen. He was leaning
against the counter, legs crossed, cock flopped out. His arms were
crossed. He put down his coffee and I approached him, tentatively.

He turned, grabbing my face. He flipped on the light and inspected me. It
was just that - an inspection. His fingers touched my lip which had caught
on his teeth.

"This okay?"

"Yessir," I whispered.

He inspected my face - head - touching me a few times. Then he turned me
around and pushed his fingers in me.

"This, too?"

"Yessir," I replied. He turned me back, pushing his fingers in my
mouth. They were wet with his cum. I lapped them eagerly. "It feels good
back there, Sir - love the way it feels lately - now especially."

"Good to know. Get some coffee."

I was hesitant, given what it might do to me, but he eyed me coldly and
there was no hesitation after that. I poured, adding sugar and cream and
then sat at the table - away from him - which is what he wanted

About five minutes later my open hole sent me a message and I stood up.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Bathroom - have to shit, Sir," I said.

"Go on," he nodded, and then he followed me. I was surprised, but open
doors cut both ways. I sat, and he stood in the door, looking down on me. I
wished he would stand in front of me so I could suck his cock, but it
seemed that part of the morning's activities were over.

It was weird being watched like that by such a powerful man - but then I
relaxed into it. I shuddered - I had finally gotten over the worst part of
the prolonged sexual heat and crying jag and was just riding waves of
adrenaline - and then I released. First there were loud, wet farts that
spurted out his load. I groaned in the pleasure of release. He smiled. It
was devious and smirking and entirely him.

Then I shit out a bunch of small turds, each plopping in the bowl. It was a
wonder he hadn't fucked them out but I was long over trying to determine my
ass-natomy. I gave one last push and more air and sputter came out,
followed by another thick, round turd and that was it.

I waited - to see what he would do - but he just stood.

"You just gonna sit there or you gonna finish?"

"Finish - sorry Sir." I stood up, embarrassed.

"Use this," he said, throwing my the shitty cloth that had now gone cold. I
wiped myself, embarrassed by the act, which surprised me. Then I reached
for the handle and he barked at me.

"Wait - " he said, and I stopped. He entered, pushing me aside. He looked
at the bowl, then laughed. "Fag turds," he said. "And cum."

"Yessir," I said. I had nothing else to say. Didn't know what to say.

Then he breathed in a long deep breath, through his nose. He made
absolutely no reaction - gave no indication of displeasure. He let go of
the air, turned to me, looking down, as he did, because of the height
difference, and said, "Doesn't smell bad to me."

The stare he gave me was cold and hard - an accusation and a challenge to
man up and get with the program - more importantly, get with his stink.

I blushed - bright red.

"Smells good even - not as good as mine - but good enough."

I had nothing to say, but had to say something.

"Yessir - thank you Sir," which sounded weird - thanking him for liking the
smell of my shit.

"You have a lot of work to do, Stewart."

"Yessir - I do."

"You should think about that."

Then he exited, leaving me alone with the toilet. It was an order, of a
kind, and a challenge. I was overwhelmed by it - but also motivated. Then I
heard him call from the other room.

"Better get ready for work, kid. You're gonna be late."

For the first time that morning I looked at the clock. He was right. I had
to get a move on. I flushed the toilet, rinsed off the shit-cloth, used it
to wipe my face and neck - and then went to the bedroom to get dressed.

I took my time - as much as I could - while he sat at the kitchen table,
naked, reading his phone and setting up his laptop. He had another cup of
coffee and some juice.

Eventually, fully dressed, I came out, grabbed my bag and stuck my head in.

"I'm out," I said. "I'll see ya later."

There was so much MORE I wanted to say but I was still basically a
wreck. He nodded and I split. But, at the door I heard his voice.

"Stew!"

That stopped me. I turned. He was standing behind me - fucker was quick
when he wanted to be and quiet. I hadn't heard him get up - hadn't heard
him move stealthily behind me.

His hand reached up to my chin. His smile bathed my face. He kissed me
gently, on the lips - just a simple kiss. I melted.

"You sure you okay, kid?" he asked. It was sincere.

"I'm sure - I mean - more than sure. I'm great."

"Good - good to know." Then his face changed and his other hand fell on
shoulder. Then he pushed me down. I was uncertain - and resisted - but he
pushed harder and his eyes got cold. I fell to my knees, of course,
frustrated at myself that I hadn't caught the original signal.

"Cuz I got to piss again," was all he said, grabbing on to his cock. He
pushed it into my face and I opened my mouth. He rested it on my tongue.

"Close your mouth - you know how this works now, toilet boy."

I did. Moment later warm fluid drained out. I gulped with practiced care,
making sure to take it all in and making sure he understood my complete
gratitude.

It was not one of his longest pisses - but it was not short, either. My
stomach filled with his essence and then he was done, pushing out a few
spurts of final flow.

"Thank you, Sir," I said with as much reverence as I could express.

He said nothing - just loomed over me, naked and powerful

"Next time, Stewie," he said, with a coldness I had begun to fear, "Ask for
permission before you flush my boy away."

Then he turned and headed back to the kitchen. "Have a good day."

I stood up, ashamed, opened the door, and left for work.

((((()))))

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