A devotee’s ultimate submission: becoming a receptacle for female evacuation. As I indulged in one of my favorite pastimes, reclining on my toilet throne, my captive audience awaited below. His eyes met mine as my anal muscles relaxed, releasing the first of many logs. With an open mouth, he accepted my offering, tasting and smelling the unpleasant byproduct of my digestion.
I continued to relieve myself, my slave remaining motionless and silent under my posterior, serving as a mere fixture under my waste disposal. Hours passed, and he remained, unflinching, as the “torrents of diarrhea” poured forth.