Shit eater

Looking at my phone’s clock, I woke up earlier than usual without any alarm. Still, I felt quite refreshed and ready for the day. The PC was in stand-by mode, but woke up shortly after I left my bed. I assumed I had triggered a motion alert from the camera. When moving into the bathroom, I could already hear a female singer half-chanting, half-rapping over some beats and synthesizer melodies:

“You loser are so girly,
Self-doing you a swirly,
You are feeling like a mash,
Cause you are only trash.

You virgin
Are searching
And urging
For more sin
Like smashing
Your head in
That trash bin.

You are thankful
For the hand full
Of shit though
And the hands
Which forced you
To lick it and go through
And eat it
Completely,
You shit show.

You are
The self-beater,
The crap seeker.
You are
The turd feeder,
The shit eater!”

That must have been generated by one of these apps with a large language models, but I had to admit it was not that apparent apart from the lyrics being way too explicit even for the most daring rappers. It still got stuck in my head. I was partly proud about the attention and effort he had made, hitting home for real putting me in my place.

Sitting down on the toilet, my bend hard-on pressed against my inverted chastity cage which didn’t make pissing any easy. But the pressure on my bladder forced a way of the stream, releasing at least this one urge. I still made a mess and therefore quickly showered before applying the Aloe Vera cream again. As a new habit for the next weeks, I applied the cleaning alcohol on my ear piercings, clenching in the pain I had to get used to. Fortunately, it faded quickly.

I started to get used to the mix of the cheap parfum and my arousal odor. It reminded me of a lonely male elephant in musth. Then I brushed my teeth, shaved my face, and after a bit of hesitation, went back to the shower for a full body shave after which I applied a good portion of that cream all over my skin. It just felt lovely and made me even more willing to put on another pair of striped over-knee socks and an equally striped G-string, both in pink, finished with my only heels, the mini skirt, and a tight crop top. I had run out of slutty clothes. Slightly disappointed why I had never acquired more as I started to like them a lot now, I brushed my long hair and put it into fresh twin tails, revealing the ear piercings and their studs from yesterday. I was never planning to go out like this today. If needed, I could still change it.

When I returned to my room, the slide show of my new porn pics ran on the second screen again. It didn’t take long to also display new shots of me in the baby blue outfit from yesterday, showing off my new ear jewelry but also the spontaneous posing in front of the computer. Each of them was edited now containing a big, highlighted phrase on each of them: worthless slut, rape bait, faggot loser, permanently locked, shit eater, toilet throat, slutty filth …

On the main screen was a pop-up in a new style, black background in a dark wooden frame, the two gloved hand holding the marionette controller as seen before. The content was white text easy to read:

‘Filthy morning, shit eater. Regarding your notes, I am way ahead of you. Good that you took the notes, but don’t you worry too much. I hate to break my toys except for a purpose. New cages I bought are going to arrive on Monday at my place. You’ll visit me once more, right after work. I’ll check on you and make the switch.’

Below the text was a button labeled ‘Read and understood’, which made me aware there was also a scroll-bar nearly fading into the background. I clicked the button.

‘From now on, every morning and evening you will pray to me, kneeling in front of a camera you are sure I can see. We might have more of those in the future. Make sure I see how many clothing pegs you have attached to your ball sack during the prayer. Try out how many you can bear for me. Be creative in your words, but include calling me ‘Lord of its self-destruction’ or ‘Lord of its demise’. You may try new, honoring titles for me along that line, but don’t dare too much at once. Your prayers have to end on this line:’

Something made me suddenly read it out loud: “Transform it for good into what it is destined to be.”

My chest was getting warmer and my head tipsy on his words.

After inhaling the instructions for a while, already going through some possible variations, the button I clicked labeled: ‘It will pray to my god every day now.’

’Embrace your new worthless chastity life.’, the white text continued, ‘Your breakfast for today will be nothing else than 100 grams of oats with plenty of water, and nothing else until 6 pm. Be an obedient worthless scum to possibly earn yourself a tasteful treat.’

The next button to continue read: ‘It will eat only what its Lord allows.’

The scroll bar showed it was the last task now, not that he couldn’t add anything more anytime: ‘Your next load of piss is going to go into a fresh pillow case. Let it try and change it with your current one then. From now on, you will ask for permission to change it. Now take the permanent marker and write “Shit eater” in big, bold letters on your lower front neck. Make it exactly as big as possible for a dog collar barely covering it. This is going to give you an extra option to hide it under something less embarrassing at work, just in case, your clothes might temporarily reveal it. Whenever you are bored, you play practicing plapping your worthless balls with the wooden spoon. Don’t forget your prayers, shitty.’

I gulped. Tomorrow, I had work. From what I know about body-writing with a permanent marker, it would take two to three days to fade away. Besides the risk of my hair possibly not covering my fresh ear studs, I would never take such a risk on my own. I sighed deeply, relieving the huge breath I had unconsciously held in. He really made me jump into the cold water here. I didn’t feel I had a choice though. On the other hand, it was highly exciting. I felt I had found a new purpose in life. In between my worries, I found myself secretly smiling about what I had already done, and even looking ahead what I was going to do. Happily, I clicked the final button: ‘It will obey.’

Pissing a pillow case would have to wait as my bladder was still pretty much empty. Maybe I was even in luck that due to not eating anything that soon, it might turn out to be not as smelly as other times. Or maybe that was on purpose, as so much was arranged and possibly thought through by him. Anyways, I quickly took the permanent marker as I wanted to be able to get one task out of my mind. Using the mirror, I first took a couple of dry runs before putting it into action. I had read writing on yourself wasn’t that easy at all, and I didn’t want to screw it up. The most challenging part was maintaining a consistent letter size, while keeping it straight with the words center in the middle of my neck. Fortunately, I had remembered a trick and dotted the edges of all the letter first, easily being able to repurpose them wherever if they wouldn’t fit the big picture. After finishing the outlines of big, bold letters, I proudly filled them up. Though I hadn’t been ordered to, I instinctively took a few pictures of my neck label, and read it out loud a few times: “Shit eater. Shit eater. Shit eater.”

Yes, that’s what I was and would always remain to be. Nobody could take that away from me. It was something I could never fail at, now that I had successfully done it once. And even if, nothing would change I had already done it. The stigma would stick with me for eternity now, for good and for bad.

I felt I had hesitated in front of the mirror for way too long. My prayer was overdue. I went to my PC and knelt in front of it, making sure the camera would look down on me filling the frame. Shortly, I raised my head into my neck with closed eyes, clearly showing my name on the front neck. Then I bowed down, considering my words, before I suddenly remembered the clothing pegs.

“Shit”, I cursed, “Stupid me … stupid it.”, I said and went looking for them.

I returned and knelt down again, spreading my legs even further than before to allow a good view before putting my caged genitals out, revealing a filled little ball sack with a pinned in center cage, just connected to the base ring around it, obfuscating how much of it went inside my body before pressing on my locked cock. I picked up the first clothing peg and looked at it like an alien. I had never used them for that purpose. Bracing for impact, I attached it to my sack’s skin, a bit left of the center line. It wasn’t that bad though. Only after attaching more of them, I felt a bluntly pinch, every new clothing peg eventually falling in line after a similar delay. I was not looking forward to put them off as I had read this was the most painful part of such a task. I could already feel some slight pain and I wasn’t a fan of it at all. Better to hurry then. I ended up with ten clothing pegs on my ball sack, sure I could find more next time when I was more experienced.

It was time for the actual prayer. First, I struggled to find appropriate words to start. But then I remembered some typical prayers I heard so far in different sources and adapted them to me:

“Dear Lord of its self-destruction,

Lord of its life and the ruin of it.

Thank you for all the attention you gave it. Your humble servant is grateful for all you did to it, and are going to do further. Please exploit your control over it, make it suffer for your entertainment, and destroy its life as you will. Thank you so much for putting it in its place, shielding it from anything I don’t deserve.

Lead it the toward its destiny, … transform it into what it is destined to be.

Praise to you, Lord of its demise

Amen”

It paused and hoped it did good enough for a start. There was no way back from this live performance. Maybe it could do better this evening. For now, it hesitated to put off the clothing pegs. But since any second more would just make it worse, it put them off one after another, hissing every time when the removed peg allowed the blood to suddenly flow back into the cells. Thankfully, the pain came after the fact, so it was easier to still attach more pegs the next time. It just hoped, it would get used to it over time.

Then it was time for breakfast. It weighed the oats as accurate as it could, and added plenty of water. The taste, or better, the lack of taste, was very unusual. But chowing it down did the trick though that made it a very unsatisfying meal.

Now it found itself in a new situation. It was bored, but the usual options were all ruled out. It couldn’t eat anything to distract itself until early evening. Any games or the former variety of porn wasn’t accessible anymore, besides masturbation was clearly impossible. It was neither allowed to go to any fetish community to pick up any naughty task. Soon, it found itself with a wooden spoon, sitting at the computer, and rocking its back and forth on its bottom to the song from the morning running to the new porn slide show. It didn’t take long for it to plap along in a medium strength, practicing, hopefully for the pleasure of the Lord of its demise. After a while, it took the liberty to note some thoughts in the according file:

‘Plapping can be fun. It is getting used to hurting its balls for the sake of transformation. Which good person would do such thing? But it does, and how it does. On second thought, it may not even be a person but just another worthless thing.

It does wonder though, if it could earn stupid points for the plaps. Kind of a reward and encouragement to do more of them every day, collecting something. But then with a twist turning the points into more demeaning tasks and changes, working towards more progress in its own demise. Maybe the Lord of its destruction would like that.’

It didn’t want to add too much to read at once. It thought it clearly didn’t deserve much.

Time passes slowly when you don’t know what to do with yourself. After a while, it felt bad. Not only bored, but the hunger started to kick in. The lack of pleasure and an increasing awareness what it really was, in essence, dragged its mood down significantly. Usually, it would have plenty of options to distract itself from the unbearable truth, but now its world had completely changed, and probably not nearly finished its full end of development. A part of it was looking forward to that and couldn’t wait for more to come, but for now a large part was disappointed in itself. Why did it struggle with the new reality? How was it going to endure much worse rules and degradation? It always had a lack of discipline. That’s why it had hoped giving up control would make it much easier, letting go and just obey. At the moment, that part felt very challenging though. Was it even too weak and dumb for such a life?

The doubts didn’t go away. Thoughts of abandoning the submission entered its mind. Good enough, it didn’t even enter the kitchen for now, where it could have just grabbed the remains of tasty food of its former life. But then, there would be consequences of that. The Lord of its demise would be very disappointed. There would be no damage, but he likely would feel all his time and effort wasted. Understandably, he might just make the threats true and send all the filthy records around to all its contacts. It would certainly loose its job and might not ever get a new one. But worst of all, he would most likely drop any contact with it and ignore it forever. Then what would it have to say to any new potential person willing to dominate its life. How would anybody ever pick the chance of disobedience again.

After some procrastination, it went to bed, keeping its cloth on. Despite not being overly tired, it found a peaceful slumber, helping it through the task of not eating anything until the evening. Any judgmental thoughts were washed away for a dream world of dark fantasies of masters and slaves, bondage and slavery, unfair games, and extreme humiliation. Scenes faded into scenes, most often before their final conclusion, checking off some of its kink but never all, twisting one plot into another without reason, including minutely detailed parts of its past and present experiences. Overall, the dreams made no sense but leveled up its state of arousal.

Its full bladder woke it up. Sleep-drunk, it went the short way to the bathroom dragging its feet. Fortunately, it had readied put an empty pillow-case on the toilet when it was bored so it wouldn’t forget. So instead of sitting down, it undressed and stepped into the shower. Squatting down on the pillow-case in the tub, it emptied itself onto the pillow-case. On its own, it would never done such vile infraction of the most common human behavior rules. But now, it seemed as easy as eating pie. It had been told to do so, and here it was very much obeying the command, knowing what would happen to the pillow-case next. The smell of a dirty public toilet in the air, the shower curtain rod sufficed to let the pillow-case dry. It cleaned the spoils of pissing through its chastity cage and dried itself with a towel before dressing back into the slutty cloth. Though they weren’t that comfortable, it brought plenty of piece in its mind. It was doing good for the Lord. It also helped that it wasn’t that much time left until it was allowed to fill its stomach.

As usual, the default option when not having a clear plan was its computer. Still streaming its customized pornographic content, there was a new message from its Lord:

“End of passion: Take a walk. I haven’t you given any rule or order against it. Except for the panties, wear something comfortable for cover. Don’t dare outing you as a crossdresser and sick pervert in your public environment yet. I’ll do that soon enough when you are ready for it. You are doing very well so far, piece of shit.”

Sitting on its computer chair, it let the message in, rest and work its magic in its soul. These words were surprisingly comforting to it. Even the order helped, making sense to bridge the time till its next meal. Smiling, it pressed the confirmation button: “Acknowledged. It will take a walk now.”

That actually wasn’t such a bad idea. Unlikely it had been its own idea, but even if it had, it would probably have waved it off anyway and went back to waste its time on the computer. That time was apparently over. It quickly put on lose, long, grey jogging trousers and an oversized, white shirt with long sleeves. It might have forgotten to cover its neck but fortunately it checked itself in the mirror before leaving its apartment. So, it covered with a simple, brown scarf that it usually reserved for colder weather.

As soon as went outside, the change in environment made it relax. Unlike its usual way to work or shopping, it didn’t have any reason to hurry. Also, it stopped because it hadn’t decided where to go. After short consideration, it turned left heading towards a public park nearby. The temperature outside was comfortable, with a slight wind smoothly touching its skin. Under the wide-open sky, white clouds scattered over it, every step cleared its mind further and further. Although it felt nearly pleasant, it didn’t do for itself. No, this time, all had a purpose. The Lord had commanded, and it obeyed, getting a clue of taking for its Lord property, taking good care of the flesh. It came to it like a revelation: there was no fun in using a broken toy. To ruin a life, there had to be some uplift motion, some hope to build up and make something of yourself, for the sake of being crushed and itself put in its rightful place. Anyway, it had experienced that all of the same consistent destruction just made it numb and downwards unresponsive, possibly even disappointing in its disability to do anything it was told. The Lord apparently knew the secret of how much or how little it needed to keep on. It felt like it could trust the words.

With those thoughts, loosely wandering between beautiful trees on lush green, the arousal wasn’t gone but had taken a seat somewhere in the background of its conscience. It still needed to serve, even more than ever, but it also felt fulfilled like it hadn’t in a long, long time. The park wasn’t actually that big but it managed to run a wild, inefficient parkour back and forth between its several edges. When it came back home, slightly exhausted from the walk in a positive way, it was already passed 6 pm.

Happily, it filled half a bowl with oats and water, ate it up, and repeated that two more times until its belly was full. That didn’t taste any better than in the morning, but due to the hunger it didn’t matter that much. Squashing the appetite had its own pleasure. Only then, it visited the bath to pee, checking the pillow-case which hasn’t dried yet and wouldn’t until tomorrow. It dropped the trousers and shirt, and looked into the mirror with a smile, starting to make itself as pretty like a girly slut as it could. Nobody needed to tell it that this was a very good thing now. If the Lord did see it any other way, he would object, react to its new notes about its care to present itself as fuckable, or tell it straight.

With the confidence of having made the best of it looks, it went its usual way to the computer. It had hoped there was a message of the Lord, or that there soon would be. But obviously, it couldn’t expect that much attention in a long run. Or was it ignored on purpose? There was no way to know. Still, the lack of new orders excited it as well as the thrill to possibly being watched or recorded and called upon any second. Life had changed.

Only a few days ago, it would have pondered between the various options of many games it could play, several fetish sites to get aroused from ads of sessions and TPE relationships of various kinds, including several extreme cases it had bookmarked, possibly running threads to get tasks or ask for sexual dares right away, and the many sources of dark fantasy comics and kinky videos saved over a hundred nights of browsing, besides the common porn music videos playing in the background. There was still some kind of porn running on the second screen now, but it only showed the very limited category of its own acts pure and with captions, aimed at transforming it subconsciously. Now, there were very few options left, and none of those would distract itself like before. It wasn’t in the mood of plapping as the new masturbation, like it wasn’t even in for masturbation even if it could. All chores were done. Even none of the usual non-sexual activities like scrolling through short videos or enjoying any streams were blocked. What was left to do before going to bed?

It found it easy to open the file and add some notes. This time, it wasn’t creative with new methods of punishing itself, inspiring more trouble on itself, or call for attention, but merely to transport its recent thoughts out of its mind. It wrote about the walk, about caring for its looks, about the hunger and the bland oatmeal. Surprisingly, it found itself at peace since a long time, despite the horny heat in the background of its body. Everything felt in sync, the sexual energy away but ready like a standing car with a running motor.

When it was done expressing its recent and present experience, it shifted to its upcoming work day, especially with the writing on its front neck, but also the piercings, hopefully well hidden by its hair. There was no way not mentioning its employer Mr. Vanderbilt, for whom it has been working since almost nine months now. His store wasn’t even thirty minutes of walk away, and thinking about it, it had been amazingly lucky having landed exactly this job, as it suited its current needs quite well. The Lord of its demise had been right, as the salary has been well. It had turned out that the job was also quite unique in its circumstances. Mr. Vanderbilt was running various kinds of business shenanigans. All totally legal and ethical, but most people would call its employers creative idea generally crazy. It didn’t see any genius foundation in them as with some founders, as none of them had turned out to be financially sustainable. Nevertheless, Mr. Vanderbilt kept his business financially afloat at all times.

There were no other employees, so its employer asked for various services helping out with administration, easy manual labor, but also newer technological stuff like the internet, mobile apps, modern tools, and overall computer stuff and equipment, and probably, it assumed, having some company around, even when there wasn’t much casual talking involved. It was happy that the tasks so far frequently involved doing research on how some things could work in detail, giving it plenty of opportunity to learn new skills and test its talents. From all it knew from its involvement in keeping records and preparation for tax filings, Mr. Vanderbilt made a reliable, little fortune by buying old furniture, manually restoring it with his talented craftsmanship, and then selling it to a few, rich clients who didn’t mind any price for an antique in excellent condition. There was certainly no second job for it like this one, not even close. It certainly didn’t know what would happen if it lost it.

Finished with the notes, having spend a good amount of time, it felt an appetite for a treat. Still no new input from its master, it didn’t want to ask, not even sure when it would read. It thought the right thing would be to wait for a reward for being good like mentioned or maybe bringing it up in about two days in the notes if nothing like that happened. Instead, it refilled the bottle it had rehydrated with during its time on the computer. With no instant need to click here, react there, or jump onto the next reel, it had had plenty of time and boredom to drink some water every once in a while.

Another bathroom break, also refreshing its looks again, it was back at the computer. There was still time. Apparently, it was not blocked from opening a simple word processor file. The menace of a digital white blank sheet confronted it. It would have been easy to just close it right away, or go somewhere else. But then what? Typing the first letters, forming words, helped. The empty void became an idea, turned into a concept, in some phrases, and then a tree, stretching to expand its branches, growing evermore leaves, until it turned into a mess and had to be sorted before adding more with meaning. Maybe it wrote its own story, just retelling what happened. Maybe it wrote this story you are reading. Maybe still that was far from what happened, or a mix of true events, experience diverging in details, or complete fiction. It knew the answer, of course, smiling while writing. This was a new sense of fulfillment. Not important, not vital at all. Just a flow of thoughts, feelings, fictional facts that in their context to each other, the author itself, and maybe one or more readers, might have some meaning. And yet again, there was no expectation, no pressure. It was all safe and good as it was.

Finally, when bedtime had come, it finished the day with another prayer, kneeling in front of the PC camera:

“It thanks you, Lord of its self-destruction, that you are generously keeping control over it.

I pray to you, please forgive its worthlessness, punish it for any of its wrong-doings, but maintain your control over me for another night and further as long as pleases you. It submits to your power, with all its body and soul. Let your demise come over me as you will, have your wicked power over me. Amen.”

A last check for any new pop-up window and it went straight to bed. This night, it easily felt into a peaceful slumber, sleeping like a lot.