The Masochist
Dear Diary, there is something I must tell you. I once shit in a guy's mouth for one hundred and twenty dollars. I cannot recall the exact dollar amount but I do recall it was insignificant compared to the acts I performed that day. The Marquis de Sade would be so proud! The grandmaster of debauchery would turn in his grave to pay tribute with an applause.
He was a man from of Eastern European origin who lives in a spectacularly pricey high rise in a posh suburb not far from my present location. A professional, as one would have to be to afford such splendid accommodations. He called me up during an uneventful afternoon, of meandering with housemates and drinking coffee as I sat and stared at the television. Would you like to make some money? he wants to know but not quite in those exact words. For you see, he did not want full service, he only wanted me to sit and shit right on his face and into his mouth and use and abuse it as a toilet.
Sure, why not? I am up for anything and it was easy money, even if it was half my fees and for half an hour as he had pressing arrangements immediately thereafter. Diary, those are the best clients, the one who must be somewhere and they are squeezing in fuck time because, simply, they leave. They leave so you can go about your business as they go about theirs and you can both pretend nothing happened, if you are so inclined to live in denial.
He was an ugly man. He looked like a dreadful beast from a Brothers Grimm tale. He was a literal descendent from a long line of trolls who live under a bridge and mauled and ate scores of children walking home from school. He had pock marks on his face and was short and squat and one hundred percent grotesque. He had mentioned he worked in an office and was in a rush to get to a meeting. Have you ever done this before? he asked and he is standing at the stove melting chocolate to line his mouth with so he can take in my shit better and make it sweeter or something.
But of course not I have not done this before, as explained over the telephone, and I am slightly nervous and I must keep my wits about me and pretend it was some handsome screen hunk whose lips would be pressed against the pucker of my anus.
We must convene in the bathroom. I follow him to the toilet and he brings the pan with him. He asks me to stick my finger in the ominous looking liquid and I dip it, twirl it, and smear it inside his mouth. It is such a humiliating feeling for me, to feel the intimate moistness of his tongue with my finger and I cringe and shudder and carry that feeling with me to the final execution of plan. He is lying prone on the floor and I squat with my ass facing him. Lucky for him that he has the sweetness of sugar coating his mouth because I had eaten spicy food earlier and he was going to get a mouthful of my peppery shit. I can feel his mouth and what a horrid feeling it is, to have this human toilet beneath me but he is so ugly and a troll and he is getting what he deserves. It's not so hard to release after all and out it goes, who knew I could carry such heaven in my bowels.
Once I am empty, I reposition myself by standing over him and I watch him as he sits up and spits it all in the toilet. A quick flush, and an apology. He usually swallows, he said to me, but not today. However, we are not finished. I want to ask if it is good but I am sidetracked by the box he retrieves from beneath the sink. He has yet to stand up and he slides his pants off after handing me the box. I open it and in it are some pins. What is this for? I inquired.
He wants me to stick it in his penis. He wants me to humiliate it by pushing the pins through his skin. I shudder at the thought but he didn't want full service and I suppose it was not too much to ask. I do as he bids and stick the tiny pins through the delicate skin. I am not sure what it does for him, I do not recall him ejaulating. But the look on his face is one of pure ecstasy, as a man of God may look when indulging in self flagellation. We wrap up, what's the point, I do not know, but I am paid and a few dollars richer and we both leave with our souls seemingly intact although I do suspect that we've engaged in some flagrant violation of the flesh.
He was a man from of Eastern European origin who lives in a spectacularly pricey high rise in a posh suburb not far from my present location. A professional, as one would have to be to afford such splendid accommodations. He called me up during an uneventful afternoon, of meandering with housemates and drinking coffee as I sat and stared at the television. Would you like to make some money? he wants to know but not quite in those exact words. For you see, he did not want full service, he only wanted me to sit and shit right on his face and into his mouth and use and abuse it as a toilet.
Sure, why not? I am up for anything and it was easy money, even if it was half my fees and for half an hour as he had pressing arrangements immediately thereafter. Diary, those are the best clients, the one who must be somewhere and they are squeezing in fuck time because, simply, they leave. They leave so you can go about your business as they go about theirs and you can both pretend nothing happened, if you are so inclined to live in denial.
He was an ugly man. He looked like a dreadful beast from a Brothers Grimm tale. He was a literal descendent from a long line of trolls who live under a bridge and mauled and ate scores of children walking home from school. He had pock marks on his face and was short and squat and one hundred percent grotesque. He had mentioned he worked in an office and was in a rush to get to a meeting. Have you ever done this before? he asked and he is standing at the stove melting chocolate to line his mouth with so he can take in my shit better and make it sweeter or something.
But of course not I have not done this before, as explained over the telephone, and I am slightly nervous and I must keep my wits about me and pretend it was some handsome screen hunk whose lips would be pressed against the pucker of my anus.
We must convene in the bathroom. I follow him to the toilet and he brings the pan with him. He asks me to stick my finger in the ominous looking liquid and I dip it, twirl it, and smear it inside his mouth. It is such a humiliating feeling for me, to feel the intimate moistness of his tongue with my finger and I cringe and shudder and carry that feeling with me to the final execution of plan. He is lying prone on the floor and I squat with my ass facing him. Lucky for him that he has the sweetness of sugar coating his mouth because I had eaten spicy food earlier and he was going to get a mouthful of my peppery shit. I can feel his mouth and what a horrid feeling it is, to have this human toilet beneath me but he is so ugly and a troll and he is getting what he deserves. It's not so hard to release after all and out it goes, who knew I could carry such heaven in my bowels.
Once I am empty, I reposition myself by standing over him and I watch him as he sits up and spits it all in the toilet. A quick flush, and an apology. He usually swallows, he said to me, but not today. However, we are not finished. I want to ask if it is good but I am sidetracked by the box he retrieves from beneath the sink. He has yet to stand up and he slides his pants off after handing me the box. I open it and in it are some pins. What is this for? I inquired.
He wants me to stick it in his penis. He wants me to humiliate it by pushing the pins through his skin. I shudder at the thought but he didn't want full service and I suppose it was not too much to ask. I do as he bids and stick the tiny pins through the delicate skin. I am not sure what it does for him, I do not recall him ejaulating. But the look on his face is one of pure ecstasy, as a man of God may look when indulging in self flagellation. We wrap up, what's the point, I do not know, but I am paid and a few dollars richer and we both leave with our souls seemingly intact although I do suspect that we've engaged in some flagrant violation of the flesh.
posted by ydiml at 8:57 AM
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