Fiverr Fart Slave

Author: Closet Fetishist
Written: December 23rd, 2025

The bedroom door slammed open with a bang that rattled the hinges, sunlight flooding the dark room like an assault. Elisha stood in the doorway, already dressed in tight jeans and a cropped tank top that showed off her curves, her purple hair messy but deliberate, her expression a mixture of cruel amusement and utter disdain. She strode over to the bed where Mark was still tangled in his blankets, barely three hours into what was supposed to be a much-needed sleep after gaming until dawn.

"Rise and shine, loser," she barked, yanking the blanket off him with one sharp tug. "We need to talk. Well, actually, I need to talk and you need to listen and then get your pathetic ass moving."

She crossed her arms under her chest, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk that promised nothing good. Her eyes gleamed with that familiar sadistic spark—the one that always appeared when she was about to enjoy herself at his expense.

"So, funny story. I was bored last night while you were playing your stupid fucking games, and I decided to make us some extra cash. Well, make ME some extra cash while you do all the work. I listed you on Fiverr." She paused for dramatic effect, letting the words hang in the air. "As a fart and toilet slave. You know, the kind of service where pathetic men like you get used by women who want to degrade someone without having to deal with a relationship."

Mark's eyes widened in disbelief, his brain still foggy from exhaustion, struggling to process what she was saying. Elisha watched his reaction with visible delight, her lips curling into a wicked grin.

"Oh, don't give me that look. I'm dead fucking serious. Your profile went live at midnight, and guess what? You already got your first booking. Some woman named Sandra—mid-thirties, works from home, apparently has IBS and a serious hatred for men. She paid fifty bucks for a two-hour session." Elisha glanced at her phone, scrolling casually. "You're supposed to be at her place by eleven. That gives you about an hour to shower, get dressed, and get your ass over there. Oh, and she specifically requested 'full toilet service,' so I hope you didn't eat too much last night."

She tossed her phone onto the bed beside him, the screen showing a very real Fiverr listing with his name, a humiliating description, and a five-star review system already waiting to be filled. The profile picture was one she must have taken while he was asleep—his face looking vulnerable and pathetic.

Mark looks at his girlfriend in disbelief, "This has to be a joke, right?"

"No, this isn't a joke, Mark. You're going," Elisha snaps back quickly. "I already confirmed the booking and gave her your number. If you don't show up, she gets a full refund and I'll make sure you regret wasting my time." Her voice dropped into something colder, sharper. "Now get the fuck up. You've got work to do."

Before Mark can argue, Elisha walks away not wanting to hear it. Mark does as he's told as he quickly showers and gets dressed before getting in his car and heading to the address that Elisha sent to him. When he's halfway there, he gets a text from an unknown number. When Mark gets to a a red light, he opens the text message to see an image which twists his stomach into a knot—a plate piled high with greasy scrambled eggs, thick strips of bacon, sausage links glistening with oil, buttered toast, and a tall glass of whole milk. It was the kind of breakfast designed to wreck someone's digestive system, especially if that someone had IBS like Elisha had mentioned. His throat tightened as the second text came through—just a single laughing emoji, mocking and deliberate. Then the third: "see you soon" followed by a winking face.

His hands gripped the steering wheel harder as the light turned green, his mind racing. This was real. This was actually fucking happening. Some stranger named Sandra had paid money—real money—to use him as her personal toilet, and she was already taunting him with what she'd eaten to prepare for his arrival. The casual cruelty of it, the way she sent those texts like she was flirting or teasing a friend, made his skin crawl. But beneath the disgust and disbelief, there was something else—a sickening, shameful realization that he was still driving toward her address. That he hadn't turned around. That some part of him, the part Elisha had spent months breaking down and reshaping, was too conditioned to disobey.

When he finally pulled up to the address—a modest townhouse in a quiet suburban neighborhood—his phone buzzed again. Another text from the unknown number: "Park in the driveway. Door's unlocked. Come straight to the living room. And Mark? Don't keep me waiting. I'm already feeling the eggs working their magic."

His breath hitched as he read the message, his pulse hammering in his ears. He sat there for a moment, staring at the front door of the house, his mind screaming at him to just drive away, to tell Elisha to go fuck herself, to reclaim some shred of dignity. But then he thought of her face—that cruel, satisfied smirk she always wore when she knew she'd won. The way she'd looked at him this morning, like he was nothing more than a tool to be used and discarded. And somehow, that image was enough to make him unbuckle his seatbelt and step out of the car.

The front door creaked open when he pushed it, just like Sandra had promised. The house smelled faintly of coffee and something else—something heavy and musky that made his stomach churn. He stepped inside, his legs feeling like lead, and closed the door behind him. From somewhere deeper in the house, a woman's voice called out, casual and amused: "Living room, toilet boy. Don't be shy. We've got a lot of work to do today."

Mark cautiously walks through the house and towards the voice. When he got to the living room, he saw a woman sitting at a desk as she typed away quickly on a keyboard. Mark speaks nervously, "Uh...hi, Sandra?" he greets and asks at the same time to be sure. The woman had a nice figure and plump butt that were covered by pastel blue fleece sweatpants that sat tight on her.

The woman turns casually around and smirks, as if sizing up him up, "Yes. And you must be the toilet boy," she says degradingly. Sandra stands up and pulls some rope from her desk drawer and uses her finger to call over Mark to her. Mark approached and she wasted no time to push him down onto his knees directly behind her computer chair which had a big opening at the back. She took the rope and tied knots to Mark's wrists and then tied the other end of the ropes to the arm rests of her chair. She gave the ropes one final tug, testing their security, and seemed satisfied when Mark couldn't pull away even an inch.

"Good boy," she cooed mockingly, patting the top of his head like he was a pet. "You're going to stay right there, nice and quiet, while I finish up some work emails. I've got about twenty minutes of typing to do, and then we can really get started." She settled back into her chair with deliberate slowness, her plump ass sinking into the cushioned seat. The opening in the back of the chair framed her backside perfectly, the fleece sweatpants stretched taut across her cheeks as she adjusted her position.

Sandra reached for her coffee mug, taking a long sip before setting it down and resuming her typing. The clicking of the keyboard filled the room, casual and businesslike, as if Mark weren't kneeling bound behind her. She shifted her weight slightly, leaning forward to read something on her screen, and the movement caused her ass to press back just a fraction—enough that Mark could feel the soft pressure of her covered cheeks against the bridge of his nose. She let out a small, satisfied hum, clearly aware of exactly where he was and how uncomfortable this position already was for him.

"Oh, and Mark?" she said without turning around, her voice light and conversational. "That breakfast I sent you a picture of? Yeah, it's already doing its job. I can feel it brewing down there. So if I were you, I'd get real comfortable real fast, because once I'm done with these emails, your face is going to become my personal relief valve for the next two hours." She giggled—a sound that was both girlish and deeply cruel. "Elisha told me you're very obedient. Let's see if that's true."

Mark could hear the faint rumble of her stomach gurgling ominously. Sandra sighed contentedly and kept typing, completely unbothered, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

Sandra's fingers paused mid-keystroke as she felt the pressure building deep in her gut, a familiar churning sensation that made her lips curl into a wicked grin. She glanced over her shoulder just enough to catch a glimpse of Mark's bound form behind her chair, his face trapped perfectly in the opening, helpless and waiting. The anticipation was delicious. Without a word of warning, she leaned forward deliberately, arching her back and pointing her ass directly at his face. The pastel blue fleece stretched obscenely tight across her crack, the fabric wedging between her cheeks as she aligned herself with cruel precision.

PPPRRRRAAAAAAAPPPPPPTTTTHHHHHHH!

The fart erupted from her ass like a foghorn, long and flapping and utterly shameless. It vibrated through the fleece fabric, the sound wet and meaty as the gas forced its way out in a sustained blast that seemed to go on forever. The stench hit immediately—thick, sulfurous waves of rotten eggs mixed with the putrid smell of digested meat, a nauseating combination that filled the small space behind the chair and assaulted Mark's nostrils with overwhelming force. Sandra moaned softly in relief, her body visibly relaxing as she emptied her bowels of the toxic gas.

"Ohhhhh fuck yes," she sighed contentedly, settling back into her seat and wiggling her hips to make sure every last bit of the fart had been delivered directly into his face. "That's been building for the last ten minutes. God, that felt amazing." She chuckled darkly, picking up her coffee mug and taking another leisurely sip before resuming her typing as if nothing had happened. "How's it smell back there, toilet boy? That's just the appetizer. I've got plenty more where that came from."

Mark groans out as the smell assaulted his nostrils violently; his body tried to pull away but the ropes were too tight so he could barely move an inch. The only relief he had from this point blank gas attack was turning his head to the side to gag for a moment but even that did little to help as the odor of her fart hung around him like a cloud.

Her fingers danced across the keyboard with renewed energy, the casual clicking filling the room once more. She shifted her weight again, deliberately grinding her ass back against the opening of the chair, letting Mark feel the full warmth and weight of her body pressing against his bound face. Her stomach gurgled audibly, a low rumbling sound that promised more was coming soon.

"Elisha wasn't kidding when she said you'd take anything," Sandra mused aloud, her voice dripping with cruel amusement. "I almost didn't believe her when she told me you'd show up. But here you are, tied up and sniffing my ass like the pathetic little slave you are. This is going to be a very productive morning for me."

Sandra pulls down her fleece sweatpants a little to reveal her bare ass right in Mark's face. "I want you to lick my asshole. You're going to be very well acquainted with it soon enough so you might as well introduce yourself now," she laughs. Mark silently whimpers, then sticks his tongue out to lap at her butt which makes him wince away immediately.

Sandra felt the single, pathetic swipe of Mark's tongue against her asshole and immediately her expression shifted from amused satisfaction to sharp irritation. She turned her head to glare down at him over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she watched him recoil from the taste of her fart-stained anus. The disgust on his face was obvious—his nose wrinkled, his mouth twisted in revulsion, and he pulled back as far as the ropes binding his wrists would allow. That reaction, that weakness, ignited something cruel and impatient in her.

"Oh, hell no," she snapped, her voice dropping into something cold and commanding. "I didn't say lick it once and then act like a little bitch about it. I said lick my asshole. That means you get your fucking tongue in there and you worship it like the toilet slave you are. I don't care if it tastes like shit—actually, scratch that, I hope it tastes like shit because that's what you're here for."

Her stomach gurgled loudly, a deep, ominous rumble that seemed to echo through her entire body. Sandra felt the pressure building again, heavier this time, more urgent. She reached back with one hand and grabbed a fistful of Mark's hair, yanking his face forward until his nose was pressed directly against her crack, the musky heat of her bare ass overwhelming his senses. The smell was thick and sour, clinging to his nostrils like a physical presence, and he could feel the warmth radiating from her puckered hole just inches from his mouth.

"You've got three seconds to start licking properly, or I'm going to push out everything that's brewing in my gut right now and you're going to eat every fucking bit of it," she threatened, her grip tightening painfully in his hair. "One... two..."

Her asshole flexed visibly, the tight ring of muscle loosening slightly as another wave of gas built up inside her. She could feel it pressing against the walls of her bowels, demanding release, and the anticipation made her grin wickedly. She loved this part—the power, the control, the way she could feel him trembling beneath her as he realized there was no escape. Her free hand returned to the keyboard, fingers hovering over the keys as if she was genuinely considering just continuing her work while he suffered.

"Three," she said flatly, and without waiting for him to comply, she leaned forward again and let her body do what it wanted.

BBBRRRRRRAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPPTTTTTTHHHHHHHHH!

The fart exploded directly against his face, hot and wet and absolutely rancid. It was longer than the first one, wetter too, the kind of gas that came from a stomach in full revolt. The smell was unbearable—a nauseating mix of rotten eggs, sour milk, and something darker, meatier, that spoke to the sausage and bacon she'd devoured earlier. Sandra moaned in relief, her body shuddering as the gas poured out of her in a seemingly endless stream.

"Mmmmm, fuck yes," she groaned, grinding her ass back against his face to make sure he caught every bit of it. "That's what happens when you hesitate, toilet boy. Now get that tongue working before I give you something solid to deal with."

Mark whimpered fearfully, like a wounded animal, as he extended his tongue again and lapped at Sandra's now much dirtier asshole, freshly wet and putrid from her last fart. Sandra's fingers continued to dance across the keyboard with practiced ease, the steady clicking filling the room as if this was just another mundane workday. But the smile stretching across her face told a different story—it was wide, triumphant, and deeply satisfied. She could feel every reluctant lap of Mark's tongue against her filthy asshole, each stroke hesitant yet obedient, and it sent a thrill of power coursing through her body. The way his body shivered beneath her, the pathetic whimper that had escaped his throat—it was all so perfectly degrading, and she was savoring every second of it.

"Good boy," she cooed mockingly, her voice dripping with condescension as she shifted her weight slightly, grinding her ass back against his face to make sure his tongue reached deeper into her crack. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it? Just keep licking like that, nice and thorough. I want that tongue working every inch of my asshole. Get it nice and clean for me."

She paused her typing for a moment to take another sip of her coffee, letting out a contented sigh as she felt his tongue continue its reluctant work. The taste he was experiencing must have been absolutely vile—she could still feel the residue from her last fart clinging to her skin and she knew the flavor would be overwhelming. The thought made her chuckle darkly, a sound that vibrated through her chest as she set her mug down and resumed her work.

"You know what's funny?" Sandra mused aloud, her tone conversational as if they were discussing the weather. "Elisha told me you'd be pathetic, but I didn't realize just how pathetic until now. I mean, look at you—tied up behind my chair, licking my dirty asshole without even being able to resist. You're not even putting up a fight. You're just... doing it. Like the good little toilet slave you are."

Her stomach gurgled again, louder this time, and she felt another wave of pressure building deep in her gut. The eggs and sausage were definitely doing their job, churning and fermenting inside her, creating a toxic brew that demanded release. She leaned forward slightly, her ass lifting just enough to give Mark a brief moment of reprieve before she settled back down, her weight pressing his face firmly against the chair opening once more.

"Oh, and just so you know," she added with a wicked grin, "I've got about ten more minutes of emails to finish. So you'd better get real comfortable back there, because your tongue isn't going anywhere. And when I'm done with these emails?" She paused for effect, her grin widening. "That's when the real fun begins. I'm going to use your face as my personal fart cushion for the next hour, and you're going to sniff every single one like your life depends on it. Because honestly? It kind of does. If you disappoint me, I'll make sure Elisha knows exactly how useless you were."

She resumed typing, her fingers flying across the keyboard with renewed energy, the casual cruelty of her words hanging in the air like a promise. Her ass shifted again, deliberately grinding against his face, and she could feel his tongue still working obediently, lapping at her filthy hole with the kind of desperate compliance that made her feel like a goddess.

Mark continued licking for ten more minutes as Sandra continued working without releasing another fart. She then hit enter on her keyboard with a deliberate flourish and stood up from her chair. He was relieved, panting and heaving as he was completely exhausted from this uncomfortable analingus position. Sandra just laughs at him and undoes his ropes from her chair while leaving them on his wrists for her to tie behind his back. Once she ties his wrists together, she says "Couch," in an intmidating tone while pointing to the couch just a few feet away.

Mark scrambles obediently towards the couch where Sandra pushes him onto sitting on the floor and pushes his head back to fit between two couch cushions. She slips her sweatpants off completely and then turned to settle her weight onto Mark's face with practiced ease, her bare ass completely engulfing his features as she made herself comfortable on her human cushion. The soft flesh of her cheeks spread across his nose and mouth, cutting off most of his air supply as she adjusted her position to get the perfect seal. She could feel his hot breath against her crack, rapid and panicked, and it made her smile wickedly as she unlocked her phone and started scrolling through her contacts.

Her fingers flew across the screen as she typed out a message to Monica:

"omg girl you will NOT believe what im doing right now. sitting on some guy's face who i rented off fiverr as a toilet slave lmaooo"

She hit send and shifted her weight slightly, grinding her ass down harder against Mark's face just because she could. The reply came almost instantly, her phone buzzing in her hand.

"WHAT?? are you fucking serious right now???"

Before Sandra could even type a response, her phone started ringing—Monica's name flashing across the screen. She answered with a laugh, her voice bright and casual as if she was discussing weekend brunch plans.

"I'm dead serious," Sandra said, her free hand reaching down to spread one of her cheeks slightly, making sure Mark's nose was pressed firmly against her asshole. "He's literally under my ass right now. His face is buried so deep between my cheeks he can probably taste what I had for breakfast."

Monica's voice came through the speaker, a mixture of disbelief and fascination. "No fucking way. You're lying."

"I'm not lying!" Sandra protested with a giggle, lifting her ass just enough to let Mark take a desperate gasp of air before slamming back down. "Hold on, I'll prove it."

She opened her camera app and angled it down, capturing a perfect shot of Mark's face disappearing beneath her bare ass, his eyes barely visible between her spread cheeks, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and humiliation. She sent the picture with a triumphant grin.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, followed by an explosion of laughter. "Oh my GOD, Sandra! That's fucking insane! Where did you even find him?"

"That's the best part," Sandra said, her voice dripping with amusement as she felt Mark struggling weakly beneath her. "His girlfriend listed him on Fiverr. Like, actually put up a profile advertising him as a fart and toilet slave. I paid fifty bucks for two hours and she just... sent him over. No questions asked."

"Wait, wait, wait," Monica interrupted, her tone shifting from amused to intrigued. "So you're telling me I could book this guy too? Like, right now?"

Sandra's grin widened as she felt her stomach gurgle ominously, another wave of gas building deep in her gut. "Absolutely. His girlfriend's name is Elisha, and she's got him listed right now. You should totally book him after I'm done. I'll send you the link."

She pulled up the Fiverr listing on her phone, quickly copying the URL and texting it to Monica while keeping the call on speaker. "There you go. Book him now before someone else does. Trust me, Monica—you're going to fucking love this."

Sandra's fingers paused mid-text as she felt the familiar pressure building deep in her bowels, that delicious churning sensation that promised something truly vile. She glanced down at her phone, still on speaker with Monica, and a wicked grin spread across her face. Without breaking the flow of conversation, she reached back with her free hand and deliberately pulled one of her ass cheeks to the side, exposing her puckered asshole directly to Mark's helpless face. She could feel his hot, panicked breath against her skin, and she bit her lower lip in anticipation, savoring the moment before the release.

BBBRRRRRRAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHH!

The fart exploded from her asshole like a toxic bomb, long and wet and absolutely putrid. It wasn't just loud—it was violent, the kind of gas that seemed to vibrate through her entire body as it forced its way out in a sustained, flapping blast that went on for at least seven seconds. The stench was immediate and overwhelming—thick waves of sulfurous rot mixed with the rancid smell of digested eggs and meat, a nauseating combination that filled the air and assaulted Mark's nostrils with merciless force. His body convulsed beneath her, shaking violently as the sudden assault of toxic gas filled his lungs, his muffled cries of distress vibrating against her ass.

"Oh my GOD," Sandra moaned in relief, her body visibly relaxing as the last of the gas escaped. "Fuck yes, that one's been building for like twenty minutes. Monica, you should've heard it—it was fucking perfect."

Monica's laughter crackled through the phone speaker, loud and delighted. "Holy shit, Sandra! I can practically smell it through the phone! Is he okay down there?"

Sandra shifted her weight, grinding her ass down harder against Mark's convulsing face, making sure every bit of the lingering gas was forced into his nostrils. "Who cares if he's okay? That's literally what he's here for. His whole body's shaking like he's having a seizure or something. It's fucking hilarious."

She lifted her ass just slightly, letting Mark take a desperate, wheezing gasp of air before slamming back down, cutting off his oxygen once more. "I'm telling you, Monica, you need to book this guy. I've got him for another hour and a half, but after that? He's all yours. Just imagine having your own personal fart cushion whenever you want. No complaints, no attitude—just pure, pathetic obedience."

"Okay, let me get to the computer," Monica says as she takes a seat down at her desk.

Sandra's grin widened as she heard the rapid clicking of keys through the phone speaker, Monica's eager typing filling the brief silence. The sound was like music to her ears—confirmation that her friend was just as twisted and enthusiastic about this as she was. Sandra shifted her weight slightly on Mark's face, feeling his labored breathing struggle against her bare ass, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of her last toxic blast. She could feel another pressure building deep in her gut, the breakfast continuing its relentless work, but she held it back for now, wanting to savor this moment of shared cruelty with her friend.

"Oh fuck yes, Monica," Sandra laughed, her voice bright with excitement as she ground her ass down harder against Mark's face for emphasis. "Book him right now. Seriously, you're going to have the time of your fucking life. I've been using him for like forty minutes and I'm already obsessed. He's so pathetically obedient—doesn't even try to fight back. Just takes everything I give him like the good little toilet he is."

Monica's voice came through the speaker again, slightly distracted by her typing but still clearly amused. "Okay, okay, I'm filling out the form now... but Sandra, real talk—with my gas? I might actually kill this poor bastard. You know how bad mine gets after I have Thai food, and I literally just ordered pad thai like an hour ago."

Sandra burst into laughter, her whole body shaking with the force of it, which made Mark's face compress even harder beneath her weight. "Oh my GOD, Monica, you're going to fucking destroy him! That's perfect! Honestly, if he can survive my ass after eggs and sausage, he can probably handle anything. But Thai food? Fuck, that's next level. You better warn Elisha that you might need him for like three hours instead of two."

She reached back with one hand and gave her ass cheek a playful slap, the sound echoing through the room as she felt Mark flinch beneath her. "Hear that, toilet boy? My friend Monica's about to book you next, and she's got a stomach full of Thai food brewing. I hope you're ready for round two, because from what she's telling me, you're going to be begging for mercy by the time she's done with you."

Monica's typing slowed, and Sandra could hear the unmistakable sound of her friend stifling a laugh. "I just hit submit. Holy shit, I can't believe I'm actually doing this. When does your session end? I want him at my place like immediately after."

"I've got him until like one-thirty," Sandra replied, glancing at the time on her phone. "So he should be at your place by two. And trust me, by the time I'm done with him, he's going to be so broken in that he'll probably just collapse the second he gets to your door. But that's fine—you can just drag him inside and sit on his face while he's still recovering."

Her stomach gurgled loudly again, the sound audible even through the phone, and Sandra's expression shifted into something darker, more anticipatory. "Oh fuck, speaking of which... I think I've got another one coming. Monica, hold on—let me give him a little preview of what's waiting for him at your place."

Sandra leaned forward slightly, pulling her cheek to the side once more, and felt her asshole pucker and flex as the gas demanded release. Sandra's body tensed with anticipation, her lips curling into a vicious smile as she felt the pressure building to an unbearable peak. Monica's voice was still chattering through the speaker phone, something about needing to prepare her bathroom for later, but Sandra was barely listening anymore. All of her focus had narrowed to the delicious sensation of power coursing through her as she held Mark's face captive beneath her bare ass. She could feel his pathetic whimper vibrating against her crack, the sound of complete defeat, and it only made her more eager to unleash what was coming. Then she let go—completely and mercilessly.

BBBBBRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPPPTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHHHH-PPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTT!

The fart erupted with devastating force, a long, wet, rumbling blast that seemed to go on forever. It started deep and bassy, vibrating through her entire body before transitioning into a higher-pitched, fluttering sound that indicated just how toxic the gas was. The stench was absolutely catastrophic—a nauseating mixture of rotten eggs, spoiled meat, and something acrid and chemical that could only come from her body breaking down that heavy breakfast. The gas poured directly into Mark's nostrils with nowhere to escape, filling his sinuses and throat with the thick, humid reek of Sandra's bowels. His body convulsed violently beneath her, shaking and jerking as if electrocuted, but she kept her weight pressed down firmly, making absolutely certain he inhaled every last molecule of her toxic expulsion.

"OH FUCK YES!" Sandra cried out, her voice cracking with genuine relief and sadistic pleasure as the last of the gas escaped. "Holy shit, that one was even better than the last! Monica, I swear to god, I think I just broke him. His whole body's spasming like crazy down there!"

Monica's laughter exploded through the speaker, loud and unrestrained. "Jesus Christ, Sandra! I could literally hear that through the phone! That poor bastard is going to be traumatized by the time he gets to my place!"

Sandra lifted her ass just slightly, allowing Mark a desperate, wheezing gasp of the fouled air, his entire face slick with sweat and possibly something worse. His eyes were watering, his expression one of complete and utter devastation, and Sandra felt a surge of satisfaction so intense it was almost sexual. "Traumatized? Girl, he's going to be fucking destroyed by the time we're both done with him. I've still got another hour with this toilet boy, and my stomach is nowhere near empty yet."

She settled back down onto his face with renewed enthusiasm, feeling his broken whimpers vibrate against her ass. "You better rest up while you can, slave, because the real marathon starts when you get to Monica's place. And trust me—if you thought my gas was bad, you haven't experienced anything yet."

The two women continued to chat casually on the phone, mostly about the pathetic slave currently underneath Sandra's ass.

Sandra's fingers drummed against her thigh as she listened to Monica ramble about what she was planning to feed herself before Mark's arrival, her ass still planted firmly on his face. Every few seconds, she would deliberately wiggle her hips, grinding her bare asshole against his nose and mouth like he was nothing more than toilet paper—a casual, absentminded gesture that reminded him exactly what he was to her. She could feel his labored breathing against her crack, hot and desperate, and it only made her smile wider. The pressure in her lower gut had been building steadily for the past twenty minutes, a deep, cramping sensation that she recognized immediately. It was time.

Her smile shifted into something darker, more predatory, as the cramp intensified. She interrupted Monica mid-sentence. "Gotta go, Monica. It's time to get what I actually paid for with this pathetic bitch."

There was a brief pause on the other end before Monica's voice came back, confused but intrigued. "What do you mean?"

Sandra's laugh was low and wicked as she felt another wave of pressure roll through her bowels. "Time to feed the poor slave."

The sound of Monica's delighted laughter filled the room, bright and cruel. "Oh my GOD, Sandra! You're fucking insane! Okay, okay—have fun destroying him. I'll see him in like an hour. Don't break him too badly!"

"No promises," Sandra replied with a grin before ending the call and tossing her phone onto the couch.

She slowly lifted her ass off Mark's face, the seal of flesh breaking with an audible sound as his features were finally exposed to the air. He immediately gasped and heaved, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to recover from the prolonged assault. His face was slick with sweat, his eyes red and watering, his expression one of complete exhaustion. Sandra looked down at him with cold amusement, taking in the sight of her broken toilet slave struggling to breathe.

Without giving him time to recover, she grabbed him by the rope still binding his wrists and yanked him roughly to his feet. He stumbled, his legs weak and unsteady, but she didn't care—she practically dragged him across the living room toward the bathroom, his body lurching behind her like a rag doll. When they reached the bathroom, she shoved him down onto the floor in front of the toilet, positioning him with practiced efficiency. She grabbed the back of his head and forced it down, pressing his neck against the cold porcelain edge of the toilet bowl so that he was staring directly at the bathroom ceiling, though that wouldn't be his view for long.

"There we go," Sandra cooed mockingly, her voice dripping with sadistic satisfaction as she adjusted his position to make sure his head was locked in place. "Nice and comfortable, right? This is what you were made for, toilet boy. This is your fucking purpose."

She stood over him, her bare ass hovering just inches above his upturned face, and she could feel the pressure in her gut reaching its peak. Her stomach gurgled loudly, a wet, ominous sound that echoed in the small bathroom, and she bit her lip in anticipation.

"Hope you're hungry," she whispered, her voice low and venomous, "because I've been saving this all for you."

"Please don't do this," Mark pathetically begged through tears.

Sandra's chuckle was low and cruel as she heard Mark's pathetic, tear-choked plea echo in the small bathroom. The sound of his desperation only heightened the sadistic pleasure coursing through her veins, making her stomach clench with anticipation—not from nerves, but from the deep, cramping pressure that demanded release. She lowered herself slowly, deliberately, savoring every second as her bare ass descended toward his upturned face. The cool air of the bathroom kissed her exposed skin as she positioned herself carefully, making sure her puckered asshole was aligned perfectly with his trembling mouth. She could feel his hot, panicked breaths against her crack, and it sent a thrill of power straight through her core.

"Aww, what's wrong, toilet boy?" Sandra cooed mockingly, her voice dripping with false sympathy as she settled her full weight onto his face, trapping him completely beneath her. "Did you think this was just going to be about sniffing my farts? Oh honey, you signed up for the full experience. And trust me—this is what Elisha charged fifty bucks for. Now stop fucking crying and open your mouth."

She shifted her hips slightly, grinding her asshole directly against his lips, feeling them quiver beneath her. Her stomach gurgled loudly, a wet, ominous sound that reverberated through the bathroom, and she bit her lip hard, her body tensing as the pressure built to an unbearable peak. She reached back with one hand and spread her ass cheek wider, exposing her flexing anus directly to his face, making sure there would be no escape, no reprieve.

"I said open," Sandra hissed, her voice dropping into something darker and more commanding. "Unless you want me to just push it out anyway and let it smear all over your pathetic face. Your choice, slave—but either way, you're eating what I give you. Now be a good little toilet and open. Your. Fucking. Mouth."

Her asshole puckered and flexed visibly against his sealed lips, the pressure inside her reaching a critical point. She could feel the thick, heavy mass pressing against her sphincter, demanding release, and she knew she wouldn't be able to hold it much longer even if she wanted to. Her breathing quickened, her thighs trembling slightly with the effort of maintaining control for just a few more seconds—giving him one last chance to obey before she took what she wanted by force.

Sandra's entire body shuddered with relief as she felt Mark's lips finally part beneath her, his soft sobs vibrating against her asshole in a way that made her stomach clench with dark satisfaction. The moment she felt that opening, that surrender, she couldn't hold back anymore—her sphincter relaxed completely, and she groaned low and guttural as the thick, heavy log began to push its way out of her. The sensation was exquisite, a combination of physical relief and sadistic pleasure that made her toes curl against the cold bathroom tile. She could feel every inch of it sliding past her stretched rim, warm and solid, as it forced its way directly into Mark's mouth. His muffled groan of agony vibrated through her ass, and the sound made her laugh—a cruel, breathless sound that echoed off the bathroom walls.

"Oh fuck yes!" Sandra cried out, her voice cracking with genuine ecstasy as she felt the log push deeper, sliding past his tongue and down into his throat. "That's it, toilet boy! Take it! Take every fucking inch of what I'm giving you! This is what you're here for—this is what Elisha sold you for! Oh god, you feel so good under me right now!"

The gurgling sounds coming from beneath her were muffled and desperate, wet choking noises as Mark struggled to accommodate the thick mass being forced down his throat. Sandra could feel his body convulsing beneath her weight, his bound hands twitching uselessly as his gag reflex kicked in, but she didn't lift off—not even slightly. Instead, she bore down harder, using her full weight to keep him pinned in place, ensuring that he had no choice but to swallow what she was feeding him. Another cramp rolled through her gut, and she felt a second, smaller log beginning to crown at her asshole, the pressure building again almost immediately.

"Don't you dare fucking choke," Sandra hissed down at him, her voice dripping with venomous amusement as she reached back and spread her ass cheeks wider, making sure her anus was sealed completely over his mouth. "You're going to eat every last bit of this, you understand me? I paid fifty bucks for a human toilet, and that's exactly what you're going to be. Swallow it down like a good little slave, or I swear to god I'll just keep pushing until you pass out."

She could feel him struggling beneath her, his throat working desperately to force the thick log down, and the sensation sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. Her stomach gurgled again, louder this time, and she bit her lip hard as the second log began to slide out, adding to the mass already filling his mouth and throat. The bathroom was filled with the obscene sounds of his muffled gagging, her satisfied moans, and the wet, organic noises of her body emptying itself directly into him. Sandra's head tilted back, her eyes fluttering closed as she surrendered completely to the dark, twisted satisfaction of using another human being as nothing more than a receptacle for her waste.

"God, Monica is going to fucking love you," Sandra panted, her voice breathy and strained as another cramp hit her. "If you can barely handle me, you're going to be absolutely destroyed by the time she's done with you. But that's okay—that's what you're made for, isn't it? Just a pathetic little toilet slave, existing only to eat shit and suffer for women like us."

Mark desperately tried to eat through the humiliation and pain, forcing the putrid logs down his throat so he could be ready for the next and praying each one would be the last. Sandra's body relaxed completely as the final, smaller log pushed its way out of her, sliding into Mark's already overfilled mouth with a wet, obscene sound. She could feel his throat working desperately beneath her, his entire body trembling with the effort of forcing down the thick, putrid waste she'd deposited directly into him. The sensation of his struggles only heightened her satisfaction, and she let out a long, contented sigh as the pressure in her gut finally eased. For a moment, she simply sat there, savoring the afterglow of relief and the knowledge that she'd used another human being as nothing more than a living toilet. Then, just as she began to lift herself up slightly, she felt one more thing demanding release—a wet, bubbling pressure that made her grin wickedly.

PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPBBBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTTT-SPPPPPPPPPPLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTT!

The fart exploded out of her with devastating force, wet and splattering, coating Mark's already tortured face with a warm, humid spray of filth. The sound echoed obscenely in the small bathroom, and Sandra's laughter rang out immediately, bright and mocking as she felt the wetness spread across his features.

"Oops!" Sandra chirped with exaggerated innocence, her voice dripping with cruel amusement as she finally stood up fully, stretching her arms above her head like she'd just finished a satisfying workout. "Guess I had a little something extra left in there! Hope you don't mind, toilet boy."

She turned around slowly, deliberately, positioning herself directly in front of Mark's collapsed, trembling body. Without looking at him—as if he were nothing more than an object, a tool to be used and discarded—she reached back with both hands and spread her ass cheeks wide, exposing the filthy, shit-stained crack to his watering eyes. The brown smears covered her crack completely, thick and wet, and the stench that radiated from her was absolutely overwhelming in the confined space.

"Now you have just enough time to clean me up before you have to leave for Monica's," Sandra said casually, her tone as matter-of-fact as if she were instructing him to take out the trash. "I expect you to do a thorough job. Every. Single. Inch. And don't even think about half-assing it or I'm going to make sure Elisha knows you didn't perform up to standard."

Mark's body moved weakly, his bound hands trembling as he forced himself to sit up. His face was a mask of devastation—eyes red and swollen, cheeks streaked with tears and worse, his expression one of complete and utter defeat. But he knew he had no choice. With a pathetic, broken whimper, he leaned forward and planted his tortured face directly into Sandra's spread ass crack, his tongue extending automatically to begin the humiliating task of cleaning her filthy asshole. Sandra didn't even look back at him, her attention already on her phone as she began scrolling through messages, occasionally shifting her hips to give him better access to particularly soiled areas.

"That's it," she murmured absently, her voice distant and uninterested, as if his existence barely registered to her anymore. "Be a good little toilet paper and make sure you get deep in there. You've got about fifteen minutes before you need to be at Monica's, and trust me—you do not want to show up late."

Mark dutifully cleaned Sandra's asshole until there wasn't a speck left on her, though his shit speckled face was another story. When Sandra was satisfied, she lifted him too his feet and untied his wrists without saying a word. And she walked him out to the foyer and led him to the front door which she kindly opened for him. As he took two steps out, Sandra stops him, "Wait one second." Sandra dips behind the door and comes back holding a travel size pack of wet wipes. "Better get cleaned up in the car before you show up at Monica's," she says with a laugh before shutting the door in his face.

Sandra's laugh echoed through the closed door, sharp and cruel, as Mark stood frozen on her front porch with the travel-size pack of wet wipes clutched in his trembling hand. The sound of her amusement still rang in his ears as he forced his legs to move, each step down the driveway feeling like a marathon. His face was still speckled with shit, his breath tasted like death itself, and his throat burned from the humiliation he'd just endured. The afternoon sun felt obscenely bright against his devastated features, like the world itself was mocking him. When he finally reached his car and collapsed into the driver's seat, he sat there for a long moment, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. Then his phone buzzed.

Through blurry, tear-filled eyes, Mark looked down at the screen and saw Elisha's name. His stomach dropped even further—if that was even possible at this point. The text was brief, casual, like she was assigning him a pizza delivery route instead of selling him to another woman for degradation.

"Got another client for you. Monica. Here's the address."

Mark's fingers trembled as he typed back through his tears, his response automatic and defeated.

"I know. Thanks."

The reply came almost instantly—three letters and an emoji that felt like a knife twisting in his gut.

"LMFAO 😂"

Mark's head dropped forward against the steering wheel, and a broken sob tore from his throat. His entire body shook as the weight of what had just happened—and what was about to happen—crashed down on him all at once. He was nothing. He was a commodity. Elisha had sold him like livestock, and Sandra had used him like a literal toilet, and now Monica was waiting for him with a belly full of Pad Thai and three hours of cruelty planned. And Elisha? She was laughing. She was fucking laughing at him.