Evaluation of a Toilet Slave
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Foreword: This is a work of fiction. None of the people in this story are real. None of these events ever happened. This story is nothing more than words that came from my imagination. Any similarity to any real people, places, or events is purely coincidental.
This story is a sequel to OH SHIT. OH SHIT is a sequel to TOILET SLAVE 2. TOILET SLAVE 2 is a sequel to TOILET SLAVE. This story is also a sequel to OH POO-POO, even though OH POO-POO is not a sequel to any other story.
Operators of erotic story web sites and other collections, whether free or fee-based, have my permission to post and/or distribute my stories, provided that credit is given to "Hungry Guy" as the author. You may not make changes other than fixing typos. Even beware of fixing typos, for I occasionally use local slang and dialects that may be flagged by your spell checker. Thanks.
This story is a sequel to OH SHIT. OH SHIT is a sequel to TOILET SLAVE 2. TOILET SLAVE 2 is a sequel to TOILET SLAVE. This story is also a sequel to OH POO-POO, even though OH POO-POO is not a sequel to any other story.
Operators of erotic story web sites and other collections, whether free or fee-based, have my permission to post and/or distribute my stories, provided that credit is given to "Hungry Guy" as the author. You may not make changes other than fixing typos. Even beware of fixing typos, for I occasionally use local slang and dialects that may be flagged by your spell checker. Thanks.
It was only last year that Steve had been a toilet slave in the ladies' room at Edge Play, a BDSM-oriented club in New York. He had been their toilet slave for about two months straight. He had only volunteered to do it for one night, but he had failed to read the fine print of his contract and they kept him until another guy volunteered to replace him as a toilet slave.
After that debacle, Steve had become unemployed again, in exactly the same dire straits as he had been before his servitude.
He wasn't supposed to have been paid for his services, for that would have been equivalent to being a prostitute. That the club doesn't pay its toilet slaves and charges no cover to its patrons is what keeps the club legal -- barely. However, the bouncer slipped him an envelope containing sixteen hundred in cash as he was leaving -- two hundred dollars for each week he had served the ladies.
Before he left, they had let him take a shower. They had even washed and pressed his clothes for him too. So, refreshed and clean and with a nice chunk of change, he left the club through that steel back door onto 14th street. He checked his wallet, and his driver's license and everything were still there. So maybe things weren't as bad as when he started, after all.
He walked around the block to the front entrance of Edge Play and stood before a pair of glass doors in a stainless steel frame on an, otherwise, featureless gray stucco building.
A bouncer whom he had never seen before came from inside, unlocked the door, and held it open.
Steve stood there for a moment.
"You coming in or what?" the bouncer asked.
"Sure," he answered and followed the bounder inside.
They walked down a short corridor, around a corner, and down a short hallway, where the bouncer took a seat on a stool next to a pair of elevators. Other people had entered the club behind Steve and the bouncer, and a line had already started to form behind Steve.
Steve pulled out his wallet and showed the bouncer his license.
The bouncer nodded and said, "Have fun."
Steve took an elevator down one level. A short hallway led into the club. As he was first to enter, the club was empty, but the people behind him immediately came out of the other elevator, and then more people started to fill the club.
But Steve didn't come to drink or party, he was just curious about something. He stopped to check out a couple of display cases on the wall down from the elevators, but one was a political ad:
Vote Libertarian! We're pro-choice on EVERYTHING!
The other was just a list of shows and the name of tonight's band.
He entered the main room as the band was starting to set up. They were five guys in pastel-blue leisure suits. The drum said the name of the group was Cass Carnaby Five.
Colored stripes on the floor led the way to the different venues within the club. Steve knew exactly where he wanted to go, however. He headed straight for the alternate restrooms. He entered the alcove. Then he stood there gazing at the door to the ladies' room. How many women, he wondered, had entered that door in the past two months and had used him as their toilet?
"Excuse me!" one women said in an annoyed tone as he stood there blocking the door.
"Sorry."
He turned and entered the other door -- the door to the men's room. He walked in and entered a stall. But when he looked, there was a guy in the stall. He had expected a woman. The toilet slave looked up at Steve and grinned. Steve said, "Sorry, wrong stall," and left flustered. Steve looked in the next, and the next -- all guys. Then he looked in the fifth and last stall and found his reward -- a female toilet slave. She avoided his gaze, so he turned around immediately and closed the door. All the times that he had been a toilet slave in the ladies' room, the women had used him without comment. With his back to her, he dropped his pants and sat on her face. He leaned forward and pushed his dick into her mouth. He had been hard now ever since they told him that a replacement had taken over for him and they were letting him out. It took him a few moments to relax enough to let his pee flow. He had peed just before he left a few minutes ago, so he didn't have to pee much. He considered standing for a moment, after peeing, to make it easy for her to swallow, but then decided not to. Instead, he immediately started to rock back and forth, causing his hard dick to slide in and out of her mouth. It didn't take long at all before he exploded into her mouth. He had come a few times into that pipe during his two months, but he had built up an enormous need for release during that time, and he just kept coming and coming into her.
The exercise of releasing all that pent up sexual tension had also loosened his bowels, and he suddenly had to take a shit. So without pause, he slid forward so that his anus was over her mouth. He didn't even have to strain, as soon as he relaxed his muscles, a big one slid out of his asshole. Then, without pause, another. Then another. He sat there for a moment, and felt a throbbing movement under his ass. He realized that she was probably bucking for breath as he had done countless times. He pushed her head down with his ass and pushed out another lump into her mouth. He paused a moment, grunted, and pushed out one last lump. Finished, he stood, grabbed a wad of toilet paper, wiped his ass, threw the paper into a trash bin on the wall, pulled up his pants, and opened the door to leave. As he walked out of the stall, it was no big surprise to see that here was a line of guys waiting to use that particular stall.
Steve left the men's room and explored the club a little before leaving. Cass Carnaby Five was playing their latest hit, Dangrous Game. He came to a cork board with all kinds of notes pinned to it. Most were for masters seeking slaves, or slaves seeking masters. Others were selling BDSM paraphernalia -- collars, shackles, suspension harnesses, fellatio harnesses, spreader bars, etc. A few were for more mundane items such as cars for sale, apartments for rent, and roommates wanted.
Steve yanked off an ad for a roommate wanted over in Chelsea. The rent was right, so he went over to a pay phone and called the number.
A guy with a Chinese accent answered on the other end, "Hello."
"Hi. Are you still looking for a roommate?"
"Yes."
"My name's Steve. I need a room for tonight."
"I'm John, but late now. You come tomorrow, okay?"
"Well, okay, I can take a hotel room tonight. But can I come over tomorrow?"
"Sure. Where you see ad?"
"At Edge Play. Uhm, you're not, like, looking for a partner or anything, are you? I just want to rent a room."
"No. Just looking for ordinary roommate."
Steve got the address and arranged a time, then left the club and went up to 34th street to find a hotel.
The following day, Steve went to John. The room was decent, so he rented the room from John. John Chen was from China, working as a software developer up in midtown on an H1 visa.
Steve explained to John that he was also a programmer out on Long Island until the economy went south a few years ago.
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- 28.08.2022
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