That evening, David called me to ask if I was okay, as he'd been waiting for me for quite a while, and I hadn't returned after Mr. Birkbeck told me to come into his house. I told him I was okay and that I'd left out the back door. I said Mr. Birkbeck had scolded me, but I left out all the humiliating tasks he'd given me. David must have believed me, because he didn't ask any more questions.
The next day, everything seemed normal, and I managed not to think too much about what had happened to me after the prank gone wrong. I started the weekend by playing on my old console from the morning, even though I was hoping to get a PlayStation 5 Pro soon. I was convinced that this was truly the end of my sick relationship with my perverted neighbor, so when my peaceful Saturday was interrupted by a phone call and I saw the caller on the screen, I answered with trembling hands.
“H-hello…?” I asked, afraid of the answer.
“Hello, Shitrag,” said Mr. Birkbeck. “You provided me with much entertainment yesterday. Ready for more toilet duty?”
"More? No way, I already paid for that prank!" I started to fuss, really stressed.
"More. Unless you want me to show your parents the two newest videos you gave me. What do you think they'll say when they see their son masturbating while smelling his shit and playing with his dirty hole?"
I didn't know my little show was being recorded, though I could have guessed it. My neighbor was right, though. I couldn't imagine my parents seeing what he'd asked me to do.
“This is blackmail!” I accused the man, and he just snorted.
"You have a choice. If you don't want me to show the videos to your parents, you'll come to my house within the hour. I'm waiting, don't let me down."
He hung up without giving me a chance to refuse. But did I have a chance to refuse? Mr. Birkbeck had me in his grip. I knew I had to get away from him somehow, but I couldn't figure out how yet. I still had some time before dinner, which my mother was cooking in the kitchen, so I decided to rush over to the neighbor's house and try to leave as quickly as possible. This time, once and for all.
When I arrived, I rang the doorbell I hadn't had time to use the day before and waited nervously for Mr. Birkbeck to open the door. Instead, I heard "come in" and went inside. Mr. Birkbeck, dressed in a white undershirt and camouflage trousers, greeted me with a look I hadn't seen before. He looked me up and down like a hired prostitute, and I could tell he liked what he saw. After all, I was young, slim, and handsome, and he had control over me. Without a word, he motioned for me to follow him into the house. I did so, trembling with fear.
He shouldn't have been surprised when he led me to his downstairs restroom. It was a small, windowless room with only a sink and a toilet bowl. A musty smell hung in the air, and dirt caked the fixtures and beige tiles. It probably hadn't been cleaned in weeks, maybe even months.
"Kneel in front of the toilet, Shitrag. Just like last night," Mr. Birkbeck said, pointing to the floor.
This assignment was off to a bad start, so I decided to try to talk some sense into him.
"Can I say something? Because..."
"No, you can't. Get on your knees. And take off your shirt. You know what's at stake."
I sighed and sank to my knees in front of the toilet, its plastic lid open but the seat down. I pulled off my shirt, once again feeding the older man's gaze at my bare, hairless chest and back.
"Good choice," he said, taking my shirt and tossing it on the floor like a regular rag. "Now you're going to clean my toilet. Using only your tongue. Start by licking the seat. Top and bottom. Then lick the rest of the toilet bowl so it looks like the day you bought it."
I took a closer look at the toilet, and it wasn't a pretty sight. The seat was stained and flecked with hair, and inside the yellowed bowl, I saw brown dots. I shook my head.
"No way, this is sick! Unhealthy!"
"I'm the only one using this toilet, and I'm healthy, so you will be too. I'm counting to five. One. Two. Three... Good boy," he commented when he saw me lean down, startled, and reluctantly stick my tongue out, gently touching the seat. I then licked a larger section, then forced myself to lick more. Luckily, I couldn't taste anything distinct. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Birkbeck pull out his phone again, probably taking pictures of me, but what could I do?
When I finished licking the seat, I lifted it and winced at the sight of the numerous urine stains hidden beneath. I hesitated, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by my blackmailer.
"My gun sight is no longer what it was in the army." he said with a cynical laugh. "But luckily I have a young cleaner who loves licking up dried-up piss from older men, right? Take off your pants and underwear and masturbate while you do it."
He made me do it again. And once again, I should have said stop, because I knew I was sinking deeper and deeper, but I had no plan to refuse and at the same time prevent Mr. Birkbeck from embarrassing me in front of my parents and the entire neighborhood. Obediently, I stripped down to my shoes and socks and began jerking off. Disgusted, I bent down again and began to clean the yellow stains with my tongue. This time, I tasted their salty, disgusting taste. I shook my head and fought the urge to gag, an ambivalent sensation while simultaneously trying to bring myself to orgasm. Reluctantly, I resumed licking until, one by one, the piss stains began to disappear.
"Lick until you cum," I heard the command, and indeed, moments after licking away the last urine stain, I felt myself forcing my own orgasm and cumming onto the floor. I was breathing heavily, exhausted and humiliated.
"Good job. There are only specks of some filth left inside the shell," he said, strangely excited, and I looked at him in shock.
"But this is shit..."
"And you're Shitrag, remember? Come on, let's get to it," he ordered, and to my surprise, he gave me a juicy slap on my bare ass. "Fuck, I love your teenage arse."
This time I had to stick my head right into the toilet, closing my eyes as my tongue collected the brown dots. It didn't help, though, because I felt nauseous again, until I suddenly couldn't take it anymore and violently threw up into the toilet.
"What was that?!" Mr. Birkbeck snapped at me, as he probably vented his anger on lower-ranking soldiers in the army, though I don't know if his anger was genuine or feigned. "As punishment, you'll clean the boy's restroom at your school in the same way on Monday. You're to call me before you do it, understand?"
“Yes, Sir…” I sighed, feeling sick from throwing up.
"You also have 24 hours from now on to call me whenever you need to take a shit. It doesn't matter what time it is. If you don't, your parents will watch not only yesterday's videos, but today's as well. Do you understand your shitty situation, boy?"
“Yes, Sir…” I repeated, wanting to leave as quickly as possible.
Mr Birkbeck moved my T-shirt across the floor with his foot like a rag and wiped away the stains of my semen.
“Get dressed and get out,” he said, pressing the flush button until the water washed my vomit from the bottom of the toilet bowl.
*
This time, the awful experience at my neighbor's house couldn't be forgotten. Even though I had no appetite, I ate enormous amounts of food for dinner at home because I kept feeling like I could taste Mr. Birkbeck's toilet in my mouth and wanted something to replace it. I spent the rest of the day playing video games on my console, because that was the only thing that relaxed me, although I did spend some time on social media, refusing to go out with friends I somehow didn't feel like doing. I felt dirty, as if my friends would somehow smell the toilet on me, even though I'd only brushed my teeth for about 10 minutes.
Unfortunately, every so often I remembered that something else was hanging over me. I was supposed to call Mr. Birkbeck when I needed a shit. This meant another disgusting and humiliating task. The thought made me nauseous, but the punishment for disobedience was worse. However, I had an idea. I figured that if I held out long enough and took a shit in the middle of the night, there was a good chance Mr. Birkbeck would be asleep and not answer the phone. So I didn't use the toilet before going to bed, but set my alarm for 4 a.m. My neighbor might still be awake at 3 a.m., and as a former soldier, he might be up by 5 a.m., so 4 a.m. seemed the best time.
I almost turned off my alarm and went back to sleep, but somehow I woke up, subconsciously dreading having to report needing a poop in the morning when Mr. Birkbeck would surely be awake and waiting for my call. I went to the bathroom and peered out the window at the neighbor's house, which was shrouded in darkness. This was my chance. I called. First ring. Second ring. Third ring. No answer! Fourth ring...
“Hello, Shitrag,” a familiar voice said over the speaker, and I sighed in frustration. “Do you need to take a shit?”
“A bit,” I replied, not understanding the sick interest in this topic.
"Good boy," he complimented me, and I saw he wanted to make a video call. I answered, again without seeing him, though my camera had turned on. "What is this, pajamas? Strip naked and call me naked from the toilet in the future."
I obediently took off my pajamas, thinking about that "in the future." How long does he want to blackmail me?
"Nice. Now position your phone so I can see the center of the bathroom... A little to the left... Perfect. Now crouch in the middle of the bathroom with your back to the camera and relieve yourself on the floor. By taking a nice poop.”
"On the floor?!"
"Yes. Get to work."
I sighed and slowly, to show my defiance, crouched down, turning my butt to the phone, and began to focus on this intimate act. I was being watched, so I didn't succeed immediately, but eventually, in one fell swoop, I deposited the log of shit on the floor. I immediately smelled its unpleasant odor.
"Bravo. Now put some shit on your finger, stand in front of a mirror, and write BROWN-NOSER on your forehead so it's legible from my perspective. Make no mistake, or you'll be punished."
Punishment. What right did he have to punish me? With that in mind, overcoming my revulsion, I dipped my finger in the disgusting, warm mass and approached the mirror to write as instructed. I hesitated, knowing that if I did, Mr. Birkbeck would only have more material to blackmail me with, but then again, he already had enough that I couldn't resist. So I slowly began writing on my forehead. When I had used up what I had collected on my finger, I was ordered to apply another layer. When I finished, I showed myself to the camera with a look of hatred.
"Great. Now kneel down next to the shit on the floor, but facing the camera... Very good. Now say your name and surname, your age, say you love shit, and stick your nose in your feces. Then lift your head and smile for the camera."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I shook my head.
“You're crazy!” I almost shouted, but I realized I might accidentally wake my parents, so I lowered my voice. “I won't do it. You want it to look like I like it.”
"Bravo again, genius. Get to work. You know I don't need this video. Actually, the screenshot I just took of you kneeling next to your shit, with the inscription scrawled across your forehead, will suffice. What will your parents think when they see this?"
I was shaking with rage. Eventually, however, I controlled my emotions and lowered my gaze in resignation.
“Please repeat what I have to do…” I asked, and Mr Birkbeck repeated it with satisfaction.
I sighed and sealed my doom.
“My name is Howard Vaisman… I’m 18 years old and… I love shit.” With that, I bent down, smelling the feces more and more intensely, and with absolute disgust, I buried my nose in my own scat. Then I lifted my head and smiled at the camera, knowing that, just like the writing on my forehead, I now had a brown nose.
"Perfect," said Mr. Birkbeck, clearly delighted. "You're smart, so you know what just happened. You're my toilet slave. From now on, the word 'no' won't be in your vocabulary when I give you an order. One little disobedience and absolutely everyone you know will see a video of you confessing your love of shit. So I advise you to be a good boy and do as you're told."
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, feeling defeated. Plus, the shit on the tip of my nose stank so intensely that it made me nauseous.
“So, maybe we should test your obedience?”
"Please don't..."
"Oh yes. It'd be a shame to let such a pretty mess go to waste on the floor. Take half of it in your hands, turn your back to the camera, and thoroughly lubricate those sexy buttocks."
I hesitated. The level of disgust this task was beyond my tolerance. But I couldn't fail this test. No one was to find out. So I plunged my hand into a pile of my own shit like into pizza dough, grimacing, and slowly turned to the camera. I began rubbing the shit into my ass, which surprisingly covered every inch of my pale buttocks, turning them brown.
"Yes, Shitrag. I love it. Rub them in thoroughly," I heard while I worked, and when I thought I was finished, Mr. Birkbeck added, "Great. Now twerk. Shake that young ass like a little whore you are."
I'd never done this before, so I didn't even know how to go about it, but I tried shaking my rear end to please my blackmailer. His reaction was clear: he liked it.
"So great. But that's enough. Now turn around... Good boy. Take the rest of the shit and smear it on your chest."
I didn't have the strength to protest, so I simply began to obey. The stench of shit was unbearable. I was afraid that even if I washed and aired the bathroom, my parents would still smell it in the morning. Within moments, my entire chest was covered in a thin layer of feces.
"Do you feel how pathetic you look now, Shitrag, covered in your own shit? Smelling like a sewer? Do you want to wash this filth off yourself already?"
“Yes, Sir. Please, that's enough for today,” I begged, already on my knees.
"Jerk off, and we'll be done. Go ahead, grab your dick with those dirty hands and jerk it off."
I nodded and wrapped my brown fingers around my penis shaft, beginning to stimulate it. I wasn't aroused at all, quite the opposite, but at eighteen, it wasn't difficult to get an erection. I began to pant, getting closer and closer to orgasm. Finally, I ejaculated on the same floor, which was already filthy with feces, and Mr. Birkbeck wordlessly ended the call again. I was left alone, used, humiliated, and condemned to further servitude to a perverted, older man.
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