“Fuckin’ hell. What a mess.”
My Ex. Oh fuck. Oh shit. What was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to say?
“A moment of joyful reacquaintance, is it?” said the invigilator with a snarl.
“Is he all piped up?”
“Yep. A good shit piping is always worth a punt up a cunt.”
“Good, good. Bet he’s backed up and ready to blow.”
“So, the ministry finally released you?” the invigilator said in a voice that marked a tone of respect.
Released?
It must have been that time. 24 months, surpassed. I didn’t even know. He was a free man. No more a human toilet. No more a Shit Shacker. I couldn’t believe it.
“I did my time. I served the state collective. I knew I could get through it. Day by day. Week by week. Month by month.”
“You are fortunate to have escaped repurposing.”
“The nightmares are real. They are alive. Baked into me. As a relentless shitting machine would shit in you. Shit after shit after shit. But I’m still breathing, right?”
“You are a rare breed. You dodged the worst. We will turn most of these shackers to gloops.”
“Really?” my ex said, astounded.
“War is coming. The enemy has already breached the borders. They will be here in 3 days.”
3 days? What the fuck. Like that mattered. Plugged up with shit.
“The gloops will serve as vendors to offer the soldiers respite.”
Then the wrath hit. No warning. Just THWACK! My ex’s boot straight into my metal plate banding. Searing nausea rolled up my spine. Bunged shit slammed the walls of my guts like a trapped animal.
“How you like that, pig?”
The question hung there. Rhetorical. I couldn’t answer anyway. The agony was beyond hope.
THWACK! THWACK! Again it came. That toe cap. Crash to metal. Metal to crash. Agonizing kicks of ferocity. He was angry, purely. Could I blame him?
“Yes,” the invigilator said, not one bit concerned. “If this one doesn’t hold its shit, I’ll recommend repurposing.”
“As what?” my ex said.
“A shit sheath toilet.”
“What the fuck is that?”
My heart swarmed with bats. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. But wait, it could... This was the Shit Shacks. But I still had legs. I still had arms. My life was in my hands. Even in the shambles of this diabolical situation.
“It is a specialised repurposing. We will use its anus solely as a shit ditch. A toilet bowl. The metal plate banding is working its gape.”
“So it won’t eat shit anymore?”
“Who knows? High-ranking ministry officials will decide. They will hold it in the state castle. Or somewhere in the higher echelons.”
“I want it to be a Soopy.”
“I haven’t decided. It depends on the situation … “
He crashed his boot again.
“Argh— fuck! Fuck!”
The shit mass was past the point of permissible internal expansion. It was screaming to explode from my hole.
“Hurts, does it? Good.”
“Doc, what’s the code for the banding?”
The invigilator’s eye flared. “It’s prohibited to use a toilet from your old block. You know the score.”
“But he deserves to be a gloop. You know he shit in my asshole when he was a free man. He basked in glory. Now it’s payback!”
“Revenge is like the sweetest joy next to getting pussy,” said the invigilator, grinning.
They both laughed at my expense.
“Even me as an old hand, with a withered prick, I can still fuck. But revenge, it’s sweeter than sex.”
“What about revenge-sex, doc? I can have both. I can fuck him and shit in him in one session.”
“He wouldn’t feel a horse, that hole is so wide.”
He was furious. But I had other concerns. Like suffocating stomach cramps. Satan’s sins simmering. Something had to change. I thought I would burst from the insides in torment.
“I could kill him. Right fucking now!”
“Watch it! Would you want another 24 months in the Shit Shacks? Or murder, that would be the farm or the gulags.”
“After living the life of a human toilet, you lose all contact with reality. You stop giving a shit.”
“I tell you what, let’s remove the metal plate banding. His shit will explode outwards and he will fail the test. Then I can write up the paperwork to have him turned into a Soopy or a Sheath?”
“No way!” My ex smiled, wide-eyed.
“What the hell. How is that fair? You can’t …”
“Shut it shit hole. You are a human toilet. I knew it too, I wore the t-shirt. I got through it. You are taking another route, it’s called life.”
“But my arms. My legs. Oh my god, please, Sir, please?”
They both turned, ignoring me. Unbelievable. The harshness of being unanswered about how quickly a decision would be made to turn me into a toilet machine was frightening. I was that low in their estimations. None human.
“I’m the invigilator, right?”
“You have set a tone within this collective of a determined courage. You have proven you are a man who has paid his penance. Let’s get you the pay back you deserve.”
“He’ll eat it when it blows. Nothing like a breakfast of shit to arouse the senses. I should know.”
The invigilator kneeled down. He punched in the code. The contraption flew out in seconds. It smacked the side of the shack and all my shit spewed out in a flurry of attack. Everywhere. The pressure of release catapulting it — the thickest concoction of slop I’d ever made.
I was relieved but unrelieved. Paperwork, Soopy, a gloopy, a shit machine. No!
My ex got close to my ear as I crumbled to the shack floor.
“Now you can look forward to the next phase of your life. You fuckin’ piece of shit. You are done for.”
My only thoughts of a modicum of hope now rested in the breaching of the collective boundaries. Who were the enemy? Why were they coming? Did they want to take a hold of the Shit Shacks, or was it to destroy the ministry?
“Gonna dig me a hole. Gonna put a gloop in it. Gonna sit on its face. Gonna take a shit in it,” My ex sang mockingly as my shit hole gaped open.
“You’ll sing that tune as you go to the factory for repurposing. Remembering all you did to me. Seems fair.”
How unfair it was. But duly noted in my mind how it was fair. I hadn’t a leg to stand on. And not just the metaphorical. I was going to lose them. Both of them.
Right now, I dreamed of being a shit sheath toilet instead. It was marginally better. I think?
“When will the Shit Shackers be disposed of?”
“Disposal, no. Repurposing, yes. They will take them with platoons. As makeshift gloops. They will not be contained in a conventional vending machine. Instead a metal box. A toilet that can be manhandled into cargo.”
“I think the men should get to use its mouth for more than just shit?”
“Oh indeed. The general is signing legislation to make it official. If we stand a chance at holding these bastards back, then the men will receive gifts to procure victory.”
“They will strap it in and out of the box, then?”
“Yes. It will have ease of use for gangbangs especially. One inside its asshole, one inside its mouth. A whole platoon will use it. Flying off the walls of tanks, stationed in the trenches, out on the ice plains. It’s the plan.”
“Shitting too. Lots of shitting. Especially this one.”
“Indeed. Needn’t you worry. But are you being called up? You are of working age?”
“I might be. They say all men will fight for the state. We will come together as one.”
“STRONG MEN SUFFER LIKE A GLOOPY. WEAK MEN RISE AGAINST THE ENEMY,” said the invigilator with pride.
“Yep. I have seen the slogan. It’s everywhere.”
“And what about you, my lovely ex shag? Will you suffer as a gloopy for the state to achieve our aims?”
“I … I … don’t know …”
“You will only know two things. Fucking and shit. Shit and fucking.”
I had practically collapsed at this point. The invigilator was writing his report. Was this the end?
“You are to become a weapon of our state to help the military. They will repurpose you as a Soopy gloopy for a whole platoon. That’s 30 men! A pick-me-up moveable toilet. You will aid and help the struggle as a human toilet as this war rolls.”
“Yes. And young men of working age are incredibly horny,” the invigilator added with a smirk.
“Yeah, and this cunt only used to fuck. How things have changed. God damn it! How I’d love to take a shit in your asshole right now.”
“Leave it with me. I’ll arrange that as a sending off present if he’s reformed into a platoon toilet box.”
The door creaked open. It was the manager. Fear in his eyes. Intently so.
“An announcement is due shortly. But what I can tell you is the enemy has already slain lives. They will slay more as they come. It won’t be long.”
“What of these Shit Shackers?” Asked the invigilator in seriousness.
“All will be repurposed. Military escort will take them to the factory on the plains. They have made it official. Things will move quickly.”
I didn’t have time to process anything. My mind swam with visions of the modifying process. Where would I awake? In a toilet box inside a platoon bunker?
I shit myself. Literally. My heart sank. To the depths of a shit-wreck.
I couldn’t hold anything. Nausea. Anxiety. Fear.
Minutes or hours. I don’t know. Time curdled in that box. The nausea stayed. The anxiety stayed. And then the door scraped again.
The invigilator had done it. A document confirming my miserable demise. Signed and sealed. Stamped with ministry ink.
“But I had a 24 month sentence!” I screamed in horror.
“That 24 month sentence is now null and void. We have entered war time economy. Did you not listen to the manager? Intel has confirmed all existing human toilets are to be repurposed. It must be done.”
“It must be done! Are you fucking joking?”
“Now would I joke?” He said with a humoured vigour that reeked of self-satisfaction. Monstrously so.
“I will die for the collective. With my bare hands, if that’s what it takes.”
“You may very well die. And I would hope in honour and grace assisting the collective. But beforehand, they will station you with a platoon. As a serviceable toilet.”
“Don’t they need as many men as possible to fight for the motherland?”
“We need as many men as possible to eat shit. For the many proud men on the front lines to enjoy. It’s high time to forget this man up charade, you are a human toilet. That is your job for this war effort.”
He peeled his pants down. Oh great. More shit.
“You are lucky, in fact,” he said as he basked in aura, placing his wiry, old ass onto the toilet seat of my shit box.
“Well, not lucky with the shit you are about to eat. That is ripe for the swallow. But lucky you will be a part of a military platoon. Men together fighting for survival.”
The facetious cunt. Every bit of him mustered in feeding me psychological pain. His asshole reverberated as he excreted a gulf of hideous air.
“Oh my, it’s gonna be a heavy one. Yes, you will fight with your mouth, and hum the tune of our national anthem between feedings. Bringing the men up with high spirits as you chew!”
Splatter! A deluge of shit-mucus obliterated out of his asshole. Everywhere. In my mouth. On my face. Over my eyes. I couldn’t see a thing. Shit gunged.
“Ahh, just wonderful. Now, scrape it into your mouth and slurp it down private, toilet.”
Private toilet! What in the actual fuck… I moved fast. I would not wear his shit a second longer. It stank. Rancid. Consumption of the most gaseous foods possible. It was mountainous in proportions.
I tore it off my eyes so I could see again, then filtered the shit with my fingers back into my mouth. But I couldn’t hold it back, not this time. As I swallowed the slop, my gag reflex refused to contain it. And I barfed it all up. Over his ass.
“Oh? Now look what you have gone and done,” he said, smirking at me from between his legs.
I gargled and gagged. But I knew better than to stop now. You never did such a thing when servicing a man in the Shit Shacks. All hell could break loose outside, with guns and grenades blasting everything to smithereens, but if a man was emptying his breakfast into your mouth, you would do whatever it took to swallow.
“Lick my cheeks. Both of them. Slide your tongue up into my shitter. Come on, clean me up, you wretched toilet.”
Some of the anal vomit I had expelled had poured into either side of the shit box. But I had still peppered his ass with shit gob.
I began licking both of those old, pale, white cheeks. Leathery skin and shit were an awful combination. I stuck my tongue up, thrusting it into the shitty mess, still caked in a gloopy line. Taking it on the end of my tongue and swallowing it in little gulps. Ha, gloopy, now there’s a funny one. Oh, stupid me. Everything was hurtling around. I was a shit-eating clown for the collective. A dunce.
“I want it spick n span. Water will be rationed now we have hit graver times. So I may not even shower tonight. So get it as clean as the finest white ivory. Not a speck of my shit left.”
I dragged my tongue up and down both cheeks. Again and again. Tasting bitter shit. It seemed to glue on. I just couldn’t get it off.
“Oh, there’s more. Make a seal round my anus with your lips and use suction to draw it out. Like a piglet suckling at its mother’s teat.”
Oh fuck. Never ending shit from an old man’s asshole. Never ending humiliation to match.
“I’m not gonna push. Come on, pig, a tight seal. Vacuum up that slop. Suck it out and swallow the shit. The shit of victory.”
He burst out laughing as I began drawing the shit out. It was thick and viscous, like tar. It kept coming. As a wave of shit on the shoreline smacking into houses. But I swallowed it. Just about.
“Ahh, that’s the fighting spirit we are looking for. Think of it when you are sucking shits from the young men of the platoon.”
“I wish I could fight.”
I said, gasping for air.
“Anything but this.”
“You won’t have to fight literally of course. They will safely store you as a toilet in a box. As a shitting appliance for our troops. An object to serve as a function. It’s that simple.”
It was true. No escaping. Nothing steered towards saviour. The degrade of the demise. It was very real.
I heard a gentle hum. In the distance. It gathered momentum. Picking up the pace. Growing louder.
“What’s that noise?”
The invigilator jumped up. Forgetting everything he had requested. And for one moment I got a little laugh to myself as he quickly reassembled his pants with shit still varnishing his ass.
But my humour quickly vanished as he ordered me out of the box.
“They are here. It’s our boys.”
A rapturous noise emanated from above. The sound of helicopters. A bombardment of piercing blades cutting through the sky.
Engines boomed as vehicles rolled close. Was it armoured trucks ready to take us for repurposing? I just didn’t know. I hoped he was wrong.
Propellors thrashed the air as they moved closer to the ground, piercing my eardrums. It was all happening so quick.
The invigilator glared at me sternly.
“Stand to attention shit ditch. You will soon be in the presence of a lieutenant.”
With nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide, what was I to do? I stood naked, my face covered with shit. Why would I even breathe the idea we were in this war effort together? Not in this collective. Only on their terms. Everyone had their uses. Good or bad.
I was a useless physical hand. Only useful for the physicality of shitting and fucking. Cum and shit. Shit and cum. Gangbangs!
The engines stopped. Doors to trucks opened. Boots hit the ground.
“They will go one by one. Taking a shacker at a time. You will get some time to think it through. But, I assure you, one word out of line with these boys and it will be the end of you.”
That was rich. I had endured the manager, his awful son, the even more awful invigilator - not to mention the hundreds of other awful men who had shat in me. And now he was warning me to stay in line? That venomous, old cunt.
“Please, no, you can’t do this. Not the factory on the plains. My arms, my legs, no! No, no, no!”
Screamed the plea of horror from a fellow shit slurper. His life was about to sink deeper into the depths of depravity. But so was mine, and there was nothing I could do about it. Where were the enemy? Surely they should be here by now. It all felt too little, too late. But their intentions were unknown. Did the ministry know more strategically?
We were getting repurposed en masse. Thousands of platoons would be deployed for the war! Which meant thousands of human toilets would be necessary to service them.
“Please, not the box. Not the box!”
Another fretful cry from the unit next door. What in the hell? Were they preparing them in advance? God only knows. Time was ticking. It was all dawning closer to home. To my Shit Shack.
“Put this one in the back of the truck. We can fuck both its holes on the way to the factory. I think you troops have earned some fun time.”
“Toilet duty too, sir?” came the gleeful response from one of the junior sounding privates.
“Yes. Now get to it. We have one more shack left.”
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. It was happening. Oh fuck. Oh shit. Oh fuck.
The door blasted open. A man entered, followed by two privates.
“This the whore?” The lieutenant barked at the invigilator.
“Yes,” the invigilator said. But they quickly pushed him to one side. This platoon had no airs and graces about hierarchy at the Shit Shacks. They were in charge now.
“We are here to redeploy you under Act 765 of the ministry order. You will be transferred to the arms factory for repurposing and restoration.”
They did not even give me time to answer before my naked, shit stained body was hauled outside by the two burly privates.
A sinister vehicle, clamped with metal railings on the tiniest of windows, came into view. I could hear the hollow sounds of men writhing in agony. The rain poured. It was dead of night. The beast of man had arrived. To take me to the next phase of my existence.
I didn’t kick. I didn’t scream. For what use would it do? I didn’t know.
Everything turned to black.
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