I stood at the door of my bolted shit Shack.
A State announcement had begun earlier. Updating the Collective on the precarious situation at hand.
Not only for us confined to a life as a human toilet;
but for the worries and concerns of all who dwelled in wider society.
The economy, once thriving, was in suffering. Levels of crime had skyrocketed. The ministry was tense.
It did not paint a pretty picture of harmony and prosperity. Not one bit…
“To human toilets listening to this ministry broadcast, we will not tolerate slackness.
In Shit Shack life, there is valour, there is honour.
Your mouths gift pleasure to those more fortunate than yourselves.
Wane a fraction and repurposing as a Soopy will be your calling. A gloopy in the background, a Shit Machine!”
Groans scattered about from within the Shit Shacks.
I could hear the pain of broken, shackled men.
To be reassembled and repackaged was the fear. Upended from one box to another.
Flesh to metal. Metal to flesh.
It was incomprehensible to consider.
Soopy gloopy Vending under the watchful eye of the State Collective pierced us.
For it was now a thousand men who dwelled in this municipality as Shackers. An ever-increasing number.
Ministry Men, Agents, Police Prowlers were on hand.
In multitudes enforcing continual subservience to the State.
If war came, we would be the last men thought of. Us, Shit Shackers, the lowest of vermin.
If they wished, a cull would take place. Easily so. Extermination quick, if they pleased.
We were just human toilets. Nobody valued us for anything other than shitting appliances.
I held back my truest hopes. Hope was gone.
The tiniest bits still lingered in some. They believed a saviour would release us from bondage and set us free.
But this elusive figure never arrived. Only men. Lots of men. Evil and wicked men. To shit.
The tannoy stopped. The announcement was over. It was the turning point of worse to come.
If renegades and dissidents were captured, they would end as us.
That fear of threat, to be turned into a human toilet vending machine, was the first.
It had loomed for months. On the horizon, and now, it was close.
I didn’t want to lose my appendages. Even if I swallowed shit, I could still walk.
The invigilator had arrived. He had news. Which I was not at all expecting.
“They packaged one up today.” He said, inspecting my teeth.
“Do you think you will be next?”
“Why?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t know. I make assessments.”
An odd question. An even stranger answer. Why had he asked me?
I felt he was concealing something. Baiting me to express feelings.
The darkness in the Shack shadowed his face as he spoke. I wondered if it was one here? - It may have been my ex.
I wasn’t to ask questions. Ever.
Only if asked, I could respond.
“You are aware of the impending problems by now?”
“No. Only the announcement earlier. Concerning Shit Shackers.”
“Crime was down. It’s now up. Extraordinary numbers are arriving. Newest Shackers - baby ones - just as you had been!”
I crumbled inside.
He took a surgical mask and put it over his face.
“I need to inspect your asshole. The gape. If it’s getting wider!”
Yes, my gape. My colossal cavern. It had received attention and criticism. My shit wouldn’t hold.
Stopper inserts are in place. Only released to receive shit or to shit.
I never forgot the first time it happened. The stark, striking image of my ex in my head.
The entire time that first man dropped shit into my anus.
I stepped out of my shit box and assumed the lying position.
On my back, legs spread, gape available for view. It was on the inventory checklist. To be ticked off for ministry figures.
He pulled the stopper out and assessed the situation.
“Looks stretched. Did you receive any shit in it today?”
“No. Only once this week. Upon request of the manager, we are now to only assemble ourselves if the man requests it. Most men don’t want to.”
“Really now? Well, after the incidents, I don’t blame them.”
“Yeah. I don’t want to think about it.”
“I will have to increase the size of girth. Should we say a metal plate banding?”
My stomach retched.
They fixed a metal plate banding in place with a lock. It was a circled sided ‘O’ stopper that you couldn’t remove.
It kept the shit mass firmly clogged inside, unable to expel.
It had a pin on it. The dial numbers given to the customer if he wants to use my asshole as his toilet.
It stayed in days on end. You couldn’t even shit the shit out that had been shit inside of you. It was excruciatingly painful.
The invigilator had explained its mechanisms to me.
“My shit falls out if it's not bunged up. Can we just increase size by a few centimetres?”
He squinted his eyes. He had that look of ‘don’t tell me what to do’, but then it faded.
“No, I don’t think so. A metal plate banding it is. It’s the only way to get the hoop so loose a farm yard animal could use you!”
I felt sick to my guts. And it wasn’t just the manager's shit I had ingested earlier.
“They demand it can hold nothing. Do you understand!?”
“It already spills out when I walk. I get bits of shit dropping onto the hard floor.”
“I will insert it after the rest of the tests are complete.”
Yes, the Shit Shacks. Life certainly was grim. Even grimmer if you went missing! Which they did.
To the farm, the Gulags and the dreaded gloopy.
“You are being thought of kindly to be sent off from here at some point. If you don’t improve. What’s your thinking lately?”
I went silent. What was my thinking?
The fuckin’ idiot. He had a mood of freedom about his demeanour. It came in beats of stealth. Dry and odourless. A musk without spoor.
I was as stagnant as a puddle of water, so bored it refused to evaporate, that it drowned itself on purpose.
That’s how I felt. With that gape. Expanding as the parting of the planetary alignments in expansive galaxies.
“I eat shit. I am a human toilet!”
I gave him robotics. The technic tone. The line that summed me up.
I was tired of answering absurd questions.
My thinking was just confinement and shit. Capitulation and shit.
“We are done here. Now assemble yourself for shit packing.
The manager wants your weekly mass pumped back inside of you.
With the sewage system in disrepair and a special guest arriving later, he doesn’t want your shit everywhere. Not for this guest.”
“Shit packing?”
“Yes. Is it a problem?”
I resigned to say, “No.”
It’s all I could say. Backing off, breaking down, mouthing pretty sounds of charm - redundant.
When your mouth was called upon, you ate shit. When your asshole was called upon, you ate shit.
Whichever hole, whatever goal. The man decided where it would end.
“Then up you get. On all fours. I will align the pipe so we can filter your shit back into you!”
Damn. That pipe. The wicked ways of Shit Shack days. It pinched the saggy circumference of my newly formed shit bucket.
My manager would call it a ‘Shit Shack Shit Bucket.’
It was deathly difficult to endure such a feat. But I did. They pushed me beyond limits, consistently.
He had told me in my baby Shacker days I would never plateau. That was true.
I spread my legs as far apart as possible. Arching my back with my face firmly embedded to the splintered floor of the Shack.
It protruded my ass upwards. The perfect angle for a shit piping.
I had not worn clothes since my incarceration. I didn’t even remember how to tie a shoelace.
The contrast of clothed males as a naked male still got to me.
Not forgetting the day they paraded me out for all and sundry to see me. My Shit Shame Walk Of Fame!
A day indelibly imprinted on me. Like the factory adhesive used to stick the head of a Soopy gloopy in its drawer.
“I’ll just pull your flaps out to the side a bit. They are awfully puffy and pink today. A bit like wings of a bird!”
Oh my God. He knew how to humiliate me. Hauntingly so. And if only I could fly away. But dreams don’t come true… not in the Shit Shacks.
The insert began. I felt the transparent pipe edge its way past my once tightly budded sphincter.
The invigilator angled it downwards as he pushed into my exposed hole.
It was so fuckin’ huge! But my shit hole was so baggy and distended that it took little to get it past the hilt.
It was wider than a woman’s vagina. That hurt. Bad. I was a man.
“It doesn’t exactly slip in. But we are getting there.
They want it to pop in, and pop out, with the ease of a plop.
You could very well be repurposed into a permanent toilet exclusively via your asshole!
You never know what plans the ministry has. Even I, myself, am not privy to the finer information of the collective.”
I tried my best to relax the walls of my shit bucket. One elephant. Two elephant. Relaxing my cunt gape. As a shit sleeve to accommodate.
“Oh shit, I forgot! Hang that hole for a second and let me grab the solution!
We don’t want your shit getting stuck in the pipe like a fat man in a water slide, now do we!? Ha ha,”
My shit was in the real bucket by the box. He had me scoop it out and into it when he had first arrived.
“Yep. A special guest is arriving later. I think it’s an official thing or such. Did the manager say anything?”
“No. Nothing at all.”
I said in exasperation as the awful pipe stretched my once tender asshole. Breath hurtling at a dynamite speed as an Agent tracking your tail.
He squirted the solution and fished clumps of shit into the pipe with a scooper!
He held it upwards so any shit entering would fall to its target.
It was no fun having a gargantuan pipe entrenched inside your toilet. Yes, that’s what they called it. Plain and simply a ‘toilet.’
It hit harder, as it was my very own anus. It was diabolical.
“Oh sweet Jesus. It’s one mangled mess.”
I felt terrible as the entrails of shit clusters began slipping down the pipe.
Imagine having an old man fish your own shit into your asshole just because an important person was arriving. Saying that, imagine being in a Shit Shack!
I panted. My outstretched hole had more capacity to hold shit than a waste disposal unit. I was industrialised, incarnate.
“You are stuffing up alright. As a nice house of shit. A shit house!”
I could feel my insides expand. Filling me to the rafters with my excreted shitty slops. Sweat pouring off me.
Shockingly to say, I was getting used to having my toilet packed with shit. My shit. Their shit.
It didn’t become easier, just regular. Damning pain, shame and humiliation. It was always present.
On this occasion, 4 sticky logs had swum down the pipe, ready to enjoy a ‘dinner n dance’ evening with my wrecked hole.
It felt awful when each one slipped itself in. Centring into the hollow realm of my shit bucket.
It consumed you. Like a creature living in your anus and repeatedly shitting in it. Hell.
“And pop goes the weasel!” Said the invigilator, as he pulled the pipe out in one full swoop. Ghastly.
I felt dehumanised. I was sub-human. Nothing more.
“It still gapes open even with a couple of days' worth of your shit inside it. What an intrigue that is! Does it hurt?”
“Yesss!” I said, the facetious fuck.
“Looks as though the bird has stretched its wings out. A big, beautiful albatross. Soaring and gliding through the air.”
“Ahhh! … ahhh! … ahh! It’s full! I’m stuffed full!”
“Well, you’ll stay stuffed full down on all fours for a full hour. I will retrieve the metal plate banding.
If any, and I mean any, of that shit brims out or overflows, your manager will be furious.
Remember, we have a guest. I’m going to find out who it is. It may very well be a high-ranking, government official from the ministry!”
I did as I was ordered. Waiting on all fours as a subjugated human toilet of the State.
With an asshole that resembled a cooking pot of stew. Shit Shack Stew!
Your breathing fastens in rapid pace when your anal walls are stretching beyond comprehension.
Sweat pouring off my chin and pooling beneath my face. I couldn’t keep my tongue in.
It lay out over my bottom lip, with drool hanging in strings from the corners of my mouth.
I was like a lowly dog. But luckily for that dog, it didn’t have to endure the contents of its shitty evacuations make a home in its cavity.
I was a human latrine, full of shit cast by the viper’s tongue!
The invigilator returned 1 hour later, as I agonised in wait.
I could feel the shit lowering and rising with every breath. It teetered at the edge, beckoning to escape my ravaged shitter!
He had no news of the proposed arrival. He had the metal plate banding, though.
“I couldn’t get the medium sized piece, or the large piece, so I got the extra large piece instead. How about that!”
He dangled the gut-wrenching article in front of my eyes. He was literally going to bung me up like a bottle of wine you would drink later. But nobody was going to drink my shit.
“The clerk at ‘Shacker Shopper’ said it was only for the bravest asshole.
He gulped something rotten when I told him! But shrugged his shoulders moments later and said ‘who gives a fuck!”
To think, way back when I was a normal guy, I was a pure breed top. I would never even let a guy slip a finger up inside me. Now men shit inside me!
He slapped on some disposable medical gloves and then took 3 fingers on both sides to prise my toilet outwards to full capacity.
“Oh lord. It’s going to rip itself in two!” I said, vexed.
“No, no. My fingers prising you apart are to work your shit ditch to allow the contraption to enter more easily. Your wall linings are more malleable than you know.”
I felt deep degrade as my inflated asshole lips expanded! It was hell, but he eventually managed to insert it.
I was in excruciating pain with the extra girth. I thought I would split!
It was bigger than a toilet bowl itself! How’s that for human endeavour? Feats reaching beyond rational level of understanding.
“The more shit we can fit in you, the better. Think yourself lucky you are not a ‘Soopy gloopy.’
I know a very bustling subway station which has hoards of men lined up. Can you even imagine how those human toilets feel?
One rancid asshole after another. Wash, rinse and repeat. It’s the stuff of nightmares!”
I was in hell. He was a monster.
“Now relax that awful vagina anus! Let the banding stretch that saggy bag.” Said the invigilator with a chuckle.
I didn’t dignify him with an answer. I had more pressing issues, literally. My hoop was really packing a punch.
The metal plate banding had pumped my shit deeper. Smacking it into my prostate.
I felt woozy, tingly. I was a titillated toilet. Pain mixed with pleasure as I felt a lurch in my dick.
“Sure is swell. I really think they may repurpose you as a shit sheath toilet. You have a promise to be something special like that.”
I felt him dial in a code. One I would never know.
“Wonderful. Just the ticket. Now, this will stay in you until your next customer arrives. But who knows, maybe he will want to shit in your mouth.”
He stood up, marvelling at his workmanship. It was a sight to behold, a human toilet, with an extra large metal plate banding in his destroyed bucket hole. It was the whole hog!
Then, I heard something. Noises. Footsteps. Unbolt. A creak of the door. It gradually opened.
A figure emerged. One I had not seen since this all began. It thrust me into a jolt of spasm-shock.
It was my ex!
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