The routine solidified. Guards came hourly, sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs. They fucked her hard and fast in her arse, then put their cocks in her mouth. "*Drink,*" they’d command, laughing as she choked on their piss flowing down her throat. The taste was acrid, burning her throat, settling like poison in her stomach. Hunger gnawed, sharp and insistent. Thirst became a constant torment. Rashid returned later, dragging a heavy wooden chair behind him. Its seat bore a crude, jagged hole cut through the centre. "*Upgrade,*" he grunted. He unlocked her wrist manacles only to chain her ankles to iron rings bolted beneath the chair’s legs. Her neck was shackled now too, linked to the chair’s frame, forcing her head back, her mouth aligned perfectly beneath the hole. "*Proper plumbing,*" Rashid declared, patting the chair. "*Food and water come through here now. Earn it.*" He barked orders outside. The first recruit stepped forward, fumbling with his trousers. Tiffany stared up at the dark circle above her. She saw him position himself. A hot stream of his piss hit her face, blinding her. She gasped, inhaling the vile liquid. It flooded her mouth, her nose. She gagged violently, convulsing against the chains. "*Swallow it all, bitch!*" Rashid yelled. "*Or you get no real water!*" The recruit laughed, finishing his stream. Tiffany choked, sputtering, her throat raw. Before she could recover, Rashid shoved the man aside. "*Not done!*" he snarled. Rahis lifted up his abaya and sat on the chair. Tiffany looked up to see Rahids , hairy arse. Rahids are hole started to pucker. Rahid grunted, straining. A thick, foul mass of his shit dropped heavily through the hole, landing directly into Tiffany’s open mouth. The stench was overwhelming. The texture was unspeakable. She retched, bile mixing with the filth. Rashid kicked the chair. "*EAT IT!*" he roared. "*Or the next five get extra turns!*" Tiffany closed her eyes. She chewed and she swallowed. The first of five. She knew , that to survive , she had to become a fully compliant , human toilet.
Later, Rashid returned alone. He unlocked the neck shackle and the ankle chains. Tiffany slumped onto the damp straw, trembling, her face smeared with filth. Rashid hauled her upright by her hair. "*Good dog,*" he muttered. He dragged her, stumbling, out of the pit cell and down the corridor to a small, tiled room she hadn’t seen before. A single hose snaked from a wall spigot. Rashid shoved her under it and turned the tap. Freezing water blasted her, shocking her senses. He scrubbed her roughly with a coarse brush, scraping her skin raw, washing away the stench and the residue. He tossed her a thin, rough towel. "*Dry off.*" Then, he pointed to a small stool beside a low table. On the table sat a steaming bowl of fragrant stew, rich with chunks of lamb and vegetables, beside a plate of flatbread and a cup of clean water. Tiffany stared, disbelieving. Rashid leaned against the wall, watching her. "*See?*" he said, his voice unnervingly calm. "*Behave. Obey. Accept what you are. And you get rewarded.*" He gestured at the food. "*This is your routine now. Filth earns you fuel. Understand? Drink piss. Eat shit. Then… you get this.*" He tapped the bowl. "*Nice food. Proper food. Enough to keep you strong. Enough to serve Al-Mawt.*" Tiffany’s stomach clenched violently, both from hunger and revulsion. The smell of the stew was intoxicating. The memory of what she’d swallowed moments before was a physical weight. Rashid watched her hesitation. "*Eat,*" he commanded softly. "*Or it goes back to the dogs.*" Tiffany reached for the bread. Her hand shook. She dipped it into the stew, the steam warming her face. She took a bite. The flavors exploded—rich meat, savory broth, herbs. It was ambrosia after hell. She devoured it ravenously, gulping the clean water. Rashid smiled, a predator satisfied. "*Good,*" he murmured. "*Remember the taste. Remember what obedience buys.*" He hauled her back to her feet. "*Back to your throne, princess. Shift change is soon. guards waiting.*" He dragged her back towards the pit, the chains, and the chair beneath the hole. The taste of stew lingered, sweet and terrible. It was the price of survival. For now.
The routine solidified like cement. Dawn brought the first guard. Tiffany chained beneath the chair. Shackles held her neck arched back, her mouth open beneath the crude hole. Legs spreadeagled and raised and secured to the rafters. The guard grunted above her, thrusting his big Arab cock into her arse. The pain was a dull ache now, a familiar violation. He finished quickly, filling her with cum. Then came the hot stream of his piss, splashing her face, flooding her mouth. She swallowed mechanically, the acrid taste registering only distantly. Next came the heavier sound, the foul weight of his shit dropping into her mouth. She chewed. Swallowed. The guard chuckled, adjusting his clothes. "*Good toilet,*" he grunted, slapping her cheek before leaving. Another took his place. And another. Ten men. Every morning. Every shift. Fuck. Piss. Shit. Tiffany became a vessel. Her mind retreated further. The name "Tiffany" faded, the guards never used it. "*Open wider, toilet,*" they’d sneer. "*Swallow it all, toilet.*" "*Clean yourself up, toilet,*" Rashid would order after the last man, dragging her back to the washroom hose. Then came the stew, the bread, the water. The only warmth. The only taste not of degradation. She ate silently, staring at the wall. The food wasn’t kindness. It was fuel. Fuel for the toilet. Fuel to endure the next ten.
The next day. The next violation. Her identity dissolved into the rhythm of filth and fuel. She was the pit. She was the hole in the chair. She was toilet. She was loosing her human mind and becoming , simply , an object.
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