Old Slag Degraded by Young Studs Pt. 03

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I appreciate that this account will not resonate with everyone. I desired to include everything that took place over the weekend, and what follows is part of that record. I include it to be honest and to fulfil requests for more of these revelations. If pee and poo play are not for you, please kindly pass over this account and move on to part 4.

Thank you

Luv Rachel xx

The Shit Slut

I knew as my second evening in the company of these young men approached that I was about to be tested to my limits of endurance. In the accounts I had put up of my previous misdemeanours, I had decided, for better or worse, to include every aspect of my sex life. After much thought and receiving advice, I incorporated several accounts describing my willingness to engage as a submissive human toilet.

In posting these, I had thought they would be blasted for their outrageous and extreme nature but had been amazed to discover they became some of my most popular accounts. I was constantly being asked to include more despite them, by their nature, often being repetitive in their content.

When I had engaged in a previous gangbang with some of these men a couple of months earlier, they had been emphatic that I allowed them to play ‘toilet’ games with them. In preparing for this current session, I received many texts and calls requesting the same. The lads, though, had made it clear they had no intention of sparing me in any way during this part of our gathering. I was to be bogged down for several hours and be flushed with embarrassment.

During the preliminary texts, emails and phone calls, I had, perhaps, stupidly agreed to do something I had not done since one of my very earliest scat meets sixteen years previously. I knew, not for the first time that I was nuts; however, once again, that desire to please kicked in as some begged me to acquiesce to their requests.

One of these requests was that I would be on hand to clean everyone’s backside whenever they went to the loo and proffered my mouth, if asked, to become their urinal.

The practicalities of agreeing to these were not easy to fulfil if I was engaged in other activities or dressed, for example, to go out. It was decided, therefore, that I would become, as they called me, their ‘Bog Brush’ only when it was physically possible for me to do so and never between midnight and eight in the morning.

In agreeing to be a urinal, I had to be naked or wearing torn or dirty clothing and would not be required to drink the golden nectar, only receive it into my mouth and let it run down my chin and over my body.

Despite the restrictions, the guys took great delight in me escorting them to the toilet cubical to wipe their bottoms after they had pooped into one of the buckets positioned to hold their deposits. These were kept until required for my enrolment as their total toilet tart.

As readers of my other accounts will have noticed, I am a woman who loves what many sites call ‘hardcore’ sex. I do not enjoy one-on-one encounters as I find them too vanilla and lacking in the intense excitement I crave. I have also discovered that I respond better to certain things when a little roughness is included. It gets my juices flowing and, as a most enjoyable side effect, seems to get cocks hardened. We had all agreed, along with my limits, that this was how we would conduct this dirty session that I knew many were thoroughly looking forward to participating in.

Having eaten yet another unhealthy and modified take-out, I was grabbed and carried from the small kitchen area back into the main workshop, where the paddling pool had again been set up in my absence, along with a large sheet of hardboard lying screwed to four long planks of wood.

“Lift up your dress, pull down your knickers and shit,” I was ordered curtly.

This was nothing new as I had agreed to the request from the guys participating that every time I went to the loo, it would be publicly. I don’t understand why watching a woman urinate or defecate turns guys on. The fact that I have been asked to do so on more occasions than I remember testifies that such actions get certain males very animated. Since my arrival the previous afternoon, two buckets had been allotted to me for liquid and hard excretions.

In obedience to the command to ‘shit’, I squatted over the bucket for my more smelly waste and began to push.

“WOW!” a voice commented.

“She is so hot.”

“And dirty.”

“Well, let’s be honest, we were all warned that she was a filthy whore, and this proves it.”

“Yeah, What goes in is good wholesome food, and what comes out is filthy shit. She’s just full of the stuff!”

“That’s ’cause she’s a hit head!”

The ribald comments flowed as the men watched my anus expand and saw two sizable turds land in the bucket.

I had no chance to react as I was grabbed by several hands and swung around so that I ended up on the floor, being held there by at least three people.

I was pushed, pulled and lightly kicked until I was üsküdar escort kneeling on my bum with my hair pulled down so that I was looking up.

“Now it’s time for some strong drink,” I was told as I watched some men unzipping flies. “You will drink our piss!”

“All of it,” another added darkly.

“Drinking a small cup of urine, usually, but not exclusively, my own, has been a ‘party trick’ I have done at several scat fests and toilet meets I have attended previously. However, These lads had read up about a thing called ‘water cure’, practised during the Middle Ages. It was not pleasant for the victims.

I had initially refused to participate, having scrutinised the practice in various sources.

“You don’t think we are that stupid or cruel, do you,” one of the guys had said on a Facetime call. “We don’t want to be as extreme as those old folks were way back in history. We would like you, though, to drink lots of our piss in one go, then we whip or smack your belly, and eventually you vomit it out.”

Puke, as anyone who has had previous contact with me in planning a gangbang will know, has always been out of bounds. It was a definite ‘no, no’ and ‘no go!’ However, the more I read about the ‘water cure’ punishment, the more it fascinated me as something I might be able to accomplish that I had never done before.

“I’ll give it my best shot,” I finally agreed to my surprise. “But I’m not having funnels or rags forced down my throat or anything similar. I’ll drink what I can at my own pace, and when I stop, I stop. Understood?”

“Really?” one of them chatting to me had questioned, “You mean, you’ll really do it?”

“I’ll do my best,” I had laughed nervously.

So here I was, forced on my knees and about to try a totally new thing. I was going to drink more piss than I had ever done before and then allow my full belly to be slapped and whipped, so I puked it up. I did feel, as the first stream of golden pee rained down into my mouth, that this had been a decision I had made when I left my brain behind.

I had already conceived that the best way was to gulp it down and not try and hold it in my mouth before swallowing. Of course, the jets were not always accurate, many purposefully so, and in no time, I was full of and soaked in smelly pee. Only then was the grip of the guys holding me released.

“Lick the floor clean whore,” I was ordered when I knew I was at the limit of my endurance.

“I’ll do no such thing,” I protested.

“Come on, get on your hands and knees and lick up that piss you spilt.”

“NO!”

I was grasped, turned and pushed onto the floor face down.

“Lick the mess up shit head. Or else…”

With someone’s foot holding my face to the floor, I did not wait to see what the ‘or else’ might be.

After a couple of minutes of licking along the floor, bum high, head low, arms bent, the men gave me a helping hand by grabbing my legs and pushing and pulling me along the floor like a mop.

“Stop, stop, stop now,” I cried as I became wetter and smellier.

My garments became saturated as they soaked up the yellow mess, while others enjoyed spraying me with their bladder fulls of warm pee as I was pushed below them.

“Use her hair,” someone suggested helpfully.

“Noooooooooooo!” I complained.

I was turned around so I was facing up, and another helped take my weight so that my head was pushed along the floor with my hair mopping up the watery mess.

“Pity we can’t put her in a wringer and squeeze her out,” I heard someone say.

I’m not sure how long I was ‘mopped’ around, but it seemed like ten minutes, and when it stopped, I knew that it would not take much for me to empty my stomach of its contents. I felt sick as a parrot.

“Hold her on the table face up,” someone commanded, “and cut her clothes off around her belly.”

A square patch was cut out of my dress by someone using scissors to expose my tummy from just below my breasts to above my pussy.

Suddenly, someone slapped me pretty hard across my navel, which made me jump in surprise.

“Here, use this,” someone said, handing my assilent a tawse.

For those who do not know, a tawse was used as a method of punishment in Scottish schools. It is similar to a leather belt sliced down the middle. The two prongs thus created are designed to cause maximum pain. Thankfully, it was no longer around when I was at school; however, I have felt its sharp bite many times since in BDSM sessions. It is a cruel, painful implement.

I watched as it was raised above my exposed midriff and then came down hard, sending its piercing sting deep into my body. My torturer ensured he spread his pain around different parts of his target area until I knew I would puke.

Hands holding me immediately released their grip as I exclaimed, “I’m going to be sick,” from my incapacitated position.

A bucket had been placed under the table for me to use; however, I had no time to grab it as gaziemir escort I vomited everywhere as soon as my feet hit the floor. The suddenness of my retching had guys jumping and diving away from the watery concoction coming from me like a waterfall in full flood. It was pretty revolting.

As I stood, hands on my knees, breathing deeply, I heard someone say, “I bet she’s glad to get that off her chest!”

“I thought she’d got it out of her gut,” another responded with a little laugh.

I was given fifteen minutes to recover, for which I was very grateful, for I knew worse was to come.

“Right, hold her down so she can see how real people shit,” Kevin ordered.

“You’re not going to shit on me,” I protested.

“Oh yes, we fuckin are shit head,” I was told in a way that left no room for argument.

I was roughly forced onto my back and held in position with my arms outstretched while another sat on my legs as I wriggled and kicked.

“Lift her skirt and rip off those knickers of her,” the lad on my legs was told.

“You dare!” I responded with as much venom as I could spit out.

My captor seemed to take great delight in ignoring me and promptly obeying the instruction he had been given. After struggling to ‘rip’ my knickers off and making several failed attempts, he finally settled for pulling them down and off my legs.

I was shown a pair of pliers.

“Sean, there,” Tom stated, pointing to the lad now playing with my knickers, “will be holding these clamped to your hairy twat. He will delight in assisting obedience with a quick but painful pull if you do not do as we say.

“NOOOOOOOO!” I said again as my vocabulary became somewhat limited.

I lay, held tight, and wide-eyed as a folding commode was placed above my head and its legs adjusted to lower it closer to my face.

I knew then what was coming. We had discussed every aspect of me becoming a toilet, but I had left it to the guys as to what order they wanted to do things. I knew that Tynan and some of the leading younger members would stop things as soon as I spluttered out my safe word.

Once the commode was positioned with the seat about eighteen inches from my face, the first volunteer prepared to sit above me.

I watched as his naked butt seated itself over me, and he began to strain.

“Open your mouth bitch!”

I felt the pliers grip my pussy hair and begin to pull as I reluctantly opened my mouth in a degree of trepidation.

“Drop it in her,” the one above me was encouraged.

“Shit in the sewer slut,” another added.

I watched as a large, hard brown turd began to appear.

“Wider, slut.”

I opened my mouth as wide as it would go as the pressure further down increased in intensity.

As I thought the brown log would drop, my detractor seemed to delight in holding the offending article above me, increasing my anticipation.

“Are you ready, toilet tart?” he asked, looking down.

I nodded still with my mouth wide open.

Suddenly, it fell and, much to my surprise, and I think everyone, hit my lips and dropped into my gob.

“Great shot!”

“Spot on!”

“Beat that!”

“Leading by example!”

“Hold it bitch. Don’t you dare let it drop out.”

The commode was quickly removed, and those holding my arms assisted me in moving to a sitting position.

“Now… chew it!”

“Yes. Chew it good and well and then spit it into this bucket whore.”

I shook my head, a sign of noncompliance, and as I did so, my hair was grabbed and pulled violently upwards.

“Obey us, bitch!”

As I have already stated, I had done this only once years before and had vowed then never to do it again. When it was first muted, I had refused point blank; however, as the guys had pressed me and I could see how keen they were to use me in such a vile way, I had, perhaps, stupidly relented. Having done so, I had to stand the revolting test.

It was all I could do not to throw up again as I macerated the first guy’s poo in my mouth. No matter how I tried, I could not avoid tasting and feeling its texture. It was a disgusting thing.

Once I had completed my task and emptied the contents of my mouth into a bucket, I was forced back down as the commode reappeared, and another young man took his place over me.

The pliers were utilised, and as they pulled my hairy muff taut, I opened my mouth to receive the second deposit of the evening. As the young man pushed, I watched as a darker, softer and smellier mass emerged from his stretched anal passage and dropped directly onto my nose before resting across my mouth.

“Let her hands go so she can push it in,” those holding my arms were ordered.

I could still feel the pressure on my pussy as I amazed myself and complied by pushing the sticky brown poo into my mouth and started chewing. I had concluded when considering the request to perform this act that as I had done it once, I would do it again and again sancaktepe escort to please all these young men half my age.

I had agreed to a maximum of ten different guys, and despite feeling incredibly nauseous and with a headache starting following my third, I got to number six before I had to reluctantly use my safe word to draw this vile action to a conclusion, much to the chagrin of the last four in line. As I did at university, I have concluded that I will never again engage in this activity. It really is the absolute pitt’s, and personally, it gives me no pleasure even watching rock-hard cocks being masturbated in response to my total degradation.

I was granted a thirty-minute break to recover, which I spent in the toilet rinsing out my mouth and brushing and rebrushing my teeth.

As I left the small shower room, I was grabbed again, and a free-for-all ensued as my dress was pulled, ripped, unbuttoned and torn until I was once again naked before all.

I was amazed to see six, yes, six buckets of human waste waiting for my attention.

“You know what to do,” one of the larger lads said meaningfully.

“Not that,” I begged again, “please.”

The first time I performed this action at university, I had no idea I would be made to repeat it numerously for the enjoyment of scat addicts and male doms. This was the first time I had been asked to prepare six buckets.

With two guys hovering over me with riding crops, I was pushed on my knees and set to work, thrusting my hands and arms into the buckets and macerating the contents. There were always volunteers to assist in providing their urine to ensure that I made each bucket a consistent gooey mixture.

“She really is the dirtiest, smelliest slut on the planet,” someone said.

“She might be dirty, but she’s also very fuckable too,” another added, “she was so hot earlier when we did her.”

“I think we must be depraved making her do such extreme things,” a further person chipped in.

“What would we do to her if she refused to do it?” one of the newbies asked.

“Let’s show him,” Brett responded.

“Lift her up and hold her,” he commended the two with riding crops, who looked aghast at me with my hands and arms brown and sticky with human excrement.

“How do we do that?” one asked his face a mask of horror.

“Lift her by her shoulders.”

Gingerly, they lifted me by my shoulders, and I suppressed my desire to chase them around the building as in a silent movie, threatening to grab them with my smelly, filthy hands.

“Stand still, you vermin,” I was ordered, “if you move, we double your punishment.”

“I won’t!”

“YOU WILL!”

I wouldn’t have minded, but I hadn’t done anything to deserve being punished,,, at least not then.

I was held by a vice-like grip that ensured I did not move and, I’m sure, was also to protect my guardians from any filthy ministrations I might have been tempted to offer.

Suddenly, a shooting pain shot through one of my breasts as a riding crop landed neatly and hard against my nipple. I had hardly screamed before my other nipple received the same ruthless treatment. Both exclamations of pain seemed to merge into one long cry that finally became a deep groan.

“That’s what she gets if she misbehaves,” the one who asked the question was told. Then, turning to me, Brett commanded, “Now, you dirty cow, get back to your work.” I did. Immediately!

“We have been doing as you suggested in your accounts,” someone said as he moved closer, “and been storing our shit’s in our freezers, so we had plenty for now. We also have some from the older generation who fucked you this morning. We hope you appreciate the efforts we have gone to for you.”

It took me a little over an hour to complete my smelly task to all six buckets, and although I was delighted to have finished, I knew that worse was coming.

“Let’s have a vote,” Kevin said, taking centre stage, “Shall we turn her into a shit slut quickly or take our time and enjoy ourselves a little more at her expense?”

A show of hands unanimously chose the long slow route to turn me into a living turd.

“Good to be agreed,” a voice spoke from behind, “Attach her to that board on the floor and let the fun begin. Just ensure her bum is sitting on that hole,” he concluded, pointing out a round hole about six inches diameter.

I was laid on the board, bum hole to wooden hole and bound using builders’ pipe clips placed over my ankles and wrists and screwed into the wood securing my limbs. A substantially larger one was placed over my neck, ensuring my head had little room to manoeuvre.

Once I was in place, the guys united in lifting me, attached to the wood, into an upright position where I was leaning against a wall. A rope was run from two hooks at the top of the wood to two in the wall to ensure I didn’t fall. The lads had done their preparations well. Two wooden blocks were placed under my feet to stop me from hanging, allowing me to stand on them and bear my weight.

“I have here,” Tom announced, “two large syringes. You can fill them from the buckets and try to hit her by squirting them from four feet.”

As the first lined up with the gigantic syringe in his hand, I imagined that people facing a firing squad must feel much the same way.

“I want the bitches fucking face!” he announced with passion.