WARNING: This story involves scat. I don't find scat sexually appealing. However, I'm very aroused by objectification, manipulation, degradation, and extreme power imbalances. That is what this story is really about. If you enjoy those things too, then I think you'll appreciate this even if you're repulsed by scat.
NOTE TO READER: this is a work of fiction from my overactive imagination. I've never participated in anything remotely close to the events depicted here. As with all my stories, everyone involved is a consenting adult.
Every boy has its proper place. My job is to help them discover what is special about them and to help them cultivate their special attributes to my benefit.
There are three broad categories of boys in my services: standard subs, slaves, and objects.
A standard sub is only used for sexual services, or simple favors, and only when I require. Otherwise they are free to live their lives as they wish. These have limited value to me as their level of sacrifice is minimal. I'm always trying to help them elevate themselves to one of the other categories.
Slaves live in my house. They are my property. They not only provide sexual services when needed, but they also cook, clean, etc. They cannot come and go as they please. They must always do as they are told. However, their humanity is still recognized. They are free to move about the house and grounds to carry out their work. They get rewards for good behavior and punishment for bad.
Only my most special boys are objects. They voluntarily give up their very personhood as the ultimate demonstration of their devotion to me. Nothing is more special to me than my objects. They are trophies that are constant reminders of the power I hold.
An object is a thing I own that carries out a specific function. For example, a footstool is an object, and I don't mean a slave that I temporarily rest my feet on. A boy who truly wants to be my footstool must be only that, always and forever. Footstools don't move. Footstools don't talk.
Obviously, this total loss of freedom is difficult for most to accept. But there are some advantages to being an object. Objects are not expected to do anything but their one function. They are free from any other responsibility. Objects are cared for. Objects are never punished. If my footstool is dirty, I'm not mad at it. A footstool can't clean itself. I would, however, punish the slave that failed to keep it clean.
When getting to know a boy, I'm keenly interested to see if there's any potential to elevate them to object status. I will relentlessly pursue making it the best object it can be for me. Nothing gives me more satisfaction than turning a human into my object. My favorite object is my very first one. The thrill I experienced from conquering it is one of the great achievements of my lifetime and one I'm eager to repeat.
This object is my bidet. I have owned it for about 6 years now. Its only function is to clean my ass after every bowel movement. It lives its life bound naked next to my toilet in my small personal bathroom. Only I, and the slaves who take care of it, know it exists.
It squats on the tile floor of my small private restroom in a sort of yoga hero pose. Its legs folded under it on either side and its bottom sat in between. Its torso leans back propped up by its two arms with palms flat on the ground. Restraints on the floor hold its arms and legs firmly in place.
A strap across its forehead is hooked to the floor on both ends and pulls its head downward. That forces the back of its head to rest on a support designed to hold my weight. Its face is my seat and there's a back support behind it so I can be comfortable when using it. I force it to stay in this uncomfortable position because it amuses me to do so.
A metal pole comes out of the floor between its knees and runs diagonally up toward its chin. At the end of this pole is a custom fitted chin support that presses firmly against its chin to keep its mouth forced shut.
There's a knob on the chin support pole. I turn that knob to retract the pole just enough so it can open its mouth for my cleaning. There's also a leather strap around its neck connected to a crank. I can turn the crank to tighten the strap which activates the tongue extender. As the strap tightens around its neck, its tongue protrudes out further providing me a deeper cleaning. I love an object with knobs, gears, and buttons that make it work. This really brings the fantasy alive for me.
The highlight of its existence are my bowel movements. As these are the only times it gets to be near me. The sound of a toilet flush has conditioned it like Pavlov's dog. Once it hears that sound it gets so excited. Its body shivers in anticipation with all the little tiny movements it can muster. It can't wait to get its treat.
I align my asshole up over its mouth, turn the knob on the chin support so it can open its mouth. Then I sit down and enjoy the cleaning. I turn the crank on the neck strap to extend the tongue as far as it will go.
Unless I'm in a hurry, I almost always stay seated longer than necessary. It has earned the right to get as much of my time as I can spare. Sitting here with my phone is a great opportunity to get caught up on emails, reply to Grindr DMs, watch videos, etc.
When I'm in a playful mood I'll bounce up and down and pretend I'm riding a horse. "Yeehaw!" "Gittyup!" The walls and ceiling of my bathroom are all mirrored so I can watch myself using it from every angle. I always feel so powerful here. I like to look at myself flexing my muscles as I sit. I turned a human into my willing bidet. Achieving that was a real ego boost. I'm entitled to use people in any way I desire and this thing is living proof of that.
It's so touch starved that it sometimes orgasms when I'm using it. This doesn't often happen but when it does it's always my aggressive face riding that does the trick. Its cock is completely locked up in a flat cage, so it doesn't really ejaculate. It just oozes a pathetic dribble of cum out of its little nub.
Once I'm satisfied that it has completely cleaned my hole, I turn the crank to withdraw its tongue then I turn the knob to shut its mouth. Then I wipe my ass up and down its face repeatedly until I'm totally dry. I hate the feeling of walking around with its saliva in my crack.
When I'm finished I get up, wash my hands, turn off the lights and leave.
Hygiene is very important to me. I demand absolute cleanliness in my environment. There's a lot of bacteria in the fecal matter this thing is constantly exposed to. If I'm not careful, it could make me sick. So, I want it sterilized after every use.
As soon as I'm finished, the slave who cleans my bathrooms quickly gets to work. The bidet's face is sprayed with disinfectant and scrubbed with a hot sanitary towel. Then its mouth hole is opened and it gargles with antibacterial mouthwash.
Although it is an object it does have the same requirements for survival as any human. And I want my bidet to be available to me for many years to come. So, I have given the responsibility of its maintenance to my primary sub, and chief slave, number one. Should my bidet ever be unfit for service, then number one will be severely punished.
I don't know how it happens, nor do I want to know, but number one makes sure that it is fed, watered, cleaned, and that its waste is disposed of.
This is my bidet. Knowing too much about its human needs would really spoil the fun for me. I would be very upset if deprived of my joy in thinking of it as an object. Number one is very considerate of how sensitive I am about this and therefore makes sure that all of its maintenance is taken care of in a way that I would never see it. If I ever walked in on it being fed or something, I would be livid.
Other requirements that I have is that it must be completely shaved from head to toe. It just feels more sanitary for it not to have any body hair. Plus, it's really uncomfortable to wipe one's ass on face stubble.
I also don't want it moved from its position. Thinking of it stuck uncomfortably there 24/7/365 brings me joy like nothing else does. If you ever see me smiling, there's a good chance it's because I'm thinking of how I convinced a human to live the rest of its life like this. This thing is a living monument to my greatness.
However, I've allowed number one some flexibility with this requirement. It may be moved if it must be for its health or safety, but only for those reasons. And I must never see it out of position. I have cameras everywhere. Even when I'm away on a trip, I'll occasionally log in to see my bidet. If it's not in position, number one better have a good explanation or there will be hell to pay.
My main rule for all the slaves is they can't talk to it, use it, touch it, or interact with it in any way except for what is necessary to keep it functioning. It's a thing. It's my thing. And everyone must treat it that way.
My bidet was once someone's son. I'm sure they had dreams for it other than this. It once had a life. So, how did this pathetic faggot get itself in this predicament? Would you believe it begged me for this? In fact, I tried to convince the boy not to choose this. But it was very persistent.
To Be Continued...
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