This is a work of fiction involving a bdsm Dom/sub relationship. The characters in the work are consenting adults.
Category suggestions: Gay, Authoritarian, Urination
I prefer to use the pseudonym werty238.
Feel free to post my email address.
The story begins under my name below.
Thank you,
Josh
When my new bidet showed up at the door that Sunday evening it was greeted by number one. I watched their exchange remotely on video.
It had never been to my place before. It was obviously overwhelmed by my wealth and surprised to be greeted by someone besides me.
"Our master doesn't talk to objects. I've been ordered to get you ready and explain what is required of you. For the next 5 days, you are nothing but a thing that cleans shit from our master's asshole," said number one.
It was put into position while I was sleeping. Soon after breakfast I came in to do my business. And the stupid thing talked to me.
"Hello Sir. Ready to serve. This is definitely a lot more intense than I was expecting."
I sat on the toilet and ignored it.
Then after I flushed, "Now here comes the fun part."
And as I was washing my hands: "Hope you enjoyed the service, Sir."
I left and immediately found number one.
"It talked to me. Fix that."
"Yes, Sir."
Number one then had the chin restraint with the knob installed so its mouth would be shut most of the time. I really enjoyed that feature and told number one to find more ways I could interact with it like that, and that's how the crank tongue extender came to be.
On day 3, I opened its mouth before I was fully seated and I heard:
"Sir, I'm sorry. I know I'm not supposed to talk. But I really need to say something."
I looked at it through my legs, let out a deep sigh, and said, "go on."
"This experience is driving me crazy. I don't even know what day it is, and I'm so sore stuck in this position. My arms, legs, and neck are really strained. I don't mind the service. But these hours of nothing are miserable. Why do I have to be locked here all the time? Why can't I leave for my meals, bathing, or going to the restroom?"
I needed a moment to collect my thoughts before responding. So, I sat down on it, and as it was slurping down my waste, I finally said,
"I'm shocked by your selfishness. I went through a lot of effort to make your fantasy come true, and all you do is respond with complaints and disrespect. You're ruining all the fun for me. Here you are getting to do what you like. This part is for you. There has to be some part of this arrangement that's for me. What I enjoy is knowing that you're here even when I don't need you to be. That you're so devoted to me that you're always here enduring the discomfort I've imposed on you. I foolishly thought you cared enough about me to do this for me. You wonder why you are locked here all the time. It's because you said you wanted to be my object. I guess you were being dishonest when you said that. Do bidets go out and watch TV in the living room when their owner isn't using them? You're here because this is where a bidet belongs. Look, I understand this is difficult. I wanted to believe you could do at least five days, but you don't even respect me enough to do three. What an incredible disappointment you are. I don't hold anyone here against their will. As soon as you've finished cleaning me, I'll tell number one to let you go."
I could tell from the muffled sounds under my ass that it had more to say. But I turned the knob to shut it up, and then rubbed myself dry.
I stood up and faced it. "You know, I don't punish objects. It's impossible for a real object to disobey. But the moment you spoke to me you ended your object status and became a disobedient slave. Disobedient slaves must always be punished."
I grabbed my cattle prod and zapped it on the balls. It let out a pathetic shriek through its shut mouth. I washed my hands and left.
I found number one and told him to release it.
Number one came back and said, "It wants to stay, Sir."
"What? Are you sure?"
"It says it wants to prove to you that it can do the 5 days, Sir."
"Fine. But I better not hear another fucking word from it."
The rest of the time passed uneventfully. I guess my scolding did the trick.
Once the five days were over, I instructed my two most beautiful slaves to release it. It was pretty stiff and wobbly on its legs after being restrained or so long. They brought it into my private spa area. They assisted it with a luxurious bath, massaged it, and serviced it sexually.
Later it was brought into my dining room as my special guest. My slaves prepared a feast in its honor. I praised it lavishly for its accomplishment.
"So, how do you feel? Was it everything you fantasized about? Did you love being objectified and assigned a most degrading task?"
"Honestly Sir, I enjoyed certain aspects of it. I loved when you were there. But you were right. That was a hard week. No human can live that way. The uncomfortable position and endless hours of boredom would eventually drive someone insane."
"You thought you were here to have fun."
"Well, of course Sir. I thought my fantasy would be fun."
"But you said you wanted to be an object. Objects don't have fun. They don't have anything. They serve a function when needed. No more no less. Perhaps you've learned a lesson about understanding the real meaning of your fantasies. However, I am super proud of you. Despite a few bumps, you made it all the way through. You showed strength and discipline. I'm actually a little sad now that it's over. I got used to the service you provided. Going back to my old toilet paper is going to be a real downgrade."
"Well, perhaps I can do it from time to time. A day here or there, Sir."
"I don't think so. I prefer more predictable arrangements. Doing it only when you want doesn't appeal to me."
"Oh, okay Sir."
"Well, it's getting late. You should really be heading home now. Goodbye."
"Bye, Sir. See you later."
Weeks go by and it hears nothing from me. The worst thing I can do to a sub is ignore them. I can beat them and degrade them all I want and they always want more. But ignoring them is a pain so deep and intolerable. Once they are under my spell they feel devastated and lost without me.
I receive a text from it:
"Hey Sir. Hope you're well."
I ignored it.
A couple of more weeks go by and it is banging on my door. I let it in.
"What do you want?"
"Sir, I don't understand this treatment. I did that week for you and now I hear nothing? Why? What did I do wrong?"
"Yes, you did that week for me and I rewarded you for it. But then you said you couldn't live that way. So, that concluded our business. I have no further need for your services."
"But Sir, can't we go back to the way it was before? You can use me in other ways."
"No. There's nothing particularly noteworthy about you. You aren't hot and you aren't that great in bed. Honestly, that last time we hooked up was going to be the last time until you told me about your fantasy. That fantasy of yours was the only thing that made you special. Y'know how many hot guys would love to be throatfucked by me? Countless. But you know how many guys told me they wanted to be an object that cleans my asshole? Only you. That was the only thing that made you special. I never thought of using a person in that way. But then your degenerate fag mind put that notion in my head. And then you toyed with me by doing it for me for 5 days and making me enjoy it so much. Then you told me you didn't want to do it anymore. I've never been rejected like that. I'm not accustomed to being told I can't have what I want."
"Oh God, Sir. I'm so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I wish I'd never mentioned that stupid fantasy."
"I wish you hadn't either."
"Please, Sir. Surely we can find a way. An accommodation where I do it sometimes. A week on and a day off. Something like that."
"Y'know, I really don't care for the way you're speaking to me right now. You're trying to tell me how it's going to be. You're trying to figure out a way that this works for your pleasure. That sort of behavior is intolerable in a sub. Doms give orders and subs obey. There's no negotiation. If you can't understand that, then this life isn't for you. You should leave."
Over the next several months my life continued pretty much as always. It tried to reach out from time to time but I ignored it. Its life took a turn for the worse. It lost its job and was struggling to find a place to live. Its already difficult family relationships deteriorated further and it had no real close friends. I'm not quite sure why it was such a failure in life. Probably because it's just a hopeless faggot that needs a proper owner. Once it had a taste of what I could offer, it never found satisfaction in anything else.
It was almost a year after the last time we talked and it showed up at my door.
Number one greeted it and asked, "What do you want?"
"Please let me speak to him."
"Just a moment."
Number one came to my office and said, "That toilet creature wants to speak with you."
"Send it in, and you stay too. I have a feeling this little drama is coming to an end."
I was sitting in my office and it entered the room groveling on its hands and knees.
"Please, Sir. Take me back. I'll do anything. I have nowhere to go. I have nothing in this world. And I can't help but feel that we have a shared destiny. I was meant to be with you."
"You are probably right about that shared destiny. You're meant to be with me. Unfortunately, there's only one way you can share a life with me, and you said you can't live that way."
"I can, Sir. I've learned my lesson. Just put me back in there, and I'll be there as long as you want. I'll be good. I'll never talk. I'll be your object."
"No. It's too much to ask. You don't understand what you're agreeing to. You're in distress. The only way I'll accept this is if it is permanent. You have to be there forever. I know you can't do it. Although, I would be so proud of the boy that could pull it off. To give up everything to me for so little in return. Only a very special boy could do that."
"That's me. I'm your special boy. Please."
I snap my fingers and number one throws a contract on the floor with a pen.
"I had a feeling you'd be back one day. I told number one to draw this up should you ever return. Sign this and you will forever be my object bound in my bathroom to perform one service. Obviously, this sort of contract won't hold up in a court of law. That's not the purpose for it. This is to assuage my guilt. If you sign it, I will not let you out of the contract no matter what you may say. You can beg and plead and cry, but I'll remember this contract you willingly signed and I won't feel guilty about ignoring you. But I need an answer NOW! You sign it and we'll share our lives together forever. Or leave now and I'll forever be done with you. This is truly death do us part. Only your death will free you from this service. If I die before you then my designated heir will inherit you. The contract stipulates that they may only use you for this. So, if you live to be 90, this is what you'll be doing until your last day. Number one advised me to draw up the contract this way for my own protection. Just in case you thought my death would gain your freedom. No man with even a shred of dignity would ever sign it. But let's be honest. You have no future prospects better than this one. This would ensure that your pathetic life had real meaning. Make yourself useful and play a part in helping me live the life I deserve. Don't you want me to have that?"
"That's all I've ever wanted."
"I know. Now sign it."
It quickly signed. I looked at number one and said, "See, I always win."
"That you do, Sir."
I stood up and walked over to my new bidet. I put my hand under its chin and pointed its face directly toward mine.
"Listen to me carefully. These are probably the last words I'll ever speak to you. I'm proud of you. In the days, weeks, and years ahead your life will be hard. You're going to have a lot of time to think. You're going to constantly second guess the choice you made here. But just remember: You did the right thing. You had no better option. And sometimes when I'm out there enjoying my life, sipping a cocktail on the beach or skiing in Aspen, I'm going to think about your misery. And that's going to put a smile on my face. When your days get hard, think about the smile you put on my face. Think about how proud I am of you. And don't forget to be grateful that I have given your life meaning. Of course, you can never speak again. But I expect you to think of the words, "Thank you, Sir" after each use. And I know you'll do it because you're a good boy, and good boys obey."
I grant wishes to special boys. But boys must always be careful what they wish for.
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