Eating At Work
by Mudcub
stories@mudcub.com
I stayed late after work. All of my co-workers have long since left the building. It's almost 9 pm, and I should be at home, too. But I'm not. I've got more work to finish before I can go home.
The building's not quiet, though. There are three shifts on the factory floor, and the late shift will arrive soon. Those poor bastards have to work "swing" which starts at 10 pm and goes until 6 am. There are two breaks, but as busy as the company's been lately, most of the guys just work the whole night through.
I don't know what kind of guy it takes to work such odd hours. Some of them are loners, and like the relative peace and quiet compared to the day shifts. Some guys took this job because it was the only shift available. They have to get used to getting up when most people are safe at home in bed - working until the morning when none of the bars are open. The night shift usually gets the real vagrant type of guys - unwashed and hard living. Those are the kind of guys I like.
I have to confess. I'm a "suit". That's what the guys on the shop floor call management: the fat cats living on "mahogany row". I started with the company right after college... so I never had to work my way up the ladder. Instead, I started at an almost-six-figure salary and got hefty raises from there.
Sometimes, I think the blue-collar guys have a bit of resentment. I don't get to talk to them much, but the conversation will always stop or get real quiet when one of the bosses walks into the room. It's a shame, because I often fantasize about hanging out with the shop monkeys. Huge, well-muscled guys dripping wet with honest sweat. Randy horny men ready for a blowjob or a fight, either one will do.
Which is why I find myself walking into the basement changing room at 10 pm on a Tuesday night.
Push open the door and the smell hits me. It reeks down here like a barnyard - like sweat and body odor. And grease and oil, and who knows what else. Maybe a scent of shit and piss here too. And that's why I'm here. Yeah, my dick starts to get hard from the smell even before I set one foot inside the locker room door.
It's not much to look at: a forty-by-forty foot room. Dimly lit and tiled everywhere in that industrial garage-looking feeling. The tile makes it easy to hose down the place, although by the looks of things, it doesn't get a cleaning except once or twice a year. There are black and brown streaks on the walls, probably from where someone rubbed up against something with dirty work clothes on. But that doesn't explain the dirt on the ceiling... no idea how THAT got there.
There's only four guys in the changing room so far. It's still early for second shift to get out. In about an hour, this place will be packed with half-naked guys - some smeared with muck and filth, some stripping down to their underwear to put on stained work uniforms still wet with sweat and grime.
It's not too strange to see management down here sometimes. Maybe the other guys think I've just had a meeting with one of the foremen. Usually, they just don't care. The four guys getting off shift are laughing, yelling at each other. Nobody gives me a second look as I slip into the bathroom at the back, around the corner from the main room in sort of an "L" shape.
I go into the farthest stall. It's the smallest one, and the light's not too good there. But most of all, I had been ordered to prepare that toilet earlier. The shitters here in the basement all have the automatic sensor - kind of an electric eye that looks for changes in light and dark in order to flush automatically. The facilities people had been complaining that the working stiffs weren't doing a good enough job of flushing, and that the toilets were getting clogged. So, the sensors were all installed.
All except the sensor on this toilet. A small piece of masking tape earlier this afternoon had solved that problem.
Damn, even in this half-light I can see that my trick had worked. There were three complete loads, one on top of the each other, festering since earlier that afternoon. Shit, it looks like the guys weren't too picky. The first guy must have used the toilet, not knowing the flusher was broken. But that doesn't excuse why the next two guys added their load to the top.
I wondered about the second guy. He had probably just woken up, and his guts were probably stirring from the odd hours he kept. To him, it was morning, and time for a shit before work. I wonder what his face looked like when he saw that the toilet was unflushed. Maybe the mystery worker didn't notice, or didn't care. In either case, he must have dropped his pants and sat over the stinking mess. He surely would have smelled the earlier pile as he added his own turds to it - thicker and darker brown than the first. That's the only way I could tell it was two different guys that had used the toilet that day. Plus the fact that the pile was too large for a single human being to produce.
And what about the THIRD guy? After the second dump, the pile of shit was almost up to the seat. If I didn't have a shit fetish, there's no way that I'd sit on top of that huge pile of shit. There was too much of a danger of "splashback". But in any case, the third guy must have done it, because on top of the two larger piles, there was a runny sauce, almost like the fudge topping on an ice cream sundae.
Oh fuck, this is gonna be nasty.
I took off my coat and hung it on the hook at the back of the stall door. I didn't want this to get messier than it had to. Then, I tucked my tie into my shirt. Even if my white shirt got a little stained, I hope the tie and jacket would cover it up when I walked out of this place. That is, when I finish all the Orders that I had to accomplish. Maybe two or three hours from now. If I'm lucky.
That reminds me, so I get the piece of paper out of my jacket pocket. I had printed it at home before work, but hadn't read it. My Master told me not to read it until I was safely in the stall. I don't know if he was afraid I'd chicken out. Or maybe he just didn't want me to lose my nerve. Either way, I had been hard all day at my desk... excited and nervous about the night to come.
I pulled down my pants and boxer shorts, and sat on the toilet. I wanted the other guys to think I was taking a shit, while I calmly read the instructions.
HELLO SHITSLAVE,
YOU KNOW I OWN YOUR ASS. I OWN IT WHEN YOU ARE AT HOME, WHEN YOU ARE IN MY DUNGEON. AND NOW I OWN IT AT WORK. THERE IS NOWHERE YOU ARE SAFE. EVENTUALLY, I WILL TURN YOU INTO A WHIMPERING ANIMAL... A DROOLING SHITEATER WHO HUNGERS FOR THE TASTE OF MEN'S SHIT.
The caps were annoying, but they got my attention. My dick was already semi-hard, and dripping pre-cum. I started to stroke it while I read the words:
YOUR FIRST ORDER IS TO GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES and WORSHIP THE TOILET. IT IS WORTH MORE THAN YOU. YOU SHOULD LICK AROUND THE BOTTOM ON THE FLOOR, WHERE ALL THE GUYS HAVE PISSED. THEN, WHEN YOU ARE DONE, YOU WILL LICK THE RIM, AND ALL UNDER THE RIM. ONLY WHEN IT IS CLEAN WILL YOU READ ON.
Oh fuck. This is really going to happen, isn't it? Before I could change my mind, I spun around off the seat and got on my knees. I wanted this part over with before more guys showed up. I mean, if anyone looked under the partition, they could clearly see that I was kneeling. It was kind of obvious. my pants around my ankles, my legs almost sticking out from under the door.
When my knees hit the tile, I realized that the floor was really wet. I felt a wetness soak into my pants. Aw fuck. Well, this suit is ruined. I bent down and put my tongue to the floor, into the puddle. Yeah, it was piss. Cold, too. I starting lapping it up like a dog on all fours. It didn't taste too bad. Salty and a little rancid, like it had been sitting there a long time. But there was way too much of it to lick it all up... the puddle ran into the stall next door.
So, I decided to concentrate on the part of the floor where the tile met the toilet. Oh fuck, even in the dim light, I could tell this was going to be tricky. The custodian who cleaned the stalls wasn't too detail-oriented. There was several year's worth of brown and green and black sludge forming a line around the toilet base. I tentatively took a bite. It was like sinking my teeth into axle grease. But it tasted worse, like rotten vegetation.
I had to use my two front teeth to scrape away at the crap. I could feel my nose and cheeks getting brown, as I had to quickly mash my face into the edge of the toilet. I wasn't getting too much accomplished. I took my fingernails, and scraped away a finger full of the sludge at a time. After the first few bites, it didn't have much of a taste at all. Kind of like black Crisco. However, I wasn't getting the base very clean. I would have to report back to my Master that I couldn't clean the base of the toilet very well. I was sure he'd make me come back tomorrow night, and bring along a knife or sharp object to make sure I got every bit of crud hiding in the tile.
I switched to the top of the toilet, and I got up off my knees into a crouching position. That way, I wouldn't bee as obvious from someone looking under the stall. They'd see a pair of legs, maybe my ass. But it wouldn't be obvious. I hadn't heard anyone come into the bathroom part yet, but I could hear more voices and shouts around the corner, and the night shift started filing in.
I licked the seat. It was mostly clean, rubbed dry from all those guy's asses. Still warm from where I had been sitting on it. But I licked it anyway, just to get my mind into a sub-space. I fantasized about worshiping this toilet. "Oh thank you, toilet." "Thank you for giving me Your food." "I don't deserve to worship You... I hope someday to become as good as You at holding shit."
I was lost in my fantasy with my eyes closed, so I didn't even notice when one of the guys got into the stall next to me. I froze, and didn't make a sound. I heard the guy pull his pants down. I bent over to look... all I saw was a pair of really oily workboots under some overalls. The guy grunted, and I heard the unmistakable splash of a large turd hitting water. The guy grunted again, but nothing. Then I heard piss splashing into the bowl, and an audible sigh as the guy relaxed. I, on the other hand, was holding my breath, dick hard and throbbing in my hand.
The guy must have relaxed enough, because the next thing I heard was a whole lots of runny shit exploding out of his ass. He grunted again, and it sounded like someone pouring wet concrete. Poor guy. He was grunting and sweating, and I could smell the stink he was raising, even over the huge pile in my own stall. It ook him about ten minutes to get it all out. I just crouched there motionless until he was finished. When the guy stood up to wipe his ass, the toilet sensor automatically kicked in and the thing flushed. Fuck. I should have stopped up that toilet, too.
When the guy zipped up and stomped off, I relaxed. I wished I could have been his toilet paper, licking his shitty ass clean for him to start a long day of work. Every guy needs a blowjob to start the day! But I had other work to do.
I realized how much trouble I was in when I lifted up the seat. That's where the splatter goes. The underside of the seat was brown with dried shit. That third guy must have sprayed the whole bowl. Plus, now that the seat was lifted up, I could see the huge mound of shit. The stench was a lot stronger with my face a foot above the pile, too.
I licked the underside of the seat. My mouth instantly got a little dry. It was going to take a lot of spit to moisten that stuff. I wished I had a bottle of water with me. And then I thought... I've got all the "water" I could ever need.
Oh fuck. I re-thought the consequences of what I was going to do. I noticed that the pile of shit in the toilet was off-center. if I cupped my palm, I could scoop up some liquid, and put that in my mouth. I rolled up my sleeves, so they wouldn't get wet. Then, I put my hand in.
I misjudged the room in the bowl, and the side of my hand mushed into the pile of shit. My hand shaking a little, I slurped up the handful of liquid and swished out my mouth. That was better. It tasted like piss, but it gave me enough spit to clean off another inch or two of the seat.
Dip and lick, dip and lick. Eventually, I was able to get the seat mostly clean. The water in the bowl was mostly piss, but I didn't mind. I hadn't eaten anything since lunch, and I was kinda hungry. I knew I would be eating soon enough.
The last part of the Order was to lick the rim. This was harder, since there was a LOT of piss crusted up on top. I swiped my tongue across the top, and the acrid taste of piss burnt my tastebuds. Damn that was strong. Not watery like the bowl. I kept rinsing out my mouth between swipes, but even then, my mouth was getting sore from all the licking.
Under the rim was even harder. Plus, when I was licking under the rim, my nose was almost buried in the pile. I couldn't seem to get enough traction to really lick under there. I rubber my finger under the rim, and my finger came away coated in dark brown shit. I licked it off like frosting. After the burning piss, the taste of shit was not too strong.
Fuck, I think I would have to tell my Master I failed again. This toilet needed a good scrubbing, maybe with my own toothbrush. But my finger wasn't going to cut it. Time to read the next instruction.
IF YOU ARE BEING A GOOD BOY, THE TOILET IS READY FOR YOUR MEAL. CLEAN ENOUGH TO EAT OFF OF! HOPEFULLY, THERE IS TOILET PAPER. FISH A WET CLUMP OF TOILET PAPER OUT AND SUCK ON IT. CHEW IT 100 TIMES BEFORE YOU SWALLOW. THEN DO IT AGAIN. MAKE SURE IT HAS A LOT OF SHIT ON IT.
Ok, I've eaten worse. There was a lot of paper in there. Most of it soaking with wet shit. I grabbed a clump, and it instantly disintegrated in my hand. So, I had to scoop it up with both hand. a wet mass of brown-ish white, dripping with fluid.
I shoved the goop into my mouth. It tasted more like wallpaper paste than paper. It was hardly solid at all. My tongue mashed it up to the roof of my mouth, and a gush of shitty water hit my tongue. Fuck, it was like sucking on a sponge soaked with an enema. Incredibly nasty. After three or four bites, it was drier. most of the liquid swallowed down my throat. Then there was just the papery mass to chew.
As I counted to 100, I imagined that I was a spy, and I had to destroy some evidence. It felt like I was eating an entire code book, there was so much paper in my mouth. Fuck, this was taking a long time. Finally at 100, I could swallow, but I gagged a little bit. The wet sludge got stuck halfway down my throat. I warmed myself to be more careful. The last thing I wanted was to choke to death of shitty toilet paper - my co-workers finding me in a pile on the floor with shit in my mouth.
The second handful was worse. I must have grabbed a section that was mostly shit. It was a lot wetter, and took a lot of mushing before all the brown liquid shit was out of it. The taste was horrible. 100 bites seemed to take a lot longer. I hoped the rest of the orders weren't to eat all the paper, because there was not way I would make it. I was already feeling a little ill. Instead, I should have expected something different:
PIG, NOW IT IS TIME TO FEED. YOU WILL EAT EVERYTHING IN THE TOILET. IT IS A GIFT TO YOU, AND YOU SHOULD MAKE ME PROUD BY RECEIVING IT. I DON'T CARE HOW LONG IT TAKES, BUT IT WILL ALL GO DOWN YOUR THROAT EVENTUALLY.
Oh fuck. I almost shot my load of cum without touching my dick when I read those words. This is it: this is why I am here. I am a faggot shit-eating cock-sucker. I am a worthless toilet, good for nothing but eating shit. This is not about my dick or asshole. This is not about my pleasure, it's about serving my Master, and eating shit. And I've got a whole load here in front of me, doodie that's waiting for my duty.
In a frenzy of lust, I grabbed a fistful of shit off the top. I shoved it into my mouth, without smelling it. My cheeks bulged and slime dripped down my chin. I swallowed, and grabbed another handful. Again and again, just devouring it, not caring it I was making a mess or not. I could taste the different types of shit. One had lots of hard things in it. Nuts I guess. The runny stuff was bitter, as it the guy was kind of sick. It all went down my throat quickly.
I've eaten shit before, but not so much. And not so fast. I guess my eyes were bigger than my stomach, in more ways than one. I was almost down to a single handful... the remains turning to brown liquid in the stirred-up bowl - when all of a sudden I felt my stomach heave. Fuck, I was in trouble. I thought I was doing ok, but my guts thought otherwise.
With a sudden heave, a fountain of shit erupted from my throat. I splattered the seat again, as I almost didn't have enough time to aim. My stomach emptied itself again and again, as I held onto the sides of the bowl for dear life. I must have been puking for a few minutes when I heard a rap on the outside of the stall.
"You ok in there?"
Fuck, the night shift was all in the changing room, and here I was making a lot of noise.
"What's goin' on?" A low gruff voice asked.
"I dunno. someone's sick in there."
A heavier fist knocked on the door, "You ok?" He barked.
My mouth was full of shitpuke, but I managed to mumbled out, "Gimme second."
By now a small crowd had gathered outside the door. "What's going on" "Who's in there?" "What's up?"
Then I heard something than made my blood run cold.
"I think it's Mr. Stevenson," someone said.
That was me. That was my name. Who saw me go into the stall? Did they recognize my shoes?
The gruff voice ordered, "Everybody go back to work!" There was a grumbling from the crowd, and the man continued, "Git along now!"
After the noise quieted down, I settled my stomach a little. By then, I was just down to dry heaves.
The voice outside the door finally said, "Frank, you in there?"
I think it was Charlie, the foreman. I had spoken to him once or twice in the past, a real fireplug of a man, easily over six feet tall and built like an ox. Hairy and always covered in grease and dirt.
I spit into the toilet and answered, "Yeah."
"You ok?" Charlie asked.
"Yeah," I replied, "Gimme a minute."
"OK," Charlie said. "It really stinks out here!"
I was embarrassed by that. I bet I was really churning up the smell.
Charlie finished, "If you need me to get you anything, just let me know."
And with that, he was gone.
I was fucking embarrassed. I had no idea what the other guys must have heard (or smelled). I bet I looked like hell, and they only way out of this was to wait it out until the gang had gone back to the factory floor.
I remembered the note wasn't quite finished, so I fished it out... it was stained with shit, and wet from laying on the floor.
FINAL ORDERS: ANYTHING YOU PUKE UP GOES BACK DOWN. NO EXCEPTIONS. TAKE OUT YOUR DIGITAL CAMERA AND TAKE SOME PHOTOS OF THE RESULTS. EMAIL THEM TO ME ALONG WITH NOTES OF YOUR PERFORMANCE, AND I WILL JUDGE YOU.
There was a camera in my jacket pocket. I took a photo of the toilet - now splattered with shit puke almost up the wall. The janitor would really have a job to do tonight. Then, I bent down, and scooped out a handful of pukeshit into my palm. I slurped it up and took a photo of myself doing so.
There was still about four pints of liquid shit in the toilet. But without a cup, I didn't think there was anyway for me to finish the job properly. I guessed it was one more thing my Master would have to punish me for.
I stood up, my back aching from being bent over. I grabbed a bunch of toilet paper to wipe my face the best I could. There was no longer any clear water in the toilet to rinse with. I threw the paper in the toilet and flushed it all away. I straighten my tie, and smoothed my hair and sweaty face and noticed my stomach was settling down after puking up so much shit.
There weren't any sounds from the locker room. All the workers must be changed and gone. I peeked out the stall door. Nobody there. I put on my jacket, stuffed the camera ion the pocket again, and made sure I looked semi-respectable. I thought if I walked fast I could make it through the changing area, out the door, and around the corner to the parking lot. Three minutes from now, I'd be at my car. I stepped around the corner into the big room and.
"Frank!"
Charlie was there. He was standing by the door, blocking my exit.
"Um," I said, wondering what I looked and smelled like.
"I thought it was you," Charlie said, walking towards me with a big smile on his face.
I noticed he was grabbing his crotch, a hard dick outlines through his dirty work pants.
I stammered, trying to explain. "I'm not feeling well... I'm going home."
"Yeah," Charlie continued, stepping even closed while fondling himself. "I peeked over the top of the stall when you were. busy." He was standing so close I could smell his body odor even over my own stink. "No wonder you're not feeling well."
I took a step around Charlie, "Yeah, well, sorry."
Charlie grabbed my arm. "Yer not going anywhere Frank." He twisted my arm behind my back a little, hurting me. "I know whut yer into, and I know whut yer gonna do fer me."
With a shove, he pushed me back into the bathroom area. Charlie growled, "I got a real full ass, boy, and you got a lot more eating ahead of ya. The night shift doesn't get off until morning, and I bet they're gonna want to use you too."