Toilet Tiger
#3 of Reflections on a Rat
When I showed up for the protest, I'd expected a larger crowd.
I'd gone around with the rest of the Society and had passed out pamphlets and everything, and even most of them weren't here.
"Sammy! Hey there tiger!" Becky waved me over, the small wolf holding up a sign taller than anyone else's there. It was really more of a manifesto, cramped text too hard to read from a distance, but just showing up is half the work, especially with this little support.
I was the fifth to stand in line, taking my place beside her under an awning that did little to shelter us from the summer heat, and held up the sign I'd made at home. Nothing too extravagant; like my art teacher always said, less is more. Just "MALE AND FEMALE". I checked the spelling three times, because I didn't want to be a laughingstock on the Internet again.
No, it wasn't about gay rights; what people did with consenting adults in their own homes was up to them.
This was about a much more public kind of intimacy: gender segregation of public restrooms. The Age of Coffearius was a local chain of cafés that had recently announced that their new facilities would have unisex restrooms. And then they said that in all the existing shops anyone could use either restrooms, as long as they pretended to be of the appropriate gender.
Obviously they didn't say it that way, they made it about transgender rights or something, but whatever their motive, of course we didn't think it'd be good for the children.
"Where is everyone?" I asked.
Becky didn't answer, her mind apparently elsewhere. I waved my hand in front of her eyes. "Hello~?"
She turned to look at me. "Huh? Oh. They went to the restroom."
"Everyone went to the restroom?"
"Well... one at a time, you know."
"And they didn't come back?"
She shrugged. "Um. Sorry if I'm a bit distracted, I have to use the restroom myself. Will you hold my sign?"
The wolf didn't wait for an answer, but thrust the sign into my spare paw as she half ran towards the Straw Men juice bar that'd pledged to support our protest.
I waited five minutes; she didn't return.
I waited fifteen minutes, and she still didn't return. "Did everyone really go to the bathroom and never come back?"
The others in the protest line shrugged and didn't answer. They weren't part of my group so they may not have paid close attention to folks they didn't know.
I put down Becky's sign and sighed. Thirty minutes.
"I'm gonna go che--"
Well, my first impulse was going to check on her. My second impulse, though, overrode everything else.
I had to go to the restroom.
It wasn't even a physical urge--I didn't have to go. It was more of a compulsion: I had to be there.
I put down my sign. "I'm gonna go to the restroom."
I ran across the street to Straw Men.
The juice joint was nearly as empty as the street outside, which was unusual at this hour, in this heat. I dashed past the chip racks to the back hallway that led to the restrooms.
It stank fiercely of shit.
I covered my muzzle to try to block out the smell as I approached the men's room door, only to find a small sign hanging on the handle.
OUT OF ORDER
My desperation increased--I could feel it now, the fear that I might wet myself or crap my pants. Everyone remembers the last time they lost control, even if it was years ago; I recalled a horrible day in middle school when I'd misjudged how well I could hold it in, and how everyone had laughed...
Maybe there was time to run next door--the shoe shop probably had a restroom for employees--I'm sure I could convince them--
My dick twitched and I froze in terror. Had I just...?
I was sweating from the heat enough that I couldn't tell if the dampness at my crotch was actual leakage or not. I held my paw to my muzzle but amid the pervasive stench coming from the restrooms I couldn't tell what kind of musk it was.
Still, the worry had decided me. I checked to see if anyone was watching, tried the door to the women's room, found it unlocked, and slipped inside.
Two things stood out the moment I entered--first of all, that the stink wasn't coming from the busted men's room, but from the ladies'.
More specifically, there were waist-high piles of shit filling the whole back of the room, engulfing the back stall and threatening to overwhelm the other one in front of it as well.
The other thing that stood out was the enormous rat emerging from that stall. He managed to loom over me, even from across the room. Despite the filth of his surroundings he was dressed in an impeccable business suit with a fiercely pink tie.
(At least, I'm sure he was impeccably dressed when I looked at him. But looking back I know that must have been impossible. He was wading through shit after all--surely it must have been all over him?)
"Good," he said, "another one." His voice was sonorous and faintly Australian. "The toilets are broken, you see. So I'll need to make use of you, toilet tiger. You won't mind."
I shook my head. Something seemed wrong about that. "I... I did come in here because the toilets were broken..."
He gave me a piercing look, raising an eyebrow. I noticed a growing bulge in his pants, distinctly visible even in the shadow of muscular thighs and round belly. "That's right. Someone needed to use the restroom, yes?"
"Um... yes... I did..."
The rat's expression turned fiercer and he crossed the bathroom, stopping inches in front of me.
He stank.
But not... not of shit. The shit that surrounded us didn't touch him. The stink was... male musk... thick and powerful. It even made my own dick hard, and I'd never looked at a guy that way before.
I wanted to smell like that.
I wanted to smell more of him.
I sank to my knees in front of the big rat.
"If you needed to use the restroom yourself, you would have used the men's room. Instead, you came where I was, to serve me, like a good toilet tiger. Isn't that right?"
His eyes stared into mine with a fierce intensity. I felt like my thoughts had been wrestled to the ground. Yes, of course I was a toilet tiger. Of course. How could I have thought otherwise?
"Feed me..."
The rat dragged me bodily into the nearest restroom stall and tossed me against the pile of shit that half-filled it and entirely buried the toilet.
The stink of it surrounded me and it seeped through my clothes.
This is where I belong. This is what I do.
"You know what this is," the rat said.
"This is where I belong," I said. "This is what I do."
"True, but wrong. Think harder."
"I..." I leaned into the soft dungheap. It felt easier to think, the deeper the stink was in my nostrils. "This is... what's left of everyone else who came in here today."
"Correct. See what I think of you."
I wasn't sure what he meant--wasn't he here to use me the way I was meant to be used?
It was getting hard to think again. I sat upright in the pile of the rat's shit, mouth hanging open. I was ready. I was hungry.
The rat smirked and undid his belt, letting his pants fall to the floor. With slow movements he stepped out of them and turned to show me his broad back, raising that bulky tail over my head as he pressed his hindquarters against my face.
Yes.
I didn't wait for him to go any further. I pressed my muzzle further in between those firm, thickly-furred cheeks, and began to give my attentions to a hole already filthy from the mess that surrounded me.
The rat pushed hard against me, and before I knew it a rush of scat had covered my muzzle. I mewled a bit in dismay as I felt it slide down my face, splattering my chest.
I'm not doing a good job!
I pushed my nose in deeper, totally covering that hole with my mouth, and let him fill me. The rotten smell permeated my nostrils but the only thing my thoughts took away from it was yes.
Shit covered my tongue, forced its way between my teeth, and shoved itself down my throat. I gagged a bit, but not with enough force to interrupt the flow. I'm going to be a good toilet tiger. I swallowed hard, feeling the slimy mess sink into my stomach.
I would have rubbed my stomach to settle it, but I felt like that wasn't right. No, there's only one person here rubs should be directed to. I reached between the rat's legs and kneaded gently at his scrotum, pulling those heavy balls down.
The big rat shivered, and I felt an intense wave of panic. What am I doing-- what am I eating-- who am I eating--
I struggled to get away, feeling the blood drain out of me even as my heart was pumping hard, but he pressed his paw on the back of my head and pushed me back under his tail. "Now's not the time to fight me, tiger."
At the firm pressure, all my thoughts abruptly disappeared, like my mind was a candle that had been blown out. I sat and chewed the still-oncoming flow of scat like a good toilet, feeling my brain try to reboot. My thoughts span up slowly, and I could feel them being edited--any uncomfortable process being whacked down as soon as it popped up.
It was nice of the rat to keep me comfortable.
I chowed down with renewed vigor as the rat forced my muzzle into his hole. How long had I been here? The feeling that I had always been there, that I had served as his toilet forever, settled in around me as I swallowed down the last rank mouthful.
Wait... the last?
I sniffed around the dirty hole, spreading the shit that covered my face all over the rat's ass, but there were no more turds forthcoming.
No! There has to be more!
I pressed in deeper under the rat's tail and I felt his weight pushing back against me. With a _schlick_ing sound, his messy hole opened up around my nose, engulfing my muzzle. I inhaled his stink deep as he slid over my shit-stained muzzle, and worked my tongue to scour his inner walls clean.
The rat's hole stretched further--even with how much bigger he was than me, that ass must have had a lot of stretch in it, because it swallowed my head with no trouble and was soon working its way over my shoulders.
The foul-smelling darkness inside the rat felt right, somehow. I belong here.
The warm hole gripped my chest, and my head was pressed deeper and deeper into the rat's intestines. He was big, but was there really this much room inside him? I imagined myself stretching out his belly, a squirming lump being cradled by those burly arms.
His innards worked my body over, a tight massage from my head downwards as my scat-stuffed gut popped past the rat's ring. My shaft slipped in, harder than I remembered it being, and with fierce effort the rat's weight crashed down on me, pulling my legs and tail in and compressing my body to curl up in the tight space of his torso.
As his ass closed up around my toes, I knew it wouldn't be long before the air started to fail. I grabbed hold of my dick, buried my face in one of the filthy walls that surrounded me, and swallowed my fill as I tried to stave off the drowsiness that threatened to overwhelm me before I could climax.
I'm a good toilet tiger, I'm a good toilet tiger...
Rockwell ground his ass into the pile of shit where the tiger had sat, the big rat rubbing his overstretched gut till the beast inside quit squirming, and sighed. He'd definitely been overdoing it. Most of a devoured person passes straight out of the body, but he'd gone through enough people today that his waistline would definitely feel it tomorrow.
Regardless, he felt other minds out in the street, and his already-full belly rumbled with its insatiable hunger. He'd give the tiger a little while to digest before reeling in his next victim--he sensed a lithe, athletic weasel outside that would slip down his throat just fine.
Soon, he thought, leaning back into the mountain of scat and rumbling softly as he started adding the remains of the tiger to it. Soon.