The Toilet
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The Toilet
In the dark underneath the house, the toilet waited. At least, she assumed she was underneath the house. Master had never told her where she was â€" after all, she was only the toilet, not one of the cooks, or maids, or harem boys, or any of the more important servants. Nobody had to tell her anything â€" in fact, she reflected, she was lucky Master told her as much as He did. In His infinite generosity, Master even allowed her to ask Him questions. Of course, he punished her for asking these questions, but in His mercy he allowed her to live. As He had taught her, many people would have immediately had a toilet that said anything other than "Thank You" to death by torture.
She had, of course, thanked Him for teaching her this. She had looked up at him through eyes that could barely see in the dark, with blood running down from a gash in her forehead into her face, and sincerely thanked Him for stooping so far as to educate someone (or perhaps more accurately something) as filthy and unworthy as her. She had apologised for asking so many questions, for the fact that she could not simply be happy in her ignorance.
In reply to this, Master had kicked her in the cunt. Though the blow was cushioned by her nappy, and its contents, it had hurt her obviously enough to bring a smile to His face.
The toilet was a dog of some kind. She couldn't remember what kind. There were many things about her life that she could only half remember, if at all. She thought she might once had had a name, but the very idea was so treasonous that she didn't dare bring the subject up â€" not even to the maids, who would usually refrain from telling Master that she had asked them questions. She could half remember a life as a free woman, who had not even known that Master had existed. She did not remember any of the details of this life, but as she had not belonged to Master, she imagined it must have been horribly empty. The furthest back she could remember was her last day of life as a person, rather than the toilet. She was making symbols of some kind on a sheet covered in similar symbols. When she asked Master about this, and when He was done punishing her for asking, He had explained that it was called a contract. The symbols â€" which he called "words" - stated that she promised to serve as His toilet for the rest of her life.
Sometimes, she had a vague feeling that actually, the contract had signed her to Him for a weekend, and that He had drugged her to destroy her memories, but she was so happy serving under Him that she was grateful to Him for taking matters into His own hands and allowing her to stay, rather than turning her out after two days. She also had a feeling that the contract made Him promise never to hurt her, but the very idea of someone as worthless as her making someone - thing - as magnificent as Him promise anything was so absurd that she dismissed it immediately. She must have made it up somehow, although she couldn't think why she would.
She was kneeling in the dark. Kneeling was all she could do, as her hands were chained behind a pipe. Sometimes, the pipe would become boiling hot for hours at a time. Her back and arms were mazes of burns and bald patches. Her muscles had atrophied to the point that even if she wished to stand, she couldn't support her own weight. She was naked, apart from the nappy which Master was kind enough to have someone change once every two weeks or so. She had only the vaguest idea of how much time passed, as there were no windows in the room (she refused to think of it, or anything outside of her own body, as hers) let alone a clock. At first, her tail had made changing the nappy awkward for the maids Master sent, but after she had informed Him of the difficulties they faced, He had given His loyal maids a gift. In order to make the changing easier, He had one of them chop her tail off and burn the wound closed. Her heart filled with love at the memory. After all, as He had taught her, many people would not have been so kind and considerate to their belongings.
The maids had thanked her in their own way. They had split into pairs and fucked, the receiving made carrying the cum inside himself down to her, and allowing her to drink it. Then, the receiving maids had fucked the giving maids, and the process had been repeated. She remembered that the last maid had carried the cum around until he needed to shit, and then given her a meal consisting of both at once. She sighed contentedly at the memory of this most generous maid. That meal had been the second most delicious thing she had ever tasted â€" the first being Master's cum. Of course, she never got it directly from Him, but sometimes she got a taste from the harem boys. Some of them were so young that they had to stand on tiptoes in order to use her, and she appreciated the effort.
Another half memory floated to the top of her mind. She seemed to remember eating food â€" real food, like people ate, the kind she only got second hand â€" with another man. This man had not owned her, but had been some kind of...acquaintance. She had no idea what the word for people like him was. Afterwards, they had fucked. No, not fucked. Something gentler. Something in which the one doing the fucking actually cared about the one getting fucked. She had asked one of the maids what this kind of fucking was called, once she had swallowed his shit.
The maid hadn't known, but he had explained that some of the maids did it with each other. It was always the same two who fucked that way, instead of casually changing partners as the other maids did. These people were regarded as eccentric, but harmless. After all, they would flip up their skirts and bend over for Master, just the same as the normal maids, so where was the problem? She had agreed, although she could not remember what fucking felt like. That was a thing for people to do â€" who would fuck an object?
After that, she had asked one of the harem boys what that kind of fucking was called. This particular harem boy had been too young to reach her mouth even on tiptoes, and had had to piss on her chest instead. He had been unable to answer her, as Master had ripped out his tongue, leaving him unable to communicate except by moaning. The next harem boy, once he was done vomiting into her mouth, had said that he didn't know either, and anyway, you wouldn't catch harem boys doing anything so strange with each other. He had reported her to Master, and as a reward for his honesty, he had been allowed to join in punishing her. He had chosen to put a ring through her nose, and then rip it out. He had gotten the ring in alright, but when he tried to pull it out, he couldn't quite manage. Master had laughed warmly at this, and pulled the ring out Himself, before tousling the harem boy's hair and cock-slapping him affectionately.
The toilet laughed to herself as she remembered Master's joy. He was always so happy, so ready to laugh and joke. Once, He had ordered her to kiss His foot. Of course, chained as she was to the pipe, she couldn't reach it. How He had laughed as she had struggled to obey Him, and afterwards as He had punished her for failing to do as He said. And then there was the time He had decreed that every time she thanked Him, she was to receive a strike from the cane â€" and every time she received a strike from the cane, she was to thank Him. He had amused Himself with these simple orders â€" and carrying them out â€" for more than an hour before growing bored, kicking her in the gut until she threw up, and walking away. One of the maids had been with Him, and gathered up her vomit in a bowl before feeding it to her again. She had approved wholeheartedly of this pragmatism â€" no sense letting anything go to waste, after all.
As she waited, she realised that nobody had used her yet today. This did not worry her. Once, there had been an entire day in which nobody had used her. She worried that perhaps Master had a better toilet â€" one who never asked questions, and never needed punishing â€" and would simply leave her to starve in the dark. These fears had proved unfounded, as more people than usual had used her the next day. So instead of worrying, the toilet simply waited in the dark underneath the house.
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So, nothing happened and I repeated a phrase while changing the word order. I feel like James Joyce, but maybe that's just all the shit.