Mrs. M. Pt. 02
I began to regularly service Mrs. M. with my mouth, kneeling. There was no question of me penetrating her.
"You'd just come right away. Little dicked guys like you always do. But I'm going to help you. I'm going to get you used to pussy, then you won't be so overexcited." So she let me go down on her, and after she was finished, (she would usually wipe her cunt on my face after she was done with me) I was allowed to jerk off into a rubber while I looked at her pussy.
After a week of this, she had the idea that I should kiss her asshole when I jerked off into the rubber. She was on her back, with her legs up: that way I had my nose in her pussy, and could enjoy its wonderful smell while I ate ass. She didn't want me "bothering" her cunt after she came, but she did like me softly kissing her asshole. It was an act of homage,
After a few times, she asked me to lick it, which I did with great excitement. Finally I was putting my tongue into her asshole, really rimming her, licking it deeply, penetrating it fully with my tongue. I could sometimes taste her shit a little. We both knew it but we never talked about it.
The she started to have me lick her asshole when she was on all fours. Having her face away from me, and burying my face in her ass from behind was very degrading. She began making me beg her to be allowed to lick her ass. To tell her out loud that I was her ass licker. I had to tell her I loved tasting her shit. That I wanted to be her toilet. It was very, very exciting.
She told me she was training me to be a toilet slave. That I would learn to love her asshole even more than her cunt. Because that was where I belonged, and what I deserved.
I kept my face very closely shaven, shaving three times each morning, with the grain, across it, and finally against it, to be sure my face stayed very smooth all the time. My face belonged between her legs, and I had to always be ready to serve her.
One day she had a surprise for me: a rubber pussy, a latex fleshlight sculpted at one end so it had labia. She told me that she was going to train me not to cum prematurely by humping my "training pussy." After I serviced her with my mouth, I had to spread a towel on the carpeted floor, lubricate my training pussy with KY, and hump it, holding it in place under me. She treated me just like a pet. "Go get your pussy toy! Good boy! Now get it ready! Now hump your little pussy toy, hump it good! You love your little pussy toy, don't you? Good boy. Make your little mess in the pussy toy. A rubber training pussy doesn't care how small your little thing is. Good boy!"
Although the supposed intention of this training was to make me not such a premature ejaculator, I found it terribly exciting. The shame of having to hump my pussy toy naked on the floor in front of Mrs. M. fully clothed made me cum even faster.
It became a kind of wonderful punishment. If I was too assertive, say in conversation , she would say, "I think you need to make your little mess. Go get your training pussy like a good boy; you need to hump that maleness out of you."
The ultimate effect of this training was to make me so ashamed of my little thing I couldn't even get hard for my pussy toy. I finally wept trying to get hard for it. Mrs. M. was very consoling.
"That's good, we finally broke you. You know you can't do what a male does, you're not really a male to me, you never were. It's time we started training you to be the girl you should have been. Time for you to really earn your panties."
From then on I wore a skirt when I did the housework, and a bra with breast forms. When I didn't have to do work that had me on my knees, like scrubbing the bathroom, I wore panty hose and heels. I learned to put on makeup.
"We need to beat all that maleness out of you," said Mrs. M. She had a leather paddle she used on my ass. I would have to stand in front of a mirror and lift my skirt. She would yank my panties down, and tell me "hide your little mistake, no one needs to see that." I covered my little thing and bent over so she could paddle me. She instructed me to look at myself in the mirror. "That's what a hole looks like when she's being punished. You need to see what a submissive girl looks like when her owner is paddling her. Now say thank you every time I paddle you. Good girl!"
Mrs. M. bought a Stand To Pee device, a quite realist latex penis through which she could urinate standing up. She trained me to kneel and accept her piss—to swallow it. I was now always tucked, and usually wore a panty girdle over my panties to be sure I always had a nice flat front. It was a lot less trouble than taping, and had the advantage of guaranteeing that I couldn't play with myself. Male chastity devices are all easy to slip out of, but to pull down your jeans and peel down a panty girdle—that's a lot of work. It was bad enough I had to go through it all to piss.
So there I would be, kneeling, neutered by my panty girdle, drinking Mrs. M's piss "like a good girl."
"This is the only cock in this house. See to it you remember that, toilet girl."
My boy name, Damian, didn't make a lot of sense now, so she called me Diana; more usually "Toilet Slave Diana." And that's what I was. A dominant woman's housemaid and toilet slave. I drank her piss whenever she wished, and licked her ass several times a day. Either to show my gratitude, after a paddling, or after she had used the bathroom, as her bidet. She was always very clean, and there was no question of me literally serving as a toilet for solid excrement, but I did lick her there, and the faint bitter taste I sometimes experienced was quite enough to make it clear what I was. She never kissed me on the lips now: I was her toilet. Sometimes she made me kneel in the bathroom with my face in the bowl for half an hour, looking into the white porcelain I was so used to scrubbing, to learn "by heart" that I was her toilet slave.
I felt my status as a dominant woman's toilet most poignantly when I pissed (sitting down of course.) After she had used me, my own piss smelled like hers, not like mine. I knew then I had become a real toilet.
The final phase in my reduction to submissive hole was the strap on. Mrs. M. had a flexible, high-grade latex strap on that was quite realistic. She taught me to take it down my throat, fucking my face slowly and deeply for a long time, till my blouse was wet with slobber and my tears made racoon marks down my cheeks. She would take her strap-on from my mouth and slap my face, making me thank her, and telling her that I was a toilet hole and this was what I deserved.
I learned to prepare myself for penetration with a butt plug. I was always fucked from behind, "like a bitch." I was never allowed to touch myself while I was screwed, and never came that way. I suppose that was part of the authentic female experience: being dicked without hope of orgasm.
"My strap-on is like my paddle: it's there to punish you and lower you, so you know you're nothing but a cunt. Toilet Slave Diana, that's who you are, and that's all you are. I should get you a dog collar with that engraved on the tag."
The only way I was allowed to cum was licking her ass. She would be on the bed on all fours, I kneeling behind her. That was the only way I could have managed it: the training pussy had made me so ashamed of my little "figure flaw" I didn't want her to see it—and she certainly had no interest in it. I would masturbate into my panties, and then have to tuck myself and wear them wet, like the hole I was.
And I really was. Not just a hole, a toilet hole. When I licked her asshole I dreamed that maybe one day she would bring me into the bathroom with her, make me kneel in front of her while she went, and then turn around to let me really clean her asshole with my tone. To be a real toilet slave. Of course she never would: only a disgusting toilet slave like me would want that. But I did. It made my little thing squirt pathetically into my panties.
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