1836 words
The experiences I described last time repeated themselves many times over. When Mr. Miller learned from my aunt that out of all male bodily fluids, I most enjoy swallowing urine, he laughed and then made me drink his piss quite often—even forcing me to drink his friends’ urine as well.
But he didn’t spare me from swallowing cum or shit either. I still don’t particularly like the taste of cum, but I manage. What I hate the most is swallowing shit, and I have to admit Mr. Miller forces me to do it the least often—but sometimes, he still does.
I think he enjoys making me do things I find disgusting. But I’ve gotten used to it. When he comes to have fun with me, he often brings along some of his friends, and the group changes occasionally—sometimes more, sometimes fewer.
When there are more, it always scares me a little because I know I’ll have to swallow a lot that day. When there are fewer, I feel a bit relieved, knowing there won’t be as much to swallow.
Sometimes, when Mr. Miller and his crew show up, I hear them saying things like, “Today, you’ll break records in swallowing,” and then they all laugh lewdly while I start feeling sick. My biggest record so far was, I think, 15 loads of cum. And I didn’t even throw up, so I guess I’m pretty good.
Eventually, they’ll probably want me to break that record again, and I don’t know how high the number will go. Not that the count matters much—some guys shoot a lot, others less.
The best is when I can swallow gradually, but Mr. Miller always forces me to take multiple loads at once. That’s harder, and it makes me feel worse.
Just yesterday, for example, he was jerking himself off while watching me and his friends. I was kneeling on the floor with my hands tied behind my back to a bedpost. About 12 or 13 of his buddies stood around me, stroking their dicks.
Again, I had that device in my mouth to keep it open. My aunt knelt beside me, holding a bowl under my chin—I didn’t really understand why. It didn’t take long before the first guy started shooting.
As he got close to finishing, he shoved himself toward me to get his dick as close to my mouth as possible. Some of his shots landed on my tongue, some on my cheeks, and some ended up in the bowl.
Two more guys came almost at the same time, bumping into each other, so most of their loads splattered on my face and into the bowl—though some still made it into my mouth.
Another guy was more careful, pressing the tip of his dick right into my open mouth before finishing. About six thick spurts of cum splashed against the inside of my cheek.
A few others followed suit until my mouth started overflowing, with long, stringy strands of cum dangling from my lips before eventually falling into the bowl.
One of the last guys misfired, hitting my aunt’s hand. She looked disgusted, wiped it off with her other hand, and then smeared it on my mouth. She also shoved the cum left on my cheeks into my mouth.
Finally, the last guy finished. Then Mr. Miller stepped forward and ceremoniously shot his load straight into the bowl. My aunt tried to pour the contents into my mouth, but Mr. Miller said, “Not like this.”
He placed the bowl on the floor in front of me, grabbed my hair, and forced my head down toward it. It was uncomfortable since my hands were still tied behind my back. Plus, in that position, most of what was in my mouth dribbled out.
Eventually, he dunked my face into the bowl and said, “Lick it up, bitch.”
So I stuck my tongue into that salty, bitter slime and dragged it back and forth. It was unpleasant, but he held my hair so tightly I couldn’t lift my head—and it hurt.
Soon, he ordered, “Slurp it, bitch.” So I slurped and swallowed. It had cooled down by then, making it even nastier.
Mr. Miller smiled and said, “You don’t like this much, do you? Well, the sooner you swallow it all, the sooner it’ll be over.” I had to admit he was right and tried to swallow as fast as I could, though the position made it hard.
When I thought I’d licked it all clean, he pointed out spots I’d missed, shoving my face down so hard it hurt—still gripping my hair. Finally, he yanked my head up (by the hair, of course), lifted the bowl, told me to stick out my tongue, and wiped it thoroughly against my mouth.
“Now swallow,” he commanded.
There wasn’t much left, so it wasn’t a problem—I obeyed. Mr. Miller gave me a sweet smile.
“Now say thank you.” “Thank you,” I said, confused. “Good bitch,” he replied, patting my cheek—a friendly gesture, but still pretty hard.
Then they all disappeared for a while. Unfortunately, they forgot to untie me, so I had to stay kneeling with my hands behind my back.
Soon, they returned with the same bowl I’d just slurped cum from—now filled with piss. Not all of them contributed (it wouldn’t have fit), but they filled it nearly to the brim.
Mr. Miller finally untied my hands but put a collar around my neck instead. I had to crawl on all fours while he led me around the room like a dog, and everyone laughed hysterically. It was humiliating.
Eventually, he brought me to the bowl of piss and paused, as if waiting to see what I’d do. The others grinned encouragingly. I wanted to dive in and start drinking, but since I had to stay on all fours, I just leaned forward—until Mr. Miller yanked me back by the hair.
“Wait, little piss-slut. This is too easy for you.”
While he held my hair, someone pulled my hands off the floor, cuffed them behind my back, and then Mr. Miller shoved my face into the bowl, soaking it in piss before ordering, “Slurp it, bitch.”
This was easier to drink than the thick cum. It went down quickly. Mr. Miller grinned and muttered, “Good piss, huh? You’re enjoying it, aren’t you? A real delicacy, right?” Well, it wasn’t exactly a delicacy, but still better than the cum I’d swallowed earlier.
When I’d drunk all I could in that awkward position, Mr. Miller lifted the bowl again, told me to stick out my tongue, and scraped it clean against me. “And what do you say?” he asked sternly. “Thank you.” He smiled and patted my cheek again.
“Hey, they say she eats shit too,” one of his friends said to Mr. Miller. “She does,” he replied, “but it’s not on the agenda today.” “Why not? I really need to take a dump… and I’ve never seen a girl eat shit before. This one’s so cute—why not today?”
I glanced at him—he wasn’t very likable, and the thought of eating his shit was even worse. He kept pleading with Mr. Miller, fascinated by the idea. I don’t get why he was so into it—probably just curious to see it in real life, and I’d be the one suffering for it.
“I’ve seen it online, but that’s not the same. I want to see it live.”
Finally, Mr. Miller said, “Well, don’t ask me—ask her foster mother. She decides.” So the pervert started begging my aunt:
“Could she eat shit today?”
“That depends—how much money do you have?”
“I’ve got plenty.”
“Then today, she’ll eat shit,” my aunt concluded.
Then they debated how I’d wash it down. Nobody felt like pissing anymore, and they wouldn’t let me use water—only piss or nothing. I said I could pee myself, so they let me use my own urine. I pissed into a glass while the guy took a dump into the same bowl I’d slurped cum and piss from earlier.
They all watched eagerly, their dicks hardening again. I expected them to untie my hands to make eating and drinking easier, but they didn’t. Mr. Miller held my hair while another guy broke off pieces of shit and shoved them into my mouth.
Someone else poured my own piss in, but I wasn’t allowed to swallow until Mr. Miller yanked my hair. This was the first time I’d had my own piss in my mouth—and honestly, it tasted the best of all. But paired with the shit? Awful.
I hated it and started feeling like it would never end. Every time I thought I’d finished, they shoved in another piece. Mr. Miller held me in a position where I couldn’t see how much was left. But eventually, it was over.
Except his friends got so turned on watching me eat shit that they started furiously jerking off. Mr. Miller kept holding my hair, and when the first guy was about to cum, he ordered me to open my mouth. Soon, another load landed inside.
I swallowed immediately to keep it from piling up—but Mr. Miller scolded me: “No swallowing until I say. Or rather, until I give the signal.” He decided the signal would be a slap. That’s how I’d know to swallow.
Three more guys came in my mouth before he hit me—harder than I expected. I obeyed and swallowed.
“And what do you say?”
“Thank you,” I mumbled absently.
“Wait—don’t thank me. Thank my friends for the cum they’re giving you. It’s not easy jerking off, you know.” He laughed the hardest at his own joke.
So I said “thank you” again, looking into the eyes of the guys whose cum I’d just swallowed. They laughed, said “you’re welcome,” and patted my cheeks. They came in my mouth again—this time, five loads before another hard slap. I swallowed it all at once. “Thank you,” I said, getting the same reaction.
This repeated once more—three loads this time—before only Mr. Miller was left. He made me clean their freshly emptied dicks with my mouth, licking them dry as best I could.
Finally, he shoved his own dick into my mouth. I was still kneeling, hands cuffed behind me. He gripped my head and fucked my face roughly, slamming deep until I gagged—then came straight down my throat. It was unpleasant, but I managed without choking.
Then he whispered in my ear what to say to his group as a farewell. Following his instructions, I said: “Thank you all for your piss, cum, and shit. Come again.” They laughed and replied,
“You’re welcome, happy to give it. We’ll be back. Can’t wait.”
They left the room, and after a while, I heard their rowdy laughter fading down the street. I’m not exactly looking forward to their next visit. I wonder when it’ll be.