Confessions of a faggot toilet looser

Fiction, based on some of my own experiences being humiliated and as a faggot looser


He called very unexpectedly. I felt that I had made a fool out of myself at the interview that same morning.

“Let’s go for dinner”, he said calmly.

“Of course, great”, answered I, although I had already invited a neighbour of mine for supper that evening. He was some years older than me, and didn’t talk much, be he enjoyed having dinner in my flat. Tonight I would have to cancel.

I was told to wait on a corner downtown. He arrived quite late, but looked untroubled. He led the way towards a very well known and exclusive restaurant.

“Do you carry any money, or cards?” he asked me as we stood in front of the entrance. “Because I left my wallet at home.”

Of course I had my wallet. I pulled it up from my jacket, but before I could say a word, he took it from me and told me that it was just as well that he carried it. I didn’t need any money anyway.

“Wait over there, and don’t move”, he commanded me and pointed towards the pavement on the other side. “I’ll go in and see if there is a table available”. I did what I was told, of course, even though I found it strange. But this man was maybe going to be my new boss, so I had to show him respect.

I saw him through the window speaking to a waiter, then I saw him being led towards a table. He sat down, ordered something to drink, then later on something from the menu, then he waited. I also waited outside there in the cold autumn night. Why didn’t he come back for me? I trembled and had goose bumps all over my body. Why? He was served and started to eat what looked like a sumptuous meal, whilst enjoying a wine. I couldn’t move. Not only because I was so cold, but also out of respect for him. He had told me to wait, and so I had to.

Some time later he came out of the restaurant after having paid with one of my cards. I expected him to call for me, but he just walked away on the other side, jumping in to a taxi probably heading for home. So there I was, cold, with no money and a long way to walk back home. I also had a massive hardon and it showed through my trousers, which was very embarrassing as other people walked by. I tried to get some sleep that night but it was almost impossible. I was trembling all over in anticipation and anxiety and I was at the same time as horny as I had ever been in my life, but I didn’t dear to touch myself because I was so confused and humiliated at the same time.

The next morning the phone rang quite early. It was he. He told me to look outside my front door and bring in whatever was there. I did as I was told, opened the door out to the corridor even though I was completely naked and with my dick rock hard. I noticed that my name sign on the door had been replaced with a men’s toilet image. Hanging on the doorknob I found a plastic bag. It was stinking. I told him what I found and feared the worst. How could he have known? He calmly told me over the phone that this was his shit from the meal last night, and that I was supposed to start eating it as soon as I had put on my cam.

I had never been some embarrassed in my life, but had to follow his orders never the less. He called me on skype and started laughing the minute he saw me standing there, completely naked, shaved all over and looking down in shame. Then he opened his own cam window. He was sitting in the boardroom of his office. Around him was a group of other men, all formally dressed. All of them started to scream with laughter when they saw me. He, himself, told me that this was the board of directors, and that I was being displayed on a large screen. Then he commanded me to crawl down on my knees and to start eating.

The shit was really stinking, and he must have eaten a lot of very spicy food in the restaurant. I chewed and swallowed quite a lot, but then it all became too much for me, so I had to puke, and the mix of shit and puke came poring out of my toilet mouth. The directors seemed all to be disgusted. He told me to beg for an apology, both to the directors and to his shit. I started to cry, because this was so humiliating, but asked humbly for an apology both to the men in the other room, and then, looking down, I asked the shit and puke to forgive me.

“Tell the shit and puke mix how much you love it!”

I had to speak up, because they could hardly hear me, and had to shout out to the shit and puke mix that I loved it with all my heart.

“Make love to the shit and puke, and tell us in animal sounds how much you enjoy it!”

I came naturally to me. First I laid down in the stinking mess, then I smeared it all over my faggot body. The animal sounds came out of my cunt-mouth like unrecognizable screams of pleasure. Then I was ordered to cum into the plastic back and to pull it over my head, licking the inside.

“Fuck, you are disgusting!” he said, and then he disconnected.

The phone rang again. He told me to stand up, walk out into the corridor completely naked and smeared with shit and puke, and with the plastic bag over my head. Then I should knock on my neighbour’s door and to offer him to be of any service. It was he, the man told me, that had informed the company of my sick and perverted desires. He had stolen all my computer passwords, and was exposing me all over the net. I had no control.

“You are a faggot loser, and a toilet”, he told me. “Do what I say!”

I did, and I got the job. Why had I done it? Why had I left my own job as a director in a leading agency to become a toilet cleaner with my worst competitors?

Because I am a faggot toilet loser, I suppose.

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