There I was, lying on the cold steel table, my head resting on the edge, exposed and vulnerable. The room was dimly lit, casting shadows across the floor as I waited anxiously for what was to come. My heart raced in my chest as the door swung open, revealing him.
He was tall, powerfully built, his muscles tensed under his tight latex suit. He strode confidently towards me, never once taking his piercing gaze off mine. I couldn't help but quiver at his presence; an odd mix of fear and anticipation coursing through my veins.
"Are you ready?" he purred, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.
I nodded, my mouth dry. "Do it," I whispered, unable to look away from his eyes.
And then, without further warning, he grabbed me by the hair and forced my head into his crotch. The smell of his sweat mixed with the metallic scent of the steel table, making me lightheaded. My eyes snapped shut as I waited for what felt like an eternity, expecting his cock to penetrate my throat at any moment.
But instead of coming, there was silence. I opened my eyes slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. There, hovering just above my face, was his huge, muscular ass – and there was no sign of him having finished.
"Oh god," I breathed, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. He chuckled darkly, his breath ghosting over my lips. And then, with a sudden burst of energy, he let loose a torrent of thick, steaming shit onto my upturned face.
It was like being hit by a wave of hot, smelly air. I gagged reflexively, trying to pull away from the assault on my senses. But he kept me pinned down, allowing the shit to coat every inch of my face and into my mouth.
I tried not to gag as I tasted the foul, bitter fluid. It was thick and paste-like, coating my tongue and throat. It smelled worse than anything I'd ever encountered before – a fetid stench that made my eyes water. But still, I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of arousal coursing through me.
As the final drops of shit fell onto my face, he released me, stepping back to admire his handiwork. My face was covered in a layer of his filth, and I couldn't help but feel ashamed and dirty. But there was also a sense of accomplishment – I'd braved his humiliation, and come out the other side.
Slowly, I sat up, wiping the remaining shit from my face with a towel he'd provided. I looked up at him, meeting his gaze once more. He smiled, that knowing smirk still curling his lips.
"Not a bad start," he said softly, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. "But we've only just begun."
