My Dream Domme Dates #2: Bewitched to Crave My Shit (hypno, FTT)

At the desk in his home office, he tries to concentrate, but every time he blinks, he's transported back to that night. Her wide eyes and giggling mouth looking down on him, his whole body frozen in place as he watches, with horror and joy, as she releases some of her precious shit into his mouth. "Her precious shit!" he says out loud. "What am I talking about?!" Before that night he would have been disgusted, and now his cock gets hard at the thought of her dirty arsehole. This couldn’t be happening. How could he get these thoughts out of his head? How did they end up in there in the first place? It was supposed to be a one-time fling. He would have one night of freedom, one night to relive his youth a little, and then he would go back to his responsibilities. The wife, the kids, the corporate job with the decent salary, two holidays a year, the sensible car. All of it felt wrong now. All his hopes and dreams for the future were replaced by this desperate urge to be her toilet.

A week earlier...

I love early Friday evenings in central London. It's the perfect time and place to find My next date. I simply choose an area near one of the big finance offices, order Myself a G&T, and wait to see the flocks of men in their identical gilets and aged-by-stress faces. I don't have a physical type, but I can sniff out a submissive man before he even knows it himself. So I sit, and I sip, and I wait for the right one to come along.

This evening it's not long before I spot him: early 40s, wedding ring, the oldest one of the group (their manager perhaps). Trying to juggle letting his hair down in a responsible way with being a fun boss. Not someone who would ever stand out in a crowd; dominant in appearance but submissive in his gestures. His body language and expressions betraying him. I purposefully brush past him slowly as I walk through the crowd to the smoking area. I never turn around to check, but I know he watches Me walk away. The powerful scent of divine feminine energy and musky perfume has caught his attention, and he follows Me out of the bar. Too easy.

He asks for one of My Vogues, and I tease him about being a social smoker without his own cigarettes. I inhale and exhale purposefully as he chatters on with some story about his day. I'm not listening, but I'm looking deeply into his eyes, burning my face into his retinas. I use My cigarette to draw attention to My mouth, inhaling in, exhaling out. He doesn't realise it, but his breaths are matching Mine now, and his eyes are darting back and forth between my intense stare and the little light glowing at the end of my cigarette as it burns in the dimly lit pub garden.

"Be quiet now," I say. He looks at Me, slightly stunned and stopped in his tracks. I drop the pitch of my voice and move closer to him: "It's been a long day, hasn't it? Oh, I bet it's been a long week and a long month. I can tell you're tired. You're tired of it, aren't you, darling?" His breath falters when I take his hand, the warmth of my fingers against his skin instantly silencing him. “Wouldn’t you like to make it all stop, darling?” I repeat softly, leaning close. My voice is lower now, almost a purr. “The endless grind, the pressure, the mask you wear every single day… it’s so heavy, isn’t it?” He nods. His eyes glaze slightly. “Good,” I whisper. I circle My fingertip along the back of his hand, tracing little spirals, slower and slower. His breathing matches the rhythm. He’s already following. Already yielding.

A subtle shimmer passes through My eyes, something I know he won’t consciously register, though his soul feels it. The power I possess is ancient and patient, it slips past his defences. He sways slightly. I steady him with a hand on his shoulder, and he shivers beneath My touch. "I can give you purpose... You’re Mine now,” I tell him gently, as though it’s the most natural truth in the world. “And you’re going to follow me without question, because deep down, it’s what you’ve always wanted.”

“Come on, darling. Let’s go home.” I lead him out of the garden and down the street. He doesn’t resist. He couldn’t, even if he tried. As we walk, I keep My hand lightly brushing his arm, reinforcing the tether of suggestion I’ve woven into him. Every step deepens it, every sound of my voice drives it further into his mind. By the time we reach My door, he’s pliant, dreamy, like clay warmed and ready to be shaped.

Inside, I keep it dimly lit; candle light only. I guide him to lay down on the floor and he does so instantly, staring at Me as though nothing else in the world exists. "You're going to discover what it means to be truly Mine. Every thought, every desire, every touch from this moment on will belong to Me.” I put a silky blindfold on him and lower myself down to straddle him, I can feel his cock getting hard. "You're here to please Me, aren't you?" I whisper in his ear, my breath hot on his skin. "You'd do anything I say, wouldn't you? You'd be my toy, my plaything... even My toilet". I feel his body stiffen up, his conscious mind fighting to break free and protest. But he can't, he's deep under My spell.

I turn around so that my arse is pressing into his face, pulling my thong to the side so that My arsehole is pressed right against his mouth. "Stick your tongue out," He does as he's told. "It's the most beautiful thing you've ever tasted isn't it?" I feel him nod his head underneath Me, his tongue moving around. With the eye mask on his senses are overloaded by the taste and smell of Me, all that's real to him in this moment is Me. I release a little pee and he groans as it trickles down into his mouth. "Say, 'thank you'" He thanks Me, his voice muffled by My arse. I shift around and pull the mask up, looking deep into his eyes. I tell him all he has to be now is a toilet. No family, no job, no responsibilities; just My shit and piss. Just a toilet slave. I repeat it over and over in his ears for hours as I hold him down and then I tell him to chant it as a mantra: "I am a toilet slave, I am a toilet slave, I am a toilet slave". Stroking his cock as he chants: "I am a toilet slave, I am a toilet slave, I am a toilet slave".

His body is a ball of sweat and tension from the cruel edging and the sun is beginning to rise outside the windows. I tell him it's time. I slowly take My thong off and place it over his cock, I tell him to keep stroking it. "Open your mouth, toilet," I squat down over his face, looking down on him with a smile. I tell him to focus on my arsehole, watch the movement of it as My precious shit is delivered. "Keep your mouth open and keep stroking your cock, you're going to cum for me. But not until you've done your job." I feel my body contract as the first piece of My precious shit drops into his mouth. I tell him to keep it in his mouth, to consume it all. He fights it at first but I put my hand over his mouth to stop him. He swallows. As the rest of My shit flows out to his mouth I tell him it's time to cum for Me. "Don't make me wait, cum for me My little toilet!" I force my shitty arse down onto his face and feel his tongue clean Me as his body convulses under Me. I can tell by his gasps that it's the hardest he's ever cum.

We lay on the floor together, a Princess and her toilet. I tell him to shower and send him off home in an Uber. He doesn't say a word but I know I'll be nestled in his brain for the rest of his life.