With a side business of building BDSM gear, Guy was making a nice little side income. His most popular item was a Sperm Sponge harness: a rather complicated item of straps, rings, and buckles that the slave wore on her head with a cock-ring pressed tightly to her mouth, and another collection of straps, rings, and buckles that he Dominant wore on his hips with that same cock-ring pressed tightly to his crotch at the base of his cock. With such a garment, a man could wear a woman's head with his cock forced down her throat for as long as he desired. As many of his customers for this item were women as were men.
His second most popular item was a toilet-slave machine in which a slave lay on her back several inches above the floor with a small flattish pail under her butt, and with her head enclosed in what looked like a toilet with her face flush with a real toilet seat. The Dominant would then stand and pee into the toilet, and onto the slave's face. Or he would sit on the seat, and on the slave's face, to defecate directly into her mouth.
Both items were custom built to order, and didn't come cheap.
One of the perks of being known as the maker of these items, he would often receive e-mails from people, both men and women, offering themselves to be his sperm sponge or his toilet slave in one of his machines.
Being straight, he politely declined the offers from the men. There's nothing wrong with being gay, he would say. But he's straight.
The women, on the other hand, would invariably end up on the giving end of his cock or ass for a weekend, being worn as his sperm sponge or as a cog in his personal toilet slave machine.
When he received a fairly typical request from Mindy offering herself to be his toilet slave, he replied that she would be welcome to be a guest in his toilet slave machine for a weekend or so.
But when he received her reply, he wasn't sure how to reply, or if he even should:
> FROM: Mindy > TO: Guy > > I work two factory jobs and still don't make > ends meet. My finances and bills are about to > implode on me any day now. > > I want to be locked into a device permanently for > the rest of my life that directly feeds the waste > into my mouth forcing me to swallow or directly above > it so I need to swallow to breath. I'm not even > visible to the person using the toilet or possibly > I'm even in another room. At this point I'm more just > a part of the plumbing than I am a human. Maybe I'm > even sealed in a tank that forces me to recycle my > own waste or it stores it and I have to live in it. > > But to be locked into the device you currently have, > I don't think you'd keep me in it once I start begging > to be let out, or if you saw I was having serious > problems. > > Build it and I will come.
Guy got to thinking about such a device. One of his favorite kinky writers once wrote a story about a toilet slave permanently installed in a secret basement room with the drainpipe from all the toilets in the house feeding into her mouth in such a way that she could not refuse to swallow the raw sewage. A pipe jammed up her asshole, and a catheter up her pee hole, led down under her, and into the real sewer drain for the house.
Unfortunately, such a construction project was way beyond his ability. He replied:
> FROM: Guy > TO: Mindy > > I can't do major construction in my house. > That's just beyond my abilities. And > I wouldn't even think about starting it > without knowing how serious you really are. > > But here's what I offer. You'll come to me, > and I'll build a toilet slave machine around > you. There will be no hinges, buckles, > latches, or anything else. I'll literally > form the pieces around your body and bolt, nail, > screw, and glue the machine together around you. > > When it's done, the only way to get you out would > be to destroy the machine. I give you my word > of honor that I would not do that since what you > want is to be built into the machine and never > released no matter how much you beg or plead > for me to let you out, or even if I believe you > to be having a medical emergency. > > Further, I'll build the machine so that there > will be a funnel directly under the seat draining > into a pipe leading into your mouth, and a heavy > vinyl or leather bag over your head. You would > have no choice but to swallow the waste. And you > would be inside the machine, unseen by anyone > using it. > > Let me know if this appeals to you.
Guy didn't get a reply back from her, and figured her for a kook. But, two months later, she replied.
> FROM: Mindy > TO: Guy > > Sorry I didn't reply in so long, but I lost one of > my jobs, and my creditors are all suing me. They > disconnected my phone, my internet service, and > my electricity. My computer broke down and won't > boot. My landlord is about to evict me any day > now. I'm using a computer at the library to > check my email. > > I've gone so far as to buy Twinkies and laid on > my back and let them fall whole into my mouth > to see what it would be like to swallow them > without being able to fully close my mouth. > > Your offer isn't exactly what I want, but it's > close enough. I've talked to too many wanks who > want to own me, but you're the only one who makes > sense and has the ability to build anything close > to what I want. So as long as you swear that I'll > be forced to swallow the waste, and that you > promise to never, ever, let me out, I'll give > myself to you.
Guy wasn't sure that she would actually get off the train, but he was prepared for her if she did. As part of his side-business, he always had a need for lumber and hardware, and had plenty in stock. Mindy was waiting for him in the lobby of the Amtrak station Friday evening when Guy stopped there after his day job. She was a very pretty blonde girl with a Midwestern accent.
"All your affairs in order?" Guy asked as he carried her one small satchel to his car.
"What affairs? All I have is mountains of debt and bills. I spent the last cash I had on the train tickets to get to you. As far as I'm concerned, my body is now your property. I brought a couple of changes of clothes, but I'll be part of your machine in a few days, right?"
"It'll take a couple of weekends to fully build it, but a couple of changes of clothes should last as long as we need."
It was too late to start construction that night. He'd have to measure her body to cut some of the pieces just right. So Guy slid Field Of Dreams in the DVD player and they watched it while snacking on Pizza and fries.
Looking at Mindy, Guy said, "Build it, and they will come, right?"
"Yes, but it's not built yet," she sulked.
Guy laughed and gave her a hug. "Now that you're here, Mindy, it will be!"
Guy let Mindy sleep in his spare bedroom that also served as his workshop. He had set up a small folding bed for her that he happened to have.
Guy got to work the following day. Starting with some plywood panels, he measured Mindy's body and cut a Mindy-shaped hole in each one. On some of the panels, he cut extra holes for her arms and legs. He had Mindy step into the panels and lie down. She looked rather like an accordion with her body passing through all the plywood panels. He took some more measurements and let Mindy step out of the panels. He spent the rest of the weekend cutting and sawing wood.
Mindy spent the weekend watching TV while Guy cut all the parts that the machine would need for its final assembly. It actually took two weekends to cut all the pieces that were needed. During the week, Mindy lived as Guy's houseguest and mostly kept to herself.
Guy had finished cutting all the pieces by the end of the second weekend.
"Can you build me into it now?" Mindy asked excitedly.
"Fraid not yet, Mindy. The pieces are all made, but assembling it with you inside is another weekend job. And there's always last-minute pieces that need to be cut, or adjustments that need to be made. Especially in something that's being built specifically around you."
With disappointment in her voice, Mindy said, "Oh? Then can I see the pieces?"
"Sure, come on." Mindy followed Guy upstairs.
In one corner of his workshop, wooden panels, blocks and other parts sat neatly in a pile. Another pile of PVC pipe and fittings sat next to the wood. Mindy picked up a couple of the pieces. "You've numbered them all?"
"Yes, each part of the machine has a part number," he answered and showed her a cutaway diagram of the machine. On the page was an outline of a person with the number "14" drawn on it.
"I'm part number fourteen?"
"Yes, you are."
"Then you better mark me to make sure you have all the parts ready," she said with a giggle.
Guy smiled, picked a felt tip marker out of his toolbox, and drew "14" in big black letters on the side of her face.
"But it's going to wash off by next weekend," she said.
"I can make it so it won't wash off," he said.
"Cool! Okay!" she said.