The Contract That Turned Me Into a Toilet

Marcos had spent weeks waiting for that appointment. The selection process had been long: a detailed form, a video-call interview, a second in-person interview with someone on staff who didn’t even tell him their name. Not once during that whole process had he really stopped to think about what it meant to do what he was about to do. Only the fantasy. Only the anticipation.

Now, standing in front of Silvia’s desk, the floor manager at Club Ónix, he was beginning to understand it.

The place was exactly what he’d imagined: walls upholstered in black velvet, red crystal chandelier lighting, leather and metal implements hung with precision behind lit display cases. Every detail had been calculated to convey one thing: others are in charge here. Marcos ran his eyes over the walls while Silvia spoke.

—The contract states that the club assumes no responsibility for any effects arising from the experience —Silvia explained in the same tone she’d use to describe the fine print on a home insurance policy—. Once you’re inside the cubicle, it’s you who has decided to be there, freely and voluntarily.

—Are you listening to me? —she asked without lifting her eyes from the paper.

—Yes —Marcos replied—. You’re not responsible for anything. I understand.

—Good. You have an emergency button inside. If you press it, we stop everything immediately and someone will come and get you out. But you lose the deposit. The fifteen hundred euros.

Fifteen hundred euros. Almost a month and a half of work. Losing them wasn’t an option Marcos wanted to consider. He took the pen Silvia offered him and signed the contract without fully reading it. Only when he let go of the pen did he realize his hand was trembling.

—Welcome to Club Ónix —Silvia said with a cold smile—. Tonight you’re the toilet in the women’s restroom. My colleague Andrés will explain the rest. We open in thirty minutes.

***

Andrés was a little over six feet tall, sharply jawed, with that kind of calm that only comes from having worked for years in places like this. He shook Marcos’s hand firmly.

—Silvia already told me what you’re going to do —he said—. You’ve got a steel stomach. I’d gag just thinking about it.

The problem was exactly that. Marcos had never really stopped to think about it. He’d fantasized, he’d looked it up, he’d filled out forms. But thinking about it in detail, calmly, was something else. And now, in that corridor smelling of leather and candle wax, reality caught up with him for the first time.

What exactly had he signed?

He had agreed to spend six hours locked beneath the toilet in the women’s restroom of a BDSM club. Voluntarily. Paying for the privilege. At the disposal of any woman who chose to use that cubicle that night, no matter what she needed to do. The deposit was the guarantee that he would see it through. There was no turning back.

For the first time that night, Marcos wanted to run.

—Come on, we’re late —Andrés said, and started walking.

The women’s restroom was small but well kept: matte black tile on floor and walls, two white ceramic sinks with gold taps, a large mirror with perimeter lighting. At the back, two stalls. One with a sticker of a normal female silhouette. The other with the silhouette of a woman standing over a prostrate male figure.

—This one’s yours —Andrés said, opening the second door.

At first glance it looked like a normal stall. The white toilet, the cistern, the dark walls. The only difference was that the floor was slightly raised, as if something occupied the space beneath it.

—The toilet isn’t connected to the drain —Andrés explained—. Everything goes into an internal drawer sealed with absorbent sawdust. Customers can choose which stall to use. Not all of them want to participate. The ones who come in here know what’s what, or they find out from the sign on the door.

They crossed a back corridor until they reached a room that looked like a converted storage area. In one corner, beside a metal locker with several compartments, there was a door locked with a key. Andrés opened it.

Inside was a metal drawer on rails, just the right size for an adult body lying down, designed to slide into a wall cavity at floor level. The drawer was open at the top. At the bottom, a black waterproof sheet and a layer of sawdust that smelled faintly of pine.

—Looks like a resonance chamber —Marcos said.

—It has forced ventilation —Andrés replied—. There’s always clean air. You won’t suffocate.

From the locker he took out three items: a black plastic coverall, safety goggles, and something Marcos took a second to identify.

—A mouth retainer?

—It’s in the contract —Andrés said, not looking away—. The customers want that part of the experience. If that’s not what you expected, tell me now and we’ll sort out the deposit.

Marcos thought about the fifteen hundred euros. Thought about how he should have read the whole contract. Thought about how it was already too late for anything except going forward.

—All right —he said—. But they should make that clearer from the start.

He put on the coverall, which covered him from ankles to neck. The retainer was surprisingly comfortable: it held his jaw in a natural position even though his mouth stayed slightly open. Andrés adjusted it carefully from behind.

—When the drawer slides in, you’ll see the red button on your right. If you need it, use it without hesitation. There are people watching and you’ve got plenty of air. Try to relax. After all, you came here for this.

Marcos lay down on the sawdust. Andrés spread one last layer of absorbent grit over his legs.

—All good? —Andrés asked, thumb up.

—All good —Marcos replied, copying the gesture, though he wasn’t sure it was true.

The drawer slid inward with a soft metallic sound. Darkness became almost total. Marcos breathed slowly, counting his inhalations, and waited. Under the plastic coverall, his cock was already starting to harden. Hard, trapped, covered in sawdust, he realized he’d spent weeks masturbating while thinking about exactly this moment, and that reality had his dick so hard it hurt against the fabric.

***

Carla was two beers ahead of Nuria when the show on the club stage reached its peak.

The dancer —dark-haired, tall, with the kind of abs that appear in perfume ads— was moving over a blonde woman tied hand and foot to a black leather table. The blonde was naked, her legs spread wide by the ropes, her shaved cunt gleaming under the red spotlights. The dancer wore only a black leather thong that barely contained the bulge of his cock, and he paced around the table with a riding crop in his hand, tapping sharp little blows on the inside of her thighs, on her hard tits, on her swollen clit. The blonde moaned every time the crop brushed her cunt, and arched her hips, asking for more.

Then the dancer yanked off the thong. The cock that sprang free was thick, long, curving upward. The whole club let out a murmur of approval. Without ceremony, without a condom, he pushed the tip between the blonde’s cunt lips, rubbed it up and down until she started begging out loud for him to shove it in, and then he drove it home in one thrust. The blonde let out a scream that rose above the music.

The choreography was precise, almost mechanical, but the effect was completely different. Carla felt heat spread through her chest, down her belly, and sink between her legs in a dull pulse. Her panties were soaked. She could feel them stuck to her pussy every time she shifted her weight from one leg to the other.

She wasn’t especially into muscular men. What turned her on was the image of that woman tied up, unable to move, completely at the mercy of whatever the other person decided. That was what made her salivate. She imagined herself holding the crop, or better yet: imagined a stranger beneath her, unable to escape, while she used him however she wanted. The idea squeezed her clit until it throbbed beneath her skirt.

—I’m going to the bathroom —she shouted at Nuria, cupping her mouth like an improvised megaphone.

—I’ll come with you, I need to go too.

They crossed the club to the back. In the women’s restroom, a woman in her mid-forties was touching up her eyeliner in front of the mirror. She glanced at them in the reflection without turning around.

—You go first if you want —Nuria said to Carla—. Mine’s going to take a while.

—Then use the second stall —said the woman at the mirror with a half smile—. It’s designed for that.

Before they could ask what she meant, the woman picked up her purse and left.

Nuria and Carla looked at each other. They went up to the second stall. The sticker on the door stopped them for a moment: a female silhouette standing over a male figure stretched out beneath her.

—Looks the same to me as the other one —Nuria said with a shrug.

—Then you take that one and I’ll take the one next to it.

Nuria went in, shut the latch, and hung her bag on the hook on the door. She didn’t notice the sign just beneath the hook. She lifted the toilet lid, pulled her panties down to her knees, and sat.

The coolness of the ceramic surprised her.

She’d needed to go since before leaving home. Now, in the relative silence of the stall, she let her body do what it had been asking for hours. The relief was immediate and long. Nearly three seconds. She exhaled.

Then she heard something. A muffled sound, hard to classify. As if someone were trying to stifle gagging. It came from somewhere very close, maybe from inside the toilet itself.

She knocked softly on the wooden partition.

—Hey, are you all right? Are you going to throw up?

—What are you talking about? —came Carla’s voice from outside the main restroom door—. I’m out here waiting for you.

Nuria frowned. She grabbed some paper, wiped, and when she looked up she found the sign stuck to the inside of the stall door.

“Dear Club Ónix customers: you are making use of much more than a conventional toilet. This space is reserved for those who wish to explore extreme forms of domination and submission. Our slave, present voluntarily beneath the seat, has offered himself to provide a unique experience for lovers of no-limits BDSM. The practice falls within the SSC protocol —safe, sane, and consensual— and RACK. Enjoy without reservations.”

Nuria took several seconds to process what she had just read.

Then she sprang up as if the seat were burning her.

She peered into the bowl.

Inside, partially covered by what Nuria had just deposited, was a human face. A man. He moved his head from side to side slowly, trying to get rid of the mass covering him from chin to eyes. One eye was tearing up. The other blinked with difficulty.

Nuria’s first instinct was to flush. She reached for the button and pressed it. Nothing happened.

A second later she realized that if it had worked, she might have drowned that man.

—Carla! —she yelled, opening the stall door—. Get in here. Right now.

Carla peered in with a “what did you break?” expression.

—What’s wrong?

—Look.

Carla looked into the bowl and froze for exactly two seconds. Then she burst out laughing so suddenly it bounced off the restroom tiles.

—Girl! —she shouted between laughs—. You just shit on someone!

—Keep your voice down! —Nuria whispered, though she was already starting to smile in spite of herself.

—Keep my voice down? There’s a guy in the toilet! This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me!

Carla dug her phone out of her bag and started recording with the flashlight on, lighting the stall from above.

—What are you doing? —Nuria asked.

—If I tell this without video, nobody will believe me. Nobody.

Nuria stared at the scene with a mixture of astonishment and something like pity. The man kept moving down there, slowly trying to wriggle free.

—Shouldn’t we call someone from the staff?

Carla lowered the phone for a moment and looked at her with wide eyes.

—Nuria. My love. That man is there because he wants to be. He probably paid an obscene amount of money to be exactly in that position. Read the sign.

Nuria read it again. Then looked back at the man. Then at the sign again.

—But isn’t he suffocating?

—He has ventilation. If he were in real danger, he would’ve hit some emergency button. These people can’t afford to have a corpse in the club.

It made sense. Nuria knew that. And yet she still couldn’t completely shake the first wave of pity.

—What a pig —she said at last, almost in a whisper, watching the man move slowly under the remains of his own needs.

—Exactly —Carla said—. A voluntary pig. Inviting us in.

Carla ran her tongue over her lips. Her pussy had been throbbing since the stage show, soaking her panties, and now the image of that man trapped under the bowl, helpless, covered in someone else’s shit, was twisting her clit in a new way. She slid a hand under her skirt without bothering to hide it, slipped her fingers inside her panties, and rubbed her wet cunt in front of Nuria.

—Fuck, girl —Carla gasped—. I’m dripping. Look. —She pulled her shiny fingers out and held them up—. This pig is getting me so fucking horny.

Nuria let out an incredulous laugh, but she didn’t look away.

—You’re insane.

—Insane with need. —Carla shoved her fingers back in, deeper this time, and began rubbing her clit in slow circles while looking at the man under the toilet—. Aren’t you?

Nuria swallowed. The truth was that she was, too. Since reading the sign, something hot had started climbing inside her. She’d never considered herself a dominant woman or someone with cruel fantasies, but knowing that that stranger was down there because he wanted to be, because he was paying someone to be reduced to this, had pressed a button she hadn’t known she had.

***

Less than two minutes after that first visit, Marcos watched a new body settle over the bowl.

He had not managed to wipe anything away from his face. It was heavy and viscous, clinging to his skin without giving way. He moved it from side to side with his neck, slowly, trying to let gravity do the work for him. But there was no way.

Then he felt heat. Pressure. Another weight coming down.

He turned his face upward at exactly the wrong moment.

It landed on him diagonally: first his eyes slammed shut, then he felt the weight spreading from his mouth to his forehead. Then came the stream. Slow at first, then stronger. It ran over his nose, forcing him to open his mouth to breathe. Huge mistake.

The gagging came immediately, but there was no way to vomit in that position. The weight on his tongue was real, solid, impossible to ignore. He swallowed. Tried not to think. Swallowed again.

What hit him hardest wasn’t the smell. Not even the taste. It was the mental image of himself in that moment: lying under a toilet, covered, at the mercy of two strangers laughing and taking pictures with their phones. The humiliation was so total, so complete, that tears began to spill before he could do anything to stop them.

And under the plastic coverall, his cock stayed hard as a rock, soaked with the pre-cum that had been leaking out of him through the whole session. He could feel his dick throbbing against the fabric, trapped, sticky, and every heave, every fresh humiliation, made it harder. He could come just from the friction of the coverall if he stopped holding back. That was the worst secret of all.

And still he didn’t reach for the red button.

Why don’t I do it?

It wasn’t just the deposit. He knew that. Somewhere very far beneath the gagging and the disgust and the shame, something in him was exactly where it wanted to be. His cock knew it before his head did. That was the most disturbing thing of all.

***

Carla had made the decision without announcing it. She simply closed the stall door and started unfastening her belt.

—Are you going to do it? —Nuria asked from outside, with a voice that was more incitement than question.

—I’m going to try —Carla replied as she settled over the bowl—. Let’s see what happens.

She pulled her skirt and panties down to her ankles in one go. The panties were so wet they stuck to her thighs. She straddled the toilet seat, legs wide open, and looked down to make sure the man’s mouth was right beneath her cunt. Perfect. He was aligned.

—Listen carefully, pig —Carla said out loud, her voice rough from half an hour of a swollen clit—. I’m going to piss on you. And if you spill a single drop, you’ll lick it back up. Understand?

Marcos, beneath her, gave a clumsy nod. His tongue poked out between his lips as if asking for it.

Carla relaxed and let the stream go. A hot, golden thread fell straight onto the man’s open mouth. She was shocked herself by how much it turned her on to hear him swallow. Every muffled gulp from the bottom of the toilet tightened her pussy from the inside. She brought her right hand between her legs and started massaging her clit while she kept peeing, mixing her fingers with the stream, splashing her own thighs.

—Oh, fuck —she gasped—. Pig. Shitty little pig. Swallow it all.

When she finished pissing, she didn’t stand up. On the contrary, she leaned back a little, braced her spine against the cistern, and parted the lips of her cunt with two fingers until the clit was exposed, right above the man’s face. She began rubbing it with the pad of her middle finger, fast, nonstop, watching Marcos’s mouth moving below, waiting for whatever he was given.

—Lick me —Carla ordered, lowering herself a little more—. Lick my pussy, filthy boy.

She dropped her hips until her soaked cunt rested over Marcos’s mouth. She felt the hot, hungry tongue slide between her lips and search for her clit with desperation. The retainer held his jaw open, so Carla could grind herself against that mouth however much she wanted without him being able to close it. She started riding the man’s face as if it were a chair, rocking her hips forward and back, crushing his nose against her pubic bone.

—That’s it, pig —she moaned—. With tongue. Get it inside. Deeper, fuck.

Marcos’s tongue went in and out obediently, drenched, and Carla felt the orgasm climb from her thighs like a wave. She grabbed the edge of the cistern with one hand, squeezed one tit under her bra with the other, and let herself go over the man’s face with a long, guttural moan. She came in spurts against his mouth. She felt him swallow that too, without protest, without stopping licking, until her clit vibrated so hard she had to pull away.

Nuria pressed her back against the outer restroom door and listened. First her friend’s nervous laughter. Then silence. Then moans. Then another sound that made her cover her mouth with her hand and, without realizing it, slide the other one inside her panties.

When Carla came out, her eyes were bright with suppressed laughter and her inner thighs were soaked.

—Girl —she said—. This was the best thing of my life. I came in his mouth. He swallowed everything. I swear to you.

—Bitch —Nuria said, laughing, her fingers still wet beneath her dress.

—Try it. You have to try it. His tongue is a machine.

Nuria hesitated only a second. Then she went in.

She pulled her panties down, straddled the toilet seat like she’d seen Carla do, and looked down. Marcos was staring up at her, his face smeared, mouth open, tongue out. Nuria felt something twist inside her. She had never in her life done anything like that. And yet she found herself saying:

—Stick your tongue out, pig. Show it to me properly.

Marcos obeyed. Nuria lowered her hips and sat on his face. His tongue entered her cunt with the same hunger it had given Carla, and Nuria threw her head back with a gasp. She clutched the stall walls so she wouldn’t lose her balance and started moving on top of him, rubbing her clit against his nose, letting his tongue search for her hole. She was so wet it was hard to keep up the friction.

—Fuck, fuck —she whispered—, it’s true he’s a machine.

It didn’t last long. She’d been hot since the show, had been touching herself outside the stall listening to Carla, and now the tongue of that humiliated stranger was brushing her clit with desperate precision. She came biting her fist so she wouldn’t scream, pressing her thighs against the man’s ears, pouring all the wetness of a long orgasm over him until she was shaking.

When she came out, her eyes were bright with suppressed laughter and something else. A flush climbing from her cheeks to the neckline of her dress.

—Girl —she said—. This was the best thing of my life.

The two of them peered in. Marcos was still down there, moving less than before. The gagging came and went. He swallowed when he could. His face shone with a mixture of shit, piss, and the fluids of two different pussies.

—Poor thing —Nuria said, not especially convincingly.

—Poor thing, nothing —Carla said—. Look at his face. And look at what he’s got between his legs.

Carla lit the area with her phone flashlight. Under the plastic coverall, unmistakable, a long hard bulge stood out. The man’s cock throbbed trapped against the fabric, with a dark stain of moisture right at the tip.

—The pig is rock hard —Carla blurted with another burst of laughter—. We’ve eaten his face, pissed on him, he swallowed it all, and the guy’s got a cock hard as stone.

It wasn’t exactly the face of someone suffering in a simple way. It was more complicated than that.

Carla found the toilet brush in the corner of the stall and, almost on impulse, began dragging the remains toward Marcos’s half-open mouth.

—Hey —Nuria said softly, half scandalized, half amused—. Are you pushing it?

—I’m helping him get the most out of his fantasy —Carla replied, still laughing.

—Pig —Carla said as she spread the remains with the brush—. You like eating shit, don’t you? You spend it, swallow it, and it still makes you hard. Well, that’s what you get for crossing paths with us. Tonight I’m telling every girl at the bar. You’re in for one hell of a night. They’re going to line up to piss on you. Maybe one of them will let you come, if she feels like it. Maybe not.

Marcos had stopped trying to resist. He chewed slowly, eyes closed, waiting for it to pass. His cock throbbed so hard against the coverall that he felt every pulse at the tip. The humiliation was total. Perfect. Unbearable. It was exactly what he had paid to feel, although in none of the past few months, while fantasizing about this and coming in his own hand, had he ever gone this far in his imagination.

Suddenly, three sharp knocks at the stall door.

—Are you going to be much longer? —asked a woman’s voice from the other side—. I’m really desperate.

Marcos’s stomach clenched. And his cock gave a fresh twitch.

The night wasn’t over yet.