****** Letter to Master Dave by loopy ******
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Letter to Master Dave


Dear Master Dave;

I fear you more than words could say. When I first spoke with you, if I had
known how far things would advance between you and I, I would have never opened
myself up to you. I would have run from you, Sir.

The first time when we met in the internet chat room, I was immediately struck
by your manner. You were so confident, so sure of what you wanted, and even
arrogant, Sir - although with good cause, I realize now. I was really turned on
when I learned that you are only 25 years old. I have spoken to many men on the
internet and the phone, Sir, but I have never met a man so young who was so
totally sure of himself as a Master. Being only 22 myself, it pleased me a
great deal to find a man close to my own age yet so confident in his
superiority over me. Speaking with you on the phone that night was incredibly
fun - in an innocent way, at least, relative to how things are now. We were
both wanting sex - nothing more. I don't think either of us had big plans about
where things might go from there - we just wanted a good cum. And as we spoke
on the phone, and you commanded me to bow at your feet, to worship you, to beg
for your piss, to lay on my back so that you could sit on my face - and shit on
it - the fantasy was incredible, leading to such a great orgasm.

I'd never really done any of that stuff for real, Sir. You know that now.
People in those chat rooms make all sorts of claims about the real life
activity they've been involved in. I'm sure there are a few who are sincere,
but most are like I was - wanting to speak about a fantasy that we would never
really live out in real life. Even you admit now that the experiences you'd
claimed to have at first were exaggerated by far. In truth, you had never shit
on anyone - you hadn't even pissed on another man. You'd had a few isolated
experiences with s/m and control - as had I - but never anything so extreme as
either of our fantasies.

As we began sending emails back and forth, and talking on the phone more
regularly, I was still initially under the impression that what was happening
was fairly innocent. Sure, I was acknowledging you as my Master, and you would
verbally abuse me and demand my submission to your will. But it was just
fantasy - or so it seemed to me. We lived so very far from one another that,
although we spoke about meeting up some day, I don't know that I really
expected that we ever would. Did you, Sir? I really wonder now. I wonder if,
all along, you were slowly grooming me to be your slave - not just on the
phone, but for real. Were you aware of the changes occurring in our
relationship? Were you in control of them? Or were you just enjoying the
fantasy as I was - unaware of the psychological changes that were taking place
in both of us?

That night when you had me shit onto a plate while I was speaking with you on
the phone - in retrospect, I recognize it as one of the major turning points in
our relationship. I know that I'd told you that I'd played with my shit before
- and it was true, to a limited degree. I had shit on my hand once - and
quickly threw the shit into the toilet in disgust once the full impact - and
smell - of what I was doing hit me. And I had shit into clear plastic bags on
several occasions - laying the bag over my face, staring at the shit, being
exposed to the smell but not overwhelmed by it - while jerking wildly on my
cock. But in truth, I'd never gone further than that, Sir.

So that night on the phone, with my shit on the plate, when you commanded me to
rub my nose along the length of the thick log I'd produced, it took me a step
beyond where I'd ever gone. And then you had me do the same with my tongue. The
gagging you heard was all real, Sir. I was sickened at the smell, and disgusted
with myself for allowing you to make me do something that was beyond my true
desires. And yet, to hear your voice commanding me to obey was such a turn-on
for me, that I couldn't resist you. I could have faked the whole scene - I've
done that before with other men on the phone - but with you, I really wanted to
obey. I wanted to know that you could take me a step further than I was
comfortable taking.

And then, when you told me to bite off a piece of the shit, and to take it in
my mouth - it was truly so revolting Sir. I gagged so hard that the ball of
shit in my mouth fell out accidentally, although I quickly picked it up and put
it back in again. As I watched myself in the full length mirror in front of me,
for the first time ever, I truly felt like a slave - your slave. Anything I'd
ever done with men before - in person, or over the phone - had either been
entirely voluntary (despite the role play situation and being commanded to
obey), or else, I had faked what I was doing - telling the man on the other end
of the line that I was eating my shit, when in fact, I was not. So at that
moment, seeing the brown stains on my teeth, looking at the small piece of shit
as it sat on my tongue, feeling such disgust mixed with such pleasure - I knew
I was doing what life had intended for me to do. To service. To obey. To
degrade myself for the pleasures of others. To perform acts so base that most
men would feel ill at the thought.

You didn't have me eat that piece of shit, Sir. You had me spit it out. Looking
back now, I wonder why. Surely you knew that I would have swallowed had you
told me to. Perhaps just knowing that was sufficient for you. Or perhaps you
were concerned that if you pushed me too far too quickly, I would have
abandoned you due to disgust with myself, or fear of your power over me. If you
thought in those terms, Sir, then I have to tell you how right you were. This
whole relationship - that of Master and slave - developed so slowly that I was
scarcely aware of what was going on. I didn't see it change from fantasy to
reality. I wasn't aware of what was occurring until it was too late for me to
turn it around.

The calls and letters that occurred after the shit-eating episode were more
tame for a while. Looking back now, I see that you were slowly taking control
of my mind - not through forcing me to perform degrading acts, but rather,
through cementing your position as supreme being, and mine as worthless piece
of trash. I have kept every email you sent me Sir. Do you remember the things
you wrote? I can see the change from how you treated me in the beginning and
then how things progressed. At the time, I wasn't aware of the subtle advances
in your manner with me. Reading back on them now, I can see them clearly and it
helps me understand the progression of our relationship. At first, you were so
much more inviting and gentle. But once you could see that you had me hooked,
you increased your hold through exposing me to your anger - and I so badly did
not want you to be angry with me. I feared that anger more than anything, Sir.

I was surprised when I got that money for the accident I'd been in the previous
summer. More accurately, I was surprised by the amount. Sure I'd suffered
whiplash and had to see a chiropractor for months, but I still had never
dreamed that I'd get so much money in the settlement. The timing of that money
arriving couldn't have been better. I was longing so much to meet you, Sir,
that I was going out of my mind. And then suddenly, almost like magic, I had a
big wad of cash.

The ride on the plane felt surreal. I knew that I was going to meet my Master -
a feeling so few men may have ever experienced before. I was both elated and so
afraid. We had spoken many times in terms of forcing me into various degrading
acts - would you make me do them all? Would you start slowly with me? I had
committed myself to obeying you completely, but on the plane, with time to
allow the fear to hit me full force, I was questioning if I had been brilliant
or an idiot for doing so.

The few days I spent with you are like a blur, Sir. I can remember specific
moments in time that we spent together, but so many details seem to have
escaped me. I guess what I remember most were the degrading acts you commanded
me to perform. One of the things that stands out in my mind was the first time
you sat on my face. You let out a fart when my nose was crammed against your
hole, and the smell was much more fierce than I would have ever expected. As
you know, Sir, I've had a couple of men sit on my face and fart in the past -
but they were both wearing jeans at the time. Those previous experiences had
fooled me into believing that having someone fart directly into my face would
be a pleasant experience. I was so wrong. Your fart burned my nostrils, the
stench was as powerful as if you'd crammed shit right up my nose, and the
feeling that hit me instantly was revulsion. I didn't want to gag since I'd
just finished begging you to allow me the privilege of smelling one of your
farts, but I have to admit that it was a struggle. Over the next few days, I
grew much more accustomed to your farts, and having you blow one in my face
became an experience I looked forward to. I love how you would call me over
every time you needed to fart - whistling at me like I was a dog. I would race
to you and quickly fall to my knees behind you as you dropped your pants and
bent over. There is so much I loved about your farts, Sir. The feel of the hot
wind on my face, the sound - especially the loud ones - and finally, the smell.
It was so sick and degrading, but so perfect for me. And I just loved it when
you would fart into my mouth. There was the added pleasure of feeling the fart
enter into me - expanding my cheeks with its force. The taste would sting my
tongue, and I'd feel like I was in heaven.

I was thankful that you prepared me slowly to be your toilet, Sir. We had
spoken about my willingness to take everything from your body so many times,
that you could have easily decided to give it all to me right from the start.
Again, I think you were wanting to not scare me away. Once again, I think you
were wise.

You'd had me drink my own piss on the phone several times before we met, so I
wasn't at all surprised at the taste of your piss. I mean, the exact taste
changes every time depending on what you've been drinking and eating, but in
the end, it's still recognizable as piss. There were, however, a few things
that surprised me about having you share your piss with me, Sir. First of all,
the first time you pissed in my mouth, you held your cock several inches away
from my face. I opened my mouth, and you pissed down into it as if I was your
urinal. It was actually pretty hard to keep up with the flow of your piss.
Since my mouth was open, it wasn't easy to swallow as often as it is normally
when I'm drinking something. Instead, your piss would fill my mouth, and once
it was so full that I knew it was close to overflowing, I would allow myself to
push my throat forward and swallow some down. You would, of course, keep
pissing as this occurred, and once again, my mouth would fill before I was able
to swallow down more. It was a strange sensation, kneeling there, having you
piss down my throat. I could hear my mouth filling the way it sounds when
filling a glass of water slowly from the tap. The sound of the piss filling my
mouth grew higher in pitch as my mouth became more full. It was also strange
the things that ran through my mind. I remember being shocked at where I found
myself - on my knees, in front of a man who was using me as a toilet. Despite
the many times I'd fantasized about being at just such a place, it still felt
very strange to be there. And your piss seemed to go on for ever. I was amazed
at how much you were producing, wondering if I'd be able to get it all down,
but very aware that if I spilled even a drop, that I would risk seeing your
anger - and I would do anything to avoid that, Sir. So I drank it down as
commanded, my stomach feeling bloated by the time you were done.

Later that same day, when we were in the shower together and I was washing you,
you told me that you wanted me to shower with your piss. You turned off the
water, and made me dry myself before you began pissing in my face and hair,
down my chest, and down onto my cock. It was a surprise to me that getting
pissed on like this felt even more humiliating than drinking your piss had. I
would have thought it would be the other way around. The smell of the piss was
revolting, and you told me not to wash it off - forcing me to walk around
smelling like your piss all day.

The second time you pissed in my mouth, you gave me no warning that you planned
to do so. I was kneeling, and you were sitting on the toilet. It felt so good
to be there - like I was exactly where I belonged. You told me to suck you, and
I took your cock into my mouth. Without warning, you began to piss. It was
easier taking your piss this way - with my lips wrapped firmly around your
cock. I was able to keep up with you much easier, and felt almost proud that I
was demonstrating to you what a good piss drinker I was. That feeling didn't
last long, though. When I heard a fart escape your ass, and then the sound of
your turds hitting the water in the toilet as I continued drinking your piss, I
was completely taken off guard. The smell of your shit rose from between your
legs, and swallowing your piss became much more difficult as I struggled not to
gag. Fear gripped me as I knelt there - I didn't know what you might make me do
with your shit, and the smell was so overpowering that I was afraid I might not
be able to handle it if you made me get much closer. Once you were done
pissing, I could feel your cock harden in my mouth as you continued to dump
into the toilet. I know that I was squirming as I knelt there between your
legs, and I also know that you were well aware of my discomfort there. Somehow,
I knew that your erection was the result of seeing me suffer - that you knew
you were pushing me beyond my comfort zone, and you felt powerful for doing so.
I must admit I felt completely at your mercy. When you stood up from the
toilet, and I looked up into your face, I could tell that the smile on your
face was one of triumph. Your look scared me, Sir. I felt like you could see
right through me, down into my soul. Your eyes seemed to say to me, "I know
that you don't want to go further, but I know that you will if I tell you to".
We both knew I would.

I was startled when you grabbed my hair. You've told me before that your moods
are unpredictable, Sir, and the experience by the toilet stands out in my mind
as a perfect example of that. It was like the smile on your face had, in a
split second, turned into a look of anger, and suddenly, I felt you pushing
down on my head, forcing my face toward the toilet bowl. It happened so
suddenly, and yet, it was as if I was seeing the whole episode in slow motion -
one frame at a time. I could see your logs of shit floating in the yellow
water. My face was getting closer and closer. Then I felt my nose touch the
water. I felt the turds brush up against my cheeks. I inhaled the water and
piss and was choking - I couldn't catch my breath. My hands were grasping to
try to grab your hand that was holding so tightly to my hair. The more I
choked, the more I inhaled liquid from the bowl. The porcelain touching my
forehead felt ice cold. I could hear you laughing loudly and shouting at me,
but I couldn't hear what you were saying - the sound of the toilet water
splashing in my ears as I thrashed around was too loud for me to hear clearly
over it. And then, the water began to swirl around - I could hear the toilet
flushing. Still choking, you finally let go of my hair, and I sputtered and
coughed, grateful for the opportunity to breathe again. I heard you panting
wildly, and I turned to look at you. Your cock was in your hand, and you were
jerking it frantically. As I continued coughing and trying to catch my breath,
I heard you cry out, and your cum sprayed all over my face. It felt hot against
the skin on my face that had been soaked in cold toilet water. Smiling once
again, you pointed at the mirror, and I turned to look at myself. My hair was
wet and dripping. There were brown smears on my face. Your cum was dripping
from off my nose and down my left cheek. I remember feeling numb. I remember
thinking that I was a grown man - and a fairly decent looking man - and yet,
look what I was submitting to. I felt foolish and humiliated, but at the same
time, felt almost victorious. I felt like I'd passed a test - like I'd proven
something to you, and to myself as well. You told me to lay on the floor, and
then you sat down on my face. Your dirty hole pressed against my lips as you
commanded me to lick you like human toilet paper. The experience should have
been disgusting - but next to the trauma I had just been through, not knowing
when I'd be allowed to breathe again, licking the shit from your ass seemed
calm in comparison. Not that it wasn't revolting - I gagged several times,
especially when you farted while my tongue was up your hole. But once again, I
felt success as you rose from my face, knowing that your ass was completely
clean.

The next day, I was to leave. My plane was to take off at 1 p.m., leaving us
with little time to accomplish much. We spent the morning talking about all
sorts of things - nothing to do with sex, or dominance, or raunch. As the
morning wore on, I was surprised that you weren't wanting to have sex or to
degrade me somehow. I'd expected that you might want me to eat your shit - I
hadn't done that yet, except for cleaning your ass with my tongue the day
before. But when we packed my things into the back of your van for the drive to
the airport, I figured you'd decided that I'd been through enough. I was
slightly disappointed - I'd actually wanted to eat your shit, just to prove
that I could do it. But mostly, I felt relieved. I'd experienced so much in the
previous few days that it was nice to end my visit on a more relaxed note.

We got to the airport, and you drove down into the underground parking lot. I
was about to exit the van, but when I turned and looked at you, I could tell
that you had something else in mind. The look on your face was almost evil -
you were smiling, but your smile was so twisted and your eyes were so stern,
that I knew you were about to force me to do something degrading.

You motioned for me to crawl into the back of the van, and then snapped your
fingers, pointing to the floor. I knew what you wanted - I laid on my back. You
pulled down your jeans, all the while looking at me with that same evil grin.
Without speaking, you sat on my face, your hole directly over my mouth. You
forced out a fart, and I parted my lips to receive it. You farted again, and I
could taste that the fart was more foul than the first. You grunted, and I
could feel your hole expanding over my lips. I looked up at the skin of your
ass, then up your back, and up toward the ceiling of the van. I wondered if I'd
be able to take this. I wondered if this final test would be too much, or if it
would prove my devotion to you as my Master. You grunted again, and I could
feel the tip of your log touch my teeth. It entered my mouth slowly, as if you
were purposely drawing out the act for maximum suspense. The smell in the van
must have been overpowering even to you, Sir - and you had the advantage of
being further from the source of the stench. Your turd touched my tongue, and I
gagged, overwhelmed with the thought that I was actually being used as a toilet
by another man. Your log of shit was thick, and I could feel it filling my
mouth - I felt the grittiness on the inside of my cheeks. You pushed it out
more, forcing it further into my mouth, reaching the back of my tongue, sliding
towards my throat. By this time, I was gagging regularly - over and over again
- close to puking but fighting so hard not to disappoint you, Sir. When the
turd was forced into my throat, I started to choke, and I knew I'd have to bite
it off. As my teeth bit through your shit and I began to chew the waste in my
mouth, the vile taste, mixed with the realization of what I was doing, got the
best of me, and I felt panic set in. In horror, I placed my hands on the cheeks
of your ass, and tried to force you off of me. Instead, you held your position
firmly, continuing to force shit from your ass, cramming my mouth so full that
I knew I had no choice - I had to swallow some of it down. Gagging
uncontrollably, I chewed up your shit, allowing the thick paste to slide down
my throat and into my stomach. By now, I had shit smeared over my lips and
face, and still you continued to push more out. I kept pushing at your body and
fighting to be free, but you wouldn't budge. I could feel your body shake with
laughter at my fruitless efforts. In my mind, I kept telling myself to calm
down over and over again - that it would all be over soon - and finally,
managed to decrease my sense of panic, and cut down on the gagging. I chewed
more shit, swallowed more shit, and was given a new mouthful several times
over. Finally, when it was clear that you'd fully emptied your bowels into me,
I licked at your hole, doing my best to clean it despite the shit smeared over
my face. And then you rose up, pulled on your jeans, opened the back of the van
and threw my suit cases on the ground. You told me to get out. I watched you
drive away from the parking lot, not having said a single word to me other than
"get out" since motioning me into the back of the van. I looked around - there
were people walking in the parking lot, but no one near enough to see the shit
on my face. I picked up my things and walked toward the terminal - hoping that
I'd find a bathroom I could wash up in before too many people saw me.

Sitting on the plane home, I knew that I still smelled like shit, despite my
efforts to wash up and to brush my teeth. I could tell by the reaction of the
person sitting next to me - she gave me a horrified look and sat with a
handkerchief over her face for most of the flight. I kept my mouth closed the
whole way, not wanting to make it any worse for her than it had to be.

And then, when I got home, I found the note you'd put in one of my bags. You
requested that I write you a letter - telling you in detailed terms how I felt
about being your slave - from the first time we spoke, until now. You told me
that you wanted me to share with you all of the feelings I'd experienced during
my visit with you. And finally, you told me that you wanted me to make a
decision - about whether I wanted to move in with you - as your permanent,
live-in slave.

So I've written you this letter, Sir. It's as honest as I can be. Being your
slave has been very difficult up to now - and it's also been so incredible for
me. You are perfect for me, Sir. The way you treat me, the things you say to
me, the things you make me do - no one could be more perfect for me than you
are.

So my answer is yes, Sir. I want to be your slave. Not just over the phone or
through the mail. Not just when I'm able to visit you. I want to be your slave
for ever - to service you, be used by you, and be humiliated for as long as
you'll have me. I beg you for this opportunity, Sir. I beg you please - let me
join you - I promise to do everything I can to please you.

I wait anxiously for your reply to this letter.

Your devoted slave.


Email encouraged: loop_fruit@hotmail.com