The Human Toilet Display

A few nights after the successful Pet Competition, Mr. Reginald Kane hosted another exclusive private event at his estate. This time, the main attraction was chosen directly by the host himself.

“Tonight,” he announced to the gathered elite guests, “we will showcase Slutcunt Voss in her most fitting role — as a proper human toilet.”

You were brought onto the stage completely naked except for your permanent pink gold collar. Your long bubblegum-pink hair was tied in a high ponytail, and your heavy DDD breasts were already leaking slightly from nervousness.

In the center of the stage stood a custom-built toilet display — a specially designed bench that forced you into a humiliating position: on your back, head tilted back into a toilet seat opening, legs spread wide and locked in stirrups, ass and pussy fully exposed and elevated. Your mouth was held open by a large O-ring gag, and a funnel was fitted over your face.

Mr. Kane strapped you in securely while the audience of around 35 powerful futanari and businessmen watched with eager anticipation.

“Slutcunt will serve as the official toilet for the entire evening,” he declared. “Every guest is encouraged to use her for piss, cum, and shit. No limits.”

The degradation began immediately.

The first guests stepped forward. A tall futa executive lifted her dress and positioned herself over your face. She pissed directly into the funnel, filling your mouth with a long, steady stream of warm piss. You swallowed desperately, the bell on your tongue ringing with every gulp.

More guests followed.

One after another, they used you:

Several men and futanari pissed into your mouth, some making you gargle before swallowing.

Many of them jerked off over your face and breasts, adding thick loads of cum that ran down your throat or coated your body.

A few older guests squatted directly over the funnel and pushed out soft logs of shit, which you were forced to consume while the crowd watched and applauded.

Your breasts were not spared — many guests squeezed and sucked on them while using your mouth, drinking your sweet milk as they relieved themselves.

At one point, Mr. Kane himself used you. He stood over your face and emptied his bladder into the funnel, then pushed out a thick log of shit directly into your open mouth while stroking your pink hair.

“You’re doing wonderfully, Mrs. Voss,” he praised. “Such a classy, high-society toilet.”

For nearly three hours, you served as a public human toilet. Your stomach became heavily bloated. Your face, hair, and breasts were covered in layers of piss, cum, and shit. The bell on your tongue never stopped ringing as you swallowed everything given to you.

The audience treated it like entertainment — chatting, laughing, and placing bets on how much you could take.

By the end of the night, you were a broken, filthy mess — barely conscious, body trembling, belly distended, face unrecognizable under the filth.

Mr. Kane had you unstrapped and displayed on all fours for a final round of photos before sending you back to Dorothy.

When you returned home early the next morning, Dorothy was waiting. She immediately took you to the bathroom, gently cleaned you, and then drank deeply from your sore, milk-filled breasts while listening to every detail.

“My perfect, disgusting little wife,” she whispered proudly. “You served so well. The guests couldn’t stop talking about you.”

She kissed your cum- and piss-stained lips.

“You’re making me very rich and very respected, Slutcunt Voss.”