I’ve always hated the Eastside gym. I mean, over the course of wrestling season you get to see a lot of kinda run-down places, but Eastside seems to have zero maintenance or janitorial budget.
You might think I’m exaggerating, but when me and my partner Laz showed up today, the handle had literally fallen off the front door; it was being held open by an overflowing trash can. The white rat groaned as we passed by it. “How does this place even stay open?”
“People like us holding events here, I guess,” I said. The hall that led to the locker room was uncomfortably humid and smelled of mold. “Bringing an audience to a place like this probably brings in lots of pity cash.”
Most of the lockers were busted open, and many were so bent out of shape they wouldn’t even close. A fellow bull was in the process of trying to bang one shut, muttering curses. I didn’t even try; I just dumped my duffel bag on what was left of the bench and started stuffing my street clothes into it.
I heard the sound of running water on the other end of the room as some foolhardy soul attempted a shower. Now me, I know this place and try to come prepared to spend as little time here as possible—my shower waits till I get home, no matter how bad I stink—but some needs can’t wait.
Like the need that comes on sometimes with the sound of running water.
“I know I’m going to regret this,” I said, “But fuck it, I’ve got to piss.”
I ventured toward the facilities.
The restroom area was as bad as I’d feared. All the urinals were cracked or outright broken, one of the stall walls had collapsed, and a couple of the toilets were missing altogether. A layer of unidentifiable grime covered the vast majority of the room.
“This has got to be some kind of health code violation.”
I’d half decided it might be better to just find a discreet drain in the floor to let loose in when a gray-haired gorilla in red boxers stomped in.
“I wouldn’t risk it, boss,” I said.
He grunted and surveyed the room, then looked back at me. “You’ll do,” he growled, gesturing at an empty stall. “Get in there.”
I scoffed. “What? I didn’t come here to cruise, boss.”
I tried to push past him and leave, but he blocked me with his arm, grabbed me, and lifted me up in the air.
Fuck, he was strong. Despite my professional efforts, he had no trouble carrying me back to one of the missing-toilet stalls and tossing me against the wall.
“Now open up,” he said, pulling down the front of his boxers with one hand and hefting an uncut gray cock in the other, which was barely big enough to wrap around it.
“The fuck, ’rilla, I don’t even know you.”
“Ain’t a toilet’s job to make people’s acquaintance. Open your mouth or I’ll open it for you.”
I flipped him off and tried to scramble under the stall wall, but he grabbed hold of my leg with his foot and started dragging me back.
Who the fuck’s bright idea was it to give gorillas opposable thumbs on their feet?
He pulled me back into the stall and grabbed my horn, holding me at arm’s length. “Once again,” he said. “You’re going to take my piss, toilet bull. Is it going to be the easy way or the hard way?”
“Once again,” I said, “fuck you.”
The gorilla’s fist moved so fast that I felt the pain in my nose before I even realized he’d punched me.
Just let him fuckin’ piss on you, the back part of my brain thought. He’s too strong for you to put up a fight. My pride wanted to rebel, but I knew this guy had me where he wanted me.
Yet when I tried to voice my surrender, I found myself unable to move my mouth.
In fact, as the gorilla released my horn and stood over me with his dick in his hand, I found I was unable to move anything at all.
“That’s right.”
A stream of piss fired from his cock and splashed across my face before he was able to aim it at my open mouth. The taste and the smell of it made me want to gag, to spit it up, to do anything to get away from it—but instead I was stuck immobile, feeling it pooling at the back of my throat, unable even to swallow.
I don’t even know how my mouth held it all; the stream of piss went on for at least half a minute and I never felt any of it spill until the gorilla had nothing more to offer besides the last drips.
He put his dick away, unaffected by the resentfulness I was trying to put into my stare, and grabbed hold of my left horn again.
As he pulled down on my horn, I was horrified to find my throat opening up and the mouthful of piss rushing down into my stomach.
Somehow, it made my mouth water.
“It’s all downhill from here,” he said, and left.
Frozen in place, I tried to shake off the spell. I’m not a toilet. I’m a bull. I’m not a toilet. I’m a bull. I’m stronger than this.
An enormous gray hulk of a rabbit looked into the stall, gave me a smirk, and shut himself in with me. I watched with trepidation as he pulled his cock through the fly of his shorts and aimed it at my muzzle.
I’m not a toilet. I’m a bull. I’m not a toilet…
Despite the exertion of my willpower, I was unable to keep myself from opening my mouth wider, my body anticipating the rabbit’s piss.
The yellow stream was directed straight at the back of my throat, and my traitorous body accepted it—no, revelled in it, like some kind of golden reward. For being a good toilet.
I’m not a toilet. I’m a bull. I’m…
My mouth opened wider, eager to take in more of it, and I felt my body fusing to the floor and the wall. This time, when he pulled down on my horn, I didn’t feel the piss collect in my belly—it flowed all the way through me, to whatever pipe was carrying the waste away.
Fuck, I’m a toilet…
And even though the rabbit had finished pissing, he still stood over me, slowly stroking his dark gray cock.
“Time to finish what my buddy started.”
I was helpless to do anything other than watch as the rabbit’s unhurried strokes brought himself to full hardness.
“Soon there’ll be nothing left of you but another grimy fixture in this awful place…”
I was helpless to do anything other than watch as a strand of precum slowly developed from the tip of his cock, long enough to touch my— my instinct was to call it my lip, but at this point I could really only call it my rim.
“Filling up on piss and shit and cum and paper till the inevitable day you get clogged and left to rot like everything else here…”
I was helpless to do anything other than watch as his breaths quickened and his paw’s movements became faster and more erratic. I knew what was going to happen; at the edge of my vision I could see that where his precum had touched, my rim had become white, smooth porcelain.
“Welcome to your new life, stranger.”
I was helpless to do anything other than watch as thick ropes of cum shot from his cock and splattered across me, coating me from head to— from top to bottom in his seed.
I could feel it completing the change—not just my shape and my substance, as cum and fur combined to create porcelain and plastic and stainless steel, but my mind and my desires as well. I was a toilet now, not a…whatever I had been.
The rabbit squeezed the last drops out of his cock, put it away, and left.
His toilet watched him go and wished for more.
I heard a familiar voice calling a familiar name. “Targ! It’s go time! Hello?”
The seeker came into the bathroom area. “Where the fuck are you?”
A white rat in black-and-white–starred boxers came looking through the stalls. “What the…”
He looked at me, and for a moment I had a flash of memory. Laz! He recognized me, he’d find a way to—
“There’s a fucking clean toilet? Here?” He looked around behind him and made one last half-hearted call: “Ta-aarg?”
When no Targ answered, he said “fuck it” and came into the stall, pulling it shut and dropping his shorts.
The part of me that remembered being the rat’s wrestling partner looked on with dread as he rested his ass on my seat, while the rest of me was overwhelmed with an eager anticipation.
And when I started to hear him going to work—the deep inhalation before the shallow grunt as he began to push—the last bit of resistance faded away. After all, that old life I thought I remembered must not have any meaning if a friend I thought I had would be so casually feeding me his shit.
And then it started coming.
Shit splattered across my bowl as the rat hurried through his bowel movement, irregular grunts highlighting his effort. From my perspective as a toilet, the smell and the taste of the scat were appetizing in a way that a rapidly-shrinking corner of my brain found mortifying.
But there was no more fighting from that corner. I focused my full attention on the sound of the rat’s sputtering asshole as he gave me everything he had—the heavy dump of a guy who had clearly been holding it in for a while.
I was filthy on the inside, water and bowl, and I loved every second of it.
The rat finished after a minute of feeding me and reached for the toilet paper to wipe himself. I heard the sound of it tearing and then the unmistakable sound of an empty roll spinning in its holder.
“Fuck me,” Laz said, making a token attempt to clean his ass with the two or three squares that had been left, dropping the dirty paper in my bowl and pulling up his shorts. “That’ll teach me to ever trust this place again.”
He was so caught up in grumbling about it as he made his way out that he entirely forgot to flush.
And as I sat savoring the taste of him, I decided that suited me just fine.
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Bracken's Corner 