Last night, I called my slave, who lives 300 kilometers away, to surprise him today. He has no clue what’s coming. When he walks in, I can see he’s already exhausted, his face etched with fatigue from the nearly four-hour bus ride, but I couldn’t care less. “Mistress, why did you summon me?” he asks, his voice laced with nervous curiosity. I smirk, leaning casually against an old, dark wooden trunk, its rough grain scratching under my hands, dressed in loose morning clothes, my hair still mussed from sleep. “You’ll find out soon enough,” I snap. “Stop asking questions.”With a lazy flick of my hand, I point to the floor. “Kneel,” I command, my voice sharp and unyielding. “And sniff my ass.” His eyes light up, a bulge already forming in his black underwear as he thinks, all excited, that he’s in for a nice rimming session with his mistress. Poor fool. I let him savor the moment briefly before ordering him to lie down. “Stick your tongue in my ass,” I say, my tone cold and commanding. He obeys, eager at first, but as I shift and stand, his face twists, and he gags ******ly. “What’s wrong?” I ask, feigning innocence.“Mistress,” he stammers, his voice trembling, “I didn’t expect it… a piece of your… shit got in my mouth.” I let out a low, cruel laugh, pressing harder against the trunk, the wood creaking faintly under my weight. “That’s nothing,” I say, stepping closer, my eyes glinting with sadistic amusement. “I called you here to be my toilet today.” His body stiffens, his eyes screaming silent refusal, but I don’t care. His reluctance means nothing to me. I squat over his face, my voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “Open your mouth wide.” He hesitates, but he knows he has no choice. With a shudder, he complies. I let out a loud, creamy shit, the sound echoing in the room. Some of it lands in his mouth, but most of the foul mess smears across his cheek, dripping onto the floor. I stand, looking down at his pathetic form, and order, “Eat it.” The stench is overpowering, and his face contorts in disgust. I slip on a glove, scoop up the mess that fell on the floor, and shove it into his mouth. “Eat,” I snarl. He tries to refuse, gagging, but to please me, he ****** down a small amount. “It’s not easy, Mistress,” he mumbles, “the smell…” I roll my eyes. “A toilet is a toilet. Do your job.”Seeing his resistance, I switch tactics. “Fine,” I say, “let’s try my piss instead.” I position myself over him again, and he drinks, gulping down nearly all of it straight from the source. At least he’s good for something. Satisfied with that small victory, I wipe my pussy and dirty ass with a piece of tissue, then toss it onto his face, letting it stick to the mess already there. “I’m not pleased,” I say coldly, turning to leave him sprawled on the floor, a pitiful excuse for a toilet, the trunk behind me a silent witness to his humiliation. “You’ve disappointed me.”

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