Miss Dula was in her opulent bathroom, the scent of her designer perfume mixing with the sweet aroma of her fine cigar. She looked upon her newly purchased toilet slave, kneeling before her on the cold marble floor. His eyes were filled with fear and anticipation as he waited for his mistress's commands.
The lovely Mistress Dula snaked her arm across her body and undid her robe, letting it fall to the floor. She stood before him in all of her glory - a vision of feminine power and lust. "Slave," she purred, "You are mine to do with as I please. You will be the first to taste of this year's delicacies."
The slave trembled but nodded in submission. Miss Dula approached him, her high heels clicking on the marble floor, and pulled him to his feet. She unzipped his pants and roughly pushed him to his knees in front of the sparkling new toilet. "You will eat caviar from this toilet," she commanded, "And you will drink my champagne."
The slave could hardly contain his excitement and fear as he knelt before the gleaming white porcelain. His mistress approached him with a silver platter holding a delicate spoonful of caviar. She leaned down and slowly fed it to him, letting it melt in his mouth as he savored the taste.
Once he had finished the first portion, Miss Dula took her foot and pressed it firmly against his chest, pinning him under her weight. "Now," she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction, "You will drink from the bottle of champagne."
The slave opened his mouth as wide as he could, and his mistress poured the chilled liquid down his throat, watching as it slid past his tongue and down his chin. She took the bottle back and placed it on the ground, a satisfied smile spreading across her face.
The next course arrived: another spoonful of caviar, this time slightly larger than before, accompanied by a flute of champagne. The slave eagerly received his meal, devouring it quickly but with great care not to spill a single morsel.
As he finished the second part, Miss Dula took out a cigarette and lit it, the smell of tobacco mixing with the lingering scent of champagne. She waltzed over to him, her long legs unfolding into a graceful stride. With a sinister grin, she placed her cigarette between his lips and leaned down, blowing smoke into his mouth.
"Ah, my toilet slave," she said teasingly, "So eager to please. Now, time for the grand finale."
She stepped back, her heel pressing down hard on his prostrate form, as she watched the agony play across his features. With a malicious glint in her eye, she poured another measure of caviar into his waiting mouth, followed by the final drops of champagne. The slave closed his eyes, savoring the last luxurious taste of the year before his mistress finally relented and allowed him to cum.
As the slave's orgasm finally subsided, Miss Dula leaned over him, her sharp nails digging into his skin. She sneered down at him, her breath hot against his cheek. "Pathetic creature," she said, spitting on his face, "You are nothing but a slave to my whims. Now, crawl to your place and wait for your next command."
The slave did as he was told, crawling back to his corner to wait for his mistress's next command. As he lay there, his body aching from the abuse it had just endured, he couldn't help but feel grateful to be in Miss Dula's service - even if it meant enduring her wrath from time to time.
