Goddess Tempest was midway through her intense workout routine at the gym when she felt an unmistakable urge to relieve herself. Her exercise bike was positioned in front of a full-length mirror, allowing her to observe her reflection as she worked up a sweat. Her tight ass glistened with perspiration, begging for attention.
The notion of having someone worship her asshole after such an exerting workout session had been simmering in her mind. She turned to her male toilet slave, who was kneeling next to the bike, eyes fixed on her. She smiled devilishly and ordered him to get on his knees. Without hesitation, he complied, expecting to be used for his mistress's pleasure.
Tempest straddled his face, positioning her asshole inches from his nose. She loved the power she held over him, knowing that he would do anything she wanted without question. As his tongue flickered out tentatively, she let out a sigh of satisfaction and ground her hips into his face.
His tongue found its way into her asshole, exploring the depths of her tight rectum. It felt incredible to have someone pay such attention to her most intimate areas. She moaned softly, encouraging him to go deeper. His warm breath against her sensitive skin sent shivers down her spine as he began to clean her out thoroughly.
Tempest closed her eyes, lost in the sensation. She couldn't believe how good it felt to have another person devoted to her every whim. But then, she realized that she needed to use the bathroom soon. Without warning, she pushed the slave's head away and stood up.
"You smell my asshole," she commanded. "Tell me if it's ready for my shit."
The slave took a hesitant whiff, his nose wrinkling in disgust at the potent aroma. "Yes, my Goddess," he replied, his voice quivering. "It's ready for your shit."
A slow, satisfying grin spread across Tempest's face. This was going to be even more exhilarating than she'd imagined. She lifted her hips and positioned herself over the bathroom sink, pressing her asshole against the lips of the toilet bowl.
With a look of pure terror on his face, the slave watched as his mistress began to take a shit onto the kitchen floor. It was disgusting, but he was powerless to do anything about it. She repeated the process several times, until her entire load was deposited on the cold, hard tile.
Finally, she flushed the toilet and turned towards her slave, a wicked smile on her face. "Clean it up," she commanded, not even bothering to wipe her own hands.
The poor slave could hardly bear to look at the mess, but he knew better than to disobey his mistress. With a heavy heart, he grabbed a mop and bucket and got to work. As he scrubbed the floor, he couldn't help but wonder if there was anyone out there who could make him feel the same way she did.
