It was the night of my big party, and I couldn't wait to have some fun with my new tenant. He had moved into my apartment only a few weeks ago, but already, he had proven to be the perfect little toilet for me and my friends. As I walked into the living room, he was kneeling there, eyes downcast, waiting for my command.
"Get up, slave," I ordered, my voice cold and impatient. He hesitated for just a moment before rising to his feet, his eyes never leaving mine. I could feel a twinge of excitement stirring within me - this was going to be a night to remember.
"I want you to know something," I began, my voice dangerously low. "I want you to understand that this apartment, these parties... it's all yours. You belong to me, and you will always be ready to serve my needs. Do you understand?"
He nodded wordlessly, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously in his throat. Part of me wanted to throw him to the floor and take what I wanted right then and there, but first, I had to make sure he understood his place.
"Whenever my friends and I come to town, we're going to drop by," I continued, my eyes glinting with anticipation. "And every single time, you're going to be my personal toilet. You're going to let us piss and shit in your face and down your throat, and then you're going to clean it all up with your tongue."
As if on cue, the doorbell rang, indicating the arrival of the first guests. I turned to him one last time before heading to the door, my lip curling in a sneer.
"And remember," I hissed venomously, spitting directly into his face. "This is your life now. You're nothing but my toilet."
I left him there, trembling with fear and excitement, as I welcomed my friends into the apartment. As the night wore on, the scent of shit and piss filled the air, but I paid no mind. My tenant had been made to understand his place, and he was more than willing to serve his purpose.
In between rounds of partying, we'd head back to the living room to find him waiting on his knees once again. One by one, we'd take turns pissing into his mouth and shitting into a glass which he would then drink up like a good little toilet. When the night was over, and everyone had left, he'd be left to clean up after us - a messy, stinky mess that was the true mark of a well-trained toilet.
In the end, the party was an incredible success. But for my tenant, it was just another reminder of his place in the world. As I walked him to the bedroom, where I would spend a hot, sweaty night, my mind was already planning the next party. And my poor little toilet could barely contain his excitement for what was to come.
