Today was an ordinary day for Dea Nemesi, the Goddess of Femdom. She sat on her lavish throne, overlooking her kingdom of slaves who trembled in fear beneath her gaze. Her voluptuous body was clad in sleek leather, accentuating her every curve and revealing the violent potential of her primal feminity. Her lips curled into a sinister smile as she contemplated the next slave who would fall prey to her merciless whims.
Dea summoned the hapless slave to her presence, his legs shaking uncontrollably at the sight of his Queen. He bowed low before her, barely able to whisper a feeble prayer for mercy. The Goddess rose from her throne, her heavy boots stomping across the marble floor. She used the force of her steps to make the ground tremble beneath the slave's feet, further unbalancing him.
With a cruel smile, Dea grabbed the trembling man by his neck and dragged him to a nearby toilet. She roughly pushed him down onto the cold ceramic, his face inches away from the filthy water. Grabbing a handful of his hair, she pulled his head back, forcing him to gaze into her cold, emotionless eyes.
"Today," she growled, "I will turn you into my personal toilet."
The slave tried to protest, but a brutal kick to his shriveled balls silenced him. Dea took advantage of his incapacitation, lowering her dress to reveal a perfectly formed ass. She rubbed her feces-stained fingers across his lips, coating them with her own filth. Then, with a chilling laugh, she pressed her anus against his face, forcing him to breathe in her repulsive scent.
For what felt like an eternity, the slave was left locked in this humiliating position. Finally, Dea pulled away, her lips curling into a twisted smile. She reached down with her boot and grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling him up to face her once more.
"Now," she said, "it's time to clean up your master's mess."
The slave was led back to Dea's throne room, his eyes downcast in shame. He knelt before her, waiting for his next command. Dea took a long drag from her cigarette, the embers glowing red hot against the darkness of the room. She blew the smoke directly into his face, watching with sadistic pleasure as his coughing fit gave way to violent dry heaves.
Finally sated, Dea ground her cigarette into the slave's chest, leaving a blackened burn mark behind. She turned and walked away, leaving him to clean up the ashes as well. The slave knew there would be no reprieve, no escape from this torment. He was Dea Nemesi's personal toilet, and he would remain so until the end of time.
