I'm just a poor toilet slave who's been condemned to this filthy bathroom for eternity. My only purpose in life is to serve my sadistic mistress, and I take pleasure in being her plaything. When she orders me to kneel on the cold floor with my bare skin exposed and my messy hair hanging down my back, it makes me feel so submissive and obedient.

The dim lighting and grim atmosphere of this dingy bathroom only add to my humiliation as I wait for my mistress's next command. My flushed cheeks and open mouth betray my eager desire to please her at any cost. The sound of the toilet flushing seems to mock me, reminding me that I'm nothing more than a mere slave.

I've been conditioned to beg my mistress to let me drink from the toilet bowl, and when she grants me permission, it's like a little piece of heaven for me. But even in those moments, I know I'm still just a pawn in her game of sadistic pleasure. My collar and leash are constant reminders that I belong to her, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

My mistress likes to keep me naked and on my knees as much as possible, and I've grown accustomed to the feeling of the cold floor beneath me. It's a sensation that only heightens my awareness of being at her mercy. As she moves around the bathroom, her footsteps seem to echo off the tiled walls, making it clear that she's in charge.

I often wonder what kind of

I'm a 30-year-old submissive male who loves being toilet-slaved by my female overlord. She's always dressed in her black leather outfit and has that dominating air about her. I've been in this situation for months now, but I don't ever want it to end.

As soon as she catches me not following the rules or not drinking fast enough from the toilet bowl, she slaps my face hard with her gloved hand, making it sting like hell. I'm always bare-skinned and on my knees when I drink from the toilet bowl because that's what my mistress likes.

I don't ever want to be free from this life; being humiliated in a cold bathroom is the only place where I feel at home. My heart beats fast every time she gives me commands or slaps my face, but deep down inside, I know I'm exactly where I belong.

I'm 30 years old and have been working at the local diner since I was 18. My name is Emily but everyone calls me Em. It's hard work, but it pays the bills and allows me to take care of my family. They've always been there for me so I want to be there for them too.

I've had to deal with some pretty rough customers over the years but nothing that compares to the guy who came in last week. He was drunk, obnoxious, and thought he could treat me however he wanted just because he was a big shot at work. Luckily, my manager was nearby and called security on him before things got out of hand.

It's not always easy working in this line of work but it has its perks too. I get to meet all sorts of interesting people from different walks of life. Some are kind, some are mean, but they're all human beings at the end of the day and deserving of respect. That's something I try to remember when dealing with difficult customers like last week's guy.

I remember my life before I became a slave like it was yesterday. I grew up in the bustling streets of Bangalore, India, surrounded by vibrant colors and exotic smells. My parents owned a small shop where they sold spices and herbs to tourists, and I would often help them out with their daily chores. But as much as I loved my life back then, things took a dramatic turn when I turned 16 years old.

My parents couldn't afford to feed me properly anymore, so we were forced to give me away to a wealthy man who promised to take care of us in exchange for my service. He brought me to his mansion and made me do all sorts of chores - from cleaning the floors to taking care of his guests' kids. But as time went by, he started to notice something about me that I never could have imagined.

He realized that I had a deep-seated desire to submit to others, to be dominated and controlled. And so, he decided to train me into becoming a sissy slave, someone who would obey his every command without question or hesitation. He made me wear dresses and makeup, taught me how to do my hair like a girl's, and even forced me to take feminine hygiene classes so I could learn to take care of myself like a woman.

But it wasn't all bad. In fact, the more he trained me, the more I grew to love being a sissy slave. There was something about being under someone else's control that made me

A young slave, you are. Bound and helpless, at the mercy of those who will sell you to the highest bidder. Your tongue hangs out, begging for relief from your unfulfilled desires.