As I prepare for work, I’m faced with a dilemma – to relieve myself or not. But why should I endure discomfort when I have a devoted human toilet at my disposal? This wretched creature exists to serve my every need, and I take great pleasure in its suffering.
A few choice words, and my living toilet is ready to fulfill its purpose. I order it to lubricate me, open its mouth, and receive my waste. It’s a thankless task, but one it performs with unwavering devotion.
I allow it the rare privilege of worshipping my perfect feet, a small reward for its service. But make no mistake, its ultimate purpose is to debase itself by consuming my excrement. I revel in its degradation as I turn it into my personal waste disposal unit.
My commands are simple, and my human toilet obeys without question. It remains still, its mouth filled with my waste, as I prepare to leave for work. I take a moment to remind it of its place, kicking it one last time before I depart.
Being a Goddess is a powerful feeling, and I savour the control I have over my human toilet. It’s a relationship based on dominance and submission, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.