I’m already down on the cold tiles, where I belong, waiting for the sound of your ringtone to tell me it’s time to serve. Toilet play phone sex is the only thing on my mind because I know you’re coming home with a full bladder and an even fuller gut, ready to use me as your personal porcelain. I’m not here for a conversation or a sweet “hello”; I’m here to be your receptacle, breathing heavily against the receiver while I imagine the weight of you hovering over my face.
My knees are starting to ache, but that’s just a reminder that I’m beneath you, exactly where a good, obedient hole should be. You’re one of my favorite callers because you don’t hold back, and you certainly don’t treat me like I’m fragile. I want to hear the belt buckle clink and the heavy friction of your trousers dropping while you tell me how bad you need to go.
There’s nothing romantic about the way I want you to ruin me. I want to hear your gut growl through the phone, knowing that everything you’ve been holding in all day is about to be dumped directly onto my waiting skin. I’m addicted to the sound of your relief, the grunts you make when you finally let go, and the wet, heavy thuds of your waste hitting my body.
I want to be your human toilet, Sapphire, the girl who lives to be shitted on by a man who knows his dominance. Tell me how much of a mess you’re making of me; describe the warmth and the stench as it coats my chest and face while I moan for more. I’m not looking for a boyfriend; I’m looking for a master who treats my mouth like a drain and my dignity like a floor mat.
Every time you flush, I want to feel the vibration of your power over me, leaving me covered, used, and utterly pathetic. Don’t be gentle with your words. Tell me I’m disgusting while you’re emptying yourself out. I want to hear the splash, the struggle, and the finality of you finishing your business on me.
I’m addicted to the filth, and I’m addicted to the way you make me feel like nothing more than a place for you to dump your heat. I’ll stay right here on my knees, dripping in your mess, waiting for the next time you feel the urge to use me. You’re the only one who can make me feel this used, and I’m begging you to call and make me your personal sewer right now.
Sapphire
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