"A powerful depilatory. Once a week, and we don't have to shave you." Okay," I said, I guess that not a bad idea for a toilet slave, "but what's the t...ing on my finger for?"Erica raised the lid and said, "That's an oxygen sensor." What's it for?" They usually hook them to people during surgery. Our last toilet slave died of suffocation. So we got it from a surgical supply place."Whoa! "What happened? How did your last toilet slave die?" I'm not sure. You'd have to ask Darcie and Francesca. They. But, this violin, this body of mine, needed to be played.On Christmas Eve, we returned from Midnight Mass. I kissed my children goodnight and climbed into my cold and empty bed alone. Tears slipped from my eyes until sleep took me away.At first, I thought it was a dream. I felt my bed move so very slightly. I felt a faint touch on my arms, felt them move under another's guidance, felt hands gentle on my wrists. Soft hands placed something over my eyes. My eyes opened but I could not see. I knew. I closed the door and started the engine, and then waited, making sure everything was running smoothly.Five minutes later I pulled forward and started what I was very sure was going to be an epic journey. I wasn't sure about much else just then, but I was sure that it wasn't going to be the piece of cake my uncle expected.My route wasn't the usual one off the Temple grounds. The Temple had once been a large ranch in West Texas, bought by my uncle based on its twin virtues of being isolated and. But we have to hurry; your sisters will be home soon." And she blushed even brighter.Bemused, I noted her slender, graceful fingers and lacquered nails and the contrast with my turgid cock, on which she seemed to have a firm grip. While I was thus engaged, she quickly straddled me and guided my cock to her pussy. She swiped it along her slit a couple of times, then lined it up and in one deliberate, downward thrust, she took in almost all of it. She then began to move slowly up and down.We both.