The irony of being a dominatrix is that I ended up falling for a toilet slave.

Out of the 570 or so men I’ve encountered in my line of work, he was only the second one to truly captivate me. His submissive, shy demeanor had an unexpected allure, and his athletic physique only heightened the attraction during our sessions. Despite the power dynamics between us, I found myself developing a soft spot for him—dare I say, even a crush.

There were moments when I thought about asking him out, of breaking the boundaries of our roles. But deep down, I knew it was impossible. We were fundamentally incompatible, with our personalities clashing starkly outside the confines of the dungeon. It became painfully clear that whatever connection we shared was confined to the fantasy world we had created together.

Accepting this reality, I made the difficult decision to delete his contact information, hoping to sever any emotional ties and maintain the clear boundary between my professional and personal life.