Kyle arrived home from work to his suburban townhouse Friday evening a little after 6 PM as he normally does. He opened a box of chicken nuggets and placed them in his oven to bake while he went to his master bathroom to take a dump in the toilet and then a shower to wash off the day's grunge.

Fully refreshed, he grabbed a Guinness from the fridge and served himself the nuggets as he plopped in the sofa to catch the Thunderbirds marathon on Tech TV.

A few hours and episodes later, he used the toilet one last time and turned into bed.

He slept late the next morning and finally got out of bed a little after noon. Getting up at 7 AM every day for work, and getting home at 6 PM left him exhausted on the weekends. He toasted a waffle to take the hunger off while he booted up his PC.

His email was nothing but spam, so he deleted it all and went into the newsgroups for a while. He lurked in alt.torture, alt.sadistic, alt.lifestyle.master-slave, and soc.subculture.bondage-bdsm, letting his unfulfilled fantasies run wild at reading what people were really doing together. He also dropped in on a few of his other favorite groups, such as alt.games.the-sims, alt.games.metal-gear-solid, and alt.games.final-fantasy. However, he rarely replied to anyone, and finally shut down his PC and put Halo 2 in his Xbox to play for a while. He played through a new level, then he logged onto Xbox Live. He spent the rest of the day playing a series of deathmatch games. Later that evening, he called out for a pizza and tuned in to a Star Trek marathon on Spike TV.

Kyle decided that it was time for bed after Captain Picard had saved the Federation from the latest Borg attack, so he took a shower before proceeding to bed again.

He slept late again on Sunday morning, but not as late as Saturday, having regained some of his energy. He had noticed that he was running low on bread and milk and stuff, so he checked his fridge and made a shopping list. He took a dump before driving down the street to do some food shopping at the Try-N-Save.

He arrived back home a few hours later, put his food away, and nuked a Pizza for dinner. Then he verged out in front of his sofa again. He tuned to Network 23 to catch the Max Headroom marathon.

Realizing that he would have to wake up with the cows the next morning, he groaned and clicked off the TV after Edison Carter had saved the world from blipverts, and went to take a shower.

"Shit!" he cursed when he saw that his toilet had stopped up. His shit from before had not gone down and the water was almost to the rim. He knew this sometimes happened to the toilet in his master bathroom, so he didn't think much of it and, instead, used the toilet in the hallway bathroom that was connected to the public sewer. He then returned to the master bathroom to take his shower, and turn in to bed for the night.

The following morning, his alarm clock began emitting a barely audible white noise at 6:45 that got ever-slowly louder until it chimed ever so softly at 7:00. The alarm woke him at about 6:50 and he stumbled out of bed at the chime. He stumbled into the bathroom to take his shower and muttered, "Shit!" again when he saw that his toilet was still stopped up.

He quickly showered and dressed for work. But before leaving, he walked downstairs to his basement and approached a door. He removed two padlocks from the door, one a key lock, and one a combination lock, and turned the light on to reveal the dusty, cobweb-encrusted room. He approached the toilet slave lying on a low bench. The sewer pipe from his toilet came down from the ceiling, narrowed to a smaller diameter pipe that was inserted into her mouth, which was held in place by a large-diameter hose clamp over a tab attached to the flange over her mouth and then around her head. Her body was pale yellow and he muttered to himself, "She's dead, Jim," when he felt her cold flesh with the palm of his hand. He giggled when he saw how her finger- and toenails had grown in long coils in the years that she had been at his service. He then noticed that the shackle on one of her feet had broken and she had tangled and crimped the catheter around that foot, preventing her from being able to pee.

Sighing, he locked the door again and returned upstairs. He booted up his PC, and quickly composed a newsgroup post advertising for a female toilet slave. He posted it to the groups that allow personal advertising in their charters, then hurried off to work.

He checked his email when he returned home from work that night, but it was only spam again. He returned to his sewage treatment room in the basement and began to disconnect the dead toilet slave. He turned a valve in the sewer pipe, diverting it from the slave to the regular sewer. Then he removed the pipe from her mouth as the last drops of water spilled out onto the table on which she was laying. A lip around the table prevented the liquid from dripping onto the floor and the waste flowed into a drain under her ass in the padded tabletop and into the regular sewer. Next, he removed the small-diameter pipe that had been inserted into her anus that led to the regular sewer. Then he pulled the catheter from her urethra that served the same purpose for her urine.

Taking a razor knife, he slit her wrists and throat to let the blood drain from her body. He went upstairs to eat and catch an episode of Monster Garage before returning back downstairs again.

He hosed the blood off her body and carried it over to a steel table against an adjacent wall. He used a hacksaw to remove her head, feet, legs, hands, and arms, then cut her torso in half. He placed each body part into a small garbage bag, and then hosed off the bags and the two tables.

He went upstairs to flush the stopped up toilet, now connected to the regular sewer. Then he took a shower and returned back downstairs yet again. He carried each of the bags up to his car and dumped them in a Dumpster behind a fast-food burger joint where he hoped no one would notice the eventual odor of rotting meat until the next garbage collection.

The rest of the week went by uneventfully. He jumped whenever he heard a siren in the distance, but there were no news reports on TV of a mutilated corpse found in a Dumpster, and so he gradually relaxed.

He clapped and shouted, "Whoohoo!" on Thursday after work when he received a reply to his ad for a toilet slave. A cute sub-girl said she wanted to be his toilet slave for a weekend. She lived only a few hours away in the next state.

He replied and asked her when he would like to come over.

She replied a few hours later and said she was available any time he wanted her; she even sent him her nude photo from the waist up.

He replied again, sending her his photo, and said this weekend was perfect for him, but if it was too short notice, any upcoming weekend was fine for him too.

To his delight, she said this weekend would be perfect for her too. She even sent him her IM name so they could chat in real time.

So after short while, they had agreed that he would pick her up from the train station on his way home from work Friday night and she would be his toilet slave until Sunday evening.

Kyle spent the rest of the evening cleaning that basement room. He dusted everything and vacuumed the floor, then washed the tables and equipment until the room looked like new.

The following evening, she was standing on the sidewalk outside the train station as he drove up. He clicked the window down as he stopped his car by the curb and said, "Hi! Mindy?"

She said, "Yes! Kyle?"

He answered, "Yes! Hop in!"

She opened the door, tossed in a small carry-on bag in the back seat, and got in the car.

Kyle drove back to his house. Making light conversation, he asked, "So when do you need to be back home?"

"Doesn't matter," she shrugged. "I really don't do this very often. Please don't think I'm a slut or anything."

"Sure, I..." he began to answer.

"On second thought," she quickly added, "please do think I'm a slut!"

"Sure thing!" he said with a laugh.

"I took Monday off work," she continued, "just in case, you know, you want to keep me an extra day or something," she said, licking her lips.

"Oh, nobody will miss you if you don't come home Sunday night or Monday?" he asked.

"Nope! I don't know anyone who's into the scene hard-core, and I wouldn't dare tell anyone I'm doing this," she admitted, "I even erased our emails from my computer. I'd just die if anyone found out about me doing this!"

"Really? You deleted our emails?" he asked.

"Yeah, I hope that didn't hurt your feelings. I guess I'm really paranoid about someone finding out, not that anyone but me ever uses my computer. You could keep me your permanent slave, and no one would ever know where I went or even that I'm missing until I miss my rent payment next month," she said then bit her lip.