I don’t even have to be asked anymore. When my Mistress goes into the bathroom, I follow her—eagerly, like a little dog, on my hands and knees. Sometimes she sends me away, unable to stand the sight of something as servile and pathetic as I am, but other times, like on date nights, she lets me stay. Those times are what I live for. When I’m not only allowed to touch her superior body, but I’m required to. Once my face makes contact the flesh between her legs, I’m not allowed to break it until she says. It could be a few seconds, or it could be an hour. Doesn’t matter what she’s doing, or how many time she cums, I’m to have my tongue in one hole in my nose, or else suffer the consequences.