Seven days. Seven long, agonizing days without release, and I feel like I’m losing my mind. The frustration is unbearable, and worst of all? It’s made me so weak for you. I don’t just crave release—I crave you. Your power. Your control. Your ability to make me feel completely beneath you.
I don’t want to just cum—I want to earn it. I want to kneel before you, desperate, worshiping the ground you walk on while you bask in the rush of having total control. I want you to take everything from me—my dignity, my self-respect, my composure—and leave me nothing but a broken, needy mess who only exists to amuse you.
I’ll be an open book for you. Every weakness, every insecurity, every embarrassing fetish—especially my foot obsession—it’s all yours to exploit. Mock me, degrade me, remind me how pathetic I am for begging at your feet. Let me whimper, let me struggle, let me thank you for every ounce of cruelty you decide to show me. If you want me gagged, I’ll wear it. If you want to see me squirm, I’ll suffer for you. And when you finally allow me that one moment of release? Make sure it’s the most humiliating, soul-crushing moment of my life—so that pleasure and your dominance are forever linked in my mind.
But this is all about you. Your power. Your superiority. Your pleasure in seeing just how low I’ll sink for you. When we’re done, I want you to feel radiant—strong, satisfied, absolutely in control—while I’m left weak, ashamed, and more addicted to you than ever before.
Of course, I have limits—no feminization and no involving anyone else. But other than that? I’m yours to break. Make me regret me your bitch.
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