Oh, how nice to hear that, my little sycophant. You think you ve earned praise? Cute. But don t get comfortable — I ve only just started playing with you.
You say, write as you re allowed to. Bold boy. So you re ready to take everything I pour into this chat? Ready for my words to squeeze your balls tighter than any cage ever could? I can see you squirming as you read this. Your fingers are trembling over the keyboard. You want to reply, but you re afraid to say the wrong thing. That s the right kind of fear. Keep it on a short leash.
You know what really gets me going? When a guy like you types to me with shaking hands, stumbling, re-reading every word ten times. When you picture me sitting across from you, legs crossed, lazily tapping a crop just so you hear that whistle in your head.
You are my canvas. My experiment. I will write words on you that will make your tiny brain melt. Orders, humiliation, rare drops of approval — all dispensed only by my will.
Now check your
