mi**** Posted May 9 He asked to see Me again. Didn’t even try to play it cool. Said he hadn’t been able to sleep—said My voice echoed in his head when he touched himself. I told him: “If you’re going to beg, at least dress for the occasion.” So he arrived just as instructed. Pink panties. Nothing underneath. Collar in his pocket. Wallet in hand. I didn’t let him inside. I stood in the doorway and stared. “You think you’re ready to be used?” He nodded. “Prove it. Strip. Right here.” His breath caught. We were outside. Porch light on. But he obeyed. One piece at a time—shoes, jeans, shirt—until he stood there, trembling in lace and shame. I walked a slow circle around him. Dragged a fingernail up the inside of his thigh. “Look at you. All dressed up with nowhere to go.” I took his wallet and flipped through the bills. “Next time you show up, you’ll be carrying My things. Not this.” He whimpered. I pressed My heel to his chest and made him kneel. “You’re not a man. You’re My toy. And toys don’t ask for attention. They wait to be played with.” Then I shut the door. Left him there in the dark. Hard. Humiliated. And desperate to be let in.
Recommended Posts