Look at you. Already leaking in your fucking pants before I ve even started. That s how broken you are for me. That s how deeply I ve rewired that desperate little brain of yours. You don t get to touch me. You don t get to taste me. You don t get to feel the warmth of my perfect body pressed against you. No, puppet. You get my feet and my spit. That s all you deserve. My soles. My arches. My perfectly painted toes wiggling just out of reach while you fall deeper and deeper into this trance I ve built for you. My drool filling up your mouth so you can t speak at all. Watch my spit drip from my mouth as you ache and whimper for me. Start stroking. Nice and slow. Don t you fucking dare speed up. Feel how pathetically hard you are for your Goddess? Now freeze. Hands off. You don t get to chase that feeling unless I allow it. I want you to stare at my soles while you throb. Imagine pressing your worthless lips against my arch. Would you beg? Would you whimper my name while you kissed every
