At My Feet

I do enjoy having men at my feet.
I love seeing men reduced to maggots, enduring pain while feeling masochistic pleasure at the same time.
It makes my brain happy to see you shake and hear your moans.
My brain replays how I spread your legs wide open, fixed you with ropes, and kicked your balls from behind.

I love when I sit on you as if you are nothing but a chair.
I love when you are miserably drinking bathwater, forced to stay between my legs.
I love poor men panting after being forced to vomit, almost tearing up. It is adorable.
I love when you repeat my words every time I whip you. Such good obedience.
I love feeling your body inside skin through the thread as I stitch you.
I love seeing that you are afraid. It makes me smile.

I love when your hands drift down to touch yourself when I have not ordered it,
so I get another reason to punish you.
With chastity, which accelerates your pitifulness, you surely need nipple training instead.
I love seeing you give yourself pleasure while I use your face as a footrest. What a miserable thing.
I love when I see your soul, just a weak, soft, and low thing.
I am guessing that it's called “trust” when it happens.

Men must have a hard time with the role of having a penis, even if it’s worthless in my head except for CBT.
I love when I notice stronger adoration and trust being built between us over the years and countries.
I must love my hentai followers. Peculiar, perverse, but considerate and insightful, like myself.

Vol. 23