You don’t get to think.
You don’t get to speak.
You don’t even get to touch unless I say so.
I stand over you in a fitted black faux leather dress layered over a powder blue top, my hair in playful pigtails, fishnet tights stretching over my thighs as I shift my weight and let you really see what you’re beneath. I smile when I humiliate you. I sneer when you disappoint me. Every look, every movement reinforces who’s in control.
This is strict small penis humiliation paired with relentless femdom control. I mock your tiny, useless cock while you follow every instruction. Stroke, stop, edge, deny. I decide when you move. I decide when you’re allowed pleasure. And most of the time, you’re not.
You’re laughed at, reduced, verbally dismantled, and reminded exactly where you belong. Beneath my authority, stroking for my body, my ass, my voice. Just close enough to pleasure, never close enough to earn it.
Pure verbal domination, humiliating JOI commands, edging, denial, and worship designed to leave you frustrated, exposed, and completely owned.
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