My depraved darlings.
There she lies, my pathetic little slave, utterly exposed and degraded: cuffs clamping her wrists like iron vices, ensuring she can’t escape the onslaught, and that slave collar encircling her neck like a noose of ownership, its buckle digging in as she thrashes weakly. Her expression is the pinnacle of artistry – brows furrowed in agony, lips parted in a wail of defeat, eyes brimming with humiliated tears as I, the indomitable Goddess, hammer my strapon into her asshole with brutal, unyielding force. Watch how her body betrays her dignity: ass cheeks rippling with each punishing thrust, the shaft disappearing inch by inch into her stretched, protesting hole, pain etching lines of exquisite torment across her face while her collared throat bobs with swallowed sobs. It’s pure degradation, her once-proud form reduced to a quivering toy for my amusement, every slam a reminder of her place beneath me.
In the twisted world of humiliation, this is just a taste of what I offer – a scene where pain and shame intertwine like lovers, leaving you broken and begging for more. But I’m greedy for new canvases to paint with my dominance. Imagine it: you, collared and cuffed, your asshole violated in front of an imaginary audience, the humiliation amplified by my taunts as I describe how pathetic you look, how your pain fuels my power. I’d drag it out, alternating slow grinds that tease your edges with sudden, vicious pounds that make you yelp like a defeated sub, your dignity crumbling with each wet intrusion.
Craving this level of debasement? Then humiliate yourself further by reaching out – but only if you can detail every degrading thought in your message. Spill it all: what makes you throb with shame, the precise way you’d cry out as my strapon claims your ass, the fantasies of public exposure or verbal lashings that heighten your arousal. Describe your body in humiliating detail – the jiggle of your breasts as I thrust, the sweat pooling in your crevices, the exact tightness of your hole before I ruin it. List the tropes you’d endure: iron restraints, exaggerated expressions of pain, the afterglow of total surrender. Make it a confessional epic, every word dripping with your vulnerability, or I’ll ignore you entirely. Vague messages are beneath me – only the most intricately detailed admissions of your need for humiliation will earn my attention and the chance to feel this degradation firsthand.