From Tribute to Transformation: Breaking in My Pathetic Plaything

When we meet, his hands are trembling as he attempts to hand me the cash, his head down like a sad puppy. Pathetic, adorable, and entirely mine for the next two hours. I push the money away with a sharp "aht, aht," wagging my finger in disapproval. His first rule, broken already—how delightful. I had clearly sent instructions in my protocol email detailing how I like to be greeted, but the shaking in his hands amuses me.

Still, I decide to correct him. I point firmly to my feet, and as if a light flickers on in his feeble little brain, he stammers, "Oh! Sorry, Temptress!" before dropping to his knees where he belongs.

"Sorry, you are," I reply, my tone smooth and sharp. I tap one polished toe against the floor, and he knows what to do. Leaning forward, he places reverent kisses on my feet, each one a small tribute to the divine being standing before him. Only when I’m satisfied with his show of devotion do I allow him to rise.

“Count it,” I order, waving toward the thick stack of cash in his trembling hand. He obeys, his voice quivering as he counts each crisp $100 bill aloud.

“One... two... three...”

By the time he reaches fifteen, I’m pleased. “Good boi,” I purr, noting the small extra he’s included. He will be rewarded for that, silently but simply.

This session will be a divine two hours, a delightful exchange of his submission for my entertainment. I start by asserting my dominance, bending him to my will as I edge him relentlessly. His body writhes under my control, his desperate whimpers filling the room. And when he loses control—as I know he will, the poor, pathetic thing—I do exactly what he deserves. My fist connects with his pathetic bolls, and though he cries out, I’m certain he’s secretly begging for more.

“Pathetic,” I hiss, before using his face as my throne. He’s a perfect toilley, dutifully taking everything I give him, his lips and tongue desperate to serve. And when I tire of that, I command him to rub my delicate feet, his hands trembling as they caress the soft skin. He sucks each toe as though it’s a privilege he’s scarcely worthy of.

Eventually, I’ve had my fill. I’ve used him, broken him, and molded him into a better version of himself—temporarily, at least. I kick him out, the imprint of my dominance lingering on his body and soul. He barely makes it to his car, his mind already reeling with plans to return, to serve, to give.

What a lovely snack he was.

Who will be next?

💋 The Temptress 💋