One glance — and you start stroking. Not because I told you. But because you can’t resist the glint of my rubber boots, perfectly oiled, mercilessly worshipped. I know how your mind works. I know exactly what breaks you. And I use it. I start slow — on my stomach, whispering into your brain like a craving you didn’t even notice growing. The strap is close. And when it hits… oh, you feel it. Right in your balls. Because it’s not your pain I love — it’s the power I have to make you crave it. Every pose, every breath, every oily curve of my boots is calculated to control. And just when you're about to lose it — I make you stroke. But not for yourself. For my boots. You finish exactly where you belong. And then it’s my turn. I show you how I use my boots to please myself — slowly, selfishly, completely. You’re not the center of the story. You’re just the ruined audience. In this custom video I used name Michael.
