Sleek red ponytail. Nylon catsuit shining under Honey Birdette leopard print lingerie. My tiny waist in a corset, and my studded Louboutins striking the floor while a shiny collar catches the light. The perfect outfit to overpower you. I look you up and down and laugh, because that sad little excuse you call a cock has always been your curse… and tonight I make you face it. I drag you back through every humiliating memory: the first time you realised you were different, the panic when you knew you’d never satisfy anyone, the certainty that you’ll always be the “before she found better.” I strip your ego to the bone with merciless small penis humiliation, filthy degradation, and cold, spit-sharp contempt—until you’re shaking, desperate, and mind-fucked into obedience. Then I take control completely. I decide when you touch, how you stroke, how close you’re allowed to get… and I make you earn every second of it like the pathetic, replaceable little nothing you are. Just remember it could always be worse. I could lock it up. Or even chop it off entirely!
