He is placed beneath Me, already reduced to his position before anything even begins. Locked in chastity, aware that nothing about his body is his to decide. I start by silencing him, pushing a dirty sock into his mouth before securing a worn, sweaty slipper over his face, taped in place so he has no choice but to endure it. His breathing is limited, controlled by My pace and My presence. I don’t rush. I don’t care. I sit back, scroll on My phone, and ignore him completely, letting the humiliation and breath-tension sink in while he waits beneath Me, caged and dependent getting more and more addicted to my sweat. When I finally decide he’s worthy of attention, I allow him small privileges. He is permitted to remove one of My heels, made to sniff My scent and show his appreciation properly. I press My foot against his mouth, using it as I see fit before allowing him to remove the other heel as well. I rest My feet on his face, calmly occupying his space, controlling his focus and his breath, reminding him exactly where he belongs. At the end, I correct him with My foot, a few final reminders before making him kiss what punished him. Then it’s over. Still locked in chastity, I send him back to his cage, exactly where he belongs, until I decide otherwise.
