One day during a session, I released golden water over and over again, like a broken faucet. It was actually quite a substantial amount.
I’d enthusiastically been collecting it in a 500ml bottle since the previous night, but in the end, including what came out fresh during the session, I poured well over 800ml into my masochist’s stomach, turning him into little more than a waste-disposal unit.
His swollen belly looked as though it was begging to be stepped on and crushed under pressure.
It’s an absurd situation—having to surrender even the contents of one’s stomach.
Yet my masochist struggled desperately, nearly drowning, while doing everything he could to carry out my orders.
And while I watched, captivated by the sight, another desire stirred deep within me.
"I want to see him look even more pitiful."
"I want to make him struggle even harder."
I want to pursue my own pleasure to its fullest through my masochist.
Changing the subject, something very timely happened recently.
My masochist built and gifted me a custom testicle-torture stand.lol
(He modified a camera stand so that a device designed to secure testicles could be attached to it.)
Since the day we met, every last thing—his hopes, his dignity, his rights, and everything else—has been stripped away one piece at a time by a domina’s hand.
Yet when those truths are brought directly into play, he seems even happier, because he can experience the reality of them for himself.
The things you need to change about yourself—and the place where you truly belong—lie somewhere low and cold.
But let’s become the kind of madman who keeps yearning for that place until his dying breath.
After all, you’ve already realized there’s no going back, haven’t you?
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