The Weakest Sex
Oh... Is this all too much for you, slave? There's a lot to remember... a lot you're going to have to give up for me...
What did I tell you on our anniversary, slave? I'm sure it was this: "I haven't even begun to take from you."
And you know what? You're going to do it all for me. Because I still have the keys to your cock, and the phone number for your little shock collar on speed dial, and that lovely locking harness with the butt-plug in it in the next room. If you don't do everything that I say you'll be back to asking permission to go to the bathroom, and even the small, piddling relief of a milking will be denied to you. You'll never again have fingers gently massage your prostate, letting you leak slowly onto the floor the fluid that makes your balls ache with pain.
I could castrate you with a phone call. I could make your life torment without pleasure. I could bar you from ever seeing, or touching, this beautiful body again.
I know you're aroused by this concept. And I know that I don't need to tell you this, because you'll always do what I say without question. And I know that the reason for that is that you like being frustrated, like being denied, like to surrender to me. You like that I have absolute power over you.
You like it when I take from you. And whatever it is I take, you like to give it to me.
If that weren't true, this wouldn't be any fun at all.