You beg to be truly owned, to experience real, 24/7 submission, to be my permanent slave.
Of course you think you want that. You don't understand what that would really mean.
If I truly owned you, it wouldn't be all worship & tributes - I would own all that you currently possess, you would have nothing left to give. You would be my property, to do with as I please . . . I could do anything to you. Rent your holes, beat you to within an inch of your life. Turn you into a toilet. Castrate you. Kill you.
You still beg.
I remove my silver sandals & taunt you with my wrinkled soles. Say goodbye to my perfect feet. Once you are truly owned, there will be no more self serving "worship" sessions . . .
Men make the worst slaves. Always begging for attention. What is it that you think you have left to give? I already have all your money. You don't really want to be owned. You wouldn't be bothering me, wasting my time, if you were truly, selflessly serving me.
I offer to release you, back into the wild. Penniless.
You beg for a chance to better.
There's only one way. Only one way to truly serve me, without always putting your desires first - begging for attention, wanting to worship in ways you enjoy. We have to remove the source of your base desire.
Beg me to take your balls. Only as a true eunuch will your desire cease to be a distraction, your service be true and unselfish.
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Extreme Domination,
Gelding,
Femdom POV,
Female Domination,
Female Supremacy,
Castration
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What does one wear to a meeting with the CIA? Good thing I went with pantyhose. I was a little worried it might be a trap, but it seems that even the CIA have a thing for long legs and nylon feet. Apparently they are aware of my services, and they've enlisted me to take you out in the ultimate cam show, use your fetishes to make you kill yourself.
Returning to the studio with my briefcase full of cash, I send you a quick message, detailing my plans for the ultimate cam session. You bite immediately , so eager.
We start the session the usual way, with you drooling and begging to see my nylon feet. I taunt & tease you - we both know that the second you see my nylon soles you'll be begging to bag yourself. I mock your desire to suffocate yourself for me, to play such a dangerous game. I make you beg to suffocate yourself to death, to pull that dangerous bag down over your head. Finally I allow it, but only once you've agreed to keep the bag over your head as long as I keep a nylon stocking mask over mine.
So eager, so willing to stupidly suffocate, starve your blood cells of oxygen. It's a fine line between heightened orgasm and total organ failure. I produce the rubber band, make you beg me to allow you to place the band around your neck, making this game even deadlier. Finally I taunt you, pulling the camera close, breathing laboriously through my nylon mask as I watch your face discolor, the bag suck into the bag of your throat as you suffocate for me. I mock your deadly stupidity as the game goes too far, my nylon mask remains on until you have suffocated yourself to death.
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Executrix,
Extreme Domination,
Femdom POV,
Female Domination,
Foot Domination,
Pantyhose Domination
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You thought a woman like me would actually marry a man like you for love? You thought I'd let you defile my body with your DNA? You should have listened to your friends.
You come home from work to find me waiting for you in a sexy little black dress. I model it for you. I bring up the elephant in the room - we haven't had sex in six months. I'm shy about it, looking down a lot, pausing to find the right words.
I open the box next to me and pull out a pair of handcuffs, a ball-gag. Suggest we spice things up.
You're surprised when I gag & cuff you - you thought it would be the other way around, but hey, anything to get laid after this dry spell.
To your surprise, I sit back down on the couch, making no move to touch you.
You should have listened to your friends when they said I was only interested in your money. You will never touch me again. Two years is just long enough not to draw suspicion.
I produce a syringe, a special compound -part of the lethal injection cocktail. I tell you how it's supposed to make your blood boil. I wonder what will go first - your heart, or your pain receptors. I plunge the needle into your neck, emptying the contents into your blood stream.
Perhaps I will have sex with you one last time - in a fashion. Didn't you always dream of this, going out during sex?.
I stare deep into your eyes, watching you writhe in pain, my hitatchi pressed up hard against my panties. Gasping along with you as you take your last breaths.
Send your custom video request to star at starbondmedia dot com
Executrix,
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I arrive. You're seated as instructed. I sit, glancing at the black bank bag.
I'm surprised you showed up. It's a dangerous fantasy you have. Most men are all talk.
You shouldn't take it so lightly. I certainly don't.
Don't you think I chose this location for a reason. In case something goes wrong? There's just the little matter of your tribute.
I arch my eyebrows, look at the bag, lift it & feel it's heft. I peer inside.
This is more than we discussed.
10,000 pounds. In small notes. How dramatic.
Shall we begin?
I walk over & handcuff your hands behind your back.
Funny how a little metal bracelet can make a strong man like you so helpless. Show me how much you can move. It's a heavy chair isn't it. You really should work on that core strength.
Shhhhh - the cuffs should be the least of your worries.
Breathplay - such a playful euphamism.
I remove the bag from my purse, slowly unfurling it.
Bet you haven't seen one of these before - Turkey Bag, an American invention. Strong enough to withstand a roasting oven for hours on end.
Now the safe way to do this, would be to poke a couple of holes in - right around nose level. But that wouldn't be any fun now would it?
I pull the bag over my head, just to demonstrate, this is 100% hole free. I breath in & out.
Now beg me.
Beg me to put this simple, innocent, plastic bag over your head.
Beg me to suffocate you for real. Until you're unconscious.
Beg me to suffocate you to death.
Convince me.
As you wish.
Send your custom video request to star at starbondmedia dot com
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This is our first session. You wouldn't disclose your issue over the phone, so I am oh so curious. What is it that made you feel the need to see a Sexologist? You begin to stutter, try to force the words out. I assure you that I'm a trained professional. Finally you confess your fetish, your desire, your need. Your obsessive desire to consume human waste.
I'm intrigued. I want to make sure you're in the right place - I ask a couple of questions to make sure that this is a sexual proclivity versus a nutritional deficiency. I ask if you're heterosexual, if you're thinking about eating my shit right now.
You desperately beg me to cure you. Unfortunately you're incurable. I explain that we are what we eat, and vice versa. You are obviously human waste, a human piece of shit. That's why you crave these things. I suss out that you haven't actually acted on your urges yet. I order you to your knees, lift my skirt. I want you to realize your full potential as a human toilet. I expose my asshole, hover over your mouth. I order you to chew and swallow.
Returning to the couch I coldly explain how women will be happy to use you as a human toilet once they are made aware of what a piece of shit you are.
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Toilet Slavery,
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