Miranda strode into the hotel suite, her stilettos clicking against the marble floor with each confident step. The man waiting for her, skinny, meek, and quivering, watched her approach with a mix of trepidation and desperate hope.

“You’re late,” she purred, not bothering to hide the disdain in her voice. “Typical. Men like you are always disappointing in every way, aren’t they?”

The man stammered an apology, but Miranda cut him off with a sharp “Silence!” Her green eyes flashed as she circled him like a predator. “I think we both know why you came here. To be put in your place. To be made to feel like the pathetic worm you are.”

She stopped in front of him, her gaze raking over his trembling form. A cruel smile curved her lips. “Let’s get a look at you then, shall we? Strip.”

It took a moment for her command to register, then the man fumbled with his belt, his movements clumsy and awkward. Miranda watched with a sneer as his pants and underwear dropped to the floor, revealing his shamefully small genitals.

“My, my,” she drawled, taking a step closer. “What do we have here? Is that supposed to be a penis? It looks like a tiny clitoris! No wonder you need a woman like me to put you in your place. You’re not a real man at all, are you?”

The man’s face flamed scarlet, and his meager cocklet twitched almost imperceptibly at her words. Miranda laughed, low and mocking. “Oh look, it’s trying to get hard! How precious. Tell me, do you actually get off on being degraded like this? On having your manhood stripped away and replaced with…whatever this is?”

She reached out slowly, her red nail hovering just above his naked shame. He shuddered as if burned. “I bet you do. I bet you crave it. Crave knowing you’re nothing without a woman’s permission. Well, you’ve come to the right place, little clitty. Because I’m going to give you exactly what you need.”

Miranda grabbed his chin roughly, forcing him to meet her eyes. “You’re mine now, understand? My pet. My plaything. You’ll do everything I say, when I say it. And if you don’t…” Her hand drifted down, down, until her finger circled his useless nubbin. “Well, let’s just say I have ways of making even the most stubborn dog heel.”

She released him with a shove and he fell to his knees, a whimper escaping his throat. Miranda smirked down at him triumphantly.

“Good boy. Now, let’s see how well you can lick my heels, shall we? Put that tongue to work before I find a better use for it.”

As the man began to kiss and lick her shoes submissively, Miranda tangled her fingers in his hair, yanking his head back. “Look at me when you service me,” she hissed. “I want to see those eyes while you debase yourself for me.”

He obeyed, his face a mask of shame and need. Miranda drank in his broken expression, savoring the erotic thrill of dominating this weak, pathetic creature so completely.

This was what she lived for. Breaking men with her cruel words, her sensual abuse, until they were nothing but obedient, groveling messes at her feet, craving more of her sweet torments.

She tightened her grip, and the man yelped. Miranda just smiled – that cruelest, most wicked of smiles. The smile of a goddess who knew her true place above all lesser beings. Especially pathetic, dickless worms like the one between her legs.

“Oh, we’re going to have so much fun together, you and I,” she purred, her eyes gleaming with sadistic promise. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging me to let you pleasure me with this useless little clitty. But we both know that will never happen.”