Zoey’s World of Erotic Humiliation
Zoey’s voice dripped with venomous sweetness as she mocked the pathetic men who worshipped her feet, their desperate moans music to her ears. Each whimper, each groveling plea only fed her lust for domination. They were her playthings—broken, needy, aching to be ridiculed, and she adored crushing them under her perfect toes.
“Lick it, loser,”
she’d sneer, curling her painted toes over their lips. “You don’t deserve release. You don’t deserve me. You’re nothing but a pitiful toy for my amusement.”
Their cocks would strain, throbbing helplessly, but Zoey’s control was absolute. She kept them on the edge, humiliated and aching, begging for mercy that would never come. With every laugh, every cruel taunt, she reminded them that they existed only to serve her.
“Pathetic. Weak. Mine.”
Zoey thrived on their humiliation—their shame, their arousal, their broken dignity. It wasn’t just about denial; it was about rewriting who they were. Each orgasm withheld, each insult whispered, carved deeper into their minds until they knew the truth: they were nothing, and Zoey was everything.