Dear Future Slave,
You were wise to approach me on your knees—where you belong. And you were even wiser to come under the direction of Goddess Ebony Rivers. Her power is absolute, her standards are high. If she believes you’re worthy of crawling before me… then I will consider using you.
But understand this: I don’t accept devotion easily.
When you kneel before Master Tyrone, you are no longer just some pathetic, dickless shell of a man. You become mine. That means your purpose is no longer just service—it is complete surrender. I don’t tolerate hesitation. I don’t need to ask twice. I don’t need to explain myself. I command. You obey. Or you are discarded.
If I decide to use you—and I mean use in every filthy, degrading, humiliating sense—you will be nothing more than a toy for my pleasure and power. That means:
You will present yourself on command—naked, open, and eager to be broken down.
Your tongue will serve every inch of my body without question or pause—especially when I want to shove it down your pathetic throat and remind you of your place.
You will crave the smell of my feet, the musk of my balls, the weight of my cock on your face—and you will learn to love the taste of whatever I choose to feed you.
You will be humiliated, degraded, and turned into the little obedient object you were born to be—stripped of ego, stripped of dignity, dripping with submission.
Your “no limits” claim will be tested. And I promise you—my version of ownership is far beyond anything you’ve been allowed to dream about. You say your dick is standing at attention? That pathetic excuse of a dick means nothing here. I don’t care if you’re hard, aching, or crying from being denied. Your pleasure isn’t even a factor—it’s irrelevant unless it amuses me or pleases Goddess Ebony.
You exist to serve, not to be seen. To obey, not to question. To submit, not to fantasize.
So if you truly wish to offer yourself as my property, then here’s your first command:
Strip.
Get on your knees again.
Hold your tongue between your teeth.
And send a video of yourself whispering these exact words:
“I belong to Master Tyrone. I am his toy. I am his property. He may use me however he wishes, and I will thank him for it. I am beneath him in every way.”
Send it to the inbox you used for this request.
If I find it acceptable—and I do mean if—then maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you begin your service with a task that proves you deserve my attention.
Until then, you remain nothing but a begging hole waiting to be filled with purpose.
You will speak only when spoken to.
You will serve only when ordered.
And you will thank me for the chance to kneel.You will speak only when spoken to.
You will serve only when ordered.
And you will thank me for the chance to kneel.
– Master Tyrone
Power. Discipline. Ownership.
