Tori didn’t just dominate — she unmade them. Piece by pathetic piece.
She didn’t even need a whip — just words, looks, silence used like a blade. She’d press a stiletto heel to their chest while they lay there, naked and trembling, and smile like a predator watching prey realize the trap they’d walked into.
“I know what you are,” she’d purr, eyes glinting. “You bark loud in boardrooms, puff out your chest online, but this?” Her boot dragged slowly down his stomach. “This is who you really are. A twitching, leaking little toy. Something to be used.”
She wouldn’t touch his cock. That was his problem. Instead, she’d bind his wrists tight behind his back, blindfold him, then drag the cold metal tip of a crop up the inside of his thigh — just close enough to make his breath hitch.
Then she’d laugh.
“You’re aching, aren’t you? You think I’m going to give you release? You don’t deserve it. You don’t get pleasure until I want it. And I don’t want you happy — I want you ruined.”
She’d keep him like that for hours — naked, kneeling, hard and untouched while she lounged across the room in black latex, sipping wine and ignoring him. Letting the ache and humiliation eat at him. Letting the silence grow louder than his thoughts.
When she finally returned, it was with a strap-on — big, thick, and deliberately threatening. She’d stroke it slowly, watching his eyes widen behind the blindfold.
“You want me to stop?” she’d whisper, leaning close. “Then beg. Not like a man. Like the broken little slut you are.”
And he would. Not because he wanted her to stop, but because by then, the only thing he feared more than her was not being used by her again.
She’d fuck him hard, rough, unforgiving — not out of lust, but discipline. A punishment. And when he finally cried, she didn’t comfort him — she smiled.
“There it is. The real you.”
Afterward, she’d leave him sobbing into her sheets, covered in spit, sweat, and regret — and she’d get dressed like nothing happened, like he was just another object she’d wrung dry.
“You don’t get aftercare, sweetheart,” she’d say with a cruel smirk. “You’re not a person to me. You’re an experience. One I won’t repeat.”
And just like that, she’d be gone — his pride shattered, his mind twisted, and the sound of her heels forever echoing in the hollow shell she left behind.
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