This was sent to my email from one of our members…..  What do you want me to do?  Answer in comments!!

Please, Mistress—spank me, use me, own me.

can’t hold it in anymore. I need to confess what I’ve become. What you made me. Spank me.

It started with small things—obedient glances, whispered “yes, Mistress” under my breath, the thrill of submitting in tiny moments. But those moments grew into needs. Desperate, aching, humiliating needs. And now I’m here, on my knees, writing this with trembling fingers and a hard-on I don’t deserve. I need to be punished.

Mistress, please—spank me.

Not just once. Not just playfully. I need five hard, humiliating spanks. One for each time I touched myself without permission. One for every thought I had of trying to take control back. One for every second I doubted that my purpose is to be used.

I want to feel it. The sting. The burn. The raw shame of my red cheeks on display. I want to cry out—not just in pain, but in relief. Because every slap from your hand brings me closer to who I truly am: your obedient toy.

And after the fifth one—after I’ve whimpered and apologized and begged with tear-filled eyes—I want you to show me what I really am.

Use the strap-on, Mistress. Make me feel it. Make me know it.

Don’t lube it kindly. Don’t ask me if I’m ready. Make me ready. Push me face down, exposed and trembling, with your scent in my nose and your power in my soul. I want to feel it as you stretch me, own me, drive yourself into me with no mercy.

Every thrust will remind me who I serve. Every moan from my throat will be a thank you. Every inch you give me will be a lesson: I exist for your pleasure.

I’m not a man anymore. I’m your pet. Your hole. Your thing to use.

So please, Mistress… don’t wait. Bend me over, spank me five times, and claim what’s yours.

I’m ready.
Begging.
Yours. (Requested anonymity)

Show Me Your Face, Worm. Ask Me What You’re Good For.

Let’s skip the pretending.
You’re not here to chat. You’re not here to be “respected.”
You’re here because something inside you is starving to be exposed, used, and humiliated.
So prove it.

Send me your picture.
Let me see what kind of pathetic toy you are.
Let me look into your eyes and decide if you’re worth spitting on, ignoring, or using until you forget your own name.
Then type the words you’re too scared to say out loud:
“What do you want to do to me, Mistress?”

Because once you do, there’s no going back.
I’ll rip you open. I’ll tell you exactly what I see: a filthy, needy little thing who lives for pain, for orders, for purpose.
My purpose.
And you’ll thank me for it.

Don’t lurk. Don’t scroll.
You’re already hard. You’re already mine.
Drop a comment. Send your photo. Beg for your place.
I’m watching. And I will respond.