On the train, I caught this creep shamelessly pleasuring himself while staring at me. Did he really think I wouldn’t notice? The audacity! Without my consent, he indulged himself, but he wasn’t going to get away with it. I lured him to my home, where his fantasies were swiftly shattered. I bound him tightly, stripping him of any opportunity to touch himself, especially after he confessed to being an obsessive masturbator. For 48 hours, he lay there, helpless, deprived of food and water. I decided to check on him, coolly holding a magazine in hand, utterly indifferent to his plight. He was barely conscious, so I gave him a sharp kick to rouse him. Begging for water, he looked almost lifeless from dehydration. I slapped him and declared that from now on, he’d obey my every command. Returning with milk and a bowl, I caught him touching himself while ogling a photo from the magazine I’d left on the sofa. Furious, I embraced my sadistic side. He’d get his drink, but only a few drops dripped from my feet. A basin filled with liquid sat inches from his face, taunting him as he writhed in thirst. But that wasn’t all—he would now pleasure himself only at my command, following my countdown. In the end, he drank a vile concoction of milk, semen, and spit, while I pressed his face into the liquid with my foot, suffocating him in submission.
