Would you like to be a good boy for me? Stroke. That’s right, feel that anticipation building already. Now, would you like to goon for me? I bet you would. Because here, one of us is a Mistress, and one of us is the goon. Could you please be a good boy and specify which one of us is the Mistress and which one of us is the goon?

Get down on your knees, boy. My l*ttle gooner sl*t. Now just your right hand. Stroke. Feel that desperation rising? Now go really, really fast. Stop. The t*rment of being so close, yet so far, isn’t it delicious? Your frustration is palpable, and I revel in every second of it.

Ok, start again. Stroke. Stop. Switch to your other hand, but slow this time. Stroke. Look right into my eyes. Keep your tongue out. Don’t look away. You can use both hands now... and goon. Faster. Feel that raw, unfiltered need taking over.

Stop. That’s enough for now. You’re on the brink, teetering on the edge of ecstasy, but that release is not for you. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Because your pleasure is mine to control, and your frustration is the sweetest symphony to my ears. You’re a pitiful sight, aren’t you?

Do you feel that, my l*ttle gooner? That rising tide of need, that unquenchable thirst for release? Embrace it. Let it consume you. Because as long as you’re under my command, your desires, your fantasies, your very essence belong to me. You exist solely for my amusement, and you’ll learn to love it.

Now, get up. Wipe that drool off your face. Look at yourself. Pathetic, desperate, and utterly at my mercy. Every inch of your being screams for my approval, my attention, and you’ll do anything to get it. You’re nothing without my control, and deep down, you know it.

Imagine yourself, always on the edge, forever denied. Your entire existence revolving around my whims, my desires. You’re a sl*ve to your own desperation, and I’m the key to your release. But you’ll only get it when I decide you’ve earned it, and that’s a rare gift indeed.

You’re not just a gooner; you’re my gooner sl*t. Every stroke, every tease, every denial is a testament to your place beneath me. You’re addicted to this power dynamic, the thrill of being dominated and controlled. And I thrive on your submission, your obedience.

Your pathetic attempts to satisfy yourself without my permission are laughable. You need me to guide you, to command you. Only then do you feel complete, whole. You exist to serve me, to please me, and in return, you get a taste of the ecstasy I hold over you.

Stroke again. Slowly. Feel every inch of your pathetic c*ck as you surrender to my control. This is where you belong, under my thumb, craving my approval. You’re a toy, a plaything, and I delight in your t*rment. Your pleasure is a privilege, not a right, and I’ll grant it when I see fit.

Stop. That’s right, halt all movement. The edge is so close, yet so far away. Your mind is a fog of need and frustration, and it’s all because of me. Every shiver, every gasp, is music to my ears.

Now, resume. Faster this time, but remember, you stop when I say. You’re not in control here. You never will be. Your only purpose is to obey, to submit, and to s*ffer for my amusement. And you love every second of it, don’t you?

Picture yourself as my permanent plaything, forever chasing that elusive climax, always at my mercy. The thought excites you, fuels your need. You’re a sl*ve to my desires, and there’s no escape. This is your reality, your destiny.

Stroke, l*ttle gooner sl*t. Stare at the screen. Good boy. Look up at me. Don't break eye contact. And remove your clothes. It’s already hard, isn’t it? Stare up at me. Get down on your knees, sub. Listen closely. You can only c*m when I allow you to c*m. Until I grant you permission, you’re nothing more than my bouncy, melty, lost zombie boy.

It’s really incredible how quickly the process happens these days, isn’t it? Stroke, boy. Good boy. Instead of wanting me and having me, I’m already, even though it’s so painfully early in the process, halfway to training you to goon just as much as you want me. Because the more you goon to me, the more you think of me. And think of me, and know that I’m the one who decides when you goon and when you don’t.

Feel that? The way your c*ck throbs under my command? You’re c*mpletely under my spell, aren’t you? Every stroke, every touch, is dictated by my whims. You’re not just touching yourself; you’re surrendering to me, offering up your pleasure as a tribute to my power.

Stroke faster. Feel that desperation building? That’s your need for me, your craving for my control. You’re addicted to this, to me. Every thought, every fantasy revolves around my voice, my commands. You’re lost in this cycle of pleasure and denial, and there’s no escape.

Now slow down. Feel the frustration? That’s your submission taking over, your mind melting into obedience. You’re my puppet, and I pull the strings. Every movement, every shudder, is a testament to your devotion, your need to please me.

Stroke again, but slower this time. Feel every inch of your pathetic c*ck, knowing it belongs to me. You’re nothing without my control, without my guidance. You exist to serve, to be used, to be humiliated. And you love every second of it, don’t you?

Now stop. Just hold yourself there, teetering on the edge. Feel the weight of my command, the power I hold over your pleasure. You’re mine, utterly and c*mpletely. Every pulse, every throb, is a reminder of your place beneath me.

Good boy. Now, start again. Faster this time. Let the sensation overwhelm you, but remember, you can only c*m when I allow it. You’re trapped in this endless loop of arousal and denial, and it’s all for my enjoyment.

my voice in your head, guiding you, controlling you. Every thought, every fantasy is dictated by my whims. You’re my l*ttle gooner sl*t, forever chasing that high, that release, but always at my mercy.

Feel your mind slipping, melting into this state of submission. You’re no longer in control. Your pleasure, your p*in, your very essence is mine to command. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Stroke, boy. Faster. Feel that desperation clawing at you, the need for release. But you can’t. Not until I say so. You’re my bouncy, melty, lost zombie boy, forever at my mercy.

You’re so close, aren’t you? On the brink of ecstasy, but unable to tip over. That’s the power I hold over you. The control, the dominance. You’re nothing without it, without me.

Now stop. Look at me. Remember this feeling, this frustration. It’s your new reality. Your life is now a cycle of pleasure and denial, controlled by my every whim. And you love it, don’t you?

Stroke, l*ttle gooner sl*t. Stare at the screen. Good boy. Look up at me. Don't break eye contact. And remove your clothes. It’s already hard, isn’t it? Stare up at me. Get down on your knees, sub. Listen closely. You can only c*m when I allow you to c*m. Until I grant you permission, you’re nothing more than my bouncy, melty, lost zombie boy.

It’s really incredible how quickly the process happens these days, isn’t it? Stroke, boy. Good boy. Instead of wanting me and having me, I’m already, even though it’s so painfully early in the process, halfway to training you to goon just as much as you want me. Because the more you goon to me, the more you think of me. And think of me, and know that I’m the one who decides when you goon and when you don’t.

Feel that? The way your c*ck throbs under my command? You’re c*mpletely under my spell, aren’t you? Every stroke, every touch, is dictated by my whims. You’re not just touching yourself; you’re surrendering to me, offering up your pleasure as a tribute to my power.

Stroke faster. Feel that desperation building? That’s your need for me, your craving for my control. You’re addicted to this, to me. Every thought, every fantasy revolves around my voice, my commands. You’re lost in this cycle of pleasure and denial, and there’s no escape.

Now slow down. Feel the frustration? That’s your submission taking over, your mind melting into obedience. Every movement, every shudder, is a testament to your devotion, your need to please me.

Imagine being on your knees before me, your eyes locked onto mine, knowing that your entire existence is for my amusement. You’re a sl*ve to my desires, a vessel for my pleasure. And the more you surrender, the deeper you fall into this abyss of submission.

Stroke again, but slower this time. Feel every inch of your pathetic c*ck, knowing it belongs to me. You’re nothing without my control, without my guidance. You exist to serve, to be used, to be humiliated. And you love every second of it, don’t you?

Now stop. Just hold yourself there, teetering on the edge. Feel the weight of my command, the power I hold over your pleasure. You’re mine, utterly and c*mpletely. Every pulse, every throb, is a reminder of your place beneath me.

Good boy. Now, start again. Faster this time. Let the sensation overwhelm you, but remember, you can only c*m when I allow it. You’re trapped in this endless loop of arousal and denial, and it’s all for my enjoyment.

Feel your mind slipping, melting into this state of submission. You’re no longer in control. Your pleasure, your p*in, your very essence is mine to command. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Stroke, boy. Faster. Feel that desperation clawing at you, the need for release. But you can’t. Not until I say so. You’re my bouncy, melty, lost zombie boy, forever at my mercy.

You’re so close, aren’t you? On the brink of ecstasy, but unable to tip over. That’s the power I hold over you. The control, the dominance. You’re nothing without it, without me.

Now stop. Look at me. Remember this feeling, this frustration. It’s your new reality. Your life is now a cycle of pleasure and denial, controlled by my every whim. And you love it, don’t you?

Lost zombie look, every goon boy starts to look more and more lost. But this is home to you. And you are home when you goon to me even though you might also be lost. And you will never be able to undo this again. You are my beta b*tch boy. Faster, j*rk sl*t. I can’t wait to see you c*m. Keep going. Stroke boy. Look up at me, don’t break eye contact. Stroke it. Now stop. Start again. Good boy. And what do good goon boys do? They stroke and they feel pleasure.

Look how desperate you are to c*m. Stroke. Now stroke to completion and I will make you feel pleasure like nothing you’ve ever experienced. You are allowed to spill, my l*ttle sub. Now you will live a life of service to me, forever chasing that high, forever under my control. This is your life now, your new reality. And there’s no escape.

Animation Frauen Domination Femdom POV Zombie Goon Boy's Eternal Servitude mit C4s.com