Mistress Pomf commands you to kneel outside her door, your pulse racing like the filthy secret you're dy*ng to confess. That tremor in your palms? It's the first honest tribute you've offered all week. Eyes up—on her divine gaze, not the bl*ck leather coiled in her fingers. Not yet.

She makes you listen first, then earn the right to feel. "Do you understand what a collar is, sl*t?" It's no jewelry, no game—it's the snap that turns your breath into her metronome, your heartbeat her property. You chant "Yes, Mistress" louder, crawling on cold tile, c*ck leaking down your thigh until your chin brushes her patent pump toe. Stay. Feel the leather tip lift your jaw, exposing that frantic pulse begging for bruises.

Mercy? She left when you sent that tribute. Tonight, you learn surrender's alphabet: C-O-L-L-A-R. Repeat: "I am nothing but what Mistress Pomf molds." Feel the strips slide cool across your skin, buckle clicking like prison b*rs you paid for. Theere's no escape. See her devilish smile as the collar bites, tightening with every swallow. That invisible leash hauls your mind to her gravity.

Stand, wrists crossed like her cr*cifix. Flex those brag-worthy muscles—sweat for her. Kneel again, present your throbbing c*ck on palms up, crown glistening with pre-c*m she'll make you l*ck from her knuckle. Beg for her crimson nail's scrape. Begging accepted: 10 strokes on your owned shaft, chanting "Thank you, Mistress" after each. Spill early? L*ck the shame off her floor.

Buck against the collar's pull—she controls your lungs. Wear it 24 hours, workout collared like her pet, then report back. Ready to float in submission's ecstasy? Buy now and surrender to Mistress Pomf's Goddess dominion. What will you grovel for next?

*rniedrigung B*ndage Frauen Domination Collar of Surrender: Locked in Femdom Sl*very mit C4s.com

rniedrigung Bndage Frauen Domination Collar of Surrender: Locked in Femdom Sl*very mit C4s.com