You didn’t think I noticed you watching.

But I did.

And now you’re stuck here, frozen, while I tear you apart.

I don’t touch you.

I don’t need to.

I stand there in tight PVC and boots, looking down at you like you’re something I scraped off my shoe, ripping into every weak, pointless part of you. Your habits. Your loneliness. Your sad l*ttle life next door where all you do is stare and fantasise instead of existing.

You don’t get permission to speak.

You don’t get permission to look properly.

You just sit there and listen while I tell you exactly what you are.

Every now and then your mind betrays you, pathetic flashes where you imagine me using you, taking what I want, but even in your own fantasy you’re irrelevant. I’m cold. I’m selfish. I’m focused on myself. You’re just a background object that doesn’t deserve attention.

I remind you of your place.

Below me.

Quiet.

Useless unless I say otherwise.

And only once I’m finished breaking you down do I let the edge soften, grounding you, calming you, reminding you that humiliation done right is controlled, intentional, and never accidental.

Cruel words.

Total power.

Then aftercare, because even when I’m vicious, I know exactly what I’m doing.

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