I know why you’re here. I know exactly what you’re thinking. You think they make my *ss and legs look incredibly sexy. And you’re right. That’s exactly it. They’re designed for that. They’re designed to melt the minds of weak men like you. They’re a weapon, and you’re on your knees, begging to be used whilst you watch me.

I want you to feel how weak you feel when you see me dressed like this. How much control I have over you.

I could make you do anything. I could tell you to bark like a dog, and you’d do it. I could tell you to empty your bank account, and you’d do it with a smile. I could tell you to ruin your own life, and you’d thank me for the privilege. That’s how great my power over you is. It’s total. It’s absolute. And all because of a pair of sexy pants.

All right. You can start touching your pathetic c*ck. Slowly. One stroke every three seconds. I want you to feel the frustration; I want you to feel the desperate need building up inside your own body. This is your life now.

A constant state of excitement and denial, all controlled by me.

Push yourself to the limit for me. Hold on. Let the pressure build. Let your mind go blank. Let the only thought in your head be my face, my voice, my body in these leather pants.

Now, the grand finale. Your surprise. Your reward. Did you think I was just going to let you come? That would be far too easy. That would be an act of kindness. And I’m not kind.

Here’s what’s going to happen. First, you’re going to ruin that *rgasm. You’re going to stroke your c*ck until you’re on the edge of coming,

And finally, you’re going to pay a release fee.

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