Do you know why I love a cut c*ck? Because there's nothing left to protect it. No foreskin. No covering. Just that poor, raw, exposed head, permanently out in the open, permanently sensitive, permanently vulnerable. The way nature intended... for a man. And you? You're barely that.

Look at the size of it. I want you to really look. Two fingers. That's all it takes. Two fingers, and your entire manhood fits between My fingertips like a l*ttle party favor. Do you know what I could do with two fingers and a pair of scissors? No? Then don't make Me think about it too long. Because today, My l*ttle eunuch-to-be, we're doing a comparison. A very educational comparison. Your cut c*ck versus My strap-on. And I promise you, the results are going to be devastating.

Imagine it. My hand wrapped around that l*ttle stub, so small I barely have to close My fist. The cold touch of the blade against that soft, exposed skin. The way you'd tremble. The way you'd beg. And the beautiful thing about a cut c*ck is there's nothing in the way. Nothing protecting you. No hiding. No escape. Just smooth, bare, helpless skin, ready to be taken.

You'd cry. You always say you wouldn't, but you would. And you'd thank Me. Because deep down, in that dark l*ttle place you pretend doesn't exist, you know you don't deserve to keep it. A c*ck is a privilege, and yours has been w*sting space between your legs since the day you got it.

There he is. Right on time. Kneeling where I told you to kneel. Good.

You know what today is, don't you? Today we're doing inventory. That's all this is. I'm going to lay out everything you brought to me, and everything I brought, and then you and I are going to compare. Side by side. Honest. No flinching.

Put your hands behind your back. Don't touch yourself. I know what you're already doing down there, and if I see your hand move I'll end this recording and you'll get nothing but silence and a hard-on you don't deserve.

Now. Look at me.

Look at what I'm holding.

That's mine. Silicone, harnessed, and honest. Look at the length of it. Look at the width. Look at the curve I chose deliberately, because I know exactly where it lands inside a person. I picked this myself. I paid for it myself. I strapped it on myself, and I didn't ask your permission, because I don't require it.

And now, look down at what you brought.

Let's just... put them next to each other. There. Don't look away. I want you to see it. I want you to really take it in.

Here's what I'd do with a c*ck like yours. I'd put it in a l*ttle cage and hang the key around my neck like jewelry. I'd let it ache. I'd let it swell against the b*rs until you were sweating and begging, and I'd tell you to beg louder, and you would, because that's what you're for. And every time you whined, I'd remind you: it's not being taken from you. You're giving it. You're handing me the last thing you had and thanking me for the privilege.

And when it's finally weak and quiet and useless, when it's stopped being a c*ck and started being a decoration, I'd look down at it and I'd say the same thing I'm saying now.

I don't miss it.

I never used it.

And mine's still hard.

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