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“Please, no more,” her husband begged, his voice trembling as he clutched the chain between his hands, knuckles white. He knelt in the cold, stone-walled room, lit only by a harsh bulb above. Sweat clung to his brow, and his wide, pleading eyes searched her face for mercy.
Sophia stepped forward slowly, the heels of her boots clicking against the stone floor, the sound echoing in the tight, windowless space. She knelt just enough to meet his gaze, her gloved hand rising to gently brush his cheek—not with affection, but with an eerie, deliberate care, as one might examine a broken thing before discarding it.
“Oh, my dear,” she murmured, her tone laced with mock pity. “You still think this is about punishment. About something you did wrong.” Her smile returned, cruel and measured. “But this isn’t justice. This is indulgence.”
Michael chuckled softly behind her, his arms crossed. “You thought being her husband would protect you,” he said.
Sophia rose to her full height again, her voice sharpening. “You wear that ring like it still means something,” she said, nodding to the band on his trembling hand. “But the vows are dead. I’m not your wife here. I’m your owner.”
Jacob shuddered. “Please… I don’t understand what you want from me.”
Sophia exchanged a glance with Michael, and they both laughed—quiet, intimate, and utterly devoid of empathy. She stepped to the side, allowing Michael to approach. He reached down and gripped the chain, giving it a hard tug, forcing the man to stumble closer to their feet.
“What we want,” Michael said, leaning down so his voice hit like heat against the man’s face, “is for you to stop asking questions. And start learning how to suffer properly.”
Sophia turned away, walking toward a small table near the wall. She picked up a glass of red wine and took a sip, her posture elegant, unaffected.
“We’re going to start again,” she said calmly, “and this time, you will beg for it to end. But beg all you won't. I will never stop.”
And the bulb flickered slightly as the silence closed in, heavy and full of promise.
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This is how a proper cuck greets his wife and her lover—on his knees, forehead to stone, in the cold. No words. No eye contact. Just silent reverence.
She stepped past him without pause, her heels crisp against the frost, her fur coat still scented with wine and luxury. Her lover laughed as they passed, amused by the devotion of the man who paid for their five-star evening.
She said casually, without looking down. “Now crawl inside. We need a footrest. ”
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Prisoner #8387594 is being taken for his daily punishment, where he will be stripped naked and made to crawl over broken glass, to lick the boots of his warders.
He will also be whipped, kicked, spat on, laughed at, and ridiculed while he begs his captors for mercy.
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"Our Sacrifice, Her Splendor"
Global leaders, industrialists, and tycoons had relinquished all power to her, and now the masses knelt in devotion, offering their last possessions to their new deity. She reigned supreme, a merciless goddess who demanded everything, her rule absolute and unforgiving.
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"I'm throwing a huge party tonight. It's going to be fantastic!
Unfortunately, losers aren't invited. That's why you're going to be locked in this tiny metal box all night. Are you comfortable by the way? Oh that's right, you can't speak.
While you're sweating in your little box, you'll get to hear me and my friends having fun, laughing, dancing, and singing.
We'll use you as a coffee table, or maybe a footstool, so at least you'll be able to do something useful for a change.
But the really fun part is that I'm going to have your ball shocker remote and I'll pass it around my guests, but I won't tell them what it is. I'll just tell them to keep pressing the button and try and figure it out.
Do you think they'll hear your muffled screams over the music?
Tomorrow morning I'll let you out so I can see what a quivering wreck you've become.
Or maybe I'll just leave you in there all weekend?"
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