“Those who play with the devil’s toys,” I tell myself in a low whisper, “are brought by degrees to wield his sword.”

“Uh?” Maria asks in front of me. Her eyes are glassy and empty, and her lower jaw hangs limp. I don’t think she’s understood a word I’ve said.

“Never mind,” I tell her with a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I was just thinking out loud.”

“Uh.” Maria repeats. The guttural utterance is a statement this time, rather than a question… I think. She’s too far gone for anything else. And I’ve done this to her.

The problem is, I don’t really know how. One minute we were studying together for our upcoming international law exam at uni, and now… this.

I’m not saying it’s an accident. The first time this happened it was an accident. With Zoey. But I quickly undid whatever it was I’d done by instinct, and things are normal now.

This with Maria, this was supposed to be a test.

It’s a… success? Maybe? I clearly can put her under with my thoughts. I just… don’t really know how.

It’s more like a feeling. There’s this weird hissing—I’m pretty sure it’s not an actual sound, just something inside my own head. And then it’s like these… invisible tentacles extend from my being, from my mind, and wrap tight around someone else. Puppeteering them.

It sounds exceptionally creepy when I say it like that, I know. But in a way, it’s not so different from using my fingers to grasp an object.

Except people aren’t objects, are they?

I give a weary sigh. I’ve spent weeks trying to wrap my head around the idea that mind control exists, let alone that I seem to be endowed with it, but what else can I call it at this point? What’s even more absurd is that it seems to only work on girls.

For the nth time I ask myself if it’s connected to my orientation perhaps. I’m a lesbian—could that be why dudes are immune to my… power?

I shrug the questions off. I have no sane way of answering them for the time being anyhow. I should really just put Maria back together so we can continue studying. This exam won’t pass itself, after all.

But…

Of all the times I’ve put a girl under since my discovery—whether by accident, or in a fumbling attempt to understand my newfound ability—this is the first time that I’m not really freaking out while I do it.

I want to take a moment to actually look at the effects I can have on my targets—it makes me feel slimy to think of them as such, but come on, it’s just a figure of speech.

Maria is… supremely relaxed. There is very little tension in her muscles, she’s slumping all over the chair like a puppet without a puppeteer. Which, I suppose, makes me the puppeteer…

Mmmh.

Drool is beginning to trickle down a corner of her mouth. Her eyes are so… empty.

It’s actually eerie and disconcerting to look at. Everything that makes Maria, well, Maria, is gone. In its place it’s this… husk… a mind in a sleep-like stasis. An empty disk, waiting to be written.

And there it is. The reason why I’ve been so uncomfortable with my new power so far. I know, in some far corner of my mind, that if I give Maria an instruction now, she will follow it. I’ve tried a few things here and there just to test this out, harmless commands like scribbling stuff with a pen and such.

But who knows if there’s an upper limit to which ones of my requests would be followed? And to be honest, the intellectual part of me thinks that anyone on Earth—no matter how well-intentioned—having this power is a really, really, really bad thing.

I think of myself as a good person, but that doesn’t qualify me to mind control anybody. I shouldn’t have this ability at all!

Of course, I suppose I can just not use it, and then it’s like not having it. Problem solved. All I need to do to avoid playing the devil’s game, is to put down the devil’s toys.

But.

The temptation is strong. I keep thinking of all the stuff I could do with this power. Convince people to help me, or cut me some slack. Coast through life. I could convince my female professors to grade me generously.

My thoughts immediately go to Lina. My nemesis, richer and prouder, her and her bimbo friend Helena, who look down on me all the time and sideline me in class because I don’t wear $400 dresses like they do.

I could so put Lina in her place. She’s so arrogant, so uptight, so superior, so… beautiful. Which makes it all the more infuriating! She’s drop-dead gorgeous, and her beauty is wasted on such a classist, spoiled brat.

I could…

Be less selfish, I tell myself, slapping my own forehead. Lina’s behaviour might grind my gears, but that doesn’t justify using mind control on her, for crying out loud.

Nothing justifies it. Except maybe making people’s lives a little easier.

I do care for Maria. And I do think she’s not telling me something—too many times I’ve walked in to see her cry into a pillow or something, and she’s very cagey about what. Maybe

I can use my power—just a little—to find out what’s eating at her. To help a friend.

If it makes the world a little better, then surely it isn’t so bad, right?

“Maria,” I tell her. “I want you to always be completely honest with me. Got it?”

“Uh,” she mumbles, but in spite of the complete lack of reaction in her expression, I know the command has registered. I gulp, suppressing the feeling of guilt that comes with having given a command to someone I consider a friend, and I just spit out the question.

“Why have you been so miserable lately?”

“Enrique,” she says, slurring over the words in a way that sounds like she’s trapped in a sea of molasses. She sounds dumb, slow, trapped, and… uh, why do I find this hot?

“I knew it,” I say, nodding to myself. Her boyfriend is a mysoginistic pig, but Maria gets very avoidant whenever the subject is brought up. “What did he do this time?”

“Cheats on me,” she says. “All… the time…” her head lolling downwards as if from the effort. I brush her chin with my fingertips, lifting her head back up—not exactly to meet my gaze, because there’s nothing in there, but…

Damn Enrique. The low-life bastard.

Before I can ask follow-up questions, Maria continues unprompted. “Cheats with… everyone,” she says, slurring over the words. “Lina, mostly…”

Because of fucking course. I can see her self-satisfied smirk in my mind’s eye at having proven her superiority over every other girl, once again, by stealing the jock with the big shoulders and the chiseled jawline. And humiliating Maria in the process. Ughh!

“Why do you put up with him?” I ask her, softly. “Is it because you love him? I don’t understand.”

“Nuh-uh,” Maria says, and her neck muscles tense for a moment, as if she’s planning to try and shake her head. But the attempt clearly fails, and I rub my thighs a little at how… pervasive this weakness is.

A weakness I’ve induced.

“I just like to be… submissive…” she says, her head lolling downwards once more. “Wanna feel… worthless. But not the way he does it… ’s not nice. He’s no dom, just an ass. Still… can’t say no…”

Oh.

Oh damn.

Well, that’s what I get for snooping around, I guess. I get to find out my old friend has kinks she never shared with me. Now I do feel guilty, and I definitely don’t repress the feeling, because that’s how a good person is supposed to feel after violating a friend’s privacy.

Still, what’s done is done. I can’t undo the damage and forget spontaneously. The least I can do is finish what I started. Maybe that will make my actions okay. Or okay-ish.

“Alright Maria,” I say, raising my voice. “Listen to me very carefully. You’re going to break up with Enrique, and feel absolutely carefree about it. And from now on, you’re going to redirect your, uh… submissive urges towards people who value and respect you. People you can trust with that sort of power, alright?”

“Uh,” Maria says, and I know it’s a grunt of agreement, this time.

“No more misogynists,” I add for good measure. “No more assholes like Enrique.” Then, something seizes me. A sudden impulse, a lightning bolt inside my mind. “You know what? No guys at all. They can’t be trusted with this sort of power. Just channel your submissiveness towards, uh, girls. You like. Girls that you like, I mean. Which I suppose does mean you also like girls now. I guess!”

I give an exasperated sigh, burying my face in my hands. What have I done?? Have I just… rewritten my friend’s sexual orientation to make her a lesbian submissive? What the hell was I thinking?!

The problem is, though, I know perfectly well what I was thinking. The slow, gentle rubbing of my thighs together is all the answer I need. Everything about this situation—the power I wield, the way Maria looks under my sway, the words she’s used—submissive, worthless…

I dig my nails into my palms, to bring myself back to reality. Alright, maybe I went a little too far, but I have helped Maria out of a bad situation. That’s gotta count for something. Now, it’s time to step back, before I give in to temptation.

Any more than I already have to, I mean.

“Wind down, Maria,” I tell her, withdrawing the invisible tendrils of power that have enthralled her for me so far. “We have an exam to pass, after all.”

The Perks Of Being The Boss.

Ok, maybe I’m letting things spiral out of control a little.

Not too much, though. Just a little!

I mean. Janice, the nerdiest girl I know, did complete my international law essay for me in her own time. Helena is a lot nicer to me now, and invites me to all the social functions she thought I was too low brow for. I even let her pay for dinner last night—she’s stacked after all, it’s not like it makes a difference.

Oh, and of course Anna—the goth loner I tried to connect with last year, to no avail—has suddenly discovered she shares my tastes in movies and TV shows to an uncanny T. Imagine that. She’s more than happy to have watch parties with me after studying, which is a great way to relax.

Now… I know how this looks, ok? I’d be lying if I said at least a small part of me isn’t bothered by what I’m doing here. It’s a little… un-feminist to tweak someone’s consent with, uh, literal mind control? Even if it’s just to watch a movie together, let alone getting people to do my homework or pay for my food.

But… I did help all these girls. Janice has been crippled by social anxiety ever since I’ve known her, and always complained that her executive function was shot, and she couldn’t find a doctor willing to prescribe ADHD medication in adults.

Now, she’s laser-focused and a content-churning machine. Her grades are going up, and her social anxiety is going down. All thanks to me. So what if I cash in a favour and have her write my own homework from time to time?

Helena, for her part, used to be on booty call duty for Enrique, like most of Lina’s posse apparently. I’ve freed her of the belief that she needs his validation—or any man’s, really—to feel worthy. I’ve also made it clear to her she’s not expected to obey Lina anymore just so she can be considered cool.

Enrique must probably be wondering why most women in his life have suddenly realized there’s no room for his brand of jock chauvinism in their lives.

The thought alone makes me giggle. As far as I’m concerned, I’m doing justice.

And Anna… well, ok, Anna didn’t need any meaningful help that I could see, she was just content being alone. But come on, we’re just watching movies together, it’s not like I’ve inflicted an exploitative task upon her.

The others, of course… well, in a way I suppose I’m exacting payment. It’s not like I’m doing this for a living…

Although I totally could, Helena is rich after all…

I suppress the thought. I’m not doing this for a living. But is it unreasonable that I get a small payment out of these transactions? A favour here and a favour there?

Of course, my intellectual honesty is too high to let me ignore the fact that these transactions aren’t voluntary. It’s not like these girls read my terms and conditions and then agreed to be mind-controlled.

Besides… I can’t ignore the feeling I get, seeing them scurry around for me at the snap of my fingers. It’s a rush of adrenaline, self-confidence, and arousal.

It makes me feel good. But at least—unlike the men whose misogyny I’m countering—I’m not using my power to extort sexual services out of people. No matter how much the two words together, sexual and services, make me want to press my thighs a little closer together.

But here’s where the problem truly begins. Because Maria’s new behaviour has got nothing to do with small favours and payments.

“Thanks, Maria! You, uh, didn’t need to do that,” I say as I accept her proffered coffee.

“That’s no trouble,” she says looking down sheepishly, and oh God I swear I can feel the unspoken “ma’am” in the air. She sits next to me, looking at me expectantly, as if waiting for my permission to resume our study sessions.

She’s been behaving like this more and more openly the last few days. Carrying my bag. Fetching coffee for me. Offering me massages—which I’ve turned down, much as I wanted to say yes. Waiting for my instructions.

She’s being passive. Unassuming. Docile. Obedient.

Submissive.

It’s getting harder and harder to say no each time.

“Isa?” She asks, and it’s only when I nod my permission that she continues with the question. God, that’s so hot. “Would you… like a foot massage while you study? I’m very good at them, I promise.”

“What about your own study time?” I ask her, eyebrow raised. “Your own grades?”

That’s… not really the question I meant to ask. If I say no sternly, I know she’ll drop it, at least for the time being. But I guess I want to know what this feels like, for her.

“It’s not important,” she says, with an exaggerated shrug. “I’m not as smart as you are. I think I should be put to better use…”

She trails off, covering her mouth with her hand, fearing she’s said too much, used a turn of phrase that can’t be mistaken for ambivalence or equivocation—it’s openly erotic.

She’s a wonder to look at right now. She’s oozing submissiveness out of every pore, to the point of denying her own intelligence in service of the person she hopes will stake a claim on her.

And it’s all because I’ve mind-controlled her.

It’s wrong. Immoral. Unworthy of a feminist, and of a good friend.

…

And it’s so damn hot.

One person, yielding before another. A girl, folding onto her knees for her superior, lovingly tending to her feet with her deft fingers. Always lowering her gaze, accepting a collar around her neck and a leash to be led.

Accepting to be remoulded into whatever her new boss thinks is best.

I can feel my resolve faltering, then crumbling. Weeks of exploring the mechanics of my power have over-stimulated my brain with images I didn’t really use to connect with eroticism at all.

Power imbalance. Unfairness. Authority. Inequality. Domination.

Worship.

I have girls scurrying to obey my every command, and I haven’t laid a finger on any of them, because I know they couldn’t really consent. But Maria here is practically begging me to place my foot on her neck.

And yeah, I’m the one who went out and made Maria a lesbian, but so what? I didn’t make her like me specifically. She’s free to choose, and she’s hitting on me non-stop, hoping that I’ll indulge her need to serve.

And why the hell should I say no to a pretty girl coming onto me of her own free will?

But it’s more than that. I know it’s more than that. This power… it’s begging to be used sexually. I want to try. At least once. With a person who’s already offered herself, so I know I’m not actually taking her choice away.

Maybe.

Truth be told… I’m too far gone to care. I can’t stand the build-up anymore. It feels like I have a second clit in my brain, and it needs to be stroked and rubbed and listened to.

And so, I draw a deep breath, and push my power into Maria’s mind.

I meet no resistance. Whatever was there must have been wiped out the first time I took her. She clearly feels something, though—she gasps the moment I writhe my mental tentacles around her identity.

My fine motor control, so to speak, is much better now. Her eyes go glassy, but not empty. She’ll be able to speak, think, and feel. She’s still in there. Just… Reduced. Confined. Leashed and brought to heel… beneath my authority.

“Kneel,” I say, my own voice lusty and on edge in a way I don’t ever remember hearing it.

Maria is trembling like a leaf underneath me as she kneels. God, she looks so small from up here. Such a harmless little thing. She needs protection, and guidance. That’s who I can be in life.

I can protect women around me. And in exchange, well… in exchange…

I kick my sneakers off, and throw my socks in the far corner of the room. I don’t even need to issue a verbal command—I could just will Maria to massage my feet. But I want to see her expression when she hears me say it.

“Get to work,” I say. Her eyes go wide, her mouth agape, and a shiver courses through her. But then, she remembers her place, kneeling even lower—if that’s possible—and cradling my feet in her tiny, delicate hands.

I don’t know what’s more glorious, the rapt look on her face as she contemplates my feet, or the way she holds them like they’re the a piece of stained glass—fragile, and beautiful. Or the way her mind feels, shrinking and squirming feebly, in my iron grasp.

I close my eyes and sit back, letting out small moans of satisfaction as Maria undertakes her duty. Her fingertips brush my feet in small circular motions, looking for knots of tension. The reverence in the way she makes sure not to miss a single spot is just…

What I deserve. Because let’s face it, I’m a queen. A lesbian queen! With a devoted following of serving girls.

As Maria’s thumbs drive into my heel, and the rest of her fingers run back and forth from my ankle to my toes, I give a deep sigh and relax.

It’s fair to say I won’t be getting any study done this afternoon. Then again, my professor for this subject is a woman…

God. It’s good to be the boss.

All of a sudden, it’s like a dam breaks. I lose inhibitions and restraint. I feel like I’m in the middle of an avalanche—it moved slowly at first, but now everything is swirling faster and faster, racing towards the bottom.

My hand sneaks inside my pants. My other foot lifts in the air, lightly slapping Maria on her face.

No words are spoken. None are needed.

She’s too much of a good girl to take her fingers off my right foot, but moments after I feel her lips pressing tightly to the sole of my left foot—and I know that this is what heaven must feel like.

Maria places tiny, gentle, unassuming kisses all over my foot, from the heel to the toes and all the way along the arch. She lingers on my ankle, then my toes, kissing each in turn.

Then, she takes the big toe into her mouth.

I groan, my hand rubbing faster and faster. I’m remotely, distantly aware that I’m behaving just like the men I so used to criticise, but… how can I resist this feeling?

God, this stuff is an aphrodisiac. I had no idea power could be such a fucking drug. I want it. I want more of it. I want a harem to support the lavish lifestyle I deserve, without me having to lift a finger. I want to be revered, waited upon hand and foot, day and night.

I want it all.

My other hand fishes my smartphone out of my pockets, and before I know it, I’ve sent Janice a text. And then Helena. And then Anna. They’re all requests to meet.

And I don’t stop there. I chat up another girl, and then another, and another… With my hand frantically rubbing, and Maria slobbering all over my feet, it’s harder and harder to hold on to the old world, the one where I was just a plain old girl, rather than a lesbian queen.

I go through every single woman in my contacts list, feeling like a kid in my candy shop. There’s no accountability for my actions, no fear of punishment, no payback. I can have them all, any way that I want to.

Eventually, my finger hovers on Lina’s contact.

I stop rubbing, although I let Maria continue her slavish ministrations in peace. All of a sudden, I remember how all of this started. With my friend—who’s now kneeling before me in submission—needing my help.

I do blush a little at that. It’s one thing to enjoy the perks of my new status, but shouldn’t I do something to prove to the universe that I deserve this? To prove that I’m grateful, and won’t squander the magical gift I’ve received?

I did say to myself that I would protect Maria, and that I would do justice.

My eyes travel back and forth between Lina’s name on the screen, and Maria’s devotion at my feet.

A plan begins to form inside my head as my eyes narrow.

And inside me, my resolve hardens.

The Day Of My Entrhonement.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

Lina’s face is priceless, absolutely incredible. I wish I could take a photo to immortalise the moment. But I suppose I can always command her to perfectly recreate the expression for me, later in life.

And to be honest… I can’t blame her for looking at me in complete shock. I’ve asked her here on the pretence that we needed to talk urgently. But the scene before her probably feels like a fever dream right now.

I’m enthroned in my reclining armchair, one jeans-clad leg draped over the other, my sneakered feet bobbing in expectation and cockiness. Anna is kneeling to my left, rubbing her cheek against the palm of my hand like a loving pet.

To my right kneels Maria, eyes vacant and glassy from the latest mindfuck I’ve given her, which left her emptier than usual. I was feeling a little rough. Janice is below my sneakers, the nerd turned into a humble footstool for her new goddess.

But the cherry on top—or bottom, I suppose—is Helena, who opened the door. She now simpers and bows in her maid uniform, asking me if she should serve the guest coffee.

Helena, Lina’s rich bimbo friend, reduced to an oversexed and ditzy maid.

I feel like a Bond villain, or something. All that’s missing is a cat in my lap, but with four girls at my feet, I think I can hardly complain.

The passing thought crosses my mind that I might have let this go to my head a little, and that I may or may not have become irredeemably evil.

“I don’t know what sick game you’re playing,” Lina spits out, venom in her voice as she turns to leave, “but I’ll have no part of it.”

Little does she know. With one fluid motion I rise from the armchair, and leap towards her.

I tackle her to the ground with my shoulder, then clamber atop her as she thrashes wildly underneath me. My hands flash to her wrists pinning them to the ground.

The thrill I feel is hard to describe. It’s why I wanted to do it this way, rather than just mind control her from the off. Because you see… there are no consequences. Not for me, not anymore.

She can’t actually hurt me. If I lose physical control of the situation, my mental tentacles will shackle her in seconds. I can literally physically abuse her, and compel her not to tell anyone.

Crime without punishment. Action without consequence. Subduing her with my body before I do it with my mind. It’s thrilling, and hot.

There was a fire between my legs at the thought of physically stamping my will on the queen bee, turning the tables on her, sending her straight to the very bottom of my harem.

Making her Maria’s footslave, forcing her to lick Helena’s cunt whenever required, giving Anna and Janice foot massages. A slave to slaves. Knocked off her perch, and then pinned under my foot… for the rest of her life.

“Have you gone insane?” Lina spits out, and then she arches her neck, trying to bite one of my arms.

“Girls,” I say, “hold her.” I savour the moment of confusion and horror in her eyes as four pairs of hands clamp around her limbs. The girls—my slaves—drive their knees into each of Lina’s arms and legs.

“No biting,” I tell her.

“Wha —” she asks, but before she can finish, I slide all the way up her body and unceremoniously land my crotch atop her face, forcing her mouth shut.

It’s like I have a bucking horse underneath me, a strong and wild animal slowly being tamed to its new reins. Every time Lina tries to struggle, her nose presses further into my crotch. Every moan and groan goes straight to my pussy.

I grab her by the hair, drawing her face deeper in between my legs. Her wide eyes go from furious, to indignant, to afraid.

I know she’s going to have trouble breathing soon.

“Your reign of terror ends today, Lina,” I tell her, stroking her hair and adjusting my position on her face. “And mine has just begun.”

I lift myself slightly, allowing her to catch a wheezing breath.

Then, I crash back down with as much force as I can muster. Her whimper of pain is delicious. I start humping her face, claiming it as part of my territory, marking it with my scent.

“If you want to breathe again,” I say, wiggling against her face, “I want to hear you say it. I want you to submit.”

The supreme confusion in her eyes is second only to her fear. That’s fine. I don’t need her to understand. The need to breathe will shape her words. Understanding will come soon after, when I finally claim her for who and what she’s supposed to be.

“I submit!” She shouts as soon as I let her gulp air. “Please let me go, okay? I won’t tell anyone, I swear!”

The insincerity behind the words is palpable, but that’s fine. I can’t expect her to be good prior to her true enslavement. This is just to humiliate her, really. And there’s no doubt right now about who’s being made into a bitch.

“I know you don’t mean that,” I tell her, and her eyes widen in fear. She shakes her head desperately under my crotch, to convince me that she does mean it. “Don’t worry,” I say. “You will.”

Then I muster my power, and push my way into her mind.

This time, I have none of the awkwardness of my initial endeavours. But I also don’t go for subtlety, oh no.

My tentacles wrap around Lina’s mind with all the metaphorical strength I can give them, and then, they begin to squeeze.

I don’t hate her, truly. She’s a bitch, and no doubt slavery will do her a world of good, but… this is about my own pleasure. I want to see how far I can take this. How deep I can mindfuck her.

“No more guys for you,” I tell her as I squeeze her old identity away. I’m letting her breathe now, my crotch hovering over her warm lips, and her eyes are racing this way and that as her mind is constricted into a much smaller space.

It’s a wonder to look at. It’s like I’m seeing the old Lina die underneath me… and a new Lina being born.

“You’ll only be into girls,” I continue, “and they will all be superior to you. You are the lowest of womankind, the worst it has to offer. Your existence is defined by serving other women.”

I squeeze with all my might. “Ugghhh,” Lina says below me, wordless and defeated. “Eeeek.”

“You will love and worship all of my harem, every girl in it. And me, me above all. We’ll be your religion, your reason to live. Your family wealth will make our lives comfier and luxurious. Your lips will service feet and cunts at the snap of our fingers. You will cook and clean and slave away at our feet.”

I push my crotch back into her face.

“Kiss it,” I say. “Kiss your new ruler.”

I’m puppeteering her now, so much so that she basically jerks upward, planting dozens of kisses all over my thighs and crotch.

This is it.

I win. I’m the queen. And she’s…

Worthless. Dirt under my shoes.

I stand up, towering over my claimed quarry, and stamp my sneakered feet into her cheek.

“Remember what I said,” I tell her, withdrawing my power from her mind, leaving her a whimpering, sobbing mess beneath me. “The lowest of the low.”

Lina wriggles beneath me, but it’s more by reflex than any true desire of rebellion. I start taking off my sneakers. It’s time to break her in, get her started on her new duties.

I grind my naked feet, sweaty from the exertion, into her face.

“You spend hundreds of dollars on skin lotions and facemasks,” I tell her, sneering, wiping my sweaty soles on her cheeks and hair. “But see how generous I am. I’m giving you a new one for free. One that suits you much better.”

“Please…” she whispers. “Why…”

I place one foot on the ground, right next to her lips, the big toe pressing against them. Seeking to part them.

“Kiss it.”

I don’t compel her, this time, so her execution isn’t as smooth. But she debases herself of her own free will, placing one conquered, whorish smooch on the tip like it’s a cock, and that’s better than any puppeteered service.

“Suck it.”

And she does, wrapping her cute lips around my toe like a vacuum seal, and gently bobbing up and down. So well-behaved. So easily domesticated. Then again, with my powers, I suppose I’m playing easy mode.

And really, what other mode would you rather be playing in life?

“Open wide,” I tell her, shoving more and more of my toes inside her mouth. Eventually, I start pushing my foot in there, while the other pins her shoulder down to the ground. Her four fellow slaves—her new bosses, really—watch in rapt fascination, swaying on their knees.

Lina’s eyes begin to water as my toes brush against the entrance to her throat. She’s now a face-fuck toy, and my mind is already spinning with so many things I can do to her. Get her to the edge, make her beg for it, then deny her pleasure.

Over and over again. Asserting my dominance over her sexuality, over her very essence.

Her delicious gagging noises threaten to take me over the edge all by themselves. Especially when paired with her watery, defeated slut eyes.

On second thought, even I must admit it. I’ve let this absolute power corrupt me absolutely. I’ve become well and truly evil.

What a good thing then, I think as I consider my newest little lesbian pet girl, that evil comes in so many amazing varieties.

And all of them feel so, so incredibly good.