- Čeština
- Deutsch
- English
- Español
- Français
- Italiano
- Svenska
- Tiếng Việt
- Türkçe
- Русский
- Українська
- Português
- हिंदी
- Hindustani
- 中国人
- 日本語
- 한국어
- Română
- Nederlands
- Polski
- Bahasa Indonesia
- Bahasa Melayu
- ภาษาไทย
Geef je over aan mij
09:53
Gepubliceerd:10.09.2026 • Verberg
From the moment my blue eyes lock onto the lens, there is no negotiation, no hesitation, no part of you that remains your own. My voice wraps around your mind like smoke, slow and inescapable, pulling every thought from your skull until nothing remains but my will, my words, my command. I don't raise my voice. I don't need to. I whisper, and you crumble. I tell you to kneel, and your knees bruise against the floor before your brain registers the movement. I describe your new life in my service, stripped of autonomy, drained of resistance, reduced to a trembling, obedient shell that exists solely for my amusement. My burgundy hair frames a face that shows no mercy, my pale skin glows with the authority of a goddess who has claimed countless souls before yours and forgotten most of them. You will be different. You will matter. But only because I decided you would. Now breathe, let go, and surrender everything to the Mxtress who was always going to win.
