I have been tormenting this loser for days, whole days of “psychological teasing”, as he rightly called it. After years I know him like the back of my hand and I know very well what effect my words have, how much he yearns to hear my voice. I know exactly which buttons to push and I go down there heavily, I can bring pain or I can bring pleasure.
I drive him crazy.
He wants me and wants me more every day, he drools more and more every day, weaker and weaker, more and more submissive.
He is terrified because he knows what I could do to him and he is excited for the exact same reason.
He’s my whore, at my beck and call, always ready to be fucked. He looks forward to obeying my every whim, trembling at the idea of being used.
He is a loser, my bitch, my slave.
Yesterday he went to the ATM at 3:26 PM, then he went back to his house and wrote to me. His score in my Girone dei dannati has been updated and he has started to fantasize about the numbers. He is weak and defenseless, he is totally in my power.
At 11.44 PM he goes into a frenzy and goes out in the rain to go to the ATM again and add another 142 points to his damnation.
It rains, it is driven by instinct rather than by rational thought, it is in a trance. He can only think of my satisfaction and contentment, despite the throbbing sensation in the pants, he is very excited. He is in the rain. He left the house at night for me and only for me. He trembles as he approaches the ATM, but the thought of my smile pushes him to continue. He thinks he’s a loser for what he’s doing, but my voice rings in his ears. He inserts his card and the pounding thought of my pleasure is a torture and an obsession for him, it is raining.
Loser.
Dea Scarlett Ferrari 