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The Bedroom: 28 minutes of Sadistic Domination, Testicle Torment, and the Philosopher's Orgasm

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DominaxKatya@katyadomina
De Sade understood that Nature is cruelty. That the strong consume the weak. That the orgasm taken from suffering is the only honest orgasm.
This is my bedroom. The door is unlocked. You could leave. You will not.


I am going to teach you six things. Not lessons. Sensations. Your testicles will be the classroom. Your cock will be the demonstration. My pleasure will be the proof.


I will lecture on Sade while you hurt yourself at my instruction. I will touch myself while you suffer. I will orgasm while you obey. Your pain will be the fuel for my completion. Your destruction will be the evidence that the philosophy is true.


This is sadism. Not the cold kind. The warm kind. The intimate kind. The kind that laughs while it hurts you. The kind that remembers your name only long enough to forget it.

You will hit when I tell you. You will hold when I tell you. You will listen to the sound of my breath changing, my voice breaking, my cunt concluding the argument your body began.

And when I am finished, you will leave. Without comfort. Without release. Without the orgasm you believed you were earning.

You were never earning anything. You were fuel. You were evidence. You were the bedroom's only honest transaction: my pleasure, your pain, Nature's verdict.
De Sade understood that Nature is cruelty. That the strong consume the weak. That the orgasm taken from suffering is the only honest orgasm.
This is my bedroom. The door is unlocked. You could leave. You will not.


I am going to teach you six things. Not lessons. Sensations. Your testicles will be the classroom. Your cock will be the demonstration. My pleasure will be the proof.


I will lecture on Sade while you hurt yourself at my instruction. I will touch myself while you suffer. I will orgasm while you obey. Your pain will be the fuel for my completion. Your destruction will be the evidence that the philosophy is true.


This is sadism. Not the cold kind. The warm kind. The intimate kind. The kind that laughs while it hurts you. The kind that remembers your name only long enough to forget it.

You will hit when I tell you. You will hold when I tell you. You will listen to the sound of my breath changing, my voice breaking, my cunt concluding the argument your body began.

And when I am finished, you will leave. Without comfort. Without release. Without the orgasm you believed you were earning.

You were never earning anything. You were fuel. You were evidence. You were the bedroom's only honest transaction: my pleasure, your pain, Nature's verdict.
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