My playtime with Elise Graves is almost over, but not until one last implement. It’s one of her favorite toys to use on her slaves, so of course I need to use it on her. It’s a yardstick.

Here’s the thing about yardsticks. They’re long, so they can build up quite a bit of momentum. They’re light, so that also adds an added element of speed. And they’re both narrow and wide, creating a slapping noise that is delightful to the ears. In short, they are extremely ouchie.

Which means it’s redemption time for Elise! As she gets hit with her very own yardstick, the one she’s used to punish slaves with hundreds of times before, she begins to understand what it truly feels like to be on the other side. I give her a yardstick caning that brings her quivering with both pain and delight. I use the sharp side of the yardstick to scrape all over her marked ass, highlighting how oh-so-sensitive her derriere has become after that long beating. And in the end, she is in complete understanding of what it is to be Step-Daddy’s plaything.
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Make him helpless, and make him my bitch! That’s my motto with all the men in my life, at least. 😉

I just bought myself a new leather suspension set, and I was so excited to try it out on slave gimpy. He’s such a little bitch that he happily let me tie him up, suspend him, and make him totally vulnerable to all my attacks. I mean just look at him – hanging up with his arms and legs restrained and separated. That fool couldn’t run away if he wanted to.

But first thing’s first: get him hard. Get him excited. Tease him. Because by now, you know how I feel about helpless bitches. They get me so aroused. I can’t help myself – I have to strut around him, seductively showing him my body, pulling up my dress so he can get a glimpse of my pussy.

I stick my ass in front of his face, my asshole peering right at him, and command him to sniff it. Too bad for him that I’m always just out of reach.

I spread my legs in front of him and taunt him with my pussy. Rubbing myself and then having him smell the juices left on my fingers. He’s such a little pheremone slut.

I tease him with my feet, my soles and toes lightly grazing his cock as he tries to hump my foot a little bit more action. He won’t get it, of course.

Just enough of a tease to get him as hard as I want him, and not enough to keep him frustrated and horny.
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Welcome to my new therapy routine I made especially for my tiny dick losers. Make sure to take notes this will require multiple ongoing visits!

Sydney is your new therapist, and is upset at you because you showed up to your appointment late. She immediately orders you to drop your pants so she can examine your “little” problem. She’s no ordinary therapist, apparently. She want’s to focus on your inability to control your perverted thoughts, your eyes stuck on her breasts and your utter shame at the size of your tiny cock.

She wants you to show her how you masturbate. She wants to really examine your dirty habits to get the root of your issues. You sit there stroking as she’s writing down your measurements. 3inch? Fully erect? She can barely hide her laughter, but regains her composure to stay professional, cold and direct.

She tells you you’re going to have to cum for her. Not in a fun, sex with an actual girl kind of way, but in a clinical setting, in a little cup, only to extract a sample and document how little and pathetic your loads are. Get used to this new form of direct small dick humiliation therapy loser, she’s going to expect you to make lots of future visits so you can get the amount of small dick humiliation therapy you truly need!
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You wake up trapped, hooded, naked, bent over a chair, in an unknown room. A beautiful woman looks you in the eyes, grabs you by the balls and tells you, “I want that password.”

You knew that working in the Pentagon would come with its own problems. With the nation’s security and secrets controlled by a Top Secret few, your bosses told you that most problems didn’t come from technology. They came from people. People were weak. People were easily tricked, hacked, and broken.

And here you were, with a strange woman threatening you for your country’s secrets. You thought you could be strong.

She knew better. Because she knew that secrets could be easily broken. Men could be easily broken. You don’t need high tech equipment, you don’t need money or glory sometimes, all you need to do is to torture the fucker.

So she started with the whip. A painfully heavy dragontail whip. She told you she could break you down until she got what she wanted. You were her prisoner of war, and she would tear you down bit by bit until she got exactly what she want…
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