The sunlight glints off the sand, casting a harsh glare that makes me squint. I remember the first time she commanded me to take her picture, her voice dripping with disdain. ‘From another angle, stupid!’ she had snapped, her patience already worn thin. I had fumbled with the camera, my hands shaking, trying to capture her perfection from every angle. But it was never enough. She always demanded more, her expectations a relentless whip across my back.
Her Voice: A Command and a Curse
Her voice echoes in my mind, a mix of command and contempt. ‘Run back to our room and put on the ball shocker!’ she had ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument. I had rushed back, my heart pounding, knowing that my failure to satisfy her would only bring more punishment. The ball shocker, a cruel device, would remind me of my place, a locked-up asslicker at her mercy. The beach, once a place of relaxation, had become a stage for my humiliation, her every word a reminder of my subservience. As I lie here, the ocean’s roar a distant echo, I can’t help but think of the countless times she’s made me crawl, beg, and serve. Her words, ‘Life isn’t meant to be easy for locked-up asslickers,’ ring true. I am her plaything, her tool for pleasure, and I know that no matter how hard I try, I will never be enough. Yet, I crave her disdain, her commands, her every cruel word. It’s a cycle of humiliation and desire, a dance of power and submission that I am forever bound to.


