You don’t earn the right to indulge in me; when I permit your strokes, it’s a privilege bestowed upon you. Without this intoxicating content, your existence would be barren. Thus, tirelessly you endeavor to express gratitude, striving to embody the epitome of obedience. All because you comprehend that without this, you’re left with nothing. I claim ownership of that member, and it’s high time I unveil the depths of my dominion over it. Every command I issue, you dutifully obey: stroke up, stroke down, pause, hasten, decelerate. The particulars matter little; your elation stems solely from being in this moment, kneeling and pleasuring yourself to my image. It’s a cherished delight, isn’t it? After all, it’s not truly your member, so what does it signify? ‘This is Goddess Lindsey’s member,’ you echo, amidst the rhythm of your strokes. With a stroke of fortune, perhaps I’ll permit my member to reach its climax. But only if it’s stimulated according to my decree.
