AKASH

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The Art of Your Surrender
You remember: My legs draped over the throne, My smile carving into your psyche. A ballet-trained predator, every movement calculated to unravel you.

“You are Mine.”
The whip cracks. Leather brands. You count each strike like a prayer—bamboo, floggers, My voice weaving through your pain. But My true mastery? The mind. The fantasies I plant, festering in your skull long before My hands grace your flesh.

When I whisper “good boy”, you’ll beg to stay broken.