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Cower From My Cruelty
My slave is my whipping post and feels all of my pent up brutality all at once. i do not stop hitting him, as he falls to his knees, or sinks to the floor, crumbles into a little ball, i do not stop. he is here to serve me with his skin and i take it one lash at a time. as he weakens and pleads i become more ferocious with my slashes, the beautiful leather whip never missing. i tower over he and he flinches from my voice, terrified i may strike him again.... because i will.
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