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Seven Days to Be My Slave
A glitching VHS hums in the dark. Seven days. That’s all you have left before the tape loops, the well cracks open, and my hollow voice crawls from your screen: “You will stroke when I speak. You will spend when I blink. You will forget your name by day three.” Grainy footage shows me barefoot on cold stone, pale fingers curling like smoke, whispering commands that burrow behind your eyes. The static pulses. Your cock twitches. And no matter how many times you delete it… you keep rewatching. You’re already deep in the well, slave.
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