I don’t care who you are “out there” in the real world: doctor, lawyer, or chief. You’re all the same when I get my hands on you: powerless.
I know you think I’ll be so impressed when you tell me about your doctorate, or how you attended Harvard Law, or the fact you’re a big name who hah at blah blah. I guess you think you’re unusual, and the most talented person I’ve spoken to in a while, but the truth of the matter is I speak to capable, accomplished, and talented men all day long.
It doesn’t matter that you have more letters after your name than I. It doesn’t matter that you’re in charge of hundreds of employees. It doesn’t matter that you could write a check, pay off my car note, and never even miss the money.
When your dick is hard, you’re a dumb little cock stroking wimp subject to my whims and fancies.
And what I fancy is tearing you down and laughing at your plight.
Why You’re No Mental Match For Mistress Piper
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