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elegant_deviant
Planetoid
- Joined
- Apr 12, 2019
...and You're the Alpha Male Stud God So Powerful You Own a Harem of Rape-Hungry, Fertile Beauties Just Like Me.
The stacked, beauty-queen luxury store clerk comes back for the fourth time, another five-figure outfit in her hands. She's brunette, with the kind of pretty face that would have made some dumbshit accountant husband feel *really* luck one day.
She's *okay.* But Me? Yah girl? I'm a *Goddess*. Deep long black hair halfway down my back, a tight skirt that molds to the contours of my thirty-nine mile legs. I'm so fucking filthy *thin*. My XXXXXS blouse drips off my body, held up only by my CockHungry Tits and the pronounced architecture of my hips and clavicles.
My cunt is singing, slippery and wet. I don't know how, but as You watch from the corner, your hand deep inside the handle of the ass of one of my slave-sisters, I can *feel* your grip sliding up my own ass as well. You're **So** Powerful like that. I keep posing for You. In the marble floors and high ceilings of the store, every new pose is issued with a resounding *clack* from the imperious height of my impossibly-structured ankle-wrap heels, decked out in hundreds of thousands of dollars of diamonds formed into the shape of snakes.
"What the fuck is this?" I sneer at the clerk.
She whimpers some response, barely able to meet my gaze. She's been in love with me the moment I entered the store—like everyone always is—and it's only gotten worse. Her hair is starting to fall out. The soft, happy Midwestern features of her freckled face and slowly but surely losing the war to the constant entropic drain of my beatifically sadistic presence.
"Say that again, honey." I put on a bright fake smile. "What the fuck did you bring me?"
"I-it's t-the…the Givenchi. You wanted their latest. It…it this. This it."
She's having trouble speaking because another one of her teeth is falling out. Her tongue eroding like the rotting flesh of an apple left out too long.
"Oh, it *is!*" I actually am happy. I look fantastic in five-thousand dollar skirts that I'll only wear once, if at all. "Here. Let me take a photo with you."
I pull her in for a selfie that will immediately be shared with the billions of my followers. They'll see me—permanently young, hot, and untouchably gorgeous—next to what looks like someone in a dissolving Halloween costume. I make sure to tag her so that all her friends see. She tries desperately to smile for the photo and her lips break open, the skin cracked and papery. I can almost see her brain through the thinning sections of her skull.
Heels, that skirt, another few jackets, several bracelets and necklaces. I drop them all in a bag and strut back to You, kissing You long and deep and hard—a deep romantic kiss with my tiny thigh urging up against your Cock—my sisterslave's hand is there already, pawing and stroking—the kind of kiss that shows that NothingNothingNothing is on my mind but worshiping Your Glory.
Foot-popped, hair tossed back, I turn to the clerk with one last sneer.
"Tell them we paid, okay?"
We could pay easily—could buy this whole store ten thousand times over—but this way, she gets fired. Without her job and insurance, she'll die over the next several years drowning in unending medical debt from the slow, constant drip of her life feeding MeMeMe. Who else would hire a ninety year-old crone?
That's what she looks like now. Her every moment will be psychological, spiritual, and physical torment.
And all just because You wanted to watch me make a girl cry today.
* * * * *
Idk, I guess I'm a demon? A vampire? You decide the term if You want. My youth and beauty inspire endless passion, desire, lust, and envy from those around me. Their cells dedicate themselves entirely to producing more and more of these feelings, with increasingly diminishing returns as they run lower and lower on energy. The more they want me, the more they need me—and the more I find them utterly despicable. And the more I despise them, the more desperate they are to please—lost in a perpetual loop of anguish.
I'm able to harvest these emotions and drain them dry to make myself immortally gorgeous. As a sadist—both physical and emotional—nothing makes me wetter than watching someone slowly dissolve from the unstoppable anguish of looking at my beauty and knowing I find them utterly worthless.
Of course, all my arrogance, all my vanity, all my power is dedicated entirely to You. We're as close to Partners as someone *can* be with someone like **You**--an utterly built Alpha-Hunk StudGod with a Cock that can demolish mountains. I never worry about my status with You, and never have anything to Prove—I'm the Tempestuous Treasured Trophy of the Titan Himself, always urging You on and eager to make others suffer to harvest ever more power and beauty for You and You alone. We scheme and plot and plan together, with my perfectly-manicured long-digited fingers stroking Your Cock, my mesmeric voice asking You please to make life a little more awful for everyone but Us.
And of course…Us includes Your harem of supernaturally gorgeous girls like me. I'm just the most beautiful. But we're sisters—deeply in love, deeply needy and wanton for each other, never jealous, and always gossiping and moaning and cooing about how beautiful and Lucky we are to be able to Worship God Himself.
* * * * *
F4A because talking with a girl who wants to be in the bad girl harem with me is super hot to me rn.
I love talking about wicked acts. Cruelty, intelligence, and beautiful things turn me on. Stupidity and passing the buck turns me off. Talk to me about your ideal harem of mean, petty, vain supermodels if You really want me to actually do my best to make myself Your kneeling drooling worshiping mindfucked cockslave. Fellow slave? Something like that.
Please message me with hot thoughts related to this! I'd love to chat or play; I usually adore chatting first to get a sense of my partner. I love answering and asking open-ended questions (the kind that aren't "yes" or "no" answers).
The stacked, beauty-queen luxury store clerk comes back for the fourth time, another five-figure outfit in her hands. She's brunette, with the kind of pretty face that would have made some dumbshit accountant husband feel *really* luck one day.
She's *okay.* But Me? Yah girl? I'm a *Goddess*. Deep long black hair halfway down my back, a tight skirt that molds to the contours of my thirty-nine mile legs. I'm so fucking filthy *thin*. My XXXXXS blouse drips off my body, held up only by my CockHungry Tits and the pronounced architecture of my hips and clavicles.
My cunt is singing, slippery and wet. I don't know how, but as You watch from the corner, your hand deep inside the handle of the ass of one of my slave-sisters, I can *feel* your grip sliding up my own ass as well. You're **So** Powerful like that. I keep posing for You. In the marble floors and high ceilings of the store, every new pose is issued with a resounding *clack* from the imperious height of my impossibly-structured ankle-wrap heels, decked out in hundreds of thousands of dollars of diamonds formed into the shape of snakes.
"What the fuck is this?" I sneer at the clerk.
She whimpers some response, barely able to meet my gaze. She's been in love with me the moment I entered the store—like everyone always is—and it's only gotten worse. Her hair is starting to fall out. The soft, happy Midwestern features of her freckled face and slowly but surely losing the war to the constant entropic drain of my beatifically sadistic presence.
"Say that again, honey." I put on a bright fake smile. "What the fuck did you bring me?"
"I-it's t-the…the Givenchi. You wanted their latest. It…it this. This it."
She's having trouble speaking because another one of her teeth is falling out. Her tongue eroding like the rotting flesh of an apple left out too long.
"Oh, it *is!*" I actually am happy. I look fantastic in five-thousand dollar skirts that I'll only wear once, if at all. "Here. Let me take a photo with you."
I pull her in for a selfie that will immediately be shared with the billions of my followers. They'll see me—permanently young, hot, and untouchably gorgeous—next to what looks like someone in a dissolving Halloween costume. I make sure to tag her so that all her friends see. She tries desperately to smile for the photo and her lips break open, the skin cracked and papery. I can almost see her brain through the thinning sections of her skull.
Heels, that skirt, another few jackets, several bracelets and necklaces. I drop them all in a bag and strut back to You, kissing You long and deep and hard—a deep romantic kiss with my tiny thigh urging up against your Cock—my sisterslave's hand is there already, pawing and stroking—the kind of kiss that shows that NothingNothingNothing is on my mind but worshiping Your Glory.
Foot-popped, hair tossed back, I turn to the clerk with one last sneer.
"Tell them we paid, okay?"
We could pay easily—could buy this whole store ten thousand times over—but this way, she gets fired. Without her job and insurance, she'll die over the next several years drowning in unending medical debt from the slow, constant drip of her life feeding MeMeMe. Who else would hire a ninety year-old crone?
That's what she looks like now. Her every moment will be psychological, spiritual, and physical torment.
And all just because You wanted to watch me make a girl cry today.
* * * * *
Idk, I guess I'm a demon? A vampire? You decide the term if You want. My youth and beauty inspire endless passion, desire, lust, and envy from those around me. Their cells dedicate themselves entirely to producing more and more of these feelings, with increasingly diminishing returns as they run lower and lower on energy. The more they want me, the more they need me—and the more I find them utterly despicable. And the more I despise them, the more desperate they are to please—lost in a perpetual loop of anguish.
I'm able to harvest these emotions and drain them dry to make myself immortally gorgeous. As a sadist—both physical and emotional—nothing makes me wetter than watching someone slowly dissolve from the unstoppable anguish of looking at my beauty and knowing I find them utterly worthless.
Of course, all my arrogance, all my vanity, all my power is dedicated entirely to You. We're as close to Partners as someone *can* be with someone like **You**--an utterly built Alpha-Hunk StudGod with a Cock that can demolish mountains. I never worry about my status with You, and never have anything to Prove—I'm the Tempestuous Treasured Trophy of the Titan Himself, always urging You on and eager to make others suffer to harvest ever more power and beauty for You and You alone. We scheme and plot and plan together, with my perfectly-manicured long-digited fingers stroking Your Cock, my mesmeric voice asking You please to make life a little more awful for everyone but Us.
And of course…Us includes Your harem of supernaturally gorgeous girls like me. I'm just the most beautiful. But we're sisters—deeply in love, deeply needy and wanton for each other, never jealous, and always gossiping and moaning and cooing about how beautiful and Lucky we are to be able to Worship God Himself.
* * * * *
F4A because talking with a girl who wants to be in the bad girl harem with me is super hot to me rn.
I love talking about wicked acts. Cruelty, intelligence, and beautiful things turn me on. Stupidity and passing the buck turns me off. Talk to me about your ideal harem of mean, petty, vain supermodels if You really want me to actually do my best to make myself Your kneeling drooling worshiping mindfucked cockslave. Fellow slave? Something like that.
Please message me with hot thoughts related to this! I'd love to chat or play; I usually adore chatting first to get a sense of my partner. I love answering and asking open-ended questions (the kind that aren't "yes" or "no" answers).