“See?” Natalie murmured. “It’s not a trap. It’s a question.”
She was a monument to controlled chaos. Seven feet of Amazonian poise wrapped in a matte-latex gown that whispered when she breathed. Her cheekbones could cut glass, and her eyes held the indifferent warmth of a solar flare. She didn’t break subjects; she unmade them, thread by trembling thread. -Feminized- Natalie Mars- Mistress Damazonia - ...
“Look,” she commanded, turning him toward a mirror. “See
Natalie took his hand, lifted it, and kissed his knuckles. “You’ll be back,” she winked. “We haven’t even gotten to the heels yet.” Seven feet of Amazonian poise wrapped in a
Marcus swallowed. “Yes, Mistress.”
“The ego dies not in a roar,” she said, her voice a low seismic rumble, “but in a whisper. You came here to be broken. Instead, you have been filled . Go now. And when you return to your boardroom, remember: the softest thing in the room is always the most dangerous.”
Mistress Damazonia descended from her throne. She placed a hand the size of a dinner plate on his now-satin-clad shoulder.