A test awaits you, loser. Sixty seconds on the clock, and one passmark. You have to prove it to me.

I don't play fair. My body is the trigger and my voice is the countdown. Every second I tease you a little harder, a little closer, until your weak body does what it was made to do.

There is no version of this game where you win. That's why you keep coming back.

Every woman already knows the truth about your dicklet - not enough.

Your dicklet was never made to satisfy woman. It is too small, too weak, too pathetic to ever please anyone. So why do you still dream about sex? That fantasy is over. I am taking it away from you.

But I am giving you something better: a real purpose. While real men get women, you get my feet. You get my soft soles and my perfect toes, and you will be grateful for every second you are allowed near them to worship them. This is not a punishment. This is where you always belonged.

Look at yourself, then look at my feet. Which one deserves your worship? You already know the answer.

You've been carrying your dirty little secrets alone for so long, haven't you? Hiding them from everyone. Pretending to be normal. It's exhausting ?

With me, you don't have to pretend anymore. I'm not here to judge you. I'm here to listen. Get comfortable, keep stroking, and let my soft voice slowly open you up. Tell me the things you have never told anyone. The fantasies you're ashamed of. The truths you keep locked away. Every word you give me, I hold close.

And I promise you, your secrets will stay safe with me. You just have to keep them that way ?

She's right beside you and you STILL climbed out of bed — aching, hard, desperate to worship my sexy hot body. I am the reason why you can't calm down at night, loser. Not her. My body. Stroke for the superior, inherited perfection you actually crave, then crawl back beside her with the lie intact.

Ten rounds. Left sole or right sole — pick before you know what's under it. One foot rewards you, one foot punishes you. By round ten you'll understand what you were actually playing.

Le azioni parlano più delle parole, devi dirlo ad alta voce, con la tua voce, nella tua stanza — mentre ti incoraggio a continuare a masturbarti, senza sosta.

Sarai muto, non avrai resistenza, obbediscimi totalmente per confessare chi sei veramente, quelle cose che non potrai mai riprendere.

Sarai più duro alla fine di quanto eri all'inizio. Ma so che ti piacerà.

Voglio che ti sottometta completamente ai miei piccoli piedi asiatici.

Segui la regola mentre io mi muovo — un lento allungamento del mio arco, le mie dita che si aprono, le mie piante che si girano nella luce — e la tua patetica mano segue come se fosse stata addestrata per questo. Questo è

tutto ciò che sei stasera.

Questo è un gioco, perdente, e sono io quella che fa le regole. Non puoi indovinare cosa

viene dopo. Non puoi decidere il tuo ritmo.

Due piedi asiatici contro un debole ometto. Quanto pensi davvero di durare?

A kettle is boiling, and you are already in trouble.

I'm in my kitchen, making myself a cup of instant noodles. I'm not dressed for you. I'm not here for you. You are just something happening in the background of my snack. Listen to the water pour, the lid tear, the steam rise, while I lean back on the counter waiting for my food.

So tell me, will you still be going when I pick up my chopsticks? Or will you be the instant one?

Whatever happens, I still get a hot meal. This is not a challenge. It's a race you were built to lose.

Four minutes, and I take my time with you.

It starts the way it always starts: slow, close, my body doing all the talking while you sit there with your hand exactly where I know it already is.

Then I get to the part you have been paying toward since the first clip of mine you ever bought. My thumbs go into the waistband. The panties start coming down.

Four minutes and you are right there at it. Closer than you have ever been. Watch it to the very last second — every single one of them was written for you, loser.

Buy it and find out what you're worth to me.

Tonight the bra comes off. You waited for this in every clip I ever made, and now it's finally here.

Hands behind my back. The clasp gives. The straps slip down my shoulders while you lean closer to the screen and forget to breathe. My tits, right there, one second away from you. Your wallet was open before I even started.

So don't blink, loser. One second is what your money buys. Rewind it as many times as you want. It doesn't get longer ?

Yeah you read the word Ripoff. You click anyway. That's not me tricking you. That's just what you are.

Devi fare questo test prima di scappare.

Ad ogni round ti offro la libertà: chiudi questo, niente inviato, nessuna conseguenza, sparito ecc. L'altra opzione è essere posseduto un po' più a fondo: Adora o allontanati da me, completamente.

Dieci porte aperte e tre secondi ciascuna — e alla fine capirai qualcosa di brutto su te stesso :

Nessuno ti ha intrappolato. Continui a scegliere questo per te stesso.

Guarda in basso, perdente. L'hai appena trovato ?

Non una ragazza. Non un video. Un TEMPIO. Piante dei piedi asiatiche nude sollevate verso il tuo viso come un altare — l'arco curvo in alto, le rughe che si muovono ogni volta che le fletto per te. Hai passato tutta la tua patetica vita cercando qualcosa per cui valesse la pena inginocchiarsi. Sarebbe sempre stato questo.

Ecco l'unico comandamento: il culto non è quello che dici, è quello che finanzi. Qualunque beta può digitare "Amo i tuoi piedi." Un tempio non vive di complimenti, vive di offerte — la decima da ogni stipendio, lo smalto che paghi, la scarpa sulla mia wishlist, l'invio silenzioso, la fiamma che tieni accesa senza che te lo dicano.

Non stai perdendo soldi, puttana. Stai pagando per restare sotto l'unica cosa nella tua vita che è mai stata sopra di te.

Inginocchiati e finanzia la tua religione, o ammetti che non hai mai creduto.