Imani’s eyes gleamed with sadistic delight as she ogled the man shrinking in her presence. She had blackmailed him, exploiting his darkest secret – an affinity for degradation coupled with a diminutive manhood. The man, a tall, imposing figure in most contexts, now seemed pitiful and vulnerable before her.
With a cruel, cunning smile, Imani purred, “You look so cute when you’re servile, darling. I wonder how much more you’ll debase yourself for my pleasure tonight.”
She led him by the hand into her sumptuously appointed bedroom, the plush carpet muffling his hesitant steps. As the door clicked shut behind them, Imani wrapped her toned arms around his neck, her breasts pressing against his back as she whispered sweet nothings in his ear.
“Oh, you poor, pathetic thing. Such a little man, inside and out. Your cock is almost comically small, isn’t it? Like a Little toy in comparison to the rest of you.”
A strangled moan escaped his lips as Imani’s fingers wandered down to cup and squeeze the meager bulge in his pants. She twisted and tugged at his clothing, exposing his soft, unimpressive member to the cool air. Her laughter was like music to his ears, a mocking symphony of his inadequacy.
“Look at this tiny thing! It’s almost as if you designed it to be the laughingstock of the human race. Your dick is a pathetic joke, a sad reminder of your lack of virility.”
Despite her brutal words, the man shuddered and whimpered with pleasure, his hips bucking slightly into her hand. Imani’s gaze narrowed, her lips curling in disdain as she watched him respond to her degradation.
“You filthy little pervert, getting off on being called a despicable name. You’re just a slut for humiliation, aren’t you? Well, you’ve come to the right place.”
All night long, Imani tormented him with a never-ending litany of degrading insults and mocking references to his undersized genitals. She forced him to beg, to plead for her touch, even as she continued to berate and belittle him.
By dawn’s early light, the man was a wreck, his spirit broken and his will sapped by Imani’s relentless assault. As she tossed him a robe, her voice was a cold, unforgiving steel.
“Get out, you worm. I’m done playing with you. But don’t think for a second that this is the end of your little game. I’ll be watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike again and remind you of your place.”
With a final, withering glare, Imani sent the broken man stumbling into the harsh light of day, his head hung in shame and his small penis aching with the knowledge that he would never be free from her cruel attentions.
