As a seasoned mistress who’s seen it all, I live for moments like these—breaking down weak-willed men who think they can handle my brand of torture. Today, I’m spilling the dirty details on my latest plaything: Derrick, a 56-year-old pathetic excuse for a man with a cock so tiny it’s barely worth acknowledging. We’re talking a CBT session that left him whimpering like a little bitch, and humiliation so vicious it’ll make you wonder if he’ll ever show his stupid fucking face again. If you’re into watching a mature goddess like me destroy a sub’s fragile ego, buckle up—this session was pure, unfiltered dominance.
Meet The CBT Session Loser
Who is Derrick? Why was he about to be humiliated and subjected to this CBT session torture. Well this balding, middle-aged loser, messages me begging for a session. He’s got that desperate vibe—admitting upfront that his cock is “embarrassingly small” and that he craves being humiliated. At 56, you’d think he’d have learned to hide his inadequacies, but no, he’s practically gift-wrapped his balls for me to destroy. I invite him over to my lair, dressed in my fuck you up attire: a tight black leather corset that hugs my curves, thigh-high boots that scream authority, and nothing underneath because why bother with modesty when you’re about to wreck a man?
I start by making him strip naked in front of me, his hands shaking as he reveals that shriveled little nub. It’s not even erect yet, and I’m already laughing. “Is that it, Derrick? At your age, I expected at least a pinky finger’s worth, but this is just sad. What’s the point of a cock if it can’t even fill a thimble?” I sneer, circling him like the predator I am. His face turns beet red, and the game is on.
The Humiliation: Breaking Him Down Verbally
Humiliation is an art, and as a mistress who’s mastered the game, his pathetic ass didn’t stand a chance. I force Derrick to stand there, hands behind his back, while I poke and prod at his tiny dick with my perfectly manicured nails. “Look at this pathetic thing,” I taunt, grabbing his balls and giving them a light squeeze just to watch him flinch. “At 56, you should be some silver fox with a decent tool, but instead, you’ve got this overgrown pimple. No wonder you’re single—women your age want a real man, not a dude with a micropenis.”
I make him repeat after me: “I’m Derrick, and my cock is useless for anything but torture.” He stammers it out, his voice cracking, and I laugh harder, spitting on his dick for good measure. “That’s right, you worthless worm. Your little nub couldn’t hit a g-spot if it had a map. I bet the only action it’s seen is your own hand, and even that must be a struggle. How do you even jerk off without it slipping away?” The verbal onslaught is relentless—calling him a “cockless wonder,” a “56-year-old disappointment,” and my personal favorite, “a ball sack with a bonus freckle.”
By now, his cock is twitching pathetically, trying to get hard, but I slap it away. “Oh, please, as if that thing could impress anyone. I’ve fucked men half your age with cocks twice as big, and they still didn’t measure up to my standards. You’re just here to be my toy, Derrick—my laughable, inadequate plaything.”
CBT Session: Turning Up the Pain
Now, for the main event— the vigorous CBT session that leaves him begging for mercy. I’ve got my toolkit ready: clamps, a riding crop, and some ice cubes because I love mixing pain with shock. I start by securing a pair of tight clamps on his balls, watching them turn red as he whimpers. “Feel that, you old fuck? At your age, you should know better than to offer up these saggy nuts for destruction, but here we are.” I tug on the clamps, making him gasp, then whip his cock with the crop—light flicks at first, building to harder strikes that leave red welts.
“Look at your tiny dick shriveling up even more,” I mock, grabbing an ice cube and rubbing it over his shaft until he’s shivering. “Is this the best you can do? No wonder you need a mean mistress like me to handle you—your cock’s so small, it’s probably numb from neglect.” I escalate by kicking his balls lightly with my boot, then harder, forcing him to his knees. “Beg for it, Derrick. Beg me to stop, you pathetic excuse for a man.” He does, of course, tears streaming down his face, but I’m not done. I tie a string around his balls and pull, making him writhe as I grind my heel into his thighs.
The pain is exquisite for me—watching this 56-year-old man crumble under my touch is a rush. His cock, what little there is of it, tries to betray him by getting semi-hard, so I slap it again. “Even in agony, you can’t control that useless thing. It’s like a sad little worm wriggling for attention. Pathetic.”
The Aftermath: Leaving Him Broken
By the end of the CBT session, Derrick is a quivering mess on the floor, his tiny cock red and swollen from the torture. I stand over him, triumphant, my pussy dripping from the power trip. “Remember this, old man—women like me don’t waste time on tiny-dicked losers like you. Next time, bring a real cock, or don’t bother.” I send him off with a final laugh and a photo of his battered balls for his spank bank.
If you’ve got a small cock and a humiliation kink, hit me up—I’m always ready to dish out more stimulating destruction.
Ms. Kat
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