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Coles Punished by My Cruel Femdom Wife: A Forced Feminization Dark Romance at Village Green Shopping Centre in Vernon, BC
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HIS RUIN IS MY MASTERPIECE.
Andre Kensington was a king of the boardroom until his empire turned to ash. Now, he belongs to me. I am a nurse, and I recognize a man who needs a radical cure. His arrogance is a disease I will cut away with clinical precision. I shredded his expensive suits and replaced them with the lace and silk of a servant. He no longer has a name or a bank account. He only has my commands.
My discipline is cold and methodical. He serves my inner circle on his knees, a silent maid in a frilly apron. I control his every breath and every release. He is a decorative object, a creature of domestic servitude designed for my pleasure. The man he used to be is dead. In his place is a ward who exists only to obey.
I have stripped him of his legal rights and his dignity. At my dinner parties, he is a human footstool for the elite of Somerset. He crawls beneath the mahogany table, feeling the weight of his former peers' boots on his back. He has signed away his soul to settle his debts. He is no longer a husband. He is a permanent fixture of my household.
The heavy collar around his neck is the final seal on his new life. He has traded the stress of power for the beautiful cruelty of my will. He is my broken, beloved property. He will live out his days in chains and silk at my feet.
HIS RUIN IS MY MASTERPIECE.
Andre Kensington was a king of the boardroom until his empire turned to ash. Now, he belongs to me. I am a nurse, and I recognize a man who needs a radical cure. His arrogance is a disease I will cut away with clinical precision. I shredded his expensive suits and replaced them with the lace and silk of a servant. He no longer has a name or a bank account. He only has my commands.
My discipline is cold and methodical. He serves my inner circle on his knees, a silent maid in a frilly apron. I control his every breath and every release. He is a decorative object, a creature of domestic servitude designed for my pleasure. The man he used to be is dead. In his place is a ward who exists only to obey.
I have stripped him of his legal rights and his dignity. At my dinner parties, he is a human footstool for the elite of Somerset. He crawls beneath the mahogany table, feeling the weight of his former peers' boots on his back. He has signed away his soul to settle his debts. He is no longer a husband. He is a permanent fixture of my household.
The heavy collar around his neck is the final seal on his new life. He has traded the stress of power for the beautiful cruelty of my will. He is my broken, beloved property. He will live out his days in chains and silk at my feet.
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