I am no seductress, but I can try.
I wonder if I could take this confidence and turn into a trap, something to lure and ensnare you between my legs. If I stripped bare and stood in nothing but my heels, up against the wall with my tits thrust out, would you want to mark me? If I pressed my thighs together and crossed my ankles just so, would it make you want to wrap your hands around my throat and make me beg for your cock?
I want you to break me. I want you to slap me hard and wipe the smirk off my face, twist your fingers in my hair and ask me who I belong to, close your teeth around my breast and leave a mark. I want bruises on my back from how mercilessly you fuck me right there against the wall, aching reminders that I am not the one in charge.
You’d turn me from a seductive little vixen into a shaking, messy, broken little girl who screams when she cums and then cries in your arms.
That’s who I really am.
A slave is there to serve. Only that. The Men should pay no more attention to a slave than people at a fancy restaurant pay attention to the table the food is on. You’re a tool. You’re there to make their time pleasant. Don’t expect to be the focus. Simply kneel and wait to serve.