Dacryphilia Phone Sex – I Love Making You Cry – RHI-A-0006-07-31-2023 Part 2
Well, you came back for part two of my dacryphilia fetish! Be sure to check out Part 1.
Of course, is amazing if you could not tell I love control. Especially mind control of spineless cowards that pretend every day they are the boss. That is not to say I always get it right. Obviously, even with experience mistakes are made, pressing too hard or treading too softly where I should press my advantage, to his unspoken frustration. Of course, when he is led to those tears at a perfect pace, guided down to deep submission one step at a time, the end result is spectacular and achingly beautiful.
The spark of tears is among the first signs we’re getting there, while he maintains the eye contact with me that I have demanded of him. I need to read those eyes, to help me know where to take him next. As one shimmering droplet overflows and runs down his reddening face, he brings up a fist to scrub it away in embarrassment. A mistake, on his part. Scolding follows. “What the fuck are you doing? Clearly, you like to break my rules? Do not worry you will pay for that” I yell. He quivers knowing he is about to receive a verbal lashing worse than anything he has experienced before this.
To be honest, my angry ugly thoughts are bouncing around my head. He knows about my dacryphilia fetish.
How dare he rub away that gift, that tangible sparkling gem of his submission, and without permission besides? Does he want to make me unhappy? Is he doing his best to displease me and to make me incredibly sad? Why would he block me from being able to enjoy his tears when he knows I love to see him cry? So, I begin to unleash the full venom of my anger with my tongue alone. Truly, my mouth is my most powerful weapon and I love to break a grown man. His body slumps further, and he starts to shake. Clearly, he is close. Slowly, I spit out the final blow!
The tears are falling properly now; guilt and fear and devotion almost suffocating the embarrassment to allow for choked sobs of responses. The façade of control over his actions, and his voice, is gone. Instead, he stands there crying. Hot, fat tears splash down which ignite my already awakened arousal. Well, he looks every inch of the broken man. Obviously, I relish every detail while it lasts. He’s in disarray, verbally abused, face wet from crying. Of course, he’s almost unable to answer even simple questions. We both know the truth, however. The barrier inside has fallen – been ripped down – enabling him to connect with his submissive self. Those tears help to lubricate the powerful orgasm I reach down to give myself – as he watches from subspace, noisy crying fading to the soothing balm of muffled, rhythmic sobs.
Until next time!
Don’t forget to check out the audio of this blog – it is full of degradation!