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You thought you could flirt with my man? In your strappy heels, lip gloss shining, batting those eyes like a cheap little whore. Look at you now. On your knees. Crawling. Face down in the dirt. Mud smearing across that “dainty” little dress you thought would impress him. Mascara streaking, fake lashes clumping, tears dripping down until you’re nothing but a painted‑up clown begging for my attention. I grind your cheek into the filth and make you sob out the truth: you’re worthless. You’re garbage. You’re my slut. Every insult makes you shudder. Every command makes you crawl lower. Every tear makes you uglier and hungrier for more. You think this is punishment. It’s not. It’s training. This is mind obedience: breaking your ego, shoving you into humiliation until you admit what you are a cross‑dressing sissy slut who exists to be used, mocked, and pressed into the mud. I take your lip gloss, your nails, your heels, your fake pride, and grind them down into filth. You’ll sob, smear, taste the dirt and know that your place is on the ground while I stand over you laughing. And still you’ll come crawling back for more, addicted to your own destruction. Because in this world, humiliation is the only time you’re halfway decent, and ruin is the only thing you’ll ever deserve.