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Goddess Faith transforms her slave into a piece of living furniture for her amusement. He will be her footstool for 30 minutes, stripped of his humanity and reduced to nothing more than a functional, degrading object for her comfort. Not a lover. Not a partner. Not even a submissive in the romantic sense those silly boys online pretend to be. You are infrastructure. You are the floor beneath my feet made warm and animate and humiliatingly aware. I don't want your devotion. I want your function. Your devotion is a given, as automatic and pathetic as your erection. Your function is what I extract. What I demand. What I take because it is mine by right. Look at you. Shaking. Sweating. That pathetic little cock hard as stone and dripping onto my floor. Your back red where my heel pressed. Your palms white from the pressure. Your face wet with tears and snot and your own drool, puddled against the tile. You are disgusting. You are magnificent. You are exactly what I wanted. Now. Slowly, slowly, collapse. Roll onto your side. Let me see you curl into a position, my broken little thing. Good. There. Stay there. Stay on the floor where you belong. You did well today. That is the only praise you will ever get from me. Not because you pleased me. Objects don't please. They function. But you functioned correctly, and that is noteworthy. Now, your final task. Take your phone. Still on the floor. Still trembling. Prop it up and take a photo of yourself exactly as you are. My used, collapsed, pathetic footstool. Send it to me. ** To SUPPORT my VIDEO PRODUCTION ... if you want to see NEW VIDEOS of me - TIP me 5000$.