Look at you, all locked up and helpless, a pitiful excuse for a lover. How can someone be so devoid of skill and passion? It's no wonder I've taken it upon myself to educate you this way, substituting our laughably dull encounters with a display of real passion and dominance. Every thrust, every moan, every demeaning word is a lesson for you. I revel in your jealousy, in your humiliation as you're encoureged to watch, camera in hand, documenting every degrading moment. The key on my ankle? It's not just a symbol of your locked-up inadequacy but a taunting reminder that you're powerless. And...

Look at you, all locked up and helpless, a pitiful excuse for a lover. How can someone be so devoid of skill and passion? It's no wonder I've taken it upon myself to educate you this way, substituting our laughably dull encounters with a display of real passion and dominance. Every thrust, every moan, every demeaning word is a lesson for you. I revel in your jealousy, in your humiliation as you're encoureged to watch, camera in hand, documenting every degrading moment. The key on my ankle? It's not just a symbol of your locked-up inadequacy but a taunting reminder that you're powerless. And when he marks me, claiming me as his, it'll be your duty, your penance, to clean up his mess, to taste his dominance. Only then will you truly understand your place. Go on, press play on that recording. Relive your shame, let it eat at you, let it push you to be better. But remember, even if you were better, you'd still never be enough.