The Night I Trained My New Beta

He found me through a friend who already belonged to me. "Brooklyn, I want what he has," he said, voice small. I laughed — sweet, cruel — and told him belonging to me means giving up the idea he's a man. "From now on you're beta. Say it." He did. That's where training starts: the words.

I walked him through his first task — edging while I described the way my pussy clenches around my real man, not him, never him. "You get the leftovers, beta. The moans I don't waste on a real cock." He stroked slow, desperate, and I counted him down from ten over and over until his balls ached.

Middle — How I Locked Him In

I made him repeat his rules: no cum without permission, no porn but me, wallet open when Mommy's little slut needs shoes. "You're my beta," I purred, "and betas pay." He sent his first tribute with shaking hands — not because he was broke, because he was owned. I described riding my bull while he listened, and he came untouched, humiliated, addicted. More of my stories here →

End

He texts "good morning Mommy's slut" now. That's what I do — turn men into property. All stories mixed here →

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