Don't lie to me. Don't lie to yourself. You love it when I tear you down. The moment my voice turns cold and I start picking you apart, your whole body responds. That's not an accident. That's me, doing exactly what you begged me to do without ever saying the words.
Humiliation is an art, and I am the artist. Anyone can be mean. It takes a real woman to find the exact truth you're hiding from and say it out loud. I listen to you for about ten seconds and I know. I know what you're ashamed of. I know what you think about when you can't sleep. And I use it, beautifully, ruthlessly, until you're shaking.
When you call and ask for Chanel, I start gentle. I let you think this might be sweet. Then I turn. My voice drops, my words get sharper, and suddenly you're hearing things about yourself that nobody has ever dared to say. I mock the way you beg. I laugh at how desperate you sound. I tell you exactly what I think of a man who calls a humiliation line because he can't get this anywhere else. And you get harder with every word.
That's the secret nobody talks about. The degradation frees you. Out there you have to be strong, composed, respectable. With me, you get to be nothing. You get to be my toy, my joke, my little embarrassment, and the relief of not having to be anybody is the hottest thing you've ever felt. I give you permission to be worthless, and you thank me for it.
I can go as deep as you can handle. Public scenarios where everyone is laughing at you. Private ones where it's just my voice in your ear, dismantling you piece by piece. I can make it about your body, your performance, your pathetic little secrets. You set the limits before we start, and then I own everything inside them.
What I love most is the honesty humiliation forces out of you. Men lie all day long, to their wives, their bosses, themselves. But with me, stripped down and degraded, you finally tell the truth. You admit what you want. You admit what you are. I hold that truth gently for about three seconds before I use it to destroy you, and you love me for it.
Call the dispatcher. Ask for Chanel. And prepare to be humiliated properly, by a woman who does it better than anyone.
Chanel