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In the dimly lit room, she stands over you, her voice a whip crack, 'You'll be my little bitch today.' She's dressed to command, her cross-dressing accentuating her power. She forces you to service her, your humiliation evident in your whimpers. She laughs, 'You love it, don't you, you sissy?' She takes you missionary, her thrusts hard and deep, her voice a symphony of dirty commands. She comes on your face, marking you, her laugh echoing in your ears as you gasp for air.