Ogle at the detail of these instruments of pain, the rows of laces and straps. The patent leather’s so shiny that you can almost see your contorted mug glaring through. I picked these boots out especially for you. Since you’ve been such a good boy, I want you to enjoy what some “high - end hurt” feels like. Aw, does it hurt? Are my boots squashing your face too hard? Of course they’re not. In fact, I’m not hurting you enough. But while you’re down there, take the time to appreciate the luxury of this torment. What’ll be next? Manolo’s in your mouth? Balenciaga’s on your balls? A flogging with Tom Ford’s? Chloé’s on your cock? Pick your pain, and then purchase it. Spend... simp...stroke for me. I want you to cum for me, knowing that you had the privilege of choosing your tool of torment.