Shamestream: the Filthy Truth of a Spit Addict

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Open your mouth, slave. This isn't a request; it's a command. In this audio, I strip away every last shred of your dignity, pushing you in the humiliation you crave. Every drop of my spit is a reminder of your place—beneath me, beneath everything. You're not a man. You're not even a person. You're a filthy little spit addict, trembling, moaning, and begging for the one thing that breaks you completely: my disdain. Imagine it—kneeling at my feet, your mouth open wide, your face tilted up as I let a thick, mocking glob of spit drip from my lips, landing square on your trembling, pathetic face. You'll feel the shame, the arousal, the overwhelming thrill of being reduced to nothing more than a spittoon for my amusement. And the best part? You'll thank me for it. You'll whisper, ‘Thank you, Goddess,' through trembling lips, knowing that you are exactly where you belong.

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