Embarrassing Pitiful Man: A Humiliation Blog

Entitled men really boil down to an embarrassing pitiful man when you take them apart.

Look at me, you embarrassing pitiful man. Every time I see you my pussy dries up a little inside, like the last bit of cereal dust at the bottom of the bag. I keep seeing your eyes on me, and it’s pathetic. I absolutely hate how you think you are going to catch my eye.

Tell me, do you think yourself coy? Subtle? Do you think yourself worthy of my attention?  Of course not, you’re an embarrassing pitiful man.

So let me be frank. Coming up to me in this open space in the restaurant, as if you are my equal, let alone my friend, and sitting down across from me? Not a good impression. Telling me that I’m beautiful? I already know. Do you think I wore this short polka-dotted dress with such a low box cut for you? Do you think I wore this push-up bra to catch your eye? Please tell me you didn’t think I shaved my legs to attract embarrassing pitiful men like yourself. I did it because I have standards, even for myself. To be anything less than beautiful would be a shame.

My, you really seem to be talking about something. Shooting your shot, as it were. You smile but I can see the sweat on your forehead. There’s a slight flush under your skin. I intimidate you, don’t I?

Good.

If you keep buzzing around me like a fly, then I plan to treat you as such, you embarrassing pitiful excuse of a man.

First, you lean forward as if you plan to put your hand on mine. However, I beat you to the punch. I place my well-manicured hand on what trash you call for a hand and I dig in my nails. As you frown, I move my foot directly across from you. After all, didn’t you want me to touch your penis? It should be fine if my heel grinds into your balls, right?

Are you asking a question? I can’t really make out words over all the buzzing you’ve been doing. It’s like you made me deaf just by being annoying. I’m sure as an embarrassing pitiful man, you are used to women hearing your words as meaningless buzz.

Oh, but what’s this? As my foot angrily grinds down against you under the table, your cock seems to be getting fatter. Your face is redder, even.  “Didn’t you want me to touch you?” I ask, giving my best doe eyes at you while I wink. “I certainly didn’t want your company, you utter embarrassing pitiful excuse of a man.” I grind my fingernails into your hand.

Why would I ever debase myself with you? Why would I ever tolerate you?

In fact, I shove my leg against you harder. Your chair squeaks, drawing the attention of everyone in the restaurant. Whispers begin as I dig my heels in harder. The worst part? They aren’t looking at me anymore. You’ve tainted me just by being here, across from me.

Well, fuck that. I have better things to do than sit and be debased by being in an embarrassing pitiful man’s aura. So, I stand up and let the waitress know you’ll be paying for everything I ordered- and order you a sad little glass of milk as well.

Then I leave. Bug, you are so beneath me, I don’t even care if you get off. Don’t waste my precious energy by asking me to entertain such thoughts.

To be honest, there’s not enough worth in you to even let you kiss my pussy.

If you need to be reminded about your place, contact me. I won’t be afraid to show it. Just let me know if you want hard domination, unlike those other weaklings.

Call Elise 1-877-208-4254