Oh no, no, no, my dearβ¦ You see, I donβt make rape threats.
Because once Iβve decided that youβre going to be my prey, thatβs it. Youβre already mine; you just donβt know it yet.
The details have yet to be worked out - in the toilet stall of a dive bar? In the woods of a local park or hiking trail? Face down in the mud behind a leaking port-a-potty at an outdoor concert? Or maybe in the illusory safety of your own bedroom.
It doesnβt matter. What matters is my hand closing around your throat, cutting off air to your lungs and blood to your brain. You will be helpless, defenseless, as your skirt is torn off, and your panties pulled down, wadded up and stuffed in your mouth to silence you. The trickle of tears from your eyes as you hear the jingle of my belt buckle and the rustle of my clothes becomes a torrent as my hot iron rod bludgeons its way into your wet, needy pussy - and of course sheβs wet, you want this, you slut - and I finally stake my claim on you.
My weight pins you down as my cock pistons in and out of you, your body a wet, fleshy Kleenex for me to masturbate into. Your muffled cries and whimpers only drive me to a more frantic frenzy, and the angry slaps of flesh on flesh quickly drown them out. Too soon, my semen boils in my heavy balls, and my orgasm rockets up my shaft, exploding into your waiting womb. Jet after jet of white sticky man-stuff fills your pussy, spilling out around my pulsating cock, squelching wetly as I drive deeper into you.
At last I pull out, my seed spilling out of your gaping hole, your body exposed, violated, and wracked with pain and stifled sobs. I tuck myself back into my jeans, zip up, and pat my hair back into place, and finally, finally leave you alone.
thatβs all Iβm ever good for, is to be a manβs rape slut
