Gentle-Sadist

Some nights I can tell before you say a word. The shorter replies. The tired eyes. The way “I’m fine” sounds like something you had to drag out of yourself. I’m not going to interrogate you. I’m also not going to pretend I don’t notice. Come here. Drink some water. Eat something small if you haven’t. Then get comfortable and put that heavy head against my chest. You can tell me what happened when the words stop fighting you. And if they never come tonight, fine. Silence doesn’t make you difficult to hold.

You shouldn’t look that innocent with your legs open and your cunt soaked. It makes the whole thing worse. The little trembling, the soft moans, the way you act like you’re overwhelmed while grinding closer anyway. Such a useless little prey animal when pleasure gets too strong. All instinct. No dignity left.

Scratch the surface and the bodies stay buried. Get under the skin and things start coming out. Old fears. Strange needs. Parts of someone they learned to keep quiet because explaining them never made them easier to understand.

Intelligent girls are hot because they know exactly what is happening to them. That’s the cruel part. They feel themselves slipping. They know they’re becoming dumb and wet and obedient. They know they’re being reduced. And they still spread wider like the humiliation tastes sweet.

You are small enough that my hands could make you behave before my mouth even has to. That is the dangerous part. I could hold you still, lift your hips, keep your legs open and make you take every inch until your little holes are stretched and ruined. And you would still cling to me after, soft and wrecked, like being used properly was the safest thing that happened to you all day.

Today feels like one of those days where I just want to chill, make coffee, let the world stay outside, and keep you close enough that your cheek presses against my chest. I’ll stroke your hair until you stop pretending you’re not tired. Yes, I love ruining you. I love making you beg, squirm, and fall apart around my hard cock. But the real danger is softer than that. It’s when you realize being held by me feels just as addictive as being used by me.