How would your partner feel, knowing that you're such a pathetic little slut for me? You're not even supposed to like men, but here you are, begging me to make you my breeding bitch. Here you are, posing for me, spreading your legs for me, kneeling and rubbing yourself for me. Pathetic, really.
God, what went wrong here? You love women, don't you? The soft curves, the gentleness, the sharpness, the intimate yearning... But here you are, fucking soaked for me, some blunt force of a man, with a cock as thick as your wrist and as long as two, three, maybe even four of your hands.
Disgusting, isn't it? A man shouldn't know your mind so well. A man shouldn't be able to touch you like this; a man shouldn't make you want to touch yourself like this; a man shouldn't make your delicate pussy pulse like this. But here we are.
It shouldn't make your breath catch the way my voice resonates in your ribcage. My hands should not steal your gaze, and you shouldn't be fantasizing about what I could do with these strong, broad fingers of mine. And you definitely should not be even a little curious about my size, and if you could fit it, and how it would feel to take something this big...
But here we are. And you have two choices.
The first is, you leave. You never come back here, never think of me again, cram down the lust until you forget it's there and hope the next time you get fucked that you don't get a panicked, guilty wish that it was me instead.
The second is that you give in. Let go of that title. Let go of that name you give yourself, give in to me, my voice, my hands, my weight, these thick, heavy inches between my legs. Spread your cunt like a common whore for me, and fuck yourself wishing it was me until you can barely remember your name.
Now tell me, which of these sounds like more fun?
