How much you "don't want it" How I'm "sick, disgusting, perverted" As much as your face contorts into screams.
Welled tears pool and run down your cheeks. You thrash and writhe in grip. The truth is that you're wet... soaked even.
You wanted me to throw you against the wall, strip you, demean you.
Your clothes cling to your skin in the rain, I delight in the thought that I get to pry them off of you.
Your screams echo against the brick and bounce into the night.
My cock throbs when it hears your shrill protest, pushing against your sopping cunt when I coil my fingers around your throat and squeeze.
You squirm and twitch desperately when I line up to your needy soaked slit, and for a second I feel you freeze when I push its swollen head in.
Practically impaling you on its length, every push seems to drag more than you could imagine as I piston into you.
Those ceaseless screams becoming stifled moans.
I love making a liar of you