i have such a soft spot for the ones who wear skirts out for easy access. they’re the most innocent things until they’re horny and then they’re doing everything they can to get something shoved up inside them, even if it’s in public where everyone can see
“communication skills” my ass. making out until both of us forget what we were arguing about and can only think about how badly we want to fuck each other sounds ten times better
the fact that you want your pure wings to be mangled as easily as it is for your windpipe to crush beneath my boot is clear as day. gasping, heaving, and begging for stripped innocence — i’ll take you apart with my teeth, sweetheart.
blasphemy.
take the crown from me and bury me in my ancestral soil, as i could be martyr’d for my religion that’s nothing more than my worship of you in the bedroom. my reverence is pressing my beliefs up your thighs and into the creases of your hips.
a slide up and down your angelic divots and curves — my touch trailing red-hot, depravity beneath your skin to quiver your bones. your purity is palpable, but how desperate you are for immorality to dominate your very being is far too overwhelming for you to tamp down.
dry and borderline painful, but the pleasure outweighs it for you always no matter how bad it hurts. your dumb little brain is so hardwired to pleasure, you’ll take it no matter what else you have to endure to feel it; my perfect toy.
overstim, degradation.
it seems to take you by surprise when i rest my head on your shoulder and settle my hand on your upper thigh. your body jolts, and satisfaction lulls through my veins at the way your breathing becomes lilted.
“come for me, i know you can.” your whines become even more pitched. “you’re so desperate for it that, even though it hurts, you’re going to come all over my fingers again. fucking whore.”
and that’s what does it for you. your hips pump as i work you into another orgasm —