Is that bad?

I should listen to you when you talk, right?

But, I mean, is that what you really want? Because–to be honest–I’m kinda getting the sense that you enjoy watching my eyes drift when you’re giving me the latest rundown on Love is Blind. And you kinda give a little smirk when you notice me, well, noticing you, when you’re reciting whatever bullshit drama happened at work. Fuck Stacy. I don’t care. She ain’t cool. Just lemme have this, right? Smack those pretty lips together and lick ‘em.

And, okay, it’s not just when you talk. It’s more when you, you know, exist. So, yeah–all the time. You’ve just got such plump, wet, perfectly-engineered cock cushions for lips. You’ve clearly got a calling, honey, whether you wanna admit it or not. And it sure as hell isn’t to give me your hot take on why Oppenheimer is overrated.

You know the way you purse them tightly while thinking of the answer to some hard question: absolute, fucking perfection. All I can imagine is sliding my index finger along them–tracing the curve from cheek to cheek. Then returning to the center, pushing slowly, but firmly, watching your eyes lock on mine as you gently open your mouth, a slash of spit snapping above your tongue. That’s what fucking wet dreams are made of.

Okay, okay, okay. I’m getting pretty hot and bothered now…But what about how you bite your lower lip when you’re embarrassed or ashamed? You really pull it in, pucker up, let a little sheen come to your eyes. Like today when you told me that you wore a black thong instead of pink, like I asked?

Yeah.

Your head was in my lap pretty quickly after that. Right where you belong. Doing exactly what you were made to do. What those lips were fucking meant to accomplish. You know how I like to take control. But still, will I let you start things off slowly sucking me? Sure. Just like I’ll let you spout off about your day for a while before I grab your ass and tell you precisely how I’m going to fuck you. I'll let you get your bearings for a moment.

But soon enough, you'll feel my hand around the back of your neck, pushing you deeper, giving you less space to pull back and take a breath. And, well, I might get a little mouthy with you too, tell you how I want you to suck me like a "good slut." And how you can’t even follow simple fucking directions, so I’m going to have to show you how to suck me. How to gag on me. And believe me, you're really going to gag on me. I like it rough and sloppy. You're going to have spit running down your chin and dripping onto your chest. I'm sorry to say it, but your makeup will be positively ruined by the time I'm finished with you.

GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK. That’s it. That’s all the fucking sound I wanna hear from you. GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK. More. Wetter. Deeper. Look up at me while you’re choking on my dick. More. More. GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK like a good fucking girl.

Yeah, you know, you can’t even follow simple instructions, eh? Is it really that hard? Why don’t you try to answer while my dick’s in your throat? Yeah, let’s hear it, slut. Explain yourself. Ugh, that’s it. Take it deeper while you do. What’s that? I can’t fucking understand what you’re trying to say with my cock so far down your throat. I wanna hear you try to answer while my balls are shoved against your bottom lip. I want you to sputter while you apologize. Let’s see that slick smattering of saliva running down your chin.

Maybe if you spent less time talking and more time listening my thick dick wouldn’t be playing pat-a-cake with your uvula. Oh well. Maybe you’re bad at following directions, but at least you can take what me the way I fucking want. And you get wet while you do, don’t you? Yeah, you fucking do. I’m gonna make damn sure that black thong is ruined, fucking soaked by the time I’m finished with you. In fact–yeah–it’s looking pretty fucking wet right now. Let me just rip that off and, here, I’ll let you take a breath.

Oops. Now you’ve got that drenched ball of fabric shoved between your lips. You get it, right? I like it when your mouth’s full. And I’m going to fuck that ruined thong right into your throat. It’s gonna make me cum, babe. Fuck. Fuck. Here it comes.

Cum.

Spit.

Sweat.

Tears.

Lace.

What a fucking mess.

That felt fucking right, though. And, you know, every time you open your mouth to tell me I’m not watering my Monstera enough or whatever, all I can think about is how those plump lips are about to be snapping shut around my cock.

Wanna play?

Let's chat.