What?

You were expecting something else?

You think I don’t fucking love the way your pussy tastes?

You think I won’t drop to my knees right now and here, spread your legs apart, and nuzzle my beard against your inner thighs?

You think I’m not about to flatten my tongue against that perfect little pearl while you trade turnips or quick-scope noobs or murder all of your sad sack simulated people by deleting the doors in their houses or trapping them in a room without a bed?

Fucking bet. I think you’re kinda fucked up, but I like it. I know you’re a nerd. A straight-up slut for your virtual farm. Yeah, it’s cute, but all I care about is lapping that precious pink slit while you try to concentrate on something else. Give it a shot. We’ll see how long you last.

How long until your hands are running through my hair while my tongue treats your beatific bead like the last ice cream cone on Earth? Don’t worry. I’m not gonna do that doorbell shit. Like I’m a Mormon missionary begging for you to let me in so that I can pontificate and proselytize. All I care about is the glory of that biblical pussy. I’m a glutton for it. Lustful and avaricious and maybe even a bit prideful. I’m not known for being a standup fella, y’know? But there isn’t a pious person on this planet who’s gonna play the kinda games I play with you.

Lemme be more clear–it ain’t gonna be antediluvian in this fucking house for much longer. Know what I’m saying? I’m gonna lick and flick and twirl and tease and dip in and out and all around your gushing little sleeve. And when the deluge comes…fuck is it gonna cum. You dig?

I know you fucking dig. Just try to squirm away. I’ll reach my hands right under your ass and hold you in place. Don’t take this delicious fucking pussy away. Don’t you dare interrupt me while I’m doing the Good Lord’s Work. Because a woman unpleasured is a woman scorned. If my beard doesn’t smell like you the rest of the day–if that piece of shit Greg doesn’t say, “Damn, you been tonguefucking your girl again?”--then I’m not gonna be happy.

Fucking Greg. A man so devoid of common sense that he thinks his girl is the one fucking woman on this godforsaken planet who comes exclusively from penetrative sex. I feel bad for her, y’know? A shame. While you’re busy dripping down my chin and holding a pillow to your face, his girl is scrolling through Instagram while he jackhammers her from behind.

Don’t be afraid to scream, honey. Can I call you honey? I wanna be respectful while I’ve got your plush thighs squeezing my cheekbones. Anyway, babe, don’t be shy. I want the neighbors to hear what real pleasure sounds like. Not that fake Pornhub shit. Like a hyena stuck in a washing machine. Some bored starlet forgetting she’s supposed to be acting.

Nope. I’m sick of that Photoshop-AI-filtered-fucking bullshit. Gimme that Kendrick Lamar fucking natural shit. Wanna feel the stretch marks. Wanna feel the imperfect perfection of freckles and scars and razor knicks. I’ll be humble until you sit your ass down and lemme go for it.

You think it doesn’t make me hard as a slab of fucking granite when you try to squirm away? I’ve got my cock in one hand while my other is two-fingers deep. Not fingerblasting. Nope. I’m not a noob, not like all those ignorant pricks you indiscriminately murder in your games. Two fingers pressing down so you can squeeze around me and feel full while I slobber up and down your vulva.

Give me that grool, girl. I’m coming to take it. Just lean back and enjoy the way I do this oral massage. I’ll graze and munch and kiss and beckon. You just relax.

Now spread your fucking legs and gives me a taste.