Singing along to The Nuge’ makes me feel super-fucking dated.
(Shhh…that is the sound of Millennials currently googling “The Nuge” while us old fucks are doing air guitar motions with heavy metal fingers and the over-sensitive politicos minds are wandering into a state of boring shit I’d rather not hear about).
Ok. Fine. Back to the ding dong talk…
God, I can’t remember the last time I fucked that didn’t involve squeezing a neck. This is about as much of a necessity these days as having a hard-on.
Staring right into your slutty little whore eyes and extending my dominant arm as my left hand’s fingers play your clit like Jam Master Jay (yeah, I know, I am old).
Seeing those eyes. Then the fear when my grip goes from firm to threatening. Then I release your air, lean forward, and my weight feels like it is crushing you so I adjust again.
Each second passes and your cervix is taking a pounding and I see it in your eyes that you fucking love the fear and the lack of control. Don’t you?
Then you grab my wrist. You motion for me to squeeze harder.
I think to myself, “You dirty fucking whore.” I fucking love it.
So I squeeze. I pound you. I squeeze harder. I pound you harder.
And I watch your body twist and convulse and I am not prouder than at this moment.
Cum Kitten, for Daddy.
Papa has you in a Stranglehold.