Beyoncé, can she handle this? I don’t think she can this.
It would be a first.
You see, when I offer up the orgasm entree, I am bringing the Claim Jumper version. Too much is almost enough.
I need to have a conversation afterwards, when you have fallen off the bed and onto the floor, where you continually repeat “oh fuck”, “shit”, and “god damn” like your vocabulary just got shortened into three phrases.
I need to see in you a wiped-out state delivered at the will of Me.
I am here to serve you, but make no mistake, I serve my ego as I do it.
Eat you until somehow magically we are on the complete opposite side of the bed that we started on, as you keep trying to squirm away but eventually you run out of real estate. You see, California Kings are only 72 inches wide, Kitten.
It’s just a matter of time and eventually you will have nowhere to run to.
So just lay there as I turn my head with you and suck-flick your clit with my tongue until I see those hips twist in bliss. It’s almost time for Act 2 now.
Act 2 is where the protagonist-villain is fingering your G spot until you are losing your mind, and fluid, at an alarming rate. Work my way to bring you practically airborne as I make your inner wall my bitch.
Eat you wet because it feels like forever since I ate your pussy even though it was just minutes ago. Time for another earthquake.
Fingering you deep wishing my wrist was not so wide but I have to make due with my fingertips punishing the front and back of your cervix.
I see it in your face now.
You think I don’t know? You want me to climb one leg over you, tap that kitty and plow myself deep inside you with power and anger. Gimme that fucking neck of yours.
Daddy is gonna drive this pussy into next week now.
Losing your mind as you shout almost immediately “I’m gonna cum”.
God damn right you are. Collapsing as I finish inside you.
I’m still not too sure you can handle this.