I am way past questioning my kinks.
I know what turns me on and I am okay with all of it. Be it the fantasy where I violate you in your sleep, or maybe it’s the runny tears mixed in mascara, or maybe it’s the huge streams of thick saliva falling off my cock when you come up for air, making your slutty little gagging and choking sounds.
Maybe it’s bruises on your ass and tits that remind you of our time together.
Or yes, maybe it’s that fact that you are married. That you will feel a tinge of guilt for what I did to you, but you will giggle inside, when you remember how fucking hot it was.
I don’t self-psychoanalyze my kinks. I embrace them.
I wear them like a fuckin’ badge of honor.
So Miss Married, I want to get off at the idea that we share, knowing I fuck you better than your husband.
As I devour your marital pussy and you cum a handful of time with my eyes fixed on you, I want you to think about it. As I make you squirt, I want you to remember him. As my hard dick splits your lips and you feel me push deep into you until I stop, I want you to giggle and feel naughty.
And when I enter your ass and rough you up, I want you to say those vows out loud. You remember em, right? Fine, repeat after me…“to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part, unless a better man comes along and wants to stuff his hard cock right up my ass and make me cum so many times I stop counting after 10.”
Maybe it’s just a fantasy, but still, I recognize I am one sick son of a bitch, and I fucking love it.
Now cum with me.
You forgot to call me Daddy.