You like to look pretty, don’t you? I know the answer to that question, so no need to actually tell me.
I see it in your walk, baby girl.
Be pretty. Feel pretty.
Go the extra mile. It’s the where the finish line is my book, so do it. Go the extra mile.
I’ll be there, waiting for you. As you stroll right past, there will be a man crawling from the inside out staring you up and down, tortured internally to torture you internally.
I will give you the best me I know. I will give you a man, dying inside to make heaven happen to your body, mind, and soul, over and over and over until you just cannot take it anymore.
It will come in the form of intense eyes staring into you. A hand, clean and firm, squeezed around your neck as my other hand’s fingers are tactfully caressing you G spot until you buckle for Daddy.
Soaking wet. Dripping to the point you are ashamed. So I take your ashamed state of mind, and squash it, when I dive my face right into your pussy at your wettest moment, telling you how wonderful and beautiful I think your body is.
Rage built up inside of me, wanting nothing more than to slam my hard cock inside you. But I don’t. I have only made you cum twice. So I continue, fingering, eating, sucking, and doing everything in my will to make you spasm for Daddy another time.
And you do. Like a goddamn living and breathing piece of art the Louvre couldn’t contain.
Now I give you my hardness. Pushing inside you with the vigor and angst of a history book cavalry. Hair yanked. Neck squeezed. Anything I can think to reach slapped until you ask for it again.
Cumming your internal earthquake as I’m inside you.
Flooding you with my promise. My seed.
You worked me up, Kitten. It’s all your fault. When you clipped those thigh highs to your garter. When you chose lace over cotton.
You have nobody to blame but yourself, for the wiped out state you now find yourself in.