elegant_deviant
Planetoid
- Joined
- Apr 12, 2019
I Walk into the club with You, clinging to Your massive arm.
Jaws drop. The music skips. Eyes are drawn. They're on me, because of fucking course they are. You're a Living God, but I'm a Living Goddess, I am Breathing Art, and I am the Heat that Makes These common fucks Need to Breed.
Skintight suede boots. Clingy, black, tight turtleneck dress, sculpting my ass and hugging preciously against my milk-heavy cleavage. Gorgeously long, thick, vibrant hair in a messy ponytail that could make Your Holy Grand Gallery Cock come all by itself. The green eyes and flawless face of an angel; the obvious “Fuck. You.” attitude of an immortal demoness.
Simple. A simple outfit.
I am Breathing Art inside of it. Simple. Pure. Yours.
Other girls? They'd fucking kill themselves to wear something like this like I do. They'd kill others. They fucking see me and think about suicide. About playing with knives and swallowing the bad chemicals under their kitchen sinks—just from fucking seeing how I am killing it in this fucking Simple. Hot. Outfit.
And the best part of all of it? This girl who makes other so-called females want to die? Who every guy in the room would murder their own fucking children to see a smile from?
This Girl. Belongs. To You.
My tits crush against Your thick, perfect arm. In my 115mm Casadei Blades, I still only come to the top of Your chest. I am delicate and tiny in Your arms, Your big hands easily capable of wrapping twice around my impeccably thin waist.
Every Part of Me Is a Dedication To Your Glory. Yours Alone. Only You. Only Ever You.
The other girls belonging to You? Thin. Tall. Tight. Gorgeous. Without exception. More float in behind us, each Eager for a shot to be the one who earns Your secondary attention tonight.
They Know they can't compete with me as Your First.
I love that you Have so many. I love that they can't compete with me, even though each one is so fucking hot she could melt through steel. I love playing with them to turn you on, dressing them, fucking them with you, for you, instead of you when you want. I love Walking and Posing with them to make You hard.
I Love Everything about Being Your Girl, Daddy.
You leave me alone for a moment at the bar to attend to some business with the Owner. He owes You money; You're going to feed him his fingers. I wish I could watch, but You want the other girls to learn Your Ways instead; and besides, You need me to Scout for You.
A month ago? I was a supermodel. World famous. Sought after by every designer and photographer.
You took me home; raped me; murdered my family in front of my eyes with Your cock inside me, and showed me the video tape over and over until I learned to cum to it.
Until I learned to Thank You for it.
Until I learned to Need To Help You Do it to Even More Hot Women...like what we'll do tonight.
Now I Know My Place as Your Alpha Possession. Your Prime Trophy.
Some dickless wonder approaches me. His hair and all its gel marks him as a founding member of Douchetown. His balls are probably the size of pigeon eggs.
Yours are fucking grapefruits. I use them as pillows some nights, softly stroking You in my absent, dream-happy sleep. I never have nightmares. When I dream about my family being murdered? Those are wet dreams.
Your Cock Changed Me For The Better.
“Hey girl. You got them digits?”
I roll my eyes, cast my jaw and nose upward in a sneer, and look up at You—there's a window in the Owner's office. It's being painted with blood. I Love You So Much.
“Talking to you, girl. How you been? What you up to?”
The utter disdain on my face is the most beautiful thing this ass-sack has ever seen. It's confusing his survival senses; he needs nothing more than to breed me, like You do day in and day out. But this doesn't jive with my complete hatred—utterly perfected through my modeling skills, condensing the culmination of human expression into scorching fury at his pathetic fucking existence.
“Hey, cunt,” I say to him, grinning slightly at his dumb expression. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Didn't you see who I walked in here with? And even if you didn't, don't you fucking see me? What the fuck is happening in your head that you could ever think someone like me would ever once give you even an ounce of affection? Even with a gun to my fucking head, I'd rather see my brains splattered on this dirty floor than give you the time of day. Do you understand?”
My accent is exotic and soaking in heat. I make hot, heated, rutting love to each and every syllable.
“Do you have any idea how he makes me cum? My boyfriend? My fucking Man? Do you have any fucking notion of how utterly cruel he is to everyone except For Me? How badly he wants to Hurt virtually everyone who isn't one of His Very Best Girls? Do you even have the slightest perception of how fucking special that makes Me?”
I turn, seeing You come down the stairs. The cunt in front of me has pissed his pants. Or he's cum from hearing me talk to him for so long. Perhaps both. His cologne is so atrocious it's hard to smell any difference.
“Here he comes now. You better fucking run. Because I'm going to sick him on you anyway. He likes to hurt people for me. It gets us both off. And then maybe we'll look up your family and hurt them too.”
I lick my lips, slowly. I see him tremble—definitely cumming. “He's going to feed you your own fucking dickless-douchebag hair and shove it down your insipid little throat. And other thing?”
I Pose, legs out—making a perfect combination of angles with my utterly fantastic body—and You return, sliding an amazing arm around my waist. I hold You tight, one high-heeled foot popping out, posing like a fucking high school cheerleader on her jock god.
Your Expression is humorless; murderous. I can't fucking wait. The Night has only begun.
“Fuck. You.”
* * * * *
The above is basically just a catalogue of things that really excite me. If they really excite you, then that really excites me. I wrote a whole explanation of things I like in relation to this; it ended up being just about as long as the above, though. Think of it as a kind of DLC, I guess?
So, if You want to talk, please message me and say something along the lines of how You have several fantastic ideas but You'd love to read the DLC so You can completely blow my mind. Thanks for reading!
Jaws drop. The music skips. Eyes are drawn. They're on me, because of fucking course they are. You're a Living God, but I'm a Living Goddess, I am Breathing Art, and I am the Heat that Makes These common fucks Need to Breed.
Skintight suede boots. Clingy, black, tight turtleneck dress, sculpting my ass and hugging preciously against my milk-heavy cleavage. Gorgeously long, thick, vibrant hair in a messy ponytail that could make Your Holy Grand Gallery Cock come all by itself. The green eyes and flawless face of an angel; the obvious “Fuck. You.” attitude of an immortal demoness.
Simple. A simple outfit.
I am Breathing Art inside of it. Simple. Pure. Yours.
Other girls? They'd fucking kill themselves to wear something like this like I do. They'd kill others. They fucking see me and think about suicide. About playing with knives and swallowing the bad chemicals under their kitchen sinks—just from fucking seeing how I am killing it in this fucking Simple. Hot. Outfit.
And the best part of all of it? This girl who makes other so-called females want to die? Who every guy in the room would murder their own fucking children to see a smile from?
This Girl. Belongs. To You.
My tits crush against Your thick, perfect arm. In my 115mm Casadei Blades, I still only come to the top of Your chest. I am delicate and tiny in Your arms, Your big hands easily capable of wrapping twice around my impeccably thin waist.
Every Part of Me Is a Dedication To Your Glory. Yours Alone. Only You. Only Ever You.
The other girls belonging to You? Thin. Tall. Tight. Gorgeous. Without exception. More float in behind us, each Eager for a shot to be the one who earns Your secondary attention tonight.
They Know they can't compete with me as Your First.
I love that you Have so many. I love that they can't compete with me, even though each one is so fucking hot she could melt through steel. I love playing with them to turn you on, dressing them, fucking them with you, for you, instead of you when you want. I love Walking and Posing with them to make You hard.
I Love Everything about Being Your Girl, Daddy.
You leave me alone for a moment at the bar to attend to some business with the Owner. He owes You money; You're going to feed him his fingers. I wish I could watch, but You want the other girls to learn Your Ways instead; and besides, You need me to Scout for You.
A month ago? I was a supermodel. World famous. Sought after by every designer and photographer.
You took me home; raped me; murdered my family in front of my eyes with Your cock inside me, and showed me the video tape over and over until I learned to cum to it.
Until I learned to Thank You for it.
Until I learned to Need To Help You Do it to Even More Hot Women...like what we'll do tonight.
Now I Know My Place as Your Alpha Possession. Your Prime Trophy.
Some dickless wonder approaches me. His hair and all its gel marks him as a founding member of Douchetown. His balls are probably the size of pigeon eggs.
Yours are fucking grapefruits. I use them as pillows some nights, softly stroking You in my absent, dream-happy sleep. I never have nightmares. When I dream about my family being murdered? Those are wet dreams.
Your Cock Changed Me For The Better.
“Hey girl. You got them digits?”
I roll my eyes, cast my jaw and nose upward in a sneer, and look up at You—there's a window in the Owner's office. It's being painted with blood. I Love You So Much.
“Talking to you, girl. How you been? What you up to?”
The utter disdain on my face is the most beautiful thing this ass-sack has ever seen. It's confusing his survival senses; he needs nothing more than to breed me, like You do day in and day out. But this doesn't jive with my complete hatred—utterly perfected through my modeling skills, condensing the culmination of human expression into scorching fury at his pathetic fucking existence.
“Hey, cunt,” I say to him, grinning slightly at his dumb expression. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Didn't you see who I walked in here with? And even if you didn't, don't you fucking see me? What the fuck is happening in your head that you could ever think someone like me would ever once give you even an ounce of affection? Even with a gun to my fucking head, I'd rather see my brains splattered on this dirty floor than give you the time of day. Do you understand?”
My accent is exotic and soaking in heat. I make hot, heated, rutting love to each and every syllable.
“Do you have any idea how he makes me cum? My boyfriend? My fucking Man? Do you have any fucking notion of how utterly cruel he is to everyone except For Me? How badly he wants to Hurt virtually everyone who isn't one of His Very Best Girls? Do you even have the slightest perception of how fucking special that makes Me?”
I turn, seeing You come down the stairs. The cunt in front of me has pissed his pants. Or he's cum from hearing me talk to him for so long. Perhaps both. His cologne is so atrocious it's hard to smell any difference.
“Here he comes now. You better fucking run. Because I'm going to sick him on you anyway. He likes to hurt people for me. It gets us both off. And then maybe we'll look up your family and hurt them too.”
I lick my lips, slowly. I see him tremble—definitely cumming. “He's going to feed you your own fucking dickless-douchebag hair and shove it down your insipid little throat. And other thing?”
I Pose, legs out—making a perfect combination of angles with my utterly fantastic body—and You return, sliding an amazing arm around my waist. I hold You tight, one high-heeled foot popping out, posing like a fucking high school cheerleader on her jock god.
Your Expression is humorless; murderous. I can't fucking wait. The Night has only begun.
“Fuck. You.”
* * * * *
The above is basically just a catalogue of things that really excite me. If they really excite you, then that really excites me. I wrote a whole explanation of things I like in relation to this; it ended up being just about as long as the above, though. Think of it as a kind of DLC, I guess?
So, if You want to talk, please message me and say something along the lines of how You have several fantastic ideas but You'd love to read the DLC so You can completely blow my mind. Thanks for reading!