elegant_deviant
Planetoid
- Joined
- Apr 12, 2019
Grace and I grindfuck our Tiny, Tight, Tall, Thin, Smooth bodies against Your Massive Musculature as You Rape the pretty little throwaway girl the corner of the CEO's tower office.
Our pussies are molten-hot and we haven't stopped cumming since the second we saw You, which was ages ago now.
We're dressed in tight designer dresses, long legs snaking around Your thighs, high-heeled thigh-high skintight stiletto boots moaning against You almost as much as our mouths do.
We've got big-time schoolgirl crushes on You exponentiated to the nth degree and every last motion You makes sends hard rushes of adrenaline and dopamine flooding our systems so we are constantly aroused, constantly high, constantly completely-the-fuck-in-Love with Everything You Do.
That includes Murder. That includes Rape. That includes treating us like Gorgeous Eternally Young Princesses who are too Obsessed with ourselves and our beauty to do anything more serious or complicated than write long saccarhine love poems to the glory of Your Cock. Which We Do. Hourly.
(Often we just write them out with our tongues along the length of Your Incredible GodCock).
Grace and I Know the secret; it's this: You Are Everything. You Are The Male. The ONLY Male. The All-Male. Every other so-called “man” is a pussy with a dick who deserves nothing but derision and scorn. A laugh in the face and encouragement to kill himself. You have a Cock—THE Cock—and so Deserve Our Complete Obedience and Unending Adoration—and so of course You Have It.
Throwaway girl is dressed in some private school uniform. She's pretty enough to fuck around with but we Know soon enough You'll ask us to close our hands around her throat. We'll feel Your bulge bursting her apart from the inside-out; we'll stroke You off using her throat like lube and we'll cum when You Cum, when We All Three End her Together.
It Will Be. So. Fucking. Beautiful.
Grace and I lock eyes and I moan because she's so fucking Top Shelf Pretty. She Moans, thinking the same thing about me. We Love each other so much. We wish for all the world we had One More Girl who You Loved as Much as You Love Us.
When throwaway walked in, during the meeting in which you were guiding the CEO into transferring the entirety of his fortune to You (which Grace and I will spend in a few days on diamonds and gems and furs and clothes that we'll probably only wear once if that) You decided to ruin her life.
Grace and I begged You to do it.
Probably You made Grace and I beg. We don't care. We love it.
Probably You made us love it. We don't care. We love that too.
You Only Love Us Because We're Gorgeous. That's fine by Us. We're Gorgeous and Young Forever because of Your Cum and We Get More of it than Anyone and so we'll Always be Gorgeous and Young. For You.
Every Time You enter us, we're Virgins. You Rape us, every time. We Love it. We Comfort Each Other while the other cries and moans and begs You to stop.
You Control Others. You Control it All.
You're our King. Our God. Our Reason. Our Truth. We Whisper all this into Your Ear while You Rape throwaway even harder against the wall. We think we hear her skull fracturing.
“S-s-stop,” the little trash cunt whines. “P-please.” She's sucking and slurping all up and down Your GodKnob. She doesn't understand why she can't stop.
Grace and I love it. We're Your Perfect BestieFuckFriendsForever and all we want to do is urge You on while You Rape and Enslave and Kill whoever You want.
Behind us, bleeding out in the middle of the floor, is the CEO. As if under a spell (he was), he announced that he hated his daughter and hoped that she suffered for the rest of her short miserable life before cutting his throat with one of those jagged trophies he awarded himself for making tons of money.
He said to her deliberately, “this is your fault.”
And then he started killing himself and You started raping her, with Grace and I gloriously tossing our hair back and rubbing our milk-heavy tits on Your side and begging You to go further.
This is what we do.
“Daddy?” We moan. Everything we do is orgasmic. “This is what You Deserve.”
* * * * *
I always start writing with every intention to just do a few hundred words, and then I get excited and...so you see. Make me excited and see how much I write for you! Imagine tethering a talent like mine to Your Pleasure. Unnnf.
Realized the other day that this image, emblazoned on my mind from a home rental years ago, is fairly formative for me. Super hot femme fatale deriving orgasmic pleasure from holding a powerful phallic machine gun and murdering innocent inferiors? Fuck yes, please. Food for thought.
Write me! Specifics and escalation always turn me on.
Our pussies are molten-hot and we haven't stopped cumming since the second we saw You, which was ages ago now.
We're dressed in tight designer dresses, long legs snaking around Your thighs, high-heeled thigh-high skintight stiletto boots moaning against You almost as much as our mouths do.
We've got big-time schoolgirl crushes on You exponentiated to the nth degree and every last motion You makes sends hard rushes of adrenaline and dopamine flooding our systems so we are constantly aroused, constantly high, constantly completely-the-fuck-in-Love with Everything You Do.
That includes Murder. That includes Rape. That includes treating us like Gorgeous Eternally Young Princesses who are too Obsessed with ourselves and our beauty to do anything more serious or complicated than write long saccarhine love poems to the glory of Your Cock. Which We Do. Hourly.
(Often we just write them out with our tongues along the length of Your Incredible GodCock).
Grace and I Know the secret; it's this: You Are Everything. You Are The Male. The ONLY Male. The All-Male. Every other so-called “man” is a pussy with a dick who deserves nothing but derision and scorn. A laugh in the face and encouragement to kill himself. You have a Cock—THE Cock—and so Deserve Our Complete Obedience and Unending Adoration—and so of course You Have It.
Throwaway girl is dressed in some private school uniform. She's pretty enough to fuck around with but we Know soon enough You'll ask us to close our hands around her throat. We'll feel Your bulge bursting her apart from the inside-out; we'll stroke You off using her throat like lube and we'll cum when You Cum, when We All Three End her Together.
It Will Be. So. Fucking. Beautiful.
Grace and I lock eyes and I moan because she's so fucking Top Shelf Pretty. She Moans, thinking the same thing about me. We Love each other so much. We wish for all the world we had One More Girl who You Loved as Much as You Love Us.
When throwaway walked in, during the meeting in which you were guiding the CEO into transferring the entirety of his fortune to You (which Grace and I will spend in a few days on diamonds and gems and furs and clothes that we'll probably only wear once if that) You decided to ruin her life.
Grace and I begged You to do it.
Probably You made Grace and I beg. We don't care. We love it.
Probably You made us love it. We don't care. We love that too.
You Only Love Us Because We're Gorgeous. That's fine by Us. We're Gorgeous and Young Forever because of Your Cum and We Get More of it than Anyone and so we'll Always be Gorgeous and Young. For You.
Every Time You enter us, we're Virgins. You Rape us, every time. We Love it. We Comfort Each Other while the other cries and moans and begs You to stop.
You Control Others. You Control it All.
You're our King. Our God. Our Reason. Our Truth. We Whisper all this into Your Ear while You Rape throwaway even harder against the wall. We think we hear her skull fracturing.
“S-s-stop,” the little trash cunt whines. “P-please.” She's sucking and slurping all up and down Your GodKnob. She doesn't understand why she can't stop.
Grace and I love it. We're Your Perfect BestieFuckFriendsForever and all we want to do is urge You on while You Rape and Enslave and Kill whoever You want.
Behind us, bleeding out in the middle of the floor, is the CEO. As if under a spell (he was), he announced that he hated his daughter and hoped that she suffered for the rest of her short miserable life before cutting his throat with one of those jagged trophies he awarded himself for making tons of money.
He said to her deliberately, “this is your fault.”
And then he started killing himself and You started raping her, with Grace and I gloriously tossing our hair back and rubbing our milk-heavy tits on Your side and begging You to go further.
This is what we do.
“Daddy?” We moan. Everything we do is orgasmic. “This is what You Deserve.”
* * * * *
I always start writing with every intention to just do a few hundred words, and then I get excited and...so you see. Make me excited and see how much I write for you! Imagine tethering a talent like mine to Your Pleasure. Unnnf.
Realized the other day that this image, emblazoned on my mind from a home rental years ago, is fairly formative for me. Super hot femme fatale deriving orgasmic pleasure from holding a powerful phallic machine gun and murdering innocent inferiors? Fuck yes, please. Food for thought.
Write me! Specifics and escalation always turn me on.