P
purrfection
Guest
I want You to rape her.
The new girl. The blonde, the virgin, the girl You hired based purely on her height (tall, like all Your Girls), weight (Thin, like all Your Girls), measurements (the technical term is unnnf, like all Your Girls), and profile photograph (so gorgeous she drives lesser women to tears, like all Your Girls).
I'm sitting on Your lap, all barely-even-a-hundred-pounds-if-even-that-much of Me. Moaning and cooing and aching and needing like I always do. Long stocking-clad legs grinding on Your thigh. Stroking Your massive Cock, the Only Cock, My One True Worship, with love-wet eyes and drool-glistening cleavage and a mind so fucking empty any spare thoughts rattle around inside like change in a jar.
I'm completely Owned by You. Funded by You. Designed by You.
When I first started working here, a model looking for some part-time work in between gigs before my name really took off (a pipe dream I now barely recollect), You hooked me up to the special training computer. Headphones, VR goggles, and spirals—hours and hours of spirals that felt like an eternity, that raped my head so thoroughly that all my life previous felt like the dream, the distant rumor—and the eons I spent on the computer became all I really understood.
Listen. Learn. Serve. Pleasure.
Listen to You. Learn from You. Serve Only You. Pleasure Only You.
It trained me all right. Trained the thoughts right out of my brain. Those eons of unending submission it drilled into my stupid little girly fucktoy bimbo head? That only took a few hours. I must have already been so fucking stupid to believe You when You said it was just fancy orientation tech—after all, I saw all the other girls in the office, saw the dozen or more You kept, saw their tiny skirts and big tits and gorgeous bodies and angelic faces and vapid smiles and heard their plaintive needy whimpers as You walked by and the orgasmic way they said “please” and “thank You” and “Sir” and I just didn't even think You might have been controlling, fucking, raping all their minds.
Stupid. Stupid not to notice. A Stupid, Stupid girl. And now I'm even fucking dumber.
And I'm so fucking happy. I've never been so stupid. I've never been so happy. I've never been so hot.
You dress me up in Givenchy leather skirts and Casadei heels and YSL blouses and Gorski furs just to show up at Your office and order the other bitches around. My outfits cost exponentially more than all of theirs and theirs can easily crest thirty-three thousand a day; your bank accounts fund it all and You haven't felt it yet. You fuck me at least nine times a day with Your Massive Godly cock and You still make time to drill plenty of the other girls around the clock; You're Inexhaustible.
You Are God.
I'm Top Babe, of course. All the time You're telling Me I'm the hottest thing around. I Know It's True—Daddy said so, so it must be True.
And as Top Babe, I Know the only reason to have a new girl in the office is for You to rape her.
And I'm too stupid these days to actually say all this in front of You, because being in Your Presence makes me a giggly achy whimpering GiggleFuckFoxPet, but You can see my need in my bright, empty, obedient, wicked eyes, saying this:
I need You to rape the new girl, Daddy. You're so fucking powerful, so fucking strong, so fucking Important.
Your Cock is So. Fucking. Important. I need You to Rape Her, Daddy. I need to watch You rape her young virgin body pregnant the same way You raped my stupid silly stupid busty bimbo body when You raped my fucking brain full of obedience to Your Perfect Cock. I Promise I'll fucking kill her for You if she doesn't Please You. I've choked out so many others that weren't up to Standard. I Promise I'll Never Stop Obeying All Your Orders. Please Just Rape Her and Let Me Watch You Destroy Her?
I Stroke Your Cock, so fucking enormous, soft gobs of saliva dripping down from my lips. Drooling over Your Cock, Drooling at the thought of Your Perfect Evil Cock Ruining this stupid girl's life.
“Please, Daddy?”
* * * * *
I love talking about wicked acts. Cruelty, intelligence, and beautiful things turn me on. Stupidity turns me off. Talk to me about supermodels if You really want to impress.
The new girl. The blonde, the virgin, the girl You hired based purely on her height (tall, like all Your Girls), weight (Thin, like all Your Girls), measurements (the technical term is unnnf, like all Your Girls), and profile photograph (so gorgeous she drives lesser women to tears, like all Your Girls).
I'm sitting on Your lap, all barely-even-a-hundred-pounds-if-even-that-much of Me. Moaning and cooing and aching and needing like I always do. Long stocking-clad legs grinding on Your thigh. Stroking Your massive Cock, the Only Cock, My One True Worship, with love-wet eyes and drool-glistening cleavage and a mind so fucking empty any spare thoughts rattle around inside like change in a jar.
I'm completely Owned by You. Funded by You. Designed by You.
When I first started working here, a model looking for some part-time work in between gigs before my name really took off (a pipe dream I now barely recollect), You hooked me up to the special training computer. Headphones, VR goggles, and spirals—hours and hours of spirals that felt like an eternity, that raped my head so thoroughly that all my life previous felt like the dream, the distant rumor—and the eons I spent on the computer became all I really understood.
Listen. Learn. Serve. Pleasure.
Listen to You. Learn from You. Serve Only You. Pleasure Only You.
It trained me all right. Trained the thoughts right out of my brain. Those eons of unending submission it drilled into my stupid little girly fucktoy bimbo head? That only took a few hours. I must have already been so fucking stupid to believe You when You said it was just fancy orientation tech—after all, I saw all the other girls in the office, saw the dozen or more You kept, saw their tiny skirts and big tits and gorgeous bodies and angelic faces and vapid smiles and heard their plaintive needy whimpers as You walked by and the orgasmic way they said “please” and “thank You” and “Sir” and I just didn't even think You might have been controlling, fucking, raping all their minds.
Stupid. Stupid not to notice. A Stupid, Stupid girl. And now I'm even fucking dumber.
And I'm so fucking happy. I've never been so stupid. I've never been so happy. I've never been so hot.
You dress me up in Givenchy leather skirts and Casadei heels and YSL blouses and Gorski furs just to show up at Your office and order the other bitches around. My outfits cost exponentially more than all of theirs and theirs can easily crest thirty-three thousand a day; your bank accounts fund it all and You haven't felt it yet. You fuck me at least nine times a day with Your Massive Godly cock and You still make time to drill plenty of the other girls around the clock; You're Inexhaustible.
You Are God.
I'm Top Babe, of course. All the time You're telling Me I'm the hottest thing around. I Know It's True—Daddy said so, so it must be True.
And as Top Babe, I Know the only reason to have a new girl in the office is for You to rape her.
And I'm too stupid these days to actually say all this in front of You, because being in Your Presence makes me a giggly achy whimpering GiggleFuckFoxPet, but You can see my need in my bright, empty, obedient, wicked eyes, saying this:
I need You to rape the new girl, Daddy. You're so fucking powerful, so fucking strong, so fucking Important.
Your Cock is So. Fucking. Important. I need You to Rape Her, Daddy. I need to watch You rape her young virgin body pregnant the same way You raped my stupid silly stupid busty bimbo body when You raped my fucking brain full of obedience to Your Perfect Cock. I Promise I'll fucking kill her for You if she doesn't Please You. I've choked out so many others that weren't up to Standard. I Promise I'll Never Stop Obeying All Your Orders. Please Just Rape Her and Let Me Watch You Destroy Her?
I Stroke Your Cock, so fucking enormous, soft gobs of saliva dripping down from my lips. Drooling over Your Cock, Drooling at the thought of Your Perfect Evil Cock Ruining this stupid girl's life.
“Please, Daddy?”
* * * * *
I love talking about wicked acts. Cruelty, intelligence, and beautiful things turn me on. Stupidity turns me off. Talk to me about supermodels if You really want to impress.
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