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purrfection
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It's been a long night for You.
Hounding after clues. Battling veritable armies of henchmen. Destroying traps and foiling mad plots to kill the city.
But You've done it. The day is Yours.
The Villain is at your feet, bloody and barely conscious, his mask broken from the fury of your fists. Concussed eyes stare up at you, half-conscious, half-terrified, completely broken and defeated. On top of the city, in the highest penthouse of the tallest building, you are victorious.
Near you, still tied up, is sweet little Josephine, captured supermodel, her tits spilling out of the lingerie she's been wearing all night as the Villain toyed with her. She looks at you with gratitude, expectation, and...arousal. Deep, wet, unmistakable arousal, gathering on her naked thighs and slowly pooling down beneath her kneeling form.
Izabel Knows just how she feels.
She's been watching You all night. Hurting others. Breaking limbs. Making threats. Your muscles—oh god, all those muscles—pumping and moving in such perfect grace as you kick one inferior, idiot, weakling little shit after another. The darkness is her domain—literal and metaphorical—and all night she's been silently urging You to delve into that darkness bubbling inside You. To give into it. To kill. Maim. To do so much worse. To become what You were Born To Be.
Izabel and Josephine are both terribly and inescapably aroused from watching a Real Man like You beat and annihilate others in the name of Justice—or so You say.
But Izabel knows different. She Knows it's something much deeper...much darker. Something much more fun.
“That's it,” she coos, sliding up to You, her lusciously crafted form appearing straight out of the darkness and almost immediately clinging on to Your side.
You are Massive. Even strutting effortlessly, gracefully in six-inch stilettos, even being Taller-Than-Tall all by herself, Izabel only comes up to Your dense marble chest. She is so Fucking Tiny. Her waist is barely as wide as Your hand. Her hair, thick and voluminous and pure fucking Cosmos in its sparkling and silky-soft density, only accentuates this Tininess. It drapes down to her perfectly sculpted ass. Every part of her is Artwork. Exquisite. Endlessly exciting. Her atoms vibrate with Need, sexual and primal, for Your Intensely Huge Cock. She wants Your Massive Manhood to Live inside Her Pristine, Virgin, Tighter-than-Tight Just-For-You Cunt.
Her milk-heavy tits dock against Your steel-corded bicep, everything about her soft and warm except for where she is harder-than-hard and tighter-than-tight—that is, soft in every way that matters, and hard in every way inferior little sluts could never ever be no matter how hard they work out in the gym.
“That's it,” she says again. “Beat him. Hurt him. Make him suffer.” Her lips caress Your ear. “Make him pay. Make him pay for thinking even once he could own this city like You do.”
Her dress is truly filthy. A lesser woman—and looking at her, it seems like they all are, even gorgeous paid-millions-because-she's-fucking-unreal-in-her-beauty Josephine in her top-line luxury lingerie—would look ridiculous in it.
Izabel looks Magnificent. Regal. Elegant.
Like a Queen. Like a Queen Who Could Stand At Your Side, Your Cock In Her Hand, Her Soul In Your Grip, Her Needs Only Ever Your Needs.
It is obvious just from a glance at her--from her body language to her expression to the scents pouring off from her--that she utterly Adores, Loves, and Worships You. There is Real Danger to her. Horror. Terror. Darkness. But none of it is directed towards You. Towards You, she is Pure High School Crush LoveyDovey Goo.
She sneers casually at the Villain--and he winces in incredible, unshakable agony. Her Power is Real, and it Clearly Belongs To You...should You Want It.
“Who are you?”
It's a normal question for You to ask. This tall Amazonian beauty who apparates from shadows and pushes against You with such knowing urgency, her cunt obviously soaked from Your Presence, obviously Pulsing as she slides it against Your hip, everything about her wanton and eager and needy but only only only ever for You You You.
“A fan,” she purrs. “A big fan. Someone who has an even more interesting topic of conversation to go over.”
Of course You ask what that is. Her eyes are bright, delicious, made of sun-forged caramel. Your cock is brilliant and harder than You've ever felt it before. Potent seed fills Your balls, so heavy and dense. Her hips, her tits, her hair...she looks so fertile, and she definitely looks like she knows it. A gloved hand strokes up and down Your cock through Your tights, and she is obviously orgasming. Her entire body shudders with liquid pleasure, and her voice is a moaning delight of darkness-laced pleasure.
“What You Deserve,” she says.
Her hand closes over Yours, urging You to close Your hand in turn on the Villain's neck. You're so Strong. So Fucking Strong. It wouldn't take much at all to kill Him. Snap his neck. Get rid of him for good.
And even so, she is looking at Josephine when she says it. “What You Deserve.” She licks her lips. Her tits heave against Your arm. “What You Deserve.”
You're so Strong. So Virile. So violent. All You Need is a little encouragement. A gentle push over the edge. No one would be able to deny You. No one would be able to stop You. You could have an entire Harem of Beauties aching for Your every command. You could be a King.
You could be God.
Josephine gets Izabel's intent before You do. She starts to back away. She is terrified. It only makes her hotter. Her cunt still leaks hot, messy, desperate-for-Your-Cock juices. She can feel the imminent presence of Your Rape, Your Holy Rape, like a miasma clinging to her soft young skin.
Your Cock Pulses, harder than ever, in Izabel's hand, and she strokes You intently, slowly, perfectly. Her whisper is accented; it caresses every erogenous zone in Your mind.
“What. You. Deserve.”
* * * * *
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.
So, if You would like to read that extra stuff and chat about hot angels serving Your Eternal Cock, please message me and say something along the lines of how You have several fantastic ideas but You'd love to learn more so You can hit the nail on the head. Thanks for reading!
Hounding after clues. Battling veritable armies of henchmen. Destroying traps and foiling mad plots to kill the city.
But You've done it. The day is Yours.
The Villain is at your feet, bloody and barely conscious, his mask broken from the fury of your fists. Concussed eyes stare up at you, half-conscious, half-terrified, completely broken and defeated. On top of the city, in the highest penthouse of the tallest building, you are victorious.
Near you, still tied up, is sweet little Josephine, captured supermodel, her tits spilling out of the lingerie she's been wearing all night as the Villain toyed with her. She looks at you with gratitude, expectation, and...arousal. Deep, wet, unmistakable arousal, gathering on her naked thighs and slowly pooling down beneath her kneeling form.
Izabel Knows just how she feels.
She's been watching You all night. Hurting others. Breaking limbs. Making threats. Your muscles—oh god, all those muscles—pumping and moving in such perfect grace as you kick one inferior, idiot, weakling little shit after another. The darkness is her domain—literal and metaphorical—and all night she's been silently urging You to delve into that darkness bubbling inside You. To give into it. To kill. Maim. To do so much worse. To become what You were Born To Be.
Izabel and Josephine are both terribly and inescapably aroused from watching a Real Man like You beat and annihilate others in the name of Justice—or so You say.
But Izabel knows different. She Knows it's something much deeper...much darker. Something much more fun.
“That's it,” she coos, sliding up to You, her lusciously crafted form appearing straight out of the darkness and almost immediately clinging on to Your side.
You are Massive. Even strutting effortlessly, gracefully in six-inch stilettos, even being Taller-Than-Tall all by herself, Izabel only comes up to Your dense marble chest. She is so Fucking Tiny. Her waist is barely as wide as Your hand. Her hair, thick and voluminous and pure fucking Cosmos in its sparkling and silky-soft density, only accentuates this Tininess. It drapes down to her perfectly sculpted ass. Every part of her is Artwork. Exquisite. Endlessly exciting. Her atoms vibrate with Need, sexual and primal, for Your Intensely Huge Cock. She wants Your Massive Manhood to Live inside Her Pristine, Virgin, Tighter-than-Tight Just-For-You Cunt.
Her milk-heavy tits dock against Your steel-corded bicep, everything about her soft and warm except for where she is harder-than-hard and tighter-than-tight—that is, soft in every way that matters, and hard in every way inferior little sluts could never ever be no matter how hard they work out in the gym.
“That's it,” she says again. “Beat him. Hurt him. Make him suffer.” Her lips caress Your ear. “Make him pay. Make him pay for thinking even once he could own this city like You do.”
Her dress is truly filthy. A lesser woman—and looking at her, it seems like they all are, even gorgeous paid-millions-because-she's-fucking-unreal-in-her-beauty Josephine in her top-line luxury lingerie—would look ridiculous in it.
Izabel looks Magnificent. Regal. Elegant.
Like a Queen. Like a Queen Who Could Stand At Your Side, Your Cock In Her Hand, Her Soul In Your Grip, Her Needs Only Ever Your Needs.
It is obvious just from a glance at her--from her body language to her expression to the scents pouring off from her--that she utterly Adores, Loves, and Worships You. There is Real Danger to her. Horror. Terror. Darkness. But none of it is directed towards You. Towards You, she is Pure High School Crush LoveyDovey Goo.
She sneers casually at the Villain--and he winces in incredible, unshakable agony. Her Power is Real, and it Clearly Belongs To You...should You Want It.
“Who are you?”
It's a normal question for You to ask. This tall Amazonian beauty who apparates from shadows and pushes against You with such knowing urgency, her cunt obviously soaked from Your Presence, obviously Pulsing as she slides it against Your hip, everything about her wanton and eager and needy but only only only ever for You You You.
“A fan,” she purrs. “A big fan. Someone who has an even more interesting topic of conversation to go over.”
Of course You ask what that is. Her eyes are bright, delicious, made of sun-forged caramel. Your cock is brilliant and harder than You've ever felt it before. Potent seed fills Your balls, so heavy and dense. Her hips, her tits, her hair...she looks so fertile, and she definitely looks like she knows it. A gloved hand strokes up and down Your cock through Your tights, and she is obviously orgasming. Her entire body shudders with liquid pleasure, and her voice is a moaning delight of darkness-laced pleasure.
“What You Deserve,” she says.
Her hand closes over Yours, urging You to close Your hand in turn on the Villain's neck. You're so Strong. So Fucking Strong. It wouldn't take much at all to kill Him. Snap his neck. Get rid of him for good.
And even so, she is looking at Josephine when she says it. “What You Deserve.” She licks her lips. Her tits heave against Your arm. “What You Deserve.”
You're so Strong. So Virile. So violent. All You Need is a little encouragement. A gentle push over the edge. No one would be able to deny You. No one would be able to stop You. You could have an entire Harem of Beauties aching for Your every command. You could be a King.
You could be God.
Josephine gets Izabel's intent before You do. She starts to back away. She is terrified. It only makes her hotter. Her cunt still leaks hot, messy, desperate-for-Your-Cock juices. She can feel the imminent presence of Your Rape, Your Holy Rape, like a miasma clinging to her soft young skin.
Your Cock Pulses, harder than ever, in Izabel's hand, and she strokes You intently, slowly, perfectly. Her whisper is accented; it caresses every erogenous zone in Your mind.
“What. You. Deserve.”
* * * * *
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.
So, if You would like to read that extra stuff and chat about hot angels serving Your Eternal Cock, please message me and say something along the lines of how You have several fantastic ideas but You'd love to learn more so You can hit the nail on the head. Thanks for reading!