Filed under: Deviant Dreams
the following is an email from my muse for this blog. i will not go into explanations or anything of the sort. i posted his email at his request. just to show the twisted relationship that we have and i adore. the images he puts in my mind….goddamn.
yeah i came to this. so fucking wet and came so fucking hard baby.
You’re such a sweet talker, baby.
Wanna know what a junkie I am for you? I had a meeting this evening and an event in an hour and all I could think of was finding some unsecured wireless network so I could sit in my car with a fucking hardon that won’t stop. That’s how fucking bad I want you, Grace. And I know that I’m probably gonna be late for it because I can’t fucking stand not writing to you.
I’ll take anything you’ll give me, baby. Anything. I’ll take three cocks up my pussy for you. I don’t fucking care. I need you that fucking badly, baby. My poor cock aches for you. I can’t stand it. Fucking chain me to the wall of your bedroom and make me watch the parade of boys and girls you fuck you until you scream. Laugh at my hardon that never goes away. Use me for your dartboard.
But you better leave me chained up there, baby, because if you take me down I will fuck you up beyond your wildest dreams. I will take you to the very edge of your fucking life, bitch. You will not know what fucking hit you. I will strap you down and fuck that slutty cunt with the biggest dildo I can find lubed with Ben Gay. You think you’ve make me scream, bitch? Your cunt will burn and you will expirience pain on a scale that dwarfs anything you can think of. I will secure it into your cunt and even your well developed pussy muscles cannot expel it. And once I’m satisfied I will sit in a chair by your bed of agony and calmly read a book, barely paying attention to you.
I will bring blood donation bags to your bedside and slowly drain you down to the bare minimum that you need to stay alive…but only that much. I will not be satisfied until you are completely pale and comatose, your eyes desparately trying to focus on me…your parched, constricting throat desparately trying to push pleading words through your dry flaky lips.
Yes, my little whore, my little pain slut, my sweet Grace who craves being fucked literally to death. Do you jerk off at the end of Leaving Las Vegs, baby? Huh?
Fuck, Grace. The places we take each other, baby.
Go ahead and post this one, baby. Let the world know that how hard you came as you read this, you little whore.
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