Tag: inner-monologue

He’s not fucking you, he’s using you to fuck himself. Look at his tightly-closed eyes, his thrown-back head. You can study him at your leisure; right now you’re so far over his horizon, he can’t even see you in his mind’s eye. Look at how his pursed mouth sharpens his cheekbones and squares his jaw. Isn’t he beautiful, isn’t he delicious? You’re almost tempted to clench your cunt muscles around him to see the expression you love so much; of astounded, almost-pained intensity but you don’t want to draw attention to your attention just now; there’s too much perverted pleasure in your non-participation. Don’t make a sound, don’t move a muscle fuckdoll, your task is to lie passive and silent while he masturbates furiously using your cunt as an accessory.