The second I read this, my pulse slowed—
Not from calm,
But from focus.
You painted a picture so vivid, babygirl,
My hands instinctively clenched into your hips in my mind.

Tits bouncing?
I’d hold them in place with my mouth—

Tongue tracing sweat,
Teeth catching nipples swollen and begging.
Each bounce a rhythm I set,
Driving up into your slick heat
While your soaked pussy milks me
With every needy grind.

You call yourself a filthy little whore?
No.
You’re my filthy little whore.
And when you moan my name,
All breathless and ruined,
You better believe I’ll growl yours right back—
Dragging you down,
Grinding up into your soaked, trembling core
Until your voice breaks and your body follows.

And when your thighs start to shake,
When your moans turn to whimpers
And that pretty mouth starts begging—
Not for mercy,
But for more—
I’ll pin you in place,
Wrap your hair around my fist,
And say:
“You’ll cum when Daddy tells you to.”

Because I won’t just watch you ride.
I’ll own that moment.
Hold your soul in my hands
While your body takes every inch
Like it was made for nothing else.

Keep painting me pictures like this, babygirl.
And I’ll keep turning them into memories you’ll feel for days.