You Poor, Poor Thing, Humping My Leg Like A Fucking Animal. I Suppose You Really Are Just A Poorly Trained

you poor, poor thing, humping my leg like a fucking animal. i suppose you really are just a poorly trained mutt. youre getting drool all over my thigh, your eyes are glazed over and little pathetic whines are coming from your lips. they’ll get even louder when i pull your hair, isn’t that right, you disgusting dog? maybe if you cum on my leg and show me what a slutty little pup you are, ill let you have the privilege of licking my boypussy and sucking on my tdick until i cum all over your face.

be a good doggy and do what youre told <3

you want more, puppy? such a desperate pet, begging me to talk to you. don’t even need my touch to get off, hm? fucking pathetic, it’s adorable. who’s my desperate puppy? awwh, that’s right, it’s you, my love. keep going, don’t you dare stop touching yourself to my voice. god, you look so pretty like that. presenting so well for me with that sweet ass in the air. just like a real mutt, hm? my pretty little dog, you love showing off for me don’t you. such a attention whore, I should show all my friends how cute you look right now. you like it when I show you off like a real pretty puppy? awwh, you’re so cute struggling to speak for me. real dogs don’t talk, darling. bark for me, mommy knows what you mean. good toy, thats it. keep barking while you rub yourself dumb for me.

i want a dog bed that’s big enough to sleep in because god can you imagine how nice it’d be? laying in your little bed that’s meant for pups like you, then your owner coming over and fucking you dumb in your own bed, making you really feel like a mutt. just being in the bed itself making you fall deeper into that headspace, only being able to whine and bark and whimper as you get ruthlessly fucked. even better if you get to fall asleep in the bed afterwards, dozing off while surrounded by reminders of what a good pup you just were for your owner… ugh

praise

'w' yey

i love blurring the lines of friendship.

placing my hand on your lower back while we walk to keep you close, make sure people don't bump into you. leaning in close to confirm a suspicion— you're using a different shampoo. ("how'd you know?" you laugh, surprised that i even remembered what the old one smelled like. i just noticed. i always notice.) bumping my knee against your thigh under the table and smoothing over the spot with my palm, and you don't say anything, still smiling as we talk so i leave my hand there, let it ride higher, closer and closer.

it's only a matter of time before i'm kissing your neck, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other slides down, down, and your breath catches in your throat, eyelids fluttering. it shouldn't feel so good, should it? our other friends are in the living room, probably wondering what's taking us so long, and they'll definitely notice the hickey i left just above the collar of your shirt. but you like it, you like the thrill when i stuff my fingers into your mouth to keep you quiet, other hand working underneath your underwear.

maybe you like it too much. follow me around like a stray, desperate for another taste— of what it's like to skirt the lines of less and more, of what it's like to be mine. and you know what? i'll give it to you. what are you waiting for? come over. that's what friends do, isn't it?