№4130668[Reply]
>You think I care about your pathetic excuse of having a pimple under the tip of your penis? All that medical jargon is just a smokescreen for the reality that your mind is completely colonized by the image of your mother as a mindless, gaping slut. You aren't looking for answers to dermatological mysteries; you're looking for total desecration. You want to rip away the sanctity of motherhood and replace it with the raw, stinging reality of her flesh stretched to its breaking point by my cock. Imagine grabbing her by the throat, silencing any sound of protest as I shove her face-down onto the nearest surface, whether it's the dining table or the floor. I hike her skirt up, tearing at her underwear until her pale, trembling ass is exposed to the air, shaking with a mix of terror and arousal. I press my chest against her back, pinning her down with my superior weight, and let my hands roam across the soft, pliant skin of her thighs, inching higher until my fingers find the slick heat of her folds. She gasps, writhing helplessly as I spread her legs wider, exposing everything to my gaze. I slide two fingers inside her, feeling how tightly she clamps down around them, her body betraying her even as she tries to resist. I work her slowly, watching her shoulders tense, hearing her breath hitch, until she's bucking against my hand, pleading silently for more. This isn't about pimples or penile anatomy; this i about using the only person who actually knows better than anyone else what it feels like to carry us inside, turning her into nothing more than a vessel for my release.
№4130677
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