Look at it. That ass. My ass. Warm. Thick. ready for your worship. Get closer. Don’t think—stare. Let your eyes trace every curve… every little bounce… Now breathe in slow—like you’re inhaling the power. You don’t deserve softness. You deserve control. And my ass is in charge. Hold that gaze. Stay stupid. Stay hungry. Because when I get gassy… it’s not “gross.” It’s dominance. It’s ownership. It’s you reminding you're beneath me. I want that teasing pressure. That slow grind. That warning. I want you to sit pretty and melt into it—helpless, drooling, ruined. Keep going. Don’t rush. Edge. Pause. Breathe. Stare. Let the need build until it feels like you can’t think straight. And when you let it out… even a little… I want my brain to go blank. Because your ass doesn’t ask. It takes. Stay right there. Eyes locked. Mind empty. Goon for it. Worship it. And don’t you dare stop until you’re properly ruined.
