I'm seeking a Dick-Drunk Slut that wants face time!, Jolimont – 45

You’re already soaked by the time you knock. You don’t need pleasantries; you need to be used. I pull you in without a word and push you to your knees before you even catch your breath. My zipper is already down, your hands are already useless, and your mouth is already open. You lean in like it’s instinct—because it is. That’s what you came for.

Your face disappears against my lap. Your tongue works while your brain shuts off. You taste like heat and desperation. I don’t guide you; I hold you. My hand tangles deep in your hair, tilting your head back just enough to watch your eyes blow out while you take my cock deeper than you thought you could. You moan around me, loud and needy, because you don’t want to stop. I won’t let you anyway.

Your cheeks are wet. You’re dripping onto your knees. You’ve forgotten what it feels like to breathe without my weight filling your throat. I watch you—silent, eyes locked on the way your whole body pulses with the need to please me. I want to see what kind of mess you make of yourself with your mouth alone.

When you take me, I want to feel your jaw tremble. Your throat is tight, your breath is hitched, but you’re not done—and neither am I.

I take you by the waist and bend you over—mouth still gasping, your own heat already leaking down your thighs. You’re still whimpering when I fill you from behind, my hand finding your throat to keep you steady while I fuck you with every inch. You’re loud now. Filthy. Slurring nonsense. You’ve got nothing left but sound.

You won’t be able to walk after. Your thighs will shake. Your mouth will ache. Your voice will be gone. Your face will be a well-used mess—and that’s the whole point.

I don’t want polite. I don’t want curious.
I want a girl with a purpose:
Face-first, throat-full, mind empty, mouth open.