Swelter: Goon Under the Sun
I do not care how hot it is outside. You are not sweating because of the sun. You are dripping because of me. Because I walked onto that beach in gold and your cock gave up all control.
Look at you. Melting. Stroking. Gooning. Like a weak little addict desperate for one more second of my body. You are not touching yourself for pleasure—you are obeying. And I am not giving you permission to stop.
My tits bounce, and your thoughts vanish. My lips part, and your hand jerks harder. This is how it ends for you: edging in the heat, choking on lust, begging for mercy I will never give.
I do not sweat—I shimmer. You, on the other hand, break.
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