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“my fuckin’ pussy” simon says as he’s pounding you in a mating press. your heel-clad feet are hung over his burly shoulders, flopping with every thrust.
“mmmn, yer fuckin” pussy” you slurred back.
“oh my, we’ve gotta talker, doing a little repeat after me? fuckin’ simon says, huh?”
he’s such a tease.
kidnapper!ghost will tie your hands behind your back and forcefully make you sit on his face because he wants to apologize for making you cry but doesn't trust you not to scratch his eyes out or reach for the lamp and hit him over the head with it.