Old as balls and dying of cancer. Are you wet yet?
Dry your crocodile tears. My diagnosis may be terminal, but I plan to stick around for a while. I mean, it’s been over nine years since my diagnosis and I’m still here, fucking my slave at home, and destroying young cunts online.
That said, the things that get me going may not be to your taste. Masturbating to the thought of giving you a good hard fucking? Hard pass. My slave gets all of my cum because only they have proven themselves worthy of it.
(I mean, if trying to break that bond is your thing, do your worst, but I don’t think you’ll succeed).
So if I don’t want to stick my dick in your holes or jack off to your pics, then what in the hell am I doing here.
It’s simple. I want to fuck your mind. I want to know every filthy thing you’ve ever done and every disgusting thought you’ve ever had. And that’s just the beginning. I want to shine a light into those dark corners you avoid. Avoid? Hell, I want to drag you to the places you won’t even admit exist. I want to make you worse in every way, craving the things that would get you driven out by anyone with a shred of decency.
Don’t worry. You won’t miss that decency. In thirty years, no one has.
Limits: scat, posers