I love the feeling of power, the way someone’s attention locks on me the second I enter the room. There’s a thrill in knowing I can make someone forget everything else, that their mind twists and turns just trying to keep up with me. They don’t just notice me… they crave me. It’s intoxicating. Fisting Whore, they might call me, but that’s just a label. Labels don’t capture the way I move, the way I command, or the subtle ways I bend someone to my will.
Every week, he waits, hoping I’ll push him further, show him that I’m not just present, I dominate. I enjoy teasing that line between control and surrender, making him question what’s real and what’s anticipation. My words are soft, my smile dangerous, and my eyes… oh, my eyes… promise things he can’t even name. He thinks he’s calling the shots, but I guide him, coaxing reactions, studying every twitch and shiver. It’s addictive, for both of us.
I take my time, savoring the tension. “Come here you filthy Little Nigger Slut, show me how you stick your hand up that sexy cunt of yours” he demanded. I ball my fist up really tight as I slowly shove my fist up my tight little hole. “You like it like that Daddy huh? You like how my good my pussy looks stuffed deeply?” I asked him while moaning super loud. “Yes baby, deeper… go deeper” He demanded as he pulled out his cock for me to suck.
Sometimes, I’ll whisper something small, something to tease him into anticipation. He hangs on every word, every pause, every suggestion. And I watch, amused, as he tries to decipher what I’ll do next. It’s a game I’ve mastered, a dance of dominance and allure. He’s addicted, yes… but so am I. I thrive on knowing that I can capture him, hold him, and leave him wanting more. It’s a rush unlike anything else, a power that’s pure and electric.
He finally explodes as he releases all of his sticky cum all over my pretty cunt. It got really messy and will take me a minute to clean it all up. I then smirk, knowing how filthy a little slut I am to him and knowing how I’ve left him craving me even more. That’s my art, my control, my addiction. He may think he’s in charge, but I’ve made it clear: the power is always mine.




















