You really don't deserve to stroke to me

Description: You don’t get to look at me and touch yourself — not while i’m watching. you’ll stroke only when i’m gone, locked in your dirty little mind with nothing but the memory of my body. blue jeans hugging my curves. black leather boots clicking as i walk away. then i come back — suddenly, powerfully — and you stop. hands off. eyes down. and again. and again. each time i vanish, you scramble to chase the image of me — my hips, my ass, my voice laughing at how desperate you are. each time i return, i steal it all from you. this is my game. my rhythm. my control. you’re just the pathetic slave praying for permission to come.