Peggyman

It always starts soft. A little massage and then...an "oops, how did my finger end up there moment".
Just enough to make him freeze, eyes wide open. One twitch, one breath held too long—that's all I need. I've seen it.

Then I decide:
To hunt… or to let him stew in anticipation a little longer. That's such a wonderful pursuit....

Usually, two fingers is all it takes.
Slow, lubed, precise and unforgiving.
A little extra lube, a lot less mercy 😉
And then—click.
There it is.
The prostate.
His secret vulnerability, exposed. The switch button.
I watch the shock hit his face. Pleasure, panic, arousal…Congratulations, sweetheart—you're officially turned into an ass slut.

Sometimes I go in like a priestess mid-exorcism.
Hard, fast, casting out shame through every thrust. Other times I'm a smug little cat, teasing and pawing at him like he's my new favorite toy—which he is.
And then it unfolds like clockwork:
Surprise.
Shame.
Shame turning into moaning. He's giving in.
Moaning sliding into desperation. Desperate for me and my big, thrusting cock. I let him suck it first. Like a good slut he is.
He opens like a door with a broken hinge.
Inch by inch, I claim what was always mine. In and out. In and out. In and out.
I read his body like a manual he never bothered to open—but I did.
And now I'm rewriting it.

More lube? Obviously.
More pressure? Just enough to make him forget his name.
More teasing? Always. I want him confused by how much he loves it.

Until finally, he's not a man. He's not even a toy. He's a thing. A slut.
Soft. Splayed. Speechless.
Eyes begging for something he can't name anymore.

And I don't stop.
Not until his body spasms like a faulty circuit.
Not until his ego is dust.
Not until he's panting, wordless, ruined
And so, so ready for the next round....