Mandy Marx

Are you controlled by your d*ck or are you controlled by me? Who conducts services here, who knows what's going on, who makes the plan? Is it your c*ck or is it me? I'm going to work you up, your hand serving out the orders that I speak and you know. J*rk it and I'm going to stop you one time, but not yet. This is an *rgasm game. I'm going to work you up one time, and I'm going to work you up so bad and that's when I'm going to tell you stop. Work yourself up, pump, pump, pump for Goddess.

I run this game, not your c*ck. Faster, higher, harder. Every second that goes by you're feeling more and more anxious about when I'm going to tell you to stop. Isn't that the fun of this, isn't that game part, not knowing where we going to get, not knowing how far I'm going to take you, not knowing where this game is going to go? Because I'm in charge.

Who's in charge, your c*ck or me? I'm the baddest b*tch out there. I take your body to new heights and show you new plains of existence and bring you back down to earth. Who makes you feel so good you would never want to stop? You would never want to stop such a glorious moment, a moment, a feeling, my directions seeming so counterintuitive. Who gets you going? I know you're *dging, getting to that moment where you just feel like cumming, but you won't because who's words and directions do you listen to? Mine. Who's guiding hand holds your c*ck? Mine. I hold your key, and your soul, and your permission.

There's almost no way you could last two more minutes but you have to. I know how close you are, how desperate you are, you're practically begging from the tease, the denial, the I love holding you here. Now stop. Breathe me in. Be with me as it aches from your b*lls drifting up to your stomach, that p*in. Does it feel bad or does it feel good? The epitome of service. The restraint and the ability to stop when I say. That's the epitome of service.

Look at me, you're not my equal right now. Not right now, you're so much lower than that. You're aching below my feet. Locked in servitude. How could we be equals right now? You don't get to make decisions, I tell you what to do. Who decides what you do? Your Goddess or your c*ck? Now you know who does. My thoughts, my ideas, my whispers, all keep you up at night. You cannot escape them.

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My Guiding Hand And Words Control Your C*ck, Not You