It just comes out when I talk to you

Sammy loves being a tease.

Loves showing off that smooth little twink body, that perfect, bouncy ass just begging for attention.

He knows exactly what he’s doing—arching his back, swaying his hips, flashing me looks that scream come take what’s yours.

He was made to be manhandled.

Made to be thrown around, pinned down, used like the desperate fucktoy he is.

Every whimper, every needy grind of his hips, every soft little gasp is proof.

Proof that he doesn’t just want it—he needs it.

Needs to be reminded what he’s good for.

Needs to be broken down, used up, and filled until he forgets his own name.

Because Sammy knows his place.

He was born to be owned.

Born to be fucked.