Tough Interview with a Cool Yet Gentle Girl

This interview is a bit hard, but I love it. The chick on screen looks all high and mighty, like she’s too good for this. But I know better. I’ve seen her kind before—cold exterior, but inside, she’s a filthy slut waiting to be broken. The camera catches her trying to keep that icy stare, but her eyes give it away. She’s nervous, maybe even scared. That just gets me harder. I imagine what I’d do to her if I were in that room. I’d start by making her kneel, force that proud face down between my legs. She’d resist at first, but I’d grab her hair and shove her deeper. Her lips would tremble as she takes me in, that high-cold act crumbling with every gag. The interviewer is asking questions, but she’s not answering. She’s just staring, lips parted, like she’s waiting for something. I know what she wants. She wants to be used, to be taken roughly, to forget all that pretense. I’d strip her down, bend her over the chair, and pound into her without warning. She’d gasp, try to push back, but I’d hold her down and fuck her harder. Her moans would be muffled, trying to stay quiet, but I’d make her scream. That inner girl, the one she hides, she’d come out begging for more. The interview ends, but I’m still watching, stroking myself, imagining her leaving the set and finding me in the parking lot. I’d drag her into my car, and she’d let me. Because deep down, she’s not high-cold. She’s a desperate little whore who needs a real man to show her what she’s missing.