You can’t help staring at my curves, can you? That tight black dress barely whispers what’s hiding underneath, a blue thong hugging my cheeks, perfectly teasing. I’m not looking at you, because you don’t deserve the gift of my gaze—you’re just here to worship what I choose to show.
Stare harder, memorize the curve of my ass, imagine how it would feel to kneel and beg for one touch. I’ll make you squirm with every dismissive shuffle, every flick of my hip, letting you know exactly where you belong—below me, grateful for the crumbs of attention I dole out.