micromacromine:

elamantemenguante:

Itch

I pull the drawer and pierce you with eager eyes,
shattering an entire world of wait.
I want you.
Now.
I’ve prepared you, told you everything that would happen when I couldn’t wait anymore.
I prepared myself, in long sighs of pleasure and touches of moist exploration.
Now.
You’re so fucking small, my toy.
And I can see your fear, your surprise as everything becomes real, just as promised.
I don’t have to speak, for my eyes and proud body do it all.

“I will destroy you.”
“You won’t survive.”

Everything in me tells exactly just that and compliments what I already started.
In a show of hedonistic demonstration, I slowly lick my lips, as cliché as it may seem
and I don’t care because it works.
You’re a prey and this prey just stumbled in my panties.

“I will fuck you.”
“Now.”

These words I said and I swear I saw your heart stop beating,
my little itch.

Image by notch

Text by Giantess Tina

WHOOO, BOY…

[reblogging something I posted this morning…]

Uhhhhuhuhuhh… Now I REALLLLLY want to be referred to as someone’s 

“[insert diminutive term here–little, insignificant, minuscule, tiny, etc.] itch.” 

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