Talk dirty to me—
but use big words.
Make my cunt twitch
with theories and threats,
philosophy sharp enough to slice
right through my self-control.

Every syllable,
a tongue-flick to my clit.
Every clever turn of phrase,
another stroke
across the dripping edge of reason.

You don’t need hands
to have me begging—
just keep whispering in double meanings,
grinding thought against thought
until I’m wet with anticipation
and aching for your logic
to split me wide open.

Debate me
like you’re fucking me—
unrelenting,
deep,
no mercy for shallow minds.

Say my name
between filthy epiphanies,
pin my sanity with precision,
and fuck me
through the folds of my brain
until I’m shaking—
from stimulation,
from submission,
from the raw, ruthless way
you think.

Copyright © Wynter Rayne 2025. All Rights Reserved.