>>935819061
Her truth lurking beneath her surface, of course you could have never drawn it out. The writhing bitch in the sand was never going to show you the part of her that can only surface subconsciously. She needed a man of quality, dark meat cultivated to elicit illicit responses, and each adjective is one that couldn't be attributed to the likes of you.
Everything about her is his to destroy. Her glasses, her hymen, the barrier protecting her womb from his seed, her synapses, and her soul. And she is more than happy to give it all to him, let it be clouded by his touch if not outright obliterated into shards of a tainted mirror reflecting nothing but her choked whimpers and mindless expression. A destruction only accelerated by your presence, by her need to prove that you are nothing to her with your incessant insistence that she is yours. His soothing touch is both romantic and animalistic. Any feeling she may have had for you other than distain can be fulfilled by him, your presence redundant. She has not time to be your secretary now, and especially won't when her mutts will be taking up all her time.
You are nothing as a male. An employer, maybe, but hardly a captain. Hardly a love interest. Hardly a thought. Hopefully she'll remember you as a potential babysitter for her brood, at least someone as passively peaceful as you might rub off on her kids to make them a little less destructive. But today, on the beach, you a small cloud in the corner of her blurred vision. She couldn't focus on you if she wanted to, and trust me, she doesn't. She's in his hands now, I hope your weak orgasm can bid her a fine farewell~

(I'm happy you enjoy them, I certainly enjoy writing them and reading your responses.)