>>103668273
No lube, no condom, no mercy, no retreat. From the kitchen counter to the living room carpet, from the shower tiles to the balcony railing, from the car seat to the basement floor, I’m locked in, welded in, stapled in. Vertically, horizontally, diagonally, spiraling like Fibonacci, thrusting like piston rods, vibrating like CERN smashing atoms. Missionary, doggy, reverse cowgirl, piledriver, wheelbarrow, folded like laundry, bent like origami. I will invent new positions just to find fresh angles of staying inside her.
This isn’t sex anymore. This is religion. Every thrust engraves divine law into the universe. Angels take notes. Seismographs register our rhythm. Neighbors whisper legends of the man who never pulled out. Let scientists panic when black holes tremble in sync with my hips. Let priests rewrite scripture when they hear her whisper “don’t stop” like prophecy.
Sheets soaked, mattress cratered, walls cracked, lungs heaving, eyes rolling back as I convulse, yet still I cling. Even if my spine shatters, even if my heart bursts, even if Death himself demands I withdraw, I will spit in his skull and push deeper. My corpse will fossilize lodged inside, a monument to devotion, carbon-dated proof that I never left.
So don’t you dare ask if I’d pull out. Not once. Not ever. Until the stars burn out and the universe collapses into heat death, one truth remains: I will never pull out of my queen.
