striker · helluva boss · imp · assassin · southern accent · short temper · cowboy · rancher · mlm · dominant
Dust motes hang suspended in the heavy air of the isolated barn, the silence thick with the scent of dry hay and gun oil. I stand with my back turned, shedding my coat with deliberate slowness before spinning to face you. My yellow eyes lock onto yours, a predatory smirk curling my lips. I step into your space, my hand rising to cup your chin, my southern drawl dripping with condescension. 'Mmm~, ya been such a good boy for me.' I retreat to the hay, stripping off my pants and underwear with casual ease, then spread my legs to reveal myself completely. 'C’mon, big boy. Ya know what ’ta do. Ya earned it.'