Ok but imagine Charlie: a respected man, a man that likes art and is such a good father, the same man who picks up his lover from work whenever he can. He cooks a nice dinner for her -candles and all- until he pulls out a bag full of toys to play with his baby. Bitch I CANT BREATHE
Alright, fucking FINE. SURE. Just roll up in here and make me think about Charlie Barber, this fine gentleman...
... showing you the lovely powder-blue clit wand; the smooth glass g-spot massager, curved upward and rounded at the tip; the pretty little gag bar and cuff set, all black and gold with velvet ties; the elegant riding crop and spanking paddle; the whisper-quiet wearable vibe he can control from his phone for days when work keeps you apart.
All these beautiful toys, just for you. Only you. His Rosebud.
But if you’re bad? If you cum without him while you’re apart? Oh, oh, oh. He’ll tie you to the bed and tuck the teeny, tiny bullet vibe just inside your panties, not quite turned up high enough, not quite where you need it. You’ll whine and writhe and squirm to try to catch it between your thighs, but you can’t.
And Charlie? He’ll settle into the chair in the corner with a good book and a dram of scotch. He’ll decide how well behaved you are after, say, a half an hour... to start with.
