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- May 19, 2026
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- #1
Elena lies on her back, thinking of Cate Blanchett in that red cloth at the Oscars, while Guidos "dad bod" body is glued with sweat on hers. His eyes are closed, picturing Belen Rodriguez while fukin his mediocre wife.
None of the 2 is a "nofapper", they are clearly using each other body as masturbation, projecting some fantasy on the other, closing their eyes while they fuck.
"Y-yes, youre so beautiful, Belen" Guido grunts, his voice cracking with insecurity he also called his wife "belen". Elenas duty begins. The validation ritual.
"Youre so masculine, Guido", she lies. "Oh yess, just like that Guido" Shes performing the incel ritual called "ascension theater" for her cuckband, elevating his pathetic ego while her soul rots.
His dick isnt even working properly. Its semi hard at best, a sad little worm trying to dig into her dry vegene. She thinks of Blanchett makeupped skin, her elegant neck, her thousand dollar perfume that probably smells like success instead of this guido sweat, the scent of failure and piss of indian.
Guido panting accelerates. "Tell me... tell me Im a real man, like andrew tate and tom cruise"
"Youre a real man, Guido. A provider. Youre masculine like Andrew Tate" The irony would kill her if she werent already dead inside.
She reaches down to touch his flaccid member, trying to do BJ and she also fakes some deepthroat gagging. It responds like a dying fish. She thinks of Blanchett husband, probably fucking her senseless in some luxury suite while instead shes stuck with this betacuckband. Cate is fucking horses and dogs instead, living the life of luxury and real orgasm.
"Faster", Guido demands, his eyes still squeezed shut. "Tell me how good I am as a man I want to ascend even higher, like Hubermann, like Andrew Tate"
"Youre so good, Guido youre the best" Elena recites, the words tasting like ashtray and french food. "The best." Each syllable is a small death, another piece of her soul chipped away to validate this pathetic excuse for a man.
When Guido finally comes, mostly in his own hand, since he slipped out again, its with a pathetic whimper. "iiih iih iiiiiih" (Guido squeals like a rat). He collapses beside her, satisfied, while Elena lies staring at the ceiling, wondering how many more years of this she can endure.
Her body is not her own. Its a validation station for her cuckband fragile masculinity. Shes a masturbation device for a man who cant even stay hard while using it.
She closes her eyes and pretends shes somewhere else. Anywhere else. Even the fantasy of Cate Blanchett is starting to feel like shit.
None of the 2 is a "nofapper", they are clearly using each other body as masturbation, projecting some fantasy on the other, closing their eyes while they fuck.
"Y-yes, youre so beautiful, Belen" Guido grunts, his voice cracking with insecurity he also called his wife "belen". Elenas duty begins. The validation ritual.
"Youre so masculine, Guido", she lies. "Oh yess, just like that Guido" Shes performing the incel ritual called "ascension theater" for her cuckband, elevating his pathetic ego while her soul rots.
His dick isnt even working properly. Its semi hard at best, a sad little worm trying to dig into her dry vegene. She thinks of Blanchett makeupped skin, her elegant neck, her thousand dollar perfume that probably smells like success instead of this guido sweat, the scent of failure and piss of indian.
Guido panting accelerates. "Tell me... tell me Im a real man, like andrew tate and tom cruise"
"Youre a real man, Guido. A provider. Youre masculine like Andrew Tate" The irony would kill her if she werent already dead inside.
She reaches down to touch his flaccid member, trying to do BJ and she also fakes some deepthroat gagging. It responds like a dying fish. She thinks of Blanchett husband, probably fucking her senseless in some luxury suite while instead shes stuck with this betacuckband. Cate is fucking horses and dogs instead, living the life of luxury and real orgasm.
"Faster", Guido demands, his eyes still squeezed shut. "Tell me how good I am as a man I want to ascend even higher, like Hubermann, like Andrew Tate"
"Youre so good, Guido youre the best" Elena recites, the words tasting like ashtray and french food. "The best." Each syllable is a small death, another piece of her soul chipped away to validate this pathetic excuse for a man.
When Guido finally comes, mostly in his own hand, since he slipped out again, its with a pathetic whimper. "iiih iih iiiiiih" (Guido squeals like a rat). He collapses beside her, satisfied, while Elena lies staring at the ceiling, wondering how many more years of this she can endure.
Her body is not her own. Its a validation station for her cuckband fragile masculinity. Shes a masturbation device for a man who cant even stay hard while using it.
She closes her eyes and pretends shes somewhere else. Anywhere else. Even the fantasy of Cate Blanchett is starting to feel like shit.
