Jerk to My Burps

Your little dick makes me sick. The sight of your face is almost enough to turn my stomach, but the idea of you yanking on that foul little skin tags between your legs is too much to bear.  I ignore you. The air permeates with the rank smell of your desperation. I smoke my cigarette, attempting to avoid your pig-You stare at my tits, my tattoos, and I see you begin to touch yourself.  Ew.  I smoke my cigarette and suggest ways you could off yourself. Much better than your vile existence. But you want to cum, don’t you? Should I let you leak your sticky pig juice, onto the ground? Into your own pants maybe? You’re definitely going to have to clean that up because I’m not.  I chug and burp. A big burp. Wet and putrid right in your face, the same as the gross fat clit photos you send me. As I burp, I count down further. Jerk your nasty skin tag. Jerk so hard it rips off in your hand. The thought amuses me. I burp louder, wetter, and spit on the ground for you as you blow