🏍️ 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 & 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰 🎤

🔥 THE ANIMAL & BULLET SHOW — FOREPLAY IN TEXT FORM 🔥
(Full Banter Session: Uncaged Edition)

Bullet:   
Animal, remind me again — what exactly are we doing here?
Because from the way you keep looking down my top, it seems less like a blog and more like an excuse for you to drool in public.

Animal:
Hey now — it ain’t my fault you keep wearing shirts cut lower than your patience for my bullshit.
I’m just a storyteller… you’re the one turning this into a damn fantasy novel with that mouth, those curves, and that attitude.

Bullet:
Fantasy? Sweetheart, this isn’t fantasy.
This is you oversharing your scandalous past and pretending it’s culture.
You call it storytelling — I call it foreplay with punctuation.

Animal:
Guilty as charged.
But you know damn well I can’t resist you when you get all bossy.
You cross your legs and I forget my name. You smirk, and I start planning sins.
This blog? It’s my love letter to bad ideas and worse women — starting with you.

Bullet:
Please. You’d try to bend me over the keyboard if I didn’t slap your hands away every five minutes.

Animal:
Only because you like slapping my hands.
And don’t act like you’re not into it. You sass me, tease me, then whisper the nastiest ideas like you’re ordering dessert.

Bullet:
Mmhm. And you eat every bite like it’s your last meal.

Animal:
Damn right I do.
So what’s this blog really about?

Bullet:
It’s about stories. The kind you don’t tell your mama.
It’s about lust, leather, and living without apologies.
And it’s about you trying to get into my pants... again.

Animal:
Hey, it’s not my fault I’m a creature of instinct. You bend over one more time in that skirt and this blog’s gonna need a Parental Advisory sticker.

Bullet:
Too late, Daddy.
Now get back to typing — before I gag you with your own bandana.

A🤪B  👠

Animal:
So there we were—five guys, two girls, and one room that may never recover.
You’d think that’d be the end of it, right?

Bullet:
You kidding me? I haven’t been able to sit still since Chapter 4.
You tell that story like it’s just another day—and I’m over here dripping.

Animal:
Well maybe next time, you don’t just sit.
Maybe next time, you kneel.

Bullet:
You talk a big game, Daddy.
But one more story like that, and I’ll be the one pulling you into the bathroom.
And I won’t be gentle.

Animal:
Careful, darlin’.
I like it when they bite back.

I stepped out of the bathroom slowly—bare chest damp, knuckles pink from gripping hips too hard, and the taste of her still on my tongue.
She didn’t even make it back to the bed. She was somewhere between the wall and the sink, crumpled like a broken prayer.

I looked around the room.

Sandy was sprawled across the sheets, one arm draped over her eyes, legs open, thighs gleaming. She’d been used, kissed, filled—and she looked like she wanted more.

Bullet lay at the foot of the bed, still on her side, her breath shallow, her skin glistening like she’d been worshipped and punished all in the same hour.

And the boys?

Still here.

Lurking near the window, sweating, confused—like they didn’t know whether to light a cigarette or ask permission to exist.

I cracked my neck and said it plain:

“You got your moment.
Now get the fuck out.”
They didn’t argue. One grabbed a shirt, another his shoes. The third looked at Bullet like he was going to speak.

I turned to him. Just a stare.
He left without a word.

Door shut.

Silence.

I walked over to Sandy first—lifted her chin. She flinched, thinking I’d be gentle.

I wasn’t.

I flipped her, pulled her up by the waist, and drove into her so hard the bed frame slammed the wall.

She screamed—half pleasure, half surrender.

I didn’t slow down. I gripped her hair, forced her face down, and fucked her like she was the last woman on Earth who hadn’t learned who she belonged to.

When she collapsed, I let her fall.

Then I turned to Bullet.

She hadn’t moved.
Just watched.

I knelt beside her, ran a thumb along her jaw, and said nothing.

She whimpered, already arching her back.

No commands. No instructions.

She knew.

I took her like she was mine—because she was.
Every kiss? Marked.
Every thrust? Claimed.
Every gasp? Branded.

By the time I finished, both women were shaking, soaked, and silent.

I stood.

Lit a cigarette.

And finally whispered:

“Now it’s over.”

no really   🥵🤪👠👠🪢🪢

Now where does this perverted mind pivot next, baby from the beginning will tell it chronologically. Stay tuned

A-B

daddyandme · hotelroom · powerexchange · domination · owningher · animalandbullet · filthyromance · reclaimingwhatsmine · twogirls · roughandtender · paintedred

Tags:

🐾
So Animal… are you actually telling me the next scene starts with room service?

Animal:
What, you think I let you soak in all that sin without feeding the house?

Bullet:
You ordered wings.

Animal:
I ordered silence.
What I got was a front-row seat to corruption.

Bullet:
Wait—this kid walked into a hotel gangbang and just… stayed?

Animal:
Closed the door. Dropped the tray. Watched like it was church.
Until he got pulled into the sermon.

Bullet:
You're sick.
…Tell me everything.

You opened the door like nothing was out of the ordinary.

Just another college kid, twenty at most, holding a tray of wings and fries in trembling hands. His eyes went wide when they landed on me—naked, on my knees, cheeks flushed and lips still glossy from the last round. Behind me? Tangled sheets, sweat-slicked skin, and Sandy moaning into someone’s chest with her thighs wide open.

He blinked like he’d walked into the wrong room… but couldn’t look away.

“Ever seen seven people fuck at once?” I asked him, voice low and playful.

He didn’t speak—just swallowed, hard.

You smirked. “Then close the door. And drop the tray.”

And he did. Poor thing never stood a chance.

You pulled him in with a look—one that dared him to step closer or bolt. But he didn’t run. Not when Sandy crooked a finger at him. Not when one of the boys pulled him down to the bed. Not even when I crawled forward, licking sauce from my lips like I was starving for something more than wings.

What followed wasn’t just sex. It was a full-blown symphony—a chorus of moans, slaps, gasps, and names we didn’t ask for. Fry Boy earned his nickname in under an hour… and lost every last bit of innocence in less time than that.

But I? I kept my eyes on you.

Every time I was touched, I thought of you.
Every time someone moaned, I imagined your growl behind it.
And when I finally collapsed again—sore, dripping, ruined—you walked over, lifted my chin, and kissed my forehead.

“That was fun,” you whispered, dragging your thumb over my swollen lower lip.

“Next time?” I smiled, breathless.
“We bring the mirror.”

-A/B

groupplay · hotelroom · daddyandme · roomservice · gangbang · powerexchange · paintedred · animalandbullet · filthyromance · voyeurism · ruinedbutclaimed

 Animal
You needed a moment to simmer, kitten. Can’t have you passing out before round two.

 Bullet:
Simmer? Daddy, you left me in there soaking.
I was ready to boil over.

You opened the door like a man reclaiming his prize.
No words. Just that look — the one that says I’m yours, and there’s no safe word strong enough to save me now.

My thighs were still trembling, my lips swollen from kisses that weren’t yours.
But you didn’t care.

You pulled me into the center of the room, naked and flushed, while the college boys sat there, wide-eyed, hard again, like they couldn’t believe what you’d already done to me… and were about to do again.

And Sandy? She wasn’t even hiding anymore — one hand between her legs, watching like it was a pay-per-view she couldn’t pause.

You tilted your head. Just slightly.

The boys stood.

One behind me, pulling my hips back.
One at my throat, whispering what he wanted to do to me.
The third in front of my face, throbbing, waiting for me to open my mouth.

And I did.

Because you told me to.

They fucked me like they were starving, but the only name I moaned was yours.
I looked for you between every thrust, every slap, every gasp — and you never blinked.

You didn’t have to touch me to own me.

And when I finally collapsed — used, drenched, twitching — you stood.

They froze.

You walked over slow, wrapped your fist in my hair, pulled me up, and growled into my ear:

“You did good. But now… it’s my turn.”
And just like that — the others vanished.

Because even when I’m begging on my knees?

I’m still only yours.

Tags (Painted Red)

groupplay · hotelroom · daddyandme · consensualnonmonogamy · powerexchange · filthyromance · animalandbullet

A/B

🐺 Animal:
I told Bullet I was gonna start a blog. She said “Sure, if you can finish one thought without getting distracted by a flash of thigh.”
Fair. But here we are — and I’m not just a storyteller.
These aren’t stories, lady.
It’s the truth.

🎯 Bullet:
Truth? You mean that time in the hotel where you “accidentally” invited three college boys to watch your girl bend over the minibar?

🐺 Animal:
Exactly.
Chapter 1.
Let’s go.

I didn’t say a word when I pulled her into the bathroom. Just spun her, shoved her back against the sink, and stared. She was already wrecked — flushed, twitching, thighs glistening from what those college boys had done.

But that was the appetizer.

I grabbed her jaw, stared hard into those eyes, and growled:

“You gave them the show. Now give me what’s mine.”
Two fingers slid into her mouth. Deep. She gagged just a little — I didn’t stop. I wanted her breathless, broken open for me.

Then I lifted her like she weighed nothing. Skirt up. Heels still on. My cock pressed hard between her legs, demanding entry. No teasing.

I fucked her like the room was soundproof. Like I wanted the floor below us to know her name. Her hands clawed at my back. Her moans hit the mirror.

And just before I came, I leaned in and whispered:

“They had their fun. But you’re not theirs.”
“You’re mine.”

tbc, 3/4 tomorrow

𝐀/𝐁

She bent over just enough for the red skirt to ride up — not by accident. I’d picked the skirt. I’d picked the bar. Hell, I’d picked the whole damn night.

Three college boys couldn’t stop staring, and I didn’t blame them. No panties. No shame. Just that pale ass catching light like a beacon. I sat in the corner, quiet, drinking, and watching my girl put on the kind of show that ends in bruises and moaning.

When she got the signal — just a nod from me — she moved. Smooth. Like sin in heels. And I watched three barely-legal wolves follow her scent straight to the elevator.

They didn’t know what was waiting upstairs. But I did.

They’d watch her crawl, beg, and fall apart under their hands. They’d taste her. Use her. But they’d never own her.

That’s my job.

A,

tbc