Evil Sofia By Mistress Duvel


 Welcome to my presence you obscenely wretched shit-eating vermin. Do not even dare to lift your eyes to me unless I give you permission, you, whose laughable joke of a cock is shrivelled and flaccid, ineffective even for pissing.

I am Mistress Sofia and you are NOTHING! I don’t care to hear your name as it would sound like vomit in my ear. Don’t even speak as the maggot-ridden bile that you call a voice would stain me. Just like you surely stain your pants with the sick and yellowed faeces that constantly leaks from your prune-wrinkled anus and drips across your sagging pock-marked buttocks.

Now, you may raise your eyes, just for a moment, and gaze at my magnificent figure. I, who you are not even worthy to crawl where I have walked, will let you see the perfection you can never attain.

My thick long hair hanging straight down, across my shoulders, glistens in the light as it cascades across my large, voluptuous breasts. They bulge and spill out of my red silk and lace bustier, the engorged areolas and hard stiff nipples strain to burst free. Can you see them? Do you dream of touching such perfect tits one day? Even that benighted dream is more than a craven, sissified, girl-of–a-man dickwad such as you deserves! And it is as close as your puss- leaking eyes and scabrous flesh shall ever get! You should fall to your bowlegged knees and thank me for such an honour.

Why do you stand here now, naked and so obviously inadequate in every way, awaiting even the glimmer of my approval? You shall never have it!

The fat, wrinkled skin of your chest is spotted and smells of decay. Your corn-nut sized pink and grey nipples already droop in defeat, your girlish man-breasts sagging like my grandmother’s tits.

Your fish belly white stomach rolls weakly across the rest of you, straddling your hips in a cruel parody of the only flesh your groin will ever see. It offends my senses even to look upon it.

Now, see how my milk-white skin, smooth and taught across my belly, slides down to full rounded hips and await a real man’s touch, not a crippled cockless faggot such as you!

As I turn for you, your eyes can see the smooth sculpted beauty of the twin globes of my ass cheeks. They await the caress of one worthy to touch them and feel their firm muscled tone move beneath his hand – not the palsied pawing of your clueless clutches. I would not allow the piss-smelling sweat that you exude from the grease-filled pores covering your cadaverous flesh even near my skin’s glowing perfection!

Now then my grotesque worm of a man, gaze at my pussy. Its golden hair trimmed into a perfect ‘V’ shape. My long thick quivering vaginal lips are like doors to a golden-pink treasure chamber of bliss the worthless likes of you shall never have.

Even the most constipated, gonorrhoea infected, fish smelling, fat, shapeless whore, who walks the streets paying homeless men to touch her would run screaming from you. Children with the misfortune to glimpse you cry and are scarred with nightmares for life.

Look at your tiny, limp, foul smelling sagging joke of a supposed dick hanging there uselessly between your stick like legs, looking as if a diuretic dog’s shit and left a piece of his offal stuck there. And to describe you even in that manner would be a kindness.

Your meaningless, flea-bitten, wormy grey, so-called cock cannot even bestir itself as you gaze on me.

My firm, strong, oil-coated thighs, glistening in preparedness for the touch of a lover worthy of me, slide long and graceful down to my hard, sculpted calves. Even my feet, each long and delicate toe, glowing with a luminous, pearlescence, as if afire from within.

How you desire to stare at them with longing to never be satisfied. You, who would tear your flaccid, inadequate cock from your worthless groin, if I would but allow you a single touch.

You rise too high above your lickspittle existence, even to entertain the misbegotten thought of being allowed to pleasure yourself on me in any way!

How would someone such as I allow you to even start to believe such a thing? Your feckless, fetid, limp and twisted penis would not even be able to satisfy a hound sniffing about for a piece of his own shit to eat. He would turn away from you and seek out a man whose venereal-laced prick had fallen from his near-dead, disease-coated body. This is the man whose shit he would gladly sniff, finding it in all ways preferable to you.

You are a fucking-meaningless, sperm-less, wretched, anus munching, donkey’s bunghole of a man. I see you snuffle and drool, hoping that in any way I might take even an ounce of pity and direct it towards you, but there is so much that reeks, vile and malodorous and of cock-eating impotence of you, that not even pity is worthy of my time when it comes to you and your banal existence.

Look now as my long and tapered fingernails, each glossed in a deep, lustrous red sheen sensually and slowly scrape across and stroke my own body.

They squeeze my bulging, round breasts together, savouring the pressure exerted on then. I take a moment to pinch my hard tits with thumb and forefinger. See them stiffen, pushing erect, puffy with desire.

Now I continue on downward to my hips, to stroke across them and slide in between my own legs, touching softly at first and then more insistently my golden haired ‘Mound of Venus.’

My hands part my golden-haired vagina’s lips and spread them wide so that my fingers may delve deep into its moist, awaiting cocoon of love – something that I might allow a chicken-head-eating geek from the circus to touch – and still never allow you that privilege.

I now sink my fingers deep in between the loving folds of my gash and stroke, pulling the vaginal layers aside till I find my eager, quivering clit. I stroke against it gently making it swell and sending shocks of sexual anticipation throughout my body.

And you…your tear-stained face and fat blubbering fish-lips, your limp and greasy hair, even now teaming with lice and fleas whose only hope is to someday escape the intolerable existence of feasting on your clotted, malnourished, bile-inducing blood that even the gnats that alight on your brow disdain.

How I loathe the very sight of you. I must return my attentions to my fur-trimmed lovehole, slowly working deeper into its folds and now pushing three full fingers inside of me just to counter the fecund smell of your presence.

Mmmmmm, yes…I am now stroking my clit, my fingers rubbing against it harder and faster, pinching it to send waves of shuddering pleasure through me.

Perhaps as you stand there staring through your watery, mucus-encrusted eyes you may see the ripples of joy that quiver through my finely muscle-toned legs – now wide apart and open even more to my touch.

Do you wish it were you allowed to touch me? To allow your own liver-spotted hands to even attempt to offer me pleasure? It will never happen!

You are a bunghole of a man, good only to spew shit, and ache timelessly with an emptiness that pervades your existence till you once again can conjure forth more offal to spew. And even your shit is not worthy to be called excrement: It drops maggot-ridden and melting to the ground, where it is rejected – even Mother Earth wanting nothing to do with you.

Your putrefying, quavering form that heaves from tears of morose rejection even now is a stain upon my eyes, diminishing their shimmer, just by taking in a brief glimpse of you.

Mmmmmm…my excitement increases as my blood-engorged clit thunders with desire and the slick-with-juice walls of my vagina are spread as wide as possible – the pink and reddish walls of my labia are open to my every caress. This is a sight you are not worthy to see.

Close your eyes and stand there! It pains me to even allow you to exist, listening to my moans of surging pleasure as I rapidly approach my final release.

A release your spunkless waste-of-skin cock shall never know.

Oooohh! Yes, I can feel it now. I am starting to peak….ooooohhhhh – more, more, faster. Uuugghhhh, yesssss – that’s it!! I’m cumming – Oooohh! My body is convulsing with powerful waves of my orgasm as I ride it, lashed in the thrall of my own pleasure again and again it surges….MMMMMM, yesssss. That was pure bliss.

Ooooh, I am slowly pulling my wet fingers from deep inside me, the merest movement sending sparks through me still. Here, I will flick my fingers in your pathetic direction, that a few glistening drops of my juice may land on you – your only reward for mere existence – as you surely have no other talents.

Now go!! Be gone from my sight that I no longer have to suffer in the presence of your horrifyingly wasted form, laughingly referred to as a man.

Perhaps I will someday deign to call you again.