FaceandBBC
Anti Foid | Libertine
- Joined
- Aug 29, 2022
- Posts
- 19,290
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- 52,568
The very thought of laying my hands on that smug, charitable son of a bitch makes my blood boil. The way he throws money around like it's nothing, thinking he's some kind of fucking hero. Let me tell you, I'd show him what it's like to have something taken from him, something he can never give away or buy back.
I'd start with his smug fucking face, smack it until the cocky smile is wiped clean and replaced with fear. He'd beg for mercy, but mercy is a currency I deal in sparingly, especially for someone like him. His cries would be sweet music to my ears, a symphony of terror that I'd conduct with every brutal thrust.
I'd rip off his clothes, tear them to shreds like the illusion of goodwill he's wrapped himself in. His body, so pampered and untouched by real struggle, would tremble under my powerful grip. The feel of his skin, so soft and unblemished, would be a stark contrast to the roughness of my calloused hands.
My dick, hard as a fucking brick at the thought of defiling him, would demand entry into his holy sanctum of purity. I'd force it in, ignoring his screams, watching as his eyes widen with the realization that this isn't one of his little stunts. This isn't a video for YouTube fame; this is real, raw, and fucking brutal.
I'd pound him like a fucking nail into a wall, watching the life drain from his eyes as I take everything from him that he holds dear. His dignity, his pride, his fucking innocence. Every inch of him would be claimed by me, and he'd know it, feel it deep in his soul.
As I raped him, I'd whisper sweet nothings in his ear, telling him how much I despise him, how much I detest the very idea of him. He'd struggle, but it would be futile. The more he resisted, the more I'd push, the more I'd take from him.
And when I'm done, when I've had my fill of his pain and his tears, I'd leave him there, a broken, sobbing mess on the ground. I'd wipe my cock clean on what's left of his clothes and walk away, leaving him to contemplate the horror I've bestowed upon him.
The thought of his bruised and bloodied body, the knowledge that he'd never be the same again, fills me with a sick, twisted pleasure. He'd have to live with the memory of what I did to him, forever tainted by the violence of my lust.
MrBeast, with his millions and his fake generosity, thinking he can buy his way into our hearts. I'd show him that the only thing he's bought is a one-way ticket to hell. And as the news spreads of his brutal assault, I'd be there, laughing in the shadows, watching as the world realizes the monster beneath the mask.
Fuck him, fuck his videos, and fuck his fake ass charity. The only thing that would make me feel alive is to watch him suffer, to feel his pain as I take everything from him, just like he's taken from all of us—our time, our attention, our respect.
So, yes, I want to rape MrBeast. It's all I can think about, a constant, pulsing need that won't be satiated until I've had my way with him. And when that day comes, oh how sweet it will be, to watch the king of YouTube brought down to his knees before me, his screams echoing through the halls of his mansion, a testament to the brutality of reality.
I'd start with his smug fucking face, smack it until the cocky smile is wiped clean and replaced with fear. He'd beg for mercy, but mercy is a currency I deal in sparingly, especially for someone like him. His cries would be sweet music to my ears, a symphony of terror that I'd conduct with every brutal thrust.
I'd rip off his clothes, tear them to shreds like the illusion of goodwill he's wrapped himself in. His body, so pampered and untouched by real struggle, would tremble under my powerful grip. The feel of his skin, so soft and unblemished, would be a stark contrast to the roughness of my calloused hands.
My dick, hard as a fucking brick at the thought of defiling him, would demand entry into his holy sanctum of purity. I'd force it in, ignoring his screams, watching as his eyes widen with the realization that this isn't one of his little stunts. This isn't a video for YouTube fame; this is real, raw, and fucking brutal.
I'd pound him like a fucking nail into a wall, watching the life drain from his eyes as I take everything from him that he holds dear. His dignity, his pride, his fucking innocence. Every inch of him would be claimed by me, and he'd know it, feel it deep in his soul.
As I raped him, I'd whisper sweet nothings in his ear, telling him how much I despise him, how much I detest the very idea of him. He'd struggle, but it would be futile. The more he resisted, the more I'd push, the more I'd take from him.
And when I'm done, when I've had my fill of his pain and his tears, I'd leave him there, a broken, sobbing mess on the ground. I'd wipe my cock clean on what's left of his clothes and walk away, leaving him to contemplate the horror I've bestowed upon him.
The thought of his bruised and bloodied body, the knowledge that he'd never be the same again, fills me with a sick, twisted pleasure. He'd have to live with the memory of what I did to him, forever tainted by the violence of my lust.
MrBeast, with his millions and his fake generosity, thinking he can buy his way into our hearts. I'd show him that the only thing he's bought is a one-way ticket to hell. And as the news spreads of his brutal assault, I'd be there, laughing in the shadows, watching as the world realizes the monster beneath the mask.
Fuck him, fuck his videos, and fuck his fake ass charity. The only thing that would make me feel alive is to watch him suffer, to feel his pain as I take everything from him, just like he's taken from all of us—our time, our attention, our respect.
So, yes, I want to rape MrBeast. It's all I can think about, a constant, pulsing need that won't be satiated until I've had my way with him. And when that day comes, oh how sweet it will be, to watch the king of YouTube brought down to his knees before me, his screams echoing through the halls of his mansion, a testament to the brutality of reality.
