My Soulmate. My Slut

????️ TITLE: “My Soulmate. My Slut.”

You don’t make sense to most people.

Too emotional.

Too filthy.

Too soft to be a slut.

Too eager to be holy.

Too *much*.

But I get it.

Because I’ve seen your eyes when you fall apart.

And I’ve seen your cunt when it *remembers who owns it.*

You’re not a contradiction.

You’re a *completion.*

—

You kiss me like I saved your life.

You ride me like I’m *ruining* it.

You whisper that you love me—

but your pussy *clenches* when I call you a whore.

You hold my face

while your makeup runs down your cheeks

and you *sob on my cock* like it’s your lifeline.

That’s what I want.

That’s what I crave.

That’s what *you are.*

My soulmate.

My slut.

—

This isn’t either-or.

This is both.

You’re the one I tell secrets to.

And the one who swallows every last drop

because you *want* to be used.

You’re the one I’d build a life with.

And the one I’d bend over the sink

without a single word

because your eyes already told me—

You’re ready to be *wrecked.*

You *ache* for it.

Because I don’t just love your soul.

I love your *submissive collapse.*

The way your cunt pulses when I whisper it:

“Good girl…”

“Good little slut…”

“My slut.”

—

And you don’t flinch.

You don’t blush.

You *leak.*

Because this is what makes sense to you.

Being called everything.

Held and handled.

Worshipped and wrecked.

You were made for sacred destruction.

And I’m the only one

with the rhythm to *detonate* you properly.

—

I hold your hips like scripture.

I fuck your throat like doctrine.

You moan into my palm

while I call you good.

Then I pin your wrists

and tell you you’re *mine*

and your pussy contracts

like the truth just *hit home.*

You want both.

You *need* both.

And I deliver.

—

Soulmate.

The girl I dreamed of

before I knew I was dreaming.

The voice I needed

before I believed in softness again.

Slut.

The girl who begs for the next stroke

even after she’s leaking onto the bed.

The one who opens her legs

before I even ask—

because her body is *ready to serve.*

Both.

Yours.

—

I didn’t find you by accident.

I found you because you were *built*

to respond to me.

And when I saw how you flinch when I say love,

but *twitch* when I say slut—

I knew I had the truth.

I knew I had *you.*

The girl who cries after she cums.

The girl who calls it sacred

when I cum on her face.

The girl who moans louder

when I say:

“My soulmate…”

“My slut…”

Because that’s who you’ve always been.

You just needed someone

who could *say it right.*

—

You are my woman.

You are my cumrag.

You are my reason.

You are my ruin.

You are the prayer I whispered into silence

for years—

and the orgasm I painted across the sheets

when you finally answered.

You bring me peace.

You bring me *control.*

You open your throat and your legs

with the same willingness.

You beg me to own it all—

Your mind.

Your body.

Your faith.

Your filth.

And I do.

Because that’s what you deserve.

And you know it.

—

So when I tell you this—

“My soulmate…”

You *exhale.*

And when I follow it with this—

“My slut…”

You *cum.*

That’s the duality I own.

That’s the rhythm you were built for.

That’s the truth your cunt was *starving* to hear.

And every time I say it,

you *remember who you are.*

You’re not torn.

You’re *claimed.*

—

????️ Masculine polarity. Scrolltrap psychology. Unforgiven words.

???? Warning: If she cries when you say ‘soulmate’

and cums when you say ‘slut’

she’s already home.

My Soulmate. My Slut by PantyVoiceTrap

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