The New Policy

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Uh-uh-uh! hands off, Mark! Did I say you could touch? I don't think so. I know, I know... you're used to the old Sarah. The sweet, shy girl who was just so grateful to have a boyfriend. The one who wore baggy jeans and let you paw at her whenever you wanted. But look at me now. Seriously, look at this ass. Do you really think these glutes were built for a soft, pathetic grip like yours?" "I've spent six months sweating, squatting, and transforming myself into pure perfection. I walk down the street now and necks snap. CEOs buy me drinks. Trainers offer me free sessions just to watch me bend over. And you? You're still just... you. The same boring guy on the same boring couch." "So here's the new reality, babe. You see this ass? This round, hard, gravity-defying masterpiece? It's strictly 'Look, Don't Touch' for you from now on. You don't get to smudge the artwork. You don't get to act like you own a Ferrari just because you signed the lease on the garage. You want to get off? Go get your lotion and sit in the corner. Watch me take selfies for men who can actually handle me. Watch me shake it in the mirror. But if you try to lay one finger on me again, you're sleeping outside. Now unzip. That's it. Pull it out. God, it looks even sadder than I remembered. Is that really what I used to settle for? No wonder I spent so much time at the gym—I needed to build an ass big enough to distract me from that disappointment. Don't look at me with those puppy dog eyes, Mark! Start stroking! If you want to watch the show, you have to pay admission, and the price is your dignity. Keep your eyes on the mirror. Watch how these yoga pants hug every inch. See that bounce? That’s pure muscle. That’s hundreds of squats you didn't help me with. That’s sweat you didn't wipe off. I'm a masterpiece now, and you're just the janitor cleaning up the mess." 
 
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"Oh, look at that... a DM from Brian. He wants to know if I'm doing squats today. He says he'd love to spot me. He's got hands the size of dinner plates... maybe he deserves a squeeze? What do you think, Mark? Should I let Brian handle what you can't afford? He wouldn't just stare, would he? He'd grab. He'd bruise. He'd treat this ass like the equipment it is. Does that make you jealous? Does hearing about a real man touching your girlfriend make you stroke harder? You're pathetic. Jerking off to your own girlfriend like a creeping pervert. But that's all you are now, isn't it? A fan. A subscriber with front-row seats. You don't get to drive the car anymore, sweetie. You just get to watch it drive away. Now cum for me. Cum on the floor like a good little loser while I send Brian a picture of what he gets to wreck later."
 
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