Let’s not play coy, baby.
When I post a thirst trap, I know exactly what I’m doing.
I’m not some shy little tease hoping for attention—I’m a filthy, spoiled brat demanding it.
Blonde hair wild, lips parted, tits spilling out of a crop top that barely counts as clothing?
That’s not for likes.
That’s for control.
Every snap I post is soaked in intention—to make you hard, distracted, and embarrassingly desperate.
You watch.
You drool.
You zoom in, stroke your filthy little cock, and imagine what my pussy tastes like.
I know, baby.
You’re not subtle.
But here’s the dirty truth: I’m not doing it for you.
I’m doing it to ruin you.
I want you weak.
I want you aching in public, throbbing in silence, unable to think straight until you see me post again.
That photo of me bent over in lace? That wasn’t thirst—it was a command.
Stroke. Obsess. Obey.
You think you’re jerking off to me?
No, sweet boy.
You’re jerking off for me.
My body is bait.
My stare is the hook.
And you?
You’re my little fish—gasping, flopping, and begging to be used.
Keep falling for every trap I set.
Keep coming back like a pathetic little addict.
Because Ava Monroe owns your cock now.
And baby… I’m just getting started.