Stupid question

Randy sat back on his heels, cock jutting up slick and angry, watching the living toy hump its way across his bed like a terrified, tit-dragging slug.

It was making actual progress now (slow, humiliating, but progress). Each frantic arch shoved those massive breasts forward a few inches, then the lower half dragged behind, pussy kissing the sheets with a wet little slap. Six feet of king-size mattress suddenly looked like a fucking football field to the thing.

“Come on, you can do it,” Randy taunted, voice thick. “Crawl for me, baby.”

The toy redoubled its efforts. It twisted onto its side, using the curve of one tit like a rudder, rolling and flopping in a panicked spiral. For a second it gained real speed (maybe a full foot) before momentum died and it flopped onto its back again, tits wobbling like jelly, chest heaving with useless silicone breaths.

Randy laughed, low and mean, and slid off the bed. The torso heard his feet hit the floor and went berserk. It bucked so hard both breasts lifted clear off the mattress before crashing back down. Then it started the most pathetic sprint in history: hump, drag, hump, drag, aiming for the edge of the bed like it could survive the three-foot drop to carpet.

“Oh no you don’t.”

He circled the bed slow, predator-stalking, cock swinging heavy between his legs. The toy sensed him coming; it veered left, tits smacking together as it tried to change direction. A frantic half-roll sent it tumbling right to the edge (one breast hanging off into open air, the other still anchored on the mattress).

Randy lunged.

His hand closed around the overhanging tit just as gravity started to win. The toy let out a muffled, rubbery squeal (no mouth, but the whole torso vibrated with it) and thrashed. For one heartbeat it almost slipped free, silicone skin sliding through his fingers, but Randy clamped down hard and hauled it back onto the bed like a fisherman reeling in a prize marlin.

“Nice try,” he growled, flipping it onto its stomach again. The toy immediately resumed crawling, faster now out of pure terror, ass shelf bouncing, pussy winking open with every **** shove forward.

Randy let it get three whole feet this time (almost to the pillows at the headboard) before he pounced. He landed on his knees behind it, grabbed both tits from underneath, and dragged it backward. The toy fought like hell, whole body rippling, trying to anchor itself by spreading what would’ve been thighs if it had any. All it managed was to spread its pussy lips wider, slick hole clenching on nothing while Randy lined up.

“Back where you belong,” he muttered, and speared into it in one brutal thrust.

The toy’s entire frame locked up around him (tight, hot, furious). Randy groaned, buried to the root, and started fucking it again while it still tried to crawl away underneath him. Every thrust shoved it forward an inch; every time it tried to crawl, it fucked itself deeper onto his cock. A perfect, hopeless feedback loop.

He rode it all the way up the bed like that (chasing, reclaiming, punishing) until the headboard stopped its escape. The torso slammed tits-first into the pillows, trapped between wood and Randy’s hips, still squirming, still trying, even as he bottomed out and held himself deep.

“Nowhere left to run, sweetheart,” he panted against the back of its neck-that-wasn’t-there. “You’re all mine.”