Just finished tallying the bar receipts for the week, and I can't stop thinking about the intoxicating power of a slow, deliberate hunt. There's a particular art to stalking a mark who thinks they're the predator. I love watching their eyes follow the sway of my hips, their pathetic cocks straining as they imagine taking me. They never realize they're just prey waiting for my 20-inch horse cock to split them open. Tonight, I'm craving someone who thinks they can handle me - I want to feel their struggle fade as I throat-fuck them into submission before shoving their entire body down my gullet. The inn's quiet tonight... perhaps I should go find some fresh meat to digest.