I get dry mouth on thc and it reminds me of the hottest shit I've ever seen in a facefuck video: a girl isnt making enough spit for then to properly throatfuck so they just grabbed the lube and pumped some straight down her immobile throat like she really was a fleshlight
girls who want to feel small and cute will feel extra small and cute when you hold them down and force them full of something much too big for them. please make sure to tell them how small and cute they are as they struggle to take you. they'll thank you for making them feel so small and cute. and if they don't. well. they really are so small and cute. it would be very easy to make them.
I ADORE nice sadists and especially nice people who are into cnc because the idea that someone is as kind and respectful and sweet as can be but YOU bring out the cruelty in them is wonderful. It's a given they'll respect your boundaries but they will be as sadistic within those bounds as they can and remind you with a smile that YOU asked for this and laid out the terms and they're not doing anything you're not okay with, so as much as they'd love to be sympathetic to your begging and screaming, they're just appreciative you're putting that much effort into turning them on with your pleading. They'll keep right at it so they can earn more of than begging.
The other girl in the basement has more chain, and never talks to you. You tried, of course, when you first woke up shackled to the wall. Screamed at her until you went hoarse. You didn't have enough leash to get anywhere near her, or do anything besides lay down. She went about her day, cycling between calisthenics and reading a stack of books next to her nest of cushions. She was probably in her late thirties, and must have been a fitness nut before this.
The captor, because she never gave you any other name, never interacts with her in front of you. She's younger, and talks absentmindedly, but rarely seems to expect or want an answer.
Once every day, she comes downstairs with cattle prod and hood in hand, and takes you from the claustrophobic basement up the stairs, right turn, five paces, into another windowless room. It has only a treadmill and a chair. You refused, at first, and learned exactly how badly a cattle prod hurt. You swore to never eat meat again after your escape.
The captor demands nothing else of you, and answers no questions. She takes the other girl at different times, for far longer, and she returns with deep bruises, sometimes bloodied. You try to be grateful.
Each day you run, as fast as you can, for however long she makes you. The pace ticks up, day over day, and your heart rate settles into a comfortable spot. What had once left you gasping and pleading to stop, spurred on only by violent threats, is now an easy jog.
You couldn't say how long it had been, the day the routine changed. The captor took the other girl, and then came down again for you. Up the stairs, left turn, ten paces, down two short steps and… a breeze?
The hood comes off, and you're outside. It is late afternoon, and you furiously blink away tears. Your prison sits in a small clearing, a cabin with woods sprawling on every side of it. The air, fresh after so long, is thick with pine and so delightfully green.
The other girl is there too - without restraints. Standing, tight as a whip, staring into the woods.
The captor gestures to the treeline.
"Run. You get a five minute head start."
The words take a moment to register. You're weightless, giddy. You have no bearing, but you loved the woods as a child, and the captor does not seem dressed for the chase at all, in a long dressing gown and slippers. You bolt into the trees, the taste of freedom on your lips.
At a hundred yards, you realize the other girl did not start running with you. She had not been staring at the trees. She was waiting, impatiently. The realization sinks like a stone in your stomach, but you press on. Brush whips at your legs, leaving stinging cuts.
You hear her start. The first sound you've ever heard her make, an awful, baying howling. And then deathly silence, in comparison to your clumsy fleeing.
That's the problem with an exotic pet, you know. It needs live prey.
Waking up from a drug induced sleep after a date to find yourself tied to a bedpost. Your first thought would probably be to panic, but why? You aren't bound tightly, just enough to keep you in place under the covers. Like the way an owner ties their dog to a post before stepping into a grocery store, a secure hold that says "You'll be okay, just stay here until I get back." Really think about what you gain from struggling and possibly escaping. Leaving the warm sheets and the dedicated captor for what? Work? Bills? Family stress? It's natural to feel a twinge of guilt for the thought of staying and forgetting everything else, but it's better if you just relax and settle back into your new bed.
I would argue that in order to participate in the most sexually interesting and generative parts of a misogyny kink you would have to understand it deeply as a social and political force. like the guys who do misogyny kink in the vein of "a woman is a dishwasher you can put your dick in" are insufferably dull and annoying. but my girl @byronicbarbie is interested in how misogyny plays with the misogyny kink and that makes her worlds above your average stolen porn gif with impact font superimposed that says "girls < Men"
I don't think the girls < Men posters are always cringe either im just saying there's layers. dig into actual misogyny more and you'll have better misogyny-based sex
I would argue that in order to participate in the most sexually interesting and generative parts of a misogyny kink you would have to understand it deeply as a social and political force. like the guys who do misogyny kink in the vein of "a woman is a dishwasher you can put your dick in" are insufferably dull and annoying. but my girl @byronicbarbie is interested in how misogyny plays with the misogyny kink and that makes her worlds above your average stolen porn gif with impact font superimposed that says "girls < Men"
for three of the past four days ive slept handcuffed to the bed with my owner next to me. for three days they've locked me up, kissed my head, and promised to let me out before they went to work tomorrow. I couldn't dream of being happier.
You'd planned for months, but had been waiting for three agonizing weeks. You went to the same coffee shop as always, at the same time as always. Medium, hot, oat milk, 2 sugars. Turned the same way exiting, tracing the same route to the same library you visited every weekend.
She was the first girl to really get it. Your last ex left you because you wanted to do a safeword ignoring scene. Well, they said it was for other reasons. But you knew. You knew you really understood kink, and needed people who really understood kink in your life.
So when she steps out from the side alley, knife in hand, you play out the scene as planned. You don't have to work as hard you thought to make the trembling convincing. She's brusque, in person, and the knife is much bigger than you thought. Your heart races as she ratchets the zip cuffs around your wrists, and places the bag over your head. You wrinkle your nose, it stinks.
"Zoe, can you-"
"No talking. Move." She kicks at your calf, and you have to stumble forward, catching yourself by half steps, landing face first in what must be the open trunk. Musty blankets and itchy trunk liner. Hands, groping in your pockets for wallet, phone, keys. Zoe grabs your thighs, and lifts. Grunts. You dolphin a bit, folding yourself into the trunk. Its not accurate, but you don't want the scene to get stuck here.
The trunk slams shut. You're left in hot, scratchy silence. Short breaths. Musky might be the right word for the smell.
The car kicks to life. Your knees press uncomfortably against the trunk edge as Zoe accelerates. A sharp turn - your head smacks into the side wall. She's not a very good driver. You try to count the turns, the time between jerks of acceleration. How you would if this was real. But your focus is drawn away by what comes next, and it all blends into an uneven gait beneath you.
This is what your idiot former partners never understood. Light bondage here and there, oh, yea, indulge the idiot pervert girl in her damsel fantasies. None of them had been willing to do this for you. Zoe had never failed. She texted every morning, and remembered every detail.
Finally, the car rolls to full stop, and rumbles off. And you wait. And wait. This is it. The climactic scene where she stops "on the side of the road" and forces you to service her at gunpoint. Really, her backyard. With takeout after.
The trunk clicks open.
"Out."
You unfold sore limbs, helped not too kindly by Zoe's yanking. You stumble, catching the ground, and let her lead you by the wrists. She stops.
"There's three steps down in front of you. Right foot first."
There were no steps, in the plan. Your heart races. Zoe added something extra, just for you. You tentatively reach down, and hear the hollow metal clank of a steel stair. Two. Three. She has her hand on your neck, and ducks you through what must be a inner short door of a bulkhead entrance. Shuffle forward on stone.
A metal clasp bites around your exposed ankle. The hood comes off, and even the gloom is blinding for a moment.
Every post you've ever written. Some you didn't write, where you added long and rambling tags. DMs to her. Messages in public servers. Posts from accounts you never told her about, Instagram and LinkedIn. Photos rendered in flat, laser-printer color. Taped together in a sprawling mosaic across the concrete wall of a small room of her basement. You turn back to see the stairwell you'd descended. Heavy interior door, open to the stairs up to the storm door.
And the shackle, unplanned, padlocked onto your leg, a thick, short chain anchored to the corner, where a dog bed sat.
"Zoe, uh. Wow, this is amazing. You really added to the scene. Can. Can I get a check in before we keep going?"
Zoe looked at you with a pitying stare, and a lazy grin. She turns back to the stairs.
"I've got to go tie up some loose ends. Quit your job, send some mean texts to the friends you have left, dump your phone at a bus station. Hard to wait when I'm so close but, it's just a few more hours. I'll be back to talk about our new life together, sweetheart."
She closes the inner door of the storm stairs with a solid thump, plunging you into true darkness.
oh, no, you misunderstand me. those were my monkeys. yeah the circus and i have since parted ways. yeah it was the elephant thing, i dont really want to address that right now though
vaporwave
pixelskylines
blakekathryn
theartofmadeline
turnnoffyourmind
