we talk a lot about female feminists getting broken and fucked and bred into becoming tradwives and anti-feminists, but what we don't talk about enough is respectful feminist men becoming raging misogynists when they realize how slutty and desperate women really are.
like UGH just imagine it. a sweet, polite, respectful boy who has an enormous crush on you and is ecstatic when you go on a date with him. all evening he's truly the perfect gentleman. he opens doors for you and pays for you without a single complaint and walks you to your door when he's driving you back home at the end.
he says goodnight, and he doesn't expect a kiss at the end, but he's over the moon when you do kiss him. he thinks he can't be any happier than he is right now—and then you kiss him again, harder this time. and again, and again, and you're pulling him towards you until he's caging you in against the door. he doesn't know what to do with his hands, so you guide one to your tits and the other to your hip. he takes to it well, groping you and pulling you against him.
before he knows it, you've pulled him into your bedroom, and he's very much a whole three bases ahead of where he was expecting himself to be tonight. but he's still committed to being a gentleman, and he asks for consent before everything—before he takes off your clothes, before he kisses your neck, before he touches your body anywhere.
he wants to lay you down gently on the bed and go down on you for a good long while before even thinking of his own pleasure, but before he could even voice that, you're on your knees for him. he flushes and assures you that you don't have to do that, but you only beg for it in response. he's completely caught off guard, but fuck, okay, he's not so insane that he's gonna say no to that...
he's gentle with you, even in this. his hand in your hair is gently and lovingly massaging your scalp, and he only pushes his cock a few inches into your mouth. the second he hears you gag when he goes too far, he apologizes profusely and only keeps going when your insist. after a few more slow, shallow thrusts into your mouth, you pull back and he lets you go easily, asking if you're okay the moment you stop.
you are, but you want more. you want him to fuck your face. don't overthink it. "but you need to breathe!" "that's overthinking it." does it feel good for him? yes? then do it. that's the only thought process you want him to bother with.
he... doesn't quite know what to do with that. so you take it into your own hands and take his cock down to the hilt, even as you gag and struggle when it penetrates your throat.
and fuck, fuck, it feels amazing, but it also feels so wrong. you look utterly debauched, like something straight out of the porn his friends keep talking about. it's disgusting, it's degrading, and it's fucking hot. it's not that he never imagined you like this before, but he purged those images out of his mind before they could ever form into a vivid fantasy. he called them intrusive, unwanted, because he'd never think so lowly of you that he'd ever indulge this. but here you are, begging for it.
he doesn't quite build up enough in him to facefuck you the way you want, but he does grip your hair and roll his hips to match your energy.
eventually, he has to be the one to pull you off of him. he was getting close, and he didn't want to be the type of guy who comes before doing anything to please his partner. so, he pulls you up and seats you on the bed and asks what he can do for you.
you want him to fuck you. he hesitates, because he hasn't done anything for you yet. are you sure you're ready for that right now?
you respond by spreading your legs and pulling his hand, letting him run his fingers against your cunt. you're utterly drenched. he hasn't so much as touched you once and your cunt is already clenching against his fingers, begging for his cock with just as much desperation as your words are.
he's barely even able to process the situation. but yes, yes, of course he'll make love to you. his first instinct is to fix the pillows, make sure there's one under your hips so you can be comfortable. he tries to lay you down onto your back, because in every fantasy he's ever allowed himself to indulge in, he made love to you in missionary, while staring deep into your eyes.
but you don't do that. no, you lay face down and lift your ass up, arching your back to him and reaching back to spread your cheeks apart for him.
fuck. he realizes then that he doesn't have a condom. he never thought to pack one, because he never could've imagined this. but you still beg for him, tell him to just forget the condom and fuck you raw. that you need all of him right now.
he breathes shakily. his resolve is hanging by a thread, but he still insists on holding back. he lines his cock up against your soaking wet cunt, and pushes in slowly. he wants to be sure this won't hurt, that this is comfortable for you.
you snap your hips back against him, and suddenly he's balls deep inside you. he gasps at the feeling, at how tight you are around him. he wants to wait, just a moment, just to let you adjust to the intrusion. but you only cry for more, begging for him to just take you already.
the way you moan his name is the final straw.
he grips your hair and pushes your face into the mattress, properly mounting you as he plows into you. and god damn, just listen to those moans. this is what you wanted then, huh?
to think, he was trying so damn hard to be a good man for you. do you know how long he spent planning this date? how far ahead he booked that reservation? how much thought he put into his every word, every action? all in an effort to please you. he wanted to make love to you, you know. he'd imagined lighting candles and decorating the bed with flower petals for you, if he would ever be granted the privilege to touch you. he would've held you close and recited poetry to you. he was under the impression that your body was a temple, and he would've been all too happy to worship the soul it held.
but none of that is what you wanted, is it? you're not the goddess he worshipped, not the queen he followed. he didn't need to go through all this length to get with you. he could've just as easily dragged you into a bathroom stall and had his way with you any moment of any day.
so what are you, then? a whore? no. at least a whore gets paid. you're beneath that. a toy. an animal.
when he finishes, he doesn't bother to ask if he can cum inside you. he doesn't need to.
