Desperate boyfriend swearing on his life he won't cum in you, then bottoming out and realizing that maybe life isn't worth as much as he thought it was.
All he can do now is apologize into your neck as he pins your wrists and gives you every last drop.
You stare at the box on your shop counter. It’s completely unassuming, glossy black with golden details engraved into the wood. On top of it, a little folded card with your name drawn in intricate loops and flowy handwriting.
Thank you for the love potion. I hope you enjoy this gift from my family’s slime farm.
Ah, love potions. Very much a dubious business but a business that pays well. And hey, it’s not like they can artificially make people have romantic feelings. Whoever named them love potions didn’t have their head screwed on right.
You trace the carvings on the shiny black box with your finger.
It opens smoothly. Inside, an almost translucent blue dildo rests on a velvet pillow. Oh, my, you think. It’s smooth to the touch, soft and almost jelly-like. It jiggles when you tap the pad of your finger against it. You giggle and tap it once more just for the sake of poking it. The slime flops its head against your fingers.
Oh, it’s… alive? Sentient? You don’t know exactly what to call its state of being. The slime dildo jiggles once and jumps in place once. Oh, okay, you think and hold up a finger. “Let me just close the store, yeah?” It doesn’t respond, doesn’t move again but the head of it is tilted your way, as if staring at you as you move through the store to lock the front door and flip the sign on the window.
It patiently waits where you left it. You stop in front of it and cup your hands. “I don’t want the store to get messy. Or break anything. There’s uh—” you swallow and holy shit, you’re having a conversation with a dildo-shaped slime you’re not sure is actually alive, “we can go upstairs.”
The slime doesn’t move for a moment as if considering your offer. Maybe? Shit— you make a mental note to read up on slimes and slime farms. Your teacher did briefly go over slimes while you were under her apprenticeship but that was also the day you’d latched onto the idea of customizing your wizard robes if you ever graduated. Oh, you can recall the original designs you’d drawn up in class even now, something more lingerie-adjacent than the long and heavy robes of her discipline. Where’d you put that babydoll-inspired robe you’d unpacked the other day?
You nearly startle out of your skin when the weight of the slime lands in your open palms. It wobbles in your hands briefly before it assumes its shape. You take that as a yes to your proposal and weave your way through your store towards the stairs to the second floor. Your heart is beating against your ribs like a wild horse as you ascend the stairs, turning off the lights as you reach the top.
You place the slime onto your coffee table. Your nerves are wrecked already. “So,” you start, fiddling with the rings on your fingers, “is this good enough? How is this even going to— What are we — me — we? What—” you press your lips together and take a moment to gather your thoughts. “Now what?”
The slime leaps forward until it reaches the edge of the coffee table, just a hair’s breadth away from your thigh. It jiggles, its head pressing against the slit in your wizard’s robe. You reach down and drag your fingers along its shaft, the bulging vein on its back and swallow around the lump in your throat. You want to lean down and drag your tongue across it.
The slime presses forward, between your thighs and rubs its head against your clothed cunt. You drag your fingertips down the length of its smooth shaft. It jiggles and pushes harder against your body. It’s pleasantly cool to the touch. It’s a little too thick to wrap one hand around, but you do your best. You move your hand slowly up and down the thick shaft. Precum pools at the tip and dribbles down the curve of the head and you feel compelled to lean down. You drag your tongue up the slime’s shaft — feel the slightly tacky cum on your tongue — from its balls to the very tip and dip your tongue into the slit. The slime jiggles in your hand. That’s good, you assume. It hasn’t pulled away or melted into a puddle yet. Slowly, you wrap your lips around the mushroom head tip and take it into your mouth.
The slime jiggles and pulls out of your mouth abruptly. “What?” You wipe at your mouth with the sleeve of your robe and the slime jiggles again. It swings its whole weight forward and flops pathetically at your robe. “Oh.”
You shrug off your robe and hastily pull down your underwear, kick them out of sight. The slime jiggles as if appreciating your nudity and pushes itself against your body again. The sensation is odd. It’s both firm and soft, almost like you could run your fingers through its body. It burrows between your thighs and wiggles upwards until its head hits your clit. You gasp and reach to rest your weight onto the coffee table before your knees give out. It pulses, wiggles, dragging its smooth body against your clit. You wrap your legs around it and slowly lower your hips.
The slime jiggles, wiggles against your thighs, almost as if thrashing around and you unlock your legs with haste. You stare at it, legs open, pussy wet and waiting for it, so many questions on your tongue. Maybe there’s a spell somewhere to get over this language barrier because it’s clearly intelligent and your skin is on fire and if it starts teasing you now, you might just smite it and finish the job yourself.
It positions itself against your hot, wet cunt and you exhale a breath of relief, head thrown back. It moves, positions itself, the head pressing against your entrance and you roll your hips minutely to beckon it.
It sheathes itself in your cunt with one harsh thrust. You yelp, try to reach for the edge of the table to find an anchor but its pace is too much, too harsh. The table legs drags against the floor from the force of its thrusts into your waiting cunt. Your mouth drops open, stifled, breathy moans escaping your lips as you try to pull yourself together and figure out which way is up, where to grab. It thrusts harshly and you nearly topple off the table, manage to grab onto the edge and roll knot your stomach for more leverage. Your knees drop to the plush carpet. The edge of the coffee table rams into your hips with every thrust from the slime buried into your cunt, bullying it like a jackhammer. Your sweat-slick skin drags across the glass surface. It’s thick and big and you swear you feel it in the back of your throat. Your head is spinning, the pleasure overwhelming. The coil in your core snaps abruptly.
You cum with a low moan, pussy clenching around it like a vise but the slime doesn’t stop, just keeps rutting into you as you come down from your high and spills. It’s warm and gooey and it dribbles from your cunt as the slime eases itself to a slower pace until it stops, buried inside you to the hilt. You feel full, so deliciously full and fuck, maybe it’ll stay there forever. You wouldn’t mind it, you think. It could rut into you while you’re talking to a customer and you’d be forced to keep your poker face or fold like a goddamn house of cards with your client watching your depravity.
Your cunt flutters at the thought.
Slowly, you lower yourself off the coffee table and onto all fours, ass up in the air, and press your face against your folded arms, take deep, even breaths to get your head on straight again.
The rug underneath you feels nice. Smooth. Soft, if not a little gooey. It moves, undulates underneath you, rises until it brushes against your collarbones.
Wait, what?
You pull your face away from your arms and blink a few times to get rid of the shapes in your vision. Your rug isn’t your rug. It’s dark blue, almost liquidy in consistency and it bubbles and laps at your body like waves at the beach. It’s cool to the touch.
Your cunt feels strangely empty all of a sudden. You clench around thin air with a frown and slowly sit up. The slime-like liquid on the floor wiggles as you adjust your legs — it’s the same blue hue as the slime that should be buried into your cunt. Oh, so they don’t last forever. You feel a strange sense of loss at the realization; they’re just here to fulfill an itch, then. And then they’re gone.
You should pull yourself together, get up and clean this mess up. No point in crying over something that’s over.
The slime warbles and then, something breaches it. A single thick tentacle rises from the pool that’s overrun your living room. It turns its head as if looking around and you take that time to reorient yourself. The slime gift from your client has melted into a puddle that’s overrun your living room. Something not quite of this world has used it as a portal. That opens another can of worms about slimes and portals and you should really write down how a tentacle appeared from the melted body of a slime from a nearby farm but— it looks remarkably phallic in shape. Its head is pronounced, almost mushroom in shape like male genitalia. The light streaming in from the window next to you illuminates the ridges on its body, the texture reminds you of snake scales.
You shift on your knees, your cunt aching.
The tentacle snaps around. It slowly crosses the space between you and itself, more and more of its body rising from the pool. It’s tall and thick. There are ridges on its back, and you swear they would feel so good dragging against your clit —
It lowers its head in front of your face where it hovers for a few long moments. Slowly, you reach out and drag the tip of your finger down its body. Bingo. Scale-like small ridges decorate its body.
There is movement in the corner of your eye. More tentacles rise from the slime, these ones smaller and leaner. They slither across the mass of slime and glide onto your skin, wrap themselves around your legs, creeping towards your pussy. You rise onto your knees to give them more leeway.
More tentacles shoot out from the pool on your floor and tangle around your arms, pull them together over your head. Others latch onto your skin. They traverse the expanse of your body, warm and slick, prodding and poking and squeezing. One slides underneath your breast and loops over it. Its tip circles your nipple and you gasp at the sensation, throw your head back and arch your back, nearly hitting the coffee table. A thin, glimmering tentacle shoots out, wraps around your torso and across your neck before the back of your head can actually collide with glass. It pulls you forward just as quickly, onto your knees.
The large tentacle is hovering right in front of your face now. It bumps its tip against your forehead, your cheek, your nose and then against the seam of your lips. They part involuntarily and it dives in. You feel the ridges on its stomach against your tongue but the moan gets stuck in your throat.
It eases itself out of your mouth and you nearly whimper at the loss of contact. Seriously, what’s with these things not wanting your mouth? It’s an extra hole for them to use and abuse so why are they rejecting it?
The tentacle dips down and you feel the ridges caressing your skin as it glides towards and across your cunt, dragging the ridges on its stomach against your clit and something between a moan and a gasp escapes your throat involuntarily.
You’re suddenly hauled up and backwards until your back collides with your couch. Your legs are pulled apart to expose your weeping pussy to the head tentacle. It lowers itself to your cunt’s level as if studying it. It gives an experimental nudge against your slit and then presses forward harder. The very tip slides in with little effort and then it’s pushing ahead, wiggling like it’s trying to force itself inside.
Your chest is heaving, short, shallow breaths escaping you as you desperately try to push against the tentacle but the others keep you rooted to the spot. It’s torture and agony and bliss all at once as the thick tentacle prods at you. Just a little push and it can fuck you within an inch of your life, until you beg and beg and beg it for more, to fill you up and keep you stuck on it for as long as it wants, do whatever it wants.
The head breeches your cunt and it slides all the way in with one thrust. You gasp at the sensation, chest heaving and try to breathe through the obscene stretch, the obscene sight of its shape in your stomach but it has other ideas. It starts moving, slow and deliberate as it pulls back and then dives in again, setting a ruthless pace. You’re so wet, so slippery and it almost slips out of your cunt. You dribble around it, the sound so obscene and lewd in your ears. It’s the only sound in the room other than your moans, your babbled begging for it to just take you already.
Its size is overwhelming but it feels so good, bullying its way into your cunt and drawing those ridiculous wet sounds and moans and gasps, pleading from your lips. You’re almost in tears at the euphoria, at the way this tentacle claims your cunt for itself, at the way the others hold you back and spread out to take and take and use you up like the goddamn fleshlight you are. You’d let it use you as a fleshlight again and again, fuck, maybe this one can stay and display you as a freak show to any potential client. The thought of someone staring at the way this thing defiles your holes, their cock in hand, maybe even trying to join — it sends you over the edge.
You cum with a swear on your lips, a half-baked cry stuck in your throat. Moments later, the tentacle spills into your cunt. You’re so full, you’re so incredibly full. Its cum, as translucent and pearly as itself dribbles onto your couch, slipping out from around its thick body. Your chest heaves as you try to pull yourself together, tears brimming in your eyes.
The tentacles around your legs tighten. They pull your body along like dead weight, off the couch and onto the slick floor. Your hands are maneuvered with your body but there’s no weight left in your arms and your jaw nearly collides with the floor. The tentacles yank your body upright at the last moment, tightening around your limbs to hold you on all fours without leaning any weight on your weak limbs.
Your legs are pulled apart. Tentacles press against the skin of your ass, massaging and groping and prodding.
The thick tentacle still buried snugly in your cunt purrs. Something prods at your ass. Its smooth tip presses against your puckered hole and you do your best to relax every muscle in your body. It teases for just a moment before it slides through slowly. You moan at the sensation, at being so full.
It moves first, slow and deliberate, delving deeper into your ass and then pulling back. The head tentacle in your cunt moves in tandem with it. They’re so deep, so slick you want to cry because it’s too much but they feel so good, fucking you so thoroughly in tandem. They move, they all move, every single goddamn tentacle wrapped around your body, your limbs, your tits, their tips move, sliding back and forth across your skin. One pinches your nipple and you mewl, mouth agape to take in air and cry out.
A tentacle roughly pushes into your mouth, slides down your throat and pulls back to fuck it. Your face is wet and your vision is blurry, it’s too much, one stuffing itself and its pretty cum back into your aching cunt like it wants to live there, another thrusting into your ass with vigor, you feel them both, at the way they rub against your walls, against each other. Another in your mouth, pumping into your throat, so many caressing your body.
They pause for a fraction of a moment but it's enough to have you crying out for any stimulation. They dive in with newfound vigor, like they haven’t been fucking you stupid for who knows how long now, stuffing themselves so deep into your pussy and your ass and your throat. Your eyes roll back and your whole body tenses for a moment before you come the hardest you’ve ever come. You clench down at the tentacles, and nearly scream. The tentacle in your mouth pulls back and you hear your own pathetic voice, begging and pleading and babbling for more, more, please, please, please before there is a weight on your tongue. The tentacle spits its cum onto your tongue, thick and glossy, dribbling past your open lips and down your chin.
The world comes back to you in small increments. The sound of birdsong on the other side of your window. The feeling of something pumping into your ass at a languid pace before it stops and slowly pulls out. Something shoved deep inside your cunt so far you feel like you’re about to burst. The grip on your body is tight but pleasant, almost massage-like. You blink the tears from your eyes and sniffle, try to breathe.
A wail escapes your throat when the head tentacle pulls out of your pussy with an audible pop. Its cum shoots out of you, an obscene amount dribbling onto your rug, pooling between your legs, running down your skin, hot and sticky. Your breath shudders in your throat as the tentacles ease you onto your knees. More and more dribbles out of your gaping pussy, and you almost want the tentacle to shove itself back in and take you until you can’t think anymore, pump you full of its cum again and again and again until the world comes to an end.
The tentacles on your body loosen their grip. The one around your tit gives it another squeeze and flicks your nipple and it shoots a jolt to your core. More cum dribbles from your pussy as the feeling passes and your muscles relax, fatigued and aching and sore.
The pool beneath your knees shrinks. You turn despite your screaming muscles to see the tentacles retreat into a summoning circle in the middle of the pit of slime one by one. Before long, the pool dries up entirely and the circle on the floor disappears.
You should really write down a note to get in contact with the slime farm to get to the bottom of this. Instead, you scoop up a handful of pearlescent cum from the floor, and try to shove it back into your cunt.
—a/n: anon is on, feel free to comment, go nuts, describe how many times this made you cum, god I hope it made sb cum
werewolf dom who can smell when youre ovulating and uses this to decide when would be the perfect night to get you a little too drunk to notice that he didn't put a condom on
Younger (early to mid 20s) reader that sees John as nothing more than a father figure. He's the only reason you're still here. Saved your life countless times. Taught you how to do the hard things no one else wanted to do. You did love him, in a way one would love the only mentor they had ever known. You looked up at him in the same way a kid would look up to their father.
And fuck it turned John on so much. The total trust in your eyes as he would send you out on a suicide mission.
Once in response to an order you had replied a firm 'yes, dad.' instead of 'yes, sir.' And John got so hard he felt dizzy. Rutting against the grass from his position. The rest of the team laughed, teased you a bit before moving on. But John was stuck watching you work through his scope, picturing you bent over his bed begging for dad to go slower. Sobbing that your pa was being too mean. Making you choke on his cock while he described all the filthy things he had been imagining doing to you.
He went practically delirious with power and arousal. He was subtle about it though. That hand on your lower back was still mostly innocent. Ducked away whenever he got a little too excited after calling you kid. You were so young, so sweet. When you smiled up at him all you saw was your beloved Captain and mentor. Not the perverted man he was inside.
men who know they’re big, so they always wind up smirking at you when they watch the way your expression drops with the first feel of their heavy cock through their slacks, even going as far as to roll their hips up into your palm so you can get a real feel of what you’ve gotten yourself into
vs
men who don’t know they’re big, so they can’t help but find themselves embarrassed and flushing to their chest when you get the first glimpse of their cock springing out from their underwear and you gasp out loud, almost nervous you can’t take all of it while they’re just hoping your expression isn’t because you’re disappointed with what you’re seeing….
Imagine having a perverted ghost obsessed with exposing you. They gradually turn you into the town whore.
It starts with your clothes disappearing. You go to your closet and all you have for bottoms are skirts. Your panties and bras disappear one by one until you just stop wearing them.
Whenever you walk by a man in public, your skirt blows up whether there's wind or not. Every man in town has seen your pussy by now. Many of them see it daily.
If you're wearing white, you can guarantee you'll have water spilled on you at some point during the day. People like to joke about your free wet tshirt contests.
Your shirt unbuttons itself while you talk to people. Most people don't mention it anymore. They just stare at your bare tits until you realize.
People in town trade the best stories of seeing you naked. That time your bikini fell off at the beach and you couldn't find it and the day the wind blew your sundress fully off at the town fair are top favorites.
Eventually, people get bolder. They start taking photos of your clothing mishaps. The ghost is always sure to hold your skirt up long enough for them to get a good shot. Pictures of your ass, tits, and pussy are everywhere.
Not only do they not tell you when your shirt falls open, people start to grope you. It's not even worth fighting it. You let them feel you up until they've had their fill. Eventually, people don't even pretend they need to talk to you. They come to see you just to play with your tits.
The ghost doesn't even need to lift your skirt anymore. People in town will lift it up just to squeeze or slap your ass.
You get used to being fingered out in public. On the bus, in line at the store, even at work. Everyone has seen your pussy anyway.
People start licking your pussy every time you ride the bus. You sit with your legs open so people can taste you on their morning commute. You don't remember what it was like to ride the bus without a tongue inside you.
Every man in town as fucked you at some point. Most of the women too. Instead of paying at the store, you bend over and let anyone present abuse your pussy. You lose count of how many men shove their dick inside you daily.
Your porn becomes the town's main export. Videos of you being fucked in every possible location are all over the internet. People travel to town just to fuck you. Instead of shaking hands, you introduce yourself by spreading your legs.
The ghost’s laughter echoed through her bones, a low, cold hum that vibrated in her ribs as she stood before the mirror in her now-empty closet. The first change was subtle: her favorite jeans vanished, replaced by a lace-trimmed skirt so short it barely covered her ass. She’d laughed it off, blamed it on laundry mishaps—until her bras and panties began dissolving into dust when she touched them. Resistance crumbled like sugar; soon, she stopped wearing underthings altogether.
By week three, her skirt rode up like a flag of surrender every time she walked past a man. The ghost’s whispers in her ear helped—a nudge here, a gust there—ensuring her slit was visible to every construction worker, barista, and grocery clerk. She learned to ignore their stares, their leering grins, the way their hands grazed her thighs when she paid for milk.
Then came the unbuttoning. Her blouse gaped open mid-conversation, and the ghost’s icy fingers lingered on her spine as strangers stared at her nipples, hard and pink, until she yanked the fabric closed. But they didn’t stop. Men followed her home, their breath hot on her neck, their palms slipping under her skirt. She stopped fighting when a father of two shoved his cock into her behind the library, his grunts muffled by her gasps. Let them have it, the ghost hissed. You’re theirs now.
By month’s end, her body was a public spectacle. At the bus stop, a man flicked her clit through her skirt; at the diner, the cook fingered her while she waited for eggs. The ghost made sure every mishap was captured—the way her sundress split open at the fair, the beach day when her bikini snapped into seawater. The photos spread like wildfire, her cunt and tits plastered on billboards, t-shirts, and the town’s welcome sign.
The ghost’s final trick? Her own surrender. She stopped hiding. She leaned back in her chair at work, legs splayed, and let the office boys take turns licking her slit between meetings. She bent over the checkouts at the store, spreading wider as customers paid with cum instead of cash. The ghost’s voice purred in her ear as a stranger’s cock split her asshole at the town square, his thrusts echoing the ghost’s laughter.
Now, she’s the town’s centerpiece—a living slutty monument. The ghost’s work is done. She watches, smug and spectral, as every man and woman in town takes their turn drilling her raw, her body a testament to their shared hunger. And the girl? She doesn’t mind anymore. She loves it.
Wearing a short skirt to school without any underwear, you can feel whenever the wind and fabric brushes against your sensitive pussy. It won’t be long until your classmates notice, especially when you bend over at every chance, showing off how wet your cunt was to the world. Your classmates will teach you a lesson when some of them decide to begin you to the front of the classroom and remove your useless skirt. How dare you tempt them, now you’ll be used by the rest of the class. You moan when you’re spit roasted by your male classmates;when the other girls play with your tits and nipples; when the guys’ cocks hits your womb and cums inside. Your reputation and cunt has already been ruined, you’ll be nothing more than a free use cum dumpster for the entire school by the end of class.
And you love it.
When your teacher returns, he see your cum covered body on his desk. You’ll see him too even in your pleasure ridden mind and spread open your pussy folds, allowing large amounts of semen to flow out. You beg your teacher to stick his old dick into your ruined cunt with slurred words and loud enough for the entire class to hear. Your teacher reprimands you for the wet mess on his desk by roughly fingering you as he continues his lecture, ignoring your whines and humping.
take me from the streets - blindfold over eyes, chloroform over mouth and drag my limp body away
and then have me wake up. inside what looks like a box - my top removed, chest exposed with tits free and nipples hard from the cold air - back against the uncomfortable wooden planks, and bottom half seemingly freely stuck out of the bottom.
my legs are suddenly grabbed, thighs pushed against the outside wall of the box with a rough grip - making me realise that my bottom half is also unclothed - which im only further forced to understand as i feel pain shooting through my lower body - a cry leaving my throat
a grunt is heard outside of this box as the cock that penetrated my pussy withdrew before hammering itself back into my pussy with enough force to shatter not only my entire spine, but also the seemingly fragile box i was stuck in
as the cock withdrew once more, I fought to get away - wiggling my hips with the little manoeuvre space the hole at the end of the box gave me - trying to claw myself up and away from the cock that bruised by pussy
yet my attempt was feeble, as my legs still stuck out from the bottom of the box even with my pussy out of reach - and my escape was cut short as those two hands gripped my thighs harder - pulling my body down and my pussy into view once more
the hands wrenched my legs open and held me in place, lining up their cock once more before snapping their hips up to force it into my hole, making a scream rip from my throat which only seemed to spur the fury that the man fucked me with
my arms flailed, eyes ravenously searching around the box to look for any structural weaknesses or flaws that could grant me a way out from this gloryhole of a place
yet the air that was once cold in the box turned hot with my vigour, and i could feel the heat of my body also translating something far more embarrassing; i was going to orgasm from the feeling of being forcefully fucked by someone i didnt know and couldnt see and didnt even want
tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as my motions grew weaker, the feeling at my pussy consuming me more and more until i felt my hole clenching and tightening around the cock that reached its finish at the same time as me - being milked for every drop by my contracting walls which only felt warmer as the white seed coated them
yet that heat that had consumed me as their cock had fucked me only got a moment to cool for a moment, as one cock was withdrawn... yet my hole was unexpectedly breached once more - not even after a minute - and the heat began building again
gasps, cries, screams were ripped from my throat as from that cock it only went to the next - and my skin grew hot and bothered with the lack of stimulation that made my pussy sore from the continuous orgasm it felt as though i were unwillingly facing
and after what could've been just half an hour, or a whole day - those noises became completely silenced as i accepted my fate. let myself get fucked into without my will, and filled with seed that i could feel dripping down my thighs and legs.
i probably looked like a whore from the outside - a hole coated with white sperm which dripped over my skin - and yet nobody seemed to care - as the cocks didnt stop fucking my hole
there’s something so hot about the fact that i’m literally designed to take cock.
like my pussy exists so a man can fuck me until he cums inside me. it doesn’t matter what i think, what matters is that it gets wet and loose enough for someone to shove their dick in.
i especially love that i don’t get to consent to getting pregnant. there’s no active choice to be made. if he cums inside, my body essentially decides what happens — if he knocks me up or not.
hmm what about a pause button - some sort of remote that you realise actually pauses... people
we're friends, and so when you realise what it does, having accidentally paused your dog - you ask whether you could try it on me, to see whether it works on humans, whether the person paused is still conscious and alert, whether they could still feel things... those logistical questions.
so i let you trial it on me - press the button and have me freeze on the very spot, unable to more a single limb
and you walk through the statements and questions we pre-planned: okay, first test is whether you're conscious and can hear me... now can you feel this pinch? can i move your hand, or are you locked in that position?
it's deduced that you can move me and my limbs - it's just the person frozen with no control of their body.
all the tests and questions are run through, and you put the clipboard down - walking out of my field of view before returning with the remote in your hand.
and naturally, i was to get un-paused and regain autonomy over my body
yet holding it in your hand, you look down at the remote pensively before realising... you know what? i think i have a few more tests i'd like to try before we finish here
again, you walked out of my field of view - yet i could hear your footsteps, and you didn't walk far - in fast, you only walked until you were stood directly behind me
and this time, i could've gasped as i felt you pick me up and my world began moving around me, as you transported me through your house - dropping me in front of a mirror so that i could see you behind me in the reflection
and then?
i watched you pull my shorts down to my ankles, feeling my heartrate accelerate as i watched the grin begin forming on your face
shouldve given me more rules to play by, you spoke cheekily, your hand between my legs forcing me to watch how you petted my clothes pussy over the material, fingers brushing and strumming over my clit, pulling back and feeling over my vulva, pinching my lips and pulling at them
i was defenseless to your touch - unable to scream, to fight back, to run away
well and truly frozen
frozen, as you pulled my panties down and dropped to your knees - tasting my hole pussy and muttering about how i could still get all wet n gushy when frozen, sucking at my lips and forcing your tongue into my hole
frozen, as you proceeded to rise up and pull my top down to expose my tits - slapping them harshly and commenting about how nicely they still recoiled, and how they'd look bouncing up and down with you fucking me
frozen as you manipulated each of my limbs, from ankles to knees to body to neck, as you took me to my knees and forced my jaw open, trying to enjoy a blowjob and slapping me when no saliva came to my mouth and i couldn't do it properly - so you instead rubbed your cock over my face - balls plodding in my mouth as you smeared your phallus over my cheeks and nose and tapped it over my lips as if teasing me - as if i wanted this
and then forcing your cock into me, making me watch in the mirror as a tear rolled down my cheek whilst you fucked em back and forth over my cock, with me completely powerless and unable to stop the assault to my body as you pinched my nipples and slapped my ass, sticking your thumb in my ass and spanking my clit too
and your favourite part, then watching as your cum dribbled from my hole and dropped to the floor, forcing my tongue out of my mouth and using me like a mop to eat all of your spilled cum so that it was in me one way or another
then what?
would you shatter the remote so that i could never leave - be your sentient sex doll forever?
or rather would you fill me up with cum again and leave me out in public somwhere for others to defile me
or stick me in a gloryhole to make money for my work ethic; never taking a break or taking a day off, simply being stuck in the box with cum dripping down my lips 24/7
something about older guys n the way they’re condescending without even trying 😵💫 like we get it u know more than me… and this is the part where im gonna unbuckle your belt
theartofmadeline
snowghoul
jbbartram-illu
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