The Thinking Misogynist

Moved to https://humblr.social/@TheThinkingMisogynist AND theThinkingMisogynist.bsmlr.com

[insearchofwhores]

The End of Tumblr

Where will the Patriarchy be meeting once Tumblr goes down?

[boysproperty]

Do you not find guys getting off to your rape strange?

Not strange.  Humiliating and frightening, but expected.

Men know that I can be easily overpowered and forced to do what they want, they know I won’t tell.  They know they can do what they want and I’m nothing but a toy for them, why wouldn’t that turn them on?

I mean I got told me to tell him about my rape so he could get off on it and I’m so weak I did it and keep doing ti.

So no, not strange, it’s what I am, the rape girl.  It’s why I didn’t tell.

If every boy at school knew I was the rape girl….

[insearchofwhores]

Often, it is almost as if I can smell a girl's submissiveness. I don't know if it is subtleties in her body language or if I am reading her eyes, but I just Know that this is a girl who will not say "no" even if she wants to. It is the smell of prey.

[insearchofwhores]

Authority and Responsibility

Only thing I remember from a business course I took in uni: Authority and responsibility need to be given in equal measure. You cannot give someone the responsibility to do a job without the authority to get it done, and you cannot give them the authority to do a job without the responsibility to do it right.

A sub gives a dom authority to make decisions for her, tell her what to do, but, with few exceptions, along with that authority is the responsibility to use that control in a way that is not unhealthy for her and does not leave her damaged. Hurt is fine, damage not fine.

I suppose, when you really get down to it, those are the two differences between S/m (physical or emotional) and abuse:

1) she gives him the authority - ie, it is consensual

2) he uses that authority in a responsible way. That is what she gave consent to. (Again, with a few rare exceptions and you might be one of them)

Part of being responsible is to clean up after himself, ie don't reduce her to an emotional mess and then just walk away.

If authority is misused than it is not consensual S/m. It is abuse

[faceslapping1]

Tips for faceslapping women

- Find her tolerance limit: First hit her softly and then gradually increase the force of each slap if you see she can take it. - Always make her close her mouth before the slap to avoid her teeth cutting inside her mouth during the slap. - Always hit her in the jaw. Never close to the ear (audition loss hazard), nose (bleeding nose harzard) or eyes. Any hit above the cheekbone (around the eye) will give her a black eye. - If you wanna slap her hard in one cheek, then is useful to support her other cheek with your other hand. This is done to avoid a strong “whiplash effect” on her head. -Avoid slapping her as a punishment/discipline. She has a fatty butt and some sensitive thighs that can be used for that purpose. Those are much safer to hit than her face. Use them. - Never slap her with anger.

A good slap puts a naughty girl immediately in her place. It makes her shut up immediately so it’s really effective against a back-talking girl. Normally it brings instant tears of submission. But it can be a severe tool, so it must be used with care.

Remember: Women are delicate beings and they are easy to break. Better play with your toys without breaking them… so you can keep on playing!

Cheers

;-)

Javier

[instructor144]

Boost. This is actually a pretty good primer on slapping, something one doesn’t often see addressed.

[insearchofwhores]

An important public service announcement and bears reblogging.  Cupping her jaw with your other hand is VERY important to avoid seriously damaging her jaw.

[insearchofwhores]

My interview

So I started talking to insearchofwhores recently - I had left a comment on his #MeToo post reading “omg that could be me" and when he messaged me asking what I meant, we started talking about my own interview experience, what happened, and what could have happened. So I’m sharing it all here!

It was a few years back, I’d recently graduated from the local college with my teaching degree (barely) and was starting to apply for open positions. I wasn’t having any luck yet but I wasn’t going to give up. Then I heard that one of the history teachers at my old high school had just retired and there was an opening! I was really excited, I loved my high school and my dream would be to go back there! I still knew a lot of people there, I always got along with all my teachers and went back there all the time, especially since my younger sister had been there the last four years while I was in college. 

I got my application all filled out and since it was my old high school I really made sure to highlight the things I accomplished while I was there: head cheerleader, competing in state track meets, prom queen, all the clubs I was in, etc. I took it in to the office that afternoon and one of the ladies I knew well was there so we got to talking! I asked her if she knew who else had applied, she replied “I’m really not supposed to tell you" and then she told me anyway. As she went through the names my heart sank a bit - I knew them, a couple of them had even been in my college classes. They all had better grades and all than me. None of them had gone there though and I thought that might help me depending on who all was interviewing. 

So I asked her who all would be interviewing and she told me “just the principal”. I didn’t really know him, he came there after I graduated but I’d heard plenty about him from my sister. She had told me he was kind of a dirty old man who was always ogling her boobs (hers are even bigger than mine). He was probably in his 60s. Anyway now I was even more nervous about my chances.

A couple of days later I got a call asking me if I was available the next day for an interview! Of course I said yes! The next morning I got up early, got a shower, mom and dad were already out of the house so I had it all to myself and I started going through my closet. I’d been raised to always look my best whenever I went out and I’d been told that I should make a really good first impression so I wanted to make sure I was in the best outfit for that! I must have tried on thirty different combinations - I wanted to look good but not slutty, I was interviewing to be a teacher after all. I settled on a red blouse, just a little low cut and a bit tight, and a black skirt that was almost knee length with a slit on one side. I wore my favorite pair of red heels to match my top, put on some red lipstick and then spent a while on my hair making sure it looked perfect (it was shoulder length and brown, I hadn’t gone blonde yet).

I got there a few minutes early and didn’t have to wait long. As he opened the door and asked me to come in, I could tell he was looking me over, judging me already. I was just hoping I was making a good impression! He asked me to have a seat in one of the two chairs on the side of his office; he took the other. We were sitting directly across from each other as he picked up his notes and my application. I made sure to sit up straight, shoulders back, hands in my lap and trying to keep eye contact without staring. 

The first thing he asked me was to tell him about myself. I was hoping he’d ask that as I love talking about myself! So I probably talked for ten minutes about my life and especially my four years of school there, all the things I loved doing and all. As I was talking I could tell that his eyes were somewhere south of mine, looking at my body more than my face. I remember shifting a bit in my seat, crossing and uncrossing my legs, and his eyes seemed to be following my movements. He nodded a lot so I guess he liked what I was saying.

Then he asked me why I wanted to teach there and I talked more about how much I loved the school and all my teachers who really helped me so much and it would be a dream to be able to do that! He asked some other questions but none of them were hard, I had been so worried he’d ask me something I wasn’t ready for but they were really just basic easy ones.

He seemed to be smiling and happy and I was feeling better so far than I thought I would be, and then he stood up, set down his papers and walked over to me, standing right behind my left shoulder. He put his hand on my shoulder and he said something like “Denise, you know on paper there’s more qualified applicants than you. But there are things you just can’t see on a piece of paper.” And I realized he was looking right down my top, getting a good look at my boobs smushed together in my red blouse. My instinct should have been to reach up, pull my blouse up a bit, but my hands just stayed in my lap. I looked away a bit as his hand massaged my shoulder. “I can see qualities you have that they don’t, your bubbly personality, your school spirit, how well you get along with others, I can tell you’re a team player and you’d fit in great here.”

My head was spinning at this point, he was saying all the right things, I knew right then how badly I really wanted this! I can’t remember anything else he said or asked but as I was leaving I was feeling better about my chances than I ever expected to! And don’t you know I got a call the next week offering me the position which I of course said yes!

So I was telling all this to insearchofwhores and I dont think I’d ever really told it all to anyone before and then we talked about it a lot! About what else could have happened that day. And so I guess I realized things I’d never thought about before:

I realized how bad I wanted the job and that if he had decided he wanted to grope my boobs (like the girl in the #MeToo post) I wouldn’t have stopped him. I’m not even sure I would have stopped him if he’d pushed me to my knees and had me suck his cock, or even bent me over the desk and fucked my ass (which I hate).

He told me a story or maybe it was a joke, about an older man that asked a young woman if she’d sleep with him for a million dollars. She said sure. Then he asked her “what about $5?” and she said “no what do you think I am?” and he replied “we’ve already established that, we’re just negotiating the price".

He asked me if my dignity was for sale and I didn’t know what that meant so he said, “A man wants to objectify you, to tell you that your value is as a sex-thing instead of as a teacher, even if it is only as a teacher with nice big tits on display in a low-cut blouse and you decide that is a bargain you are willing to make. “I’ll show you my titties if you give me the job, Mister.” translates to “I am willing to let you objectify me that much in exchange for the job"

When I showed him my boobs his immediate response was “I see why you got hired.” And then it hit me - I got hired because of my looks, my body, my boobs, not for any other reason really.And I shouldn’t be okay with that but I am, I got the job and that’s all that really matters, I’m back at high school every day, I get my summers off, and all that.

There was more, he explained what statement he was making with his cover photo which is really intense, and I just felt like I should share this all so here it is!

[insearchofwhores]

wtf the cover photo is very disturbing

It is supposed to be, I was trying to make a statement.

[insearchofwhores]

A Thinking Man’s Misogyny

A friend and I got into a discussion about the nature of my misogyny.   It got to the heart of what I think of as Thinking Misogyny;  not a simplistic "ALL men this, all women that", black and white, but a complex duality where one thing is simultaneously both black and white.

Despite her being a strong supporter of The Patriarchy, she does not see herself as a misogynist and was confused as to why I was.  As she put it, a submissive woman 

“is serving without dignity, putting her owners pleasure above hers and so is a role model to aspire to. Why would you have contempt for someone who embraces behaviour you desire unless you were unaccepting of your desires? I think so many issues are resolved when we stop telling ourselves women are equal to men. Being pathetic and desperate to please makes us more useful therefore it is to be praised, cultivated and used to mold us.”

I cannot speak for other people, but for me the entire kink is based around two completely different, conflicting truths that coexist in my brain at the same moment

A - you are [your name here], a whole person, educated, no less valued than any other human, with a number of different roles in your life -  friend, someone’s daughter, a mother, coworker, wife, girlfriend, boss and member of society.  In all these roles I have only the highest regard for women.  Really, I have an excellent relationship with all the women in my life.  It is always difficult to know how one is perceived, but I would be very surprised if the women throughout my life do not see me as a nice, decent guy.

And then there is B – you are a cunt.  A sex object.  A sex-thing to be possessed, consumed, to amuse myself with.  As a sex-thing, all those other things you are are completely irrelevant, you have only one value: three holes and two of lumps of fatty tissue.  

Those two realities should be mutually exclusive, but in fact they are both true in my head and it is the very conflict between the two that gives me a kick, a hard-on.  

I don’t objectify women because I want an object. If that was the case, I would buy a good quality love-doll and not have to remember Valentines Day.  No, I want to have a person we both know is A and prove to both her and myself that she is also B, and for the time we are playing reduce her so she is only B.  She will have to go back to being A soon enough, but the romantic in me hopes in the morning she will still have some lingering feelings of B.  

Do not think that this is just what might be called a bedroom-thing.  It is not front-and-center most of the time, but always in the background with any female I find the least sexually attractive.  Whatever else she is, she is also just a cunt.

B may well be something you honour, but for myself, I feel contempt.  I like the feeling of contempt.  I like porn where a woman is doing horrible things because I can think, ‘Look at that disgusting slut, Look how lowly she is.’  

Google defines misogyny as a “dislike of, contempt for, or ingrained prejudice against women”  I do not dislike women at all, but the other two are certainly true for me.

Reading what many of the women on Tumblr feel about themselves and the women they see in porn here, it sure sounds as if they, too, have a contempt for women, have a ingrained prejudice against women.  I expect most of them also firmly believe A as well, with different chunks of their brains.  

So if both things are true, am I a misogynist?  Maybe not the way one normally thinks of it.  Some of what one reads on Tumblr truly staggers me with its stupidity -  “all women are incompetent and only good for one thing“  Yeah?  Seriously?  Want to tell that to the leader of the free world? (Angela Merkel). 

I guess I see it similar to what they say about smoking.  “I’m not a smoker, I only smoke socially”  If you smoke, then you are a smoker.  If I have misogynistic thoughts, then I am misogynist, despite all my other thoughts on the subject.  And certainly the side of me that posts on Tumblr is B)

At least a dozen times in my life I have been humiliating a woman so badly that she cries and then later thanks me for not stopping when she did. I do not like tears or degrading women because I am heartless, but because I am compassionate and can empathize with their pain and enjoy hurting them anyway. The key is having the sensitivity to know when I should carry on and when enough is enough.

So yes, I really do have utter contempt for you on one level, but it is in the way you - not all women, but you and many others - need to be seen, which is with kindness and love and disdain and disgust and a complete disregard for the healthy respect I have for all the other things you are, you cunt.

And I would not want it any other way.  It has become the center piece of my sexuality. As in, I normally do not think about it much with women in my life, apart from checking out their bodies, but as soon as things get sexual, B IS my reality. The duality works for me and turns me on. If I felt differently I would not be me.

[untitled28604]

The Secret Country

An idea from my diary….

It all starts with an app. It looks like an old social media platform and it starts small at first. Over time though, it grows big.

The app connects all the people who have signed up to the Secret Country. Largely in the beginning it is just couples joining. Couples who are into women being owned and stripped of rights. The app allows meet ups, encourages members who live nearby to socialise with each other and provides a means of ratifying marriages as contracts of ownership for citizens of the Secret Country. Men engage in a government by direct democracy, setting the laws and regulations that govern them and their property when out in society and providing enforcement of ownership contracts. The constitution of the Secret Country aims to create a real country devoted to Male leadership and female slavery hidden across the globe. The constitution would enshrine mandatory denial and edging as the primary means of control over the female population and create a highly sexualised society for the benefit of Men (and women). The constitution would seek to create a lifestyle which empowers Masculinity without the toxicity of male sexual frustration.

Consent is the most important law of the country though, though it is considered given unreservedly from the moment the marriage contract comes into force. Before marriage, women must undertake a full course of awareness training so they can be absolutely sure they know and are content to become chattel. Once married, a woman will have no right to divorce or separation.

Each Man rules His own home exactly as He pleases, so long as He does so according to the simple rules of the Constitution. The Constitution must remain such that it’s impact on the Male rule of the home is minimal.

Women should probably be socially encouraged to work from home, though ultimately that is her owner’s choice. Socialising only with the property of the Secret Country’s citizens would be strongly encouraged.

Single men and women would be able to become nationals (women can’t be citizens) so they can find each other and so that Men can have free use of unowned women.

[slitgrrl69-deactivated20210922]

I have been reading through a lot of my diary today. I really love this fantasy. It’s so close to something you could make real!

[insearchofwhores]

Ownership comes with responsibilities as well as privileges. If a woman becomes his chattel then he is responsible for her basic upkeep, keeping her fed and providing healthcare. Obviously, he can put her to work to earn money for that, but vaginas are valuable commodities and should not be wasted due to neglect.

Clearly, if a man is no longer happy with a possession then he has the right to get rid of it, but like a car you cannot just abandon it by the side of the road when you feel like a newer model. You must find someone who will take her off your hands. If she is valuable, you can sell her contract - I am sure there would be a very active market. If you can't sell her then give her away. You don't need to find her a good home, just a home. The awareness that she could be given to someone truly horrible would help women try harder when things get difficult.

[denialslut]

I’m not actually a dumb cunt, but I play one on Tumblr

I see a lot of misogynistic writings and captions in my corner of the Tumblr universe.  Posts about how women are all dumb, how we’re good for only one thing, how men like us better when we’re stupid.  I love or even reblog plenty of that content, although more often than not, it’s because I enjoy the associated image.  Still, I can’t deny that I find it pretty hot to be told I’m a dumb cunt when I’m playing with someone.

However, that’s a kink.  In reality, I’m not dumb at all.  I’ve graduated with pretty much every academic honor I could achieve at each level of schooling I’ve completed.  I hold a Master’s degree from a very prestigious university.  I’m quite successful in a very intellectually demanding field.

But for me, the fact that I AM smart is a big part of what makes misogyny so hot.  It really deepens the degradation level of the things I do, because I know that I’ve got choices in life.  I could do so many other things with my free time.  I could choose to be with men who treat me like a princess.  But I don’t.

Instead, I choose to let men enact their filthiest, most depraved fantasies on my body.

Instead, I choose to be a total slut, fucking strangers in parking lots and at adult theaters.

Instead, I choose to allow men to spit on me, piss on me, slap me around, and fuck my ass so hard I cry.

I choose it.

And what could be more pathetic - and hot - than that?

[daddysemotionalsupportfleshlight]

👏

[nicegirl2014]

It’s a pity that so few people understand it. But it is so so soo true.

[insearchofwhores]

For me, what makes it hot is knowing you are both and at the very same moment, both an intelligent, capable well-rounded human being and a degraded, objectified collection of holes.  If I really only wanted a cock-hole I would buy a "love doll”.  But if I wanted an equal partner I would have been happy with vanilla girls.  It is at the very point where those two completely contradictory realities collide where the heat is.  Your submission to my fantasies only means something because I know you have dignity that you are sacrificing for me.

[goodhotwife-deactivated20260527]

Being Submissive

Being submissive, to me, isn’t a choice. I didn’t choose for my earliest sexual fantasies to include being restrained, punished, or controlled. You’re submissive whether or not you have a Dom or Sir or Master. You’re submissive even if you have a long-distance D/s relationship. You’re submissive even if your D/s isn’t 24-7. You’re submissive even if you’re alone with your thoughts. You’re submissive whether or not you fight it, feel good about it, or bad about it. I’ve done all those things. If you are submissive, you just are. And just own it.

[girlwhoforgot]

This is interesting because I can relate. I don’t like labels like “submissive,” and I feel like it’s kind of stupid to try to fit into categories. Submissive definitely described me but it isn’t everything there is in me. But it’s true also like your saying, that part of me doesn’t ever go away and it never has. I mostly reblogged to say I relate to that about the earliest sexual fantasies. I don’t even want to get the pedophiles thinking about how old I was when I first started feeling that itch down there when I imagined being restrained, punished, batted around, psychologically fucked with (BTW, seriously, pedo guys PLEASE DO NOT MESSAGE ME, not into your thing). That’s never gone away, even in the most vanilla relationships. It will always be an important part of me.

Not that I exactly expect anyone to give much shit.

[insearchofwhores]

At the same far-too-young age that you ladies were having fantasies about being restrained, punished, and controlled, I was spinning stories for myself that always included a power dynamic: me controlling girls, me punishing girls,  me restraining and forcing girls to do every horrible thing my wee imagination could dream up.  I have no idea where those concepts came from, but I can date them to young enough that they seem innate.  There was an entire alternate world in my young head that ran parallel to the boring, can’t-do-that-to-a-girl one I existed in.  Long before she is an adult, every girl is made aware that there are bad men in the world who want to do bad things to girls, so I don’t know if you can truly understand how much of a revelation it was as an adult to find there were actually women, lots of them, who fantasized about receiving all the evil treatment I had always fantasized giving.  Oddly, no one ever tells a lad “There are nasty women in the world who want you to do mean things to them”

[insearchofwhores]

[shavedslaves]

[sluttyna]

I don’t know why nose hools are so humiliating to me, but they are. Add the shaved head and the mouth thing, and you have an object, not a woman anymore.

[insearchofwhores]

Yes!  Exactly!  Take a pretty woman and make her look stupid. Make her a laughable, piggy little object worthy only of disdain and mockery.  For men to feel superior to and women to empathize with.

What’s not to like? ;)

[insearchofwhores]

What the Porno Girl taught me

Pornography. It made me the man I am today.

I was the youngest kid in my posse so I was introduced to images of bare-breasted women in well-worn 1960’s Playboys at the age of 7. As I got older, the magazines got more explicit. Porn and I grew up together. With just the roughest math, over the years I must have consumed at least a hundred thousand images of sexualized, objectified women.  Probably far more.

What I certainly did not fully understand then, though I did have some notion, is that my mind was being taught a way of thinking about women and sex. Every one of those hundreds of thousands of pornographic images that entered my

retinas reinforced the pathways in my head, burning into my psyche that women are sexual objects, things to be consumed at will. No need to communicate with the girl in the magazine. She is not a person. She is an image on a page. Study the image. Savour the arousal from it for a second or ten. And then flip the page.

Next.

Next image.

Next girl.  (Correction: Next image. Next collection of breasts, pretty face, and splayed holes.)  

Next in the parade of images. 

Use as many images as you want - ten, fifty, hundreds - until you squirt, and then close the magazine and stuff it back into the drawer. A drawer stuffed full of women patiently waiting to be used as sexual objects and nothing else. These days, you just change websites.

Understand, I LOVE sex with real girls.  I certainly prefer it to porn.  But as one lover once told me, every guy she’d been with made her feel different; I made her feel like a whore. I think, having been taught what I wanted a girl to be, without knowing I was doing it I did what I could to get make each new lover into my ideal. Into the porno girl.

Now, at 52, I have had an endless string of real, live women. Some for a night, some for years. Sometimes they ended it, sometimes I needed out, and often it was never meant to go anywhere. Now older and a tad wiser, what do I like in my women? I want a connection. While I can thoroughly enjoy using a woman for a single, debauched evening, even there I want to know enough about how she is wired that I can push the right buttons. Without that, I am bored before the evening is done. The longer something is going to go on, the more connection there has to be. Maybe I have grown up just a tad.

Maybe. But I also expect her to be the porno girl. A good, obedient, available, objectified, little porno girl. Just a porno girl that I connect with.

So what important things about sex and myself did I learn from the hundreds of thousands of porno girls I have consumed in my life?  Let me list them:

They taught me that women are consumable and I am the consumer. I now understand I could never be happy with some prude who expects to be made love to as an equal, who needs to be handled gently lest I make her feel as if I am just using her like a piece of sexual meat. Of course I am. The porno girl convinced me that is what women are for.

They taught me that women should be easily available, that sex should be as simple as opening a magazine or clicking on a website.     A person may not feel like having sex when I do and if she does, she may have her own ideas about what she is into tonight or how she ought to be treated. Completely reasonable, it just does not work very well for me. I was miserable in relationships where I had to hope she was in the mood for what I was hoping for. A sex-object is always available, without any negotiation, and the porno girl made me understand that this what I need.  That for me to be happy with my woman I need to know that with a word I can have whatever I want, whenever I want. Want a blowjob? Just shove her head down under the covers. We both know she will do it, whether it is what she feels like it or not. Feel like the full porno girl experience? Simply tell her to “Go downstairs and wait”.  “wait” means on her knees, naked, head to the carpet, masturbating until her pussy is sopping wet and ready. Isn’t that what all those porno girls in Penthouse promised me all through those formative years? That whenever I feel horny, I can, with no more effort than opening a magazine or, in this case, saying four words, have a woman on her knees with an already wet pussy, lasciviously spread and awaiting my pleasure? No need to ask if she is in the mood. The porno girl is always available

But more than just available, the porno girl is welcoming.  Unlike most women a man knows, the porno girl greets him with her clothes off, her legs spread, her mouth open, and a come-fuck-me look in her eye, and she is happy to hold any undignified pose for as long as I want.  To me, that all says, “You are welcome”.   I like feeling welcome. After having thousands of paper women in obscene poses welcoming me to view them as sexual pieces of meat, clearly for me to be completely happy with a real woman I need at least that from her, too. Of course, it is undignified, even degrading, to have to pose like that, and of course she has good reason to worry how her real-life body compares to all those other beautiful, sexy young models, but I think my pleasure is worth her emotional discomfort. All I want is what all those splayed, glistening porno-pussies promised, so I guess it might be best if my woman is an emotional masochist who gets off on that discomfort. 

Once videos became available I learned something critical: porno girls either orgasm very easily or they are simply not concerned with their own pleasure. The porno girl doesn’t demand an orgasm. If she cums, great, very exciting, and it only takes a minute or so. If she doesn’t, she is content to get me off and then go back into her drawer asking nothing for herself, waiting until the next time I want her. Real women however - even many of the submissive ones, it seems - want their Os on a fairly regular basis. Frankly, I just cannot be bothered most of the time. I mean, I don’t mind a little rubbing once in a while, but I am not going to spend untold hours scrubbing away at some stubborn clitoris. And oral sex? That is her job. So I need a woman who either a)  cums really easily, b)  enjoys sexual frustration, or c)  is submissive enough to be satisfied giving herself orgasms, feeling          gratitude if I feel like making an effort to supply some appropriate      emotional or physical abuse to help her get off. 

The porno girl is adaptable. Want to watch blowjobs tonight? Go to blowjobs.com. Feel like seeing her oiled up? Just search on “oil” on YouPorn. Want to watch a girl take two guys at the same time? Just search “Double Penetration” on xhamster.com. And if that’s what the porno girl will do, then that is what I expect from my girl. I should be able to decide which flavour of porn I feel like and have my girl ready to be that. What I want, when I want, whether it is “blow me”, “rub this on yourself”, or “Here is my friend, entertain us”. Yes, definitely need a submissive girl.

Oh yes, another thing about a porno girl: she is never jealous of the other girls in the magazine. Just because I squirted my load with her today does not mean she will feel bad if tomorrow I shoot it over some other girl with nicer tits, or blonder or darker or redder hair, or a dirtier look in her eye. She knows that she is simply Miss August, one in a series of porno girls for my entertainment. Miss August understands that men like variety so she has no foolish expectations that she will be the last girl I will ever enjoy. Miss August may be the magazine’s  centerfold, but she brings a bunch of other porno girls along with her because she understands that my happiness is more important than her need to feel special. But importantly for my real-life Miss August, she also knows that I do not throw away the old magazine just because a new one has arrived. Why would I when our arrangement allows me to enjoy the new girls and yet know she is always there for me when I want her?

With the internet, the porno girls started letting people do horribly, degrading and cruel things to them. Now how, I ask you, could I ever be happy now with a woman who would not let me degrade and torture her? I mean, I tried.  Tried and have the failed vanilla relationships to prove it, but I was always too aware of the nasty porno girl I wanted and how unfulfilled I was settling with what I had.

Oh, and you do not marry a porn magazine. You do not date a video. You do not call a centerfold your “girlfriend”. You own them. What relationship do you think would work best with my girl?

So, now that I can see where all that pornography in my youth led me, what do I think?

For decades it brought me grief. Not only grief, of course, because it was also providing me pleasure, providing me with the easy-to-enjoy, anyway-I-want-them, back-in-the-drawer-when-I-am-finished sex objects that I was not getting (fully, at least) in my real life. But there was so much grief.   It ruined relationship after relationship because the girl I wanted simply did not exist. A photographer could pay her to exist for the 1/60th of a second that it took to take a picture or the hour it took to make a video, but of course no real-life woman would actually want to be the porno girl I had been taught to want. No real-life woman would actually want to be a live-in, always available, obscene, owned sex-object that would allow herself to be consumed in any sick way I feel like with little thought for her own pleasure, and yet would not feel jealous if I had other women.

Then they invented the Internet and I met my first slave. The most perfect porno girl I could hope for, a whatever-I-want fuck-toy that I owned and kept in a cage, who licked my asshole every morning and greeted me naked with lubed holes every day when I returned from work, who was profoundly grateful for the occasional orgasm I permitted her to give herself on the floor in the corner when I was finished with her and yet was delighted when I had other women.   I really had not thought women like her actually existed. Interestingly, my interest in porn suddenly greatly diminished. Who needs pics and vids when you are living the most utterly pornographic life you can imagine? Eventually, though, she had other things she needed to do with her life.

My second slave and I were not a good fit and without everything else fitting, she could not be a porno girl for me.

And now there is you. We seem to get along in so many ways. We have the same basic emotional approach to life. We have easy, interesting conversations, we make each other laugh, we have similar needs for alone-time.

And while you may wish you didn’t, you get off on being my porno girl. You may wish you didn’t, but you get off on being put in degrading positions for my pleasure. You may wish you didn’t, but you get off on knowing that I can fuck you whenever I want, that you are as uncomplicated and available for use as opening a porn site. You may wish you didn’t, but you get off on knowing that whatever perversion I am in the mood for, you will try to embody that fantasy. You may wish you didn’t, but you get off on being degraded and hurt for me. And you may wish you didn’t, but you get off on knowing that on your own you are not enough for me, but that by accepting my desire for new, more exciting girls, you can be my centerfold and though I will enjoy the others I will still keep you, too. You know you get off on being owned.

And besides understanding that my orgasm is far more important than your own, and quite enjoying the sexual frustration of edging, you cum more easily than any woman I have ever known.  Like a good little porn girl should.

So with you in my life, all that pornography seems like a necessary part of becoming the perv that I am. Would you want to be owned by anyone who had not put in those thousands of hours learning to objectify you? By someone who had not developed such a strong sense of entitlement to treat you with the same disregard as he treats a picture in a magazine? Apparently, the porno girl taught me I need you.  Finally, after decades of loving the porno girl and learning from her, and yet being completely certain that everything she was teaching me was lies, that she was a lie, a pretty lie that would never, ever actually exist, I am now completely happy with everything she taught me. It seems it was all true, you do exist, and she was just the training manual getting me ready to treat you the way I do.  

[insearchofwhores]

Aren’t these just the most romantic pics?

[insearchofwhores]

The Arcade

James (56) - retail sales clerk.

James stopped at the food court to grab a burger on his way to the arcade on his break.  He was still munching it as he stepped into the strange, dark world of Buck-A-Fuck, starting down the center aisle looking for a vacant right-side-up mouth.

They had recently remodelled the arcade.  Everything - the stations, the walls, ceiling, and vinyl floor - were all matt black with only dim lights in the aisles.  Every second station on each side of the aisle presented an ass, thrust through the large opening in the wall.  In the unoccupied stations small, brilliant spotlights focused on the available holes from above and below to show what was on offer, twin spheres of flesh framing the welcoming slits and puckers, glowing in the darkened room.  The holes glistened with lube.

The mouth holes also had spotlights, but as the girls were allowed to move their heads when not occupied there was rarely much to see other than a bit of hair or perhaps a cheek.  The porn screen above each unoccupied hole displayed the same bold announcement “Welcome to Buck-a-Fuck: for all your feminine needs”, but the displays in the mouth stations also showed little right-side up or upside-down face symbols to show you what was inside. 

In the old arcade, Holes, you never saw any of the girl.  You just stuck your cock into a hole in the half-height box and pushed a button for mouth, cunt, or ass and the girl inside took care of you.  It was really quite ghetto compared to this new system, but James liked it better because it was more like a cock-massage.  Now, you had to do most of the work.

The new sound-dampening privacy panels that separated the stations helped to contain all the different streams of porn that guys were watching, but they were still far from 100% effective so the room was a riot of muffled gasps, grunts, groans, and obscene dialog.

James always started with a right-side-up mouth.  The “sunny side up” ones were good if you wanted your balls lapped or just wanted to fuck the shit out of a passive, defenceless throat - having her head tipped back like that made it so much more comfortable to go deep because it was a nice, straight channel all the way in - but just as she was helpless to avoid you taking your pleasure as deep and hard as you wanted, neither could she do very much to give you pleasure.  For James, when he was just looking for that first erection he wanted a mouth that would do all the work.  That meant right-side up.

Even from the end of the aisle you could see the backs of guys standing in various stations along both sides.  The row of stations on both sides of the aisle alternated in a predictable pattern of sunny-side up mouth, sunny-side up ass, right-side up mouth, right-side up ass, repeat, and James could see that the third and seventh stations on both sides were occupied so he turned left to try the usually less busy outer aisle.  Success: there was a guy was just stepping out of number 4, his prong wagging as he went in search of a new sensation.

As he stepped between the privacy flaps the box and screen automatically raised a couple of inches until the hole was right at his cock height. Okay, that was a huge improvement over the old arcade.

He had to wait half a minute for the cleanser dildo to finishing its cycle, sucking out the used sanitizer rinse out of the mouth inside the hole.  It paused for a few moments and James could hear the girl inside greedily sucking as much of the joy syrup as she could get.

“Soylent’s new Performance Plus is a highly nutritious and hydrating joy syrup that will let you maximize gloryhole productivity by minimizing down-time.   Performance Plus is specially formulated for the carefree, set-and-forget design of modern automat-style arcades.  It is a complete nutrition system and 100% absorbed in the small intestines so bowels are always clean and ready, never any unsightly waste. Performance Plus contains both curatives and preventatives to allow your customer service representatives to work a productivity-optimized 16x7 schedule indefinitely.  And no need to worry about the loss of appetite that often accompanies rebelliousness, severe depression, or mind-breaking;  the double-dose of Solent’s patented Nic-o-ddict is guaranteed to keep them all coming back, always eager for another squirt.  Perfect for normalizing oral environments after sanitizing rinses, Performance Plus joy syrup is now available in two viscosities, regular Synthi-Saliva and our new, thicker “E-Z-Glide” formula which forms a long-lasting coating on oral surfaces for the extra smooth, sloppy sensation many men prefer. Yet Performance Plus is competitively priced because it does not contain any costly aphrodisiacs; the wonderful advances in the modern automat design mean your products’ emotional state or enthusiasm are completely irrelevant, so why waste money.  Will not harm rubber teeth.  Performance Plus: making arcades worry-free.”

As he waited, James unzipped the fly of his work uniform and pulled his gear out so it was hanging free, limp but ready.   He had another bite of burger.

“For all your feminine needs “, the porn screen said.  Horseshit, he thought.  James had a great number of “feminine needs” that were Not being met by the disembodied orifices of the arcade.  Still, while he could dream about buying a gorgeous young virgin whore of his own, skinny as a rail with implants so enormous she was unable to walk, this is what he could afford and he considered himself fortunate that arcades were now so cheap that even a guy like him working minimum wage could afford all the vagina he wanted.

Once the cleansing dildo had withdrawn, he swiped his credstick, exchanging a ¤ for 10 minutes of fun.  Maybe even more than the new, lower price, for James the best thing about Buck-A-Fuck over the old Holes arcade was that you were allowed to move around, using as many holes as you wanted in the time you bought.  The transaction beeped complete, the display changed to a menu with his girl at the top of the list, and the access bars at knee and gut height retracted so he could move up and pressed his belly against the rubber membrane, his cock and balls disappearing through the fist-sized hole.  Okay, the new rubber walls were also a vast improvement over the old hard plastic ones, too.

Lips wrapped around the head of his cock.  A tongue lifted it, the lips reached out and drew him in, enveloping his soft worm.  The tongue reached out and licked his balls.  He selected his girl on the screen.

Mmmm, Elsa.  Fucking exquisite.  This was the girl.  The one he would buy if he was rich. A tiny little thing, with a flawlessly tight little body, stunningly beautiful face, a beautifully rounded little butt, and massive saggy sacks of titmeat that sloshed up and down her tiny chest as the wrinkled old guy on top of her sawed in and out.

James pushed the “Medium” and “Hand” buttons to let the whore in the box know what he wanted.

Out of habit he also tried the “Unsatisfactory” button, but it did not light; they rarely did. If one of the Quality Assurance testers came by for a routine assessment and felt she was not performing adequately he would activate it so that customers could encourage her to try harder in the form of particularly unpleasant electrical stimulation of her nipples.  Since certain people tended to abuse the button when it was enabled – James, for instance – the buttons were almost never active.  A tune-up of even a few hours could keep a “customer service representative” doing her best for many months, eagerly sucking every hose presented to her as if it was a QA’s.

There was a job!  How the fuck do you get to be a QA?  James knew he would be far better at that than he was selling luggage.

On the porn screen the old guy climbed off of her, made a gesture with his hand, and she obediently got on her hands and knees on the aqua satin sheets.  The guy knelt behind her and tried to mount her, but he had gone soft.  He gave her a slap on the ass and said something and she crawled around to use her mouth to restiffen him.  Seeing her mouthing that wizened cock, slobbering like a complete whore brought the romantic out in James.

He had first seen Elsa few months ago one night when he was watching the auctions on TV.  It was frustrating watching all those naked pieces of sexual meat being auctioned off at prices that meant he would never be able to own vagina of his own, even the ugliest, most broken down, old perma-gaped cavern, but he still watched.  Everybody watched.  Most guys said they just liked looking at the fresh meat, but James was honest enough with himself to admit that what he liked was the drama.  He loved it when they cried.  He loved it when he could see the abject shame on their faces as they were forced to pose naked in various lewd positions.  He didn’t know why he liked it, but he did.  His fave was when they were seated in the gyn-chair and the automated stirrups separated, forcing their thighs far apart so the entire nation could get a close-up view of their holes.  Lots of them didn’t care, but if they were going to break down, that was what usually got to them.

And then this little blonde angel was brought on stage, her hands manacled behind her back, tears pouring down her sobbing cheeks to glisten her little A-cup boobies.   It was kind of love-at-first-sight for James.  So young, so sweet, so miserable.  The auctioneer made a big deal of the fact that just yesterday she had been seventeen and too young to be enslaved and that today, one day later, she was all grown up and the birthday girl’s unspoiled holes could be legally owned by some lucky Master.

She had such beautiful, delicate features when she had first been purchased.  Now, her face had enormous, balloon-lips.  They looked ridiculous, but James liked his women looking ridiculous, so they worked for him.

James pushed the “No hand” button; wouldn’t want to get off to soon.

It made James happy that Elsa had been bought by James’ company.  It felt more intimate knowing that what he was watching on the screen was happening just few stories above him.   For a while she would be kept upstairs, probably either given to one of the execs as part of their compensation package or rented by the hour to men like this one who could afford top-quality whores.  But it gave him hope.  It was the nature of corporate owned “wives” that there was a very good chance that sometime in the not too-distant future it would be Else’s faceless holes he would be pumping in and out of in Buck-A-Fuck.  Not that he would know or care, but still, he was a bit of a romantic.

The old guy was gripping her pony tail, using it as a handle to guide Elsa’s head on and off his cock.  Without realizing he was doing it, James had started to fuck the mouth in the hole so the whore inside had stopped moving and was simply pressing her open mouth out of the hole in the rubber, passively available for him to use.

James had actually left work early the night Elsa lost her virginity so he could watch the live feed in the Buck-A-Fuck.  Being able to share that special moment with her in a live feed made him feel even closer to her.  Having been purchased by FemCorp, she was forced to go through the auction process all over again to determine who her first customer would be.  James liked the lotteries, too, and often bought a ticket, but since he had never won he actually got more enjoyment watching Else’s hymen, clearly visible on the zoom-in, being auctioned off to the highest bidder.  The winner took his prize by the hand and led her to the Love Suite where the action was caught on camera from numerous angles with close-ups of the penetration and the look on her face and slo-mo replay.  She was such a good girl taking it bravely, biting her lip and barely even sniffling.  It was so beautiful, really; very touching. Not the same as owning your own girl, but still he had strong feelings for her and felt he really understood her.  Since then, whenever he went to the arcade he always checked to see if she was on-line first; he would have felt unfaithful to her if he had watched some other whore getting fucked if Elsa was on-line.  Of course, 6 months ago it had been some little Asian whore that he had been “seeing” but she had been sold or sent to the arcade or something and now he was “seeing” Elsa and this time it was different.

The girl was on her hands and knees, the huge sacks of her breasts swinging pendulously below her, the huge brown stains of her areolae brushing the sheets.  James actually preferred the impossible gravity-defying perfection of implants, but the current fad seemed to be for skinny girls with “naturally” titanic udders, grown with bovine hormones so they had the sag, and more importantly the sloshing movement, of natural. The little thing must have been receiving huge dosages of the hormones because in the few months since her purchase her perfect little champaign glass A-cups had swollen to these monstrous hanging sacks, each one twice the size of her head.  Standing, they hung well past her navel.  Not the perfect double-bubble spheres James liked, but still, there was just something so very hot about turning a normal teenage girl into a man’s obscene caricature of a woman.  

There is just something pleasingly simple about grading women solely on the size of their mammary glands.  It is kind of win/win.  All women can be neatly slotted into two categories: inadequately small, and “an obscene fucking cow”.  Both are worthy of his derision so both made James happy.  Of course, once you decide that bigger is better there is no logical end until your girl is so ridiculously, impossibly huge that she can no longer properly function as a human being and so has been reduced to merely a monstrous set of tits.  James was very hopeful that that was where she was going.

Slowly sliding in and out of the unseen mouth, he was imagining what his girl would look like maximized. Two, 10kg bags of meat hanging below her waist, so heavy she could barely lift them on her own, a prisoner of her own femaleness.  It was a fashion FemCorp had been promoting for over a year and James, for one, really liked it.

The old guy was gliding a lubed finger in and out of her tight butthole.  James, tapped the screen to the view of her face; it was a breathtaking vision of fear.  “Poor baby”, he muttered compassionately.  She hated anal sex and would cry every time; one of her quirks that made her so loveable. He felt so bad for her, knowing how difficult this would be.  The old guy took his place behind her and her face suddenly melted in glorious display of pain, humiliation, and tears.  James quickly hit “Stop” and just rested in the unmoving mouth, throbbing, not wanting to get off too early.  Impossible.  Even without moving watching his angel’s trauma was going to make him blow.  Summoning all his reserves of willpower, he backed away from the hole.  His ridged cock stood achingly ready.

Leaned back a bit he could see that the station on his left was unoccupied so he stepped into it.  His credstick told the machinery that he still had 4:16 minutes left, the access bars retracted so he could enter whichever hole he desired, and the display automatically switched to the scene he had been watching.

Dark meat.  A big brown ass splayed open before him, her lower legs sticking up, enclosed within the side walls of the station, unseen.  If you had any preferences about race, the arcades quickly taught you that they are all the same colour on the inside.  The huge spheres of brown flesh framed a bald, black vulva and black sphincter.   The cunt had large black lips that were parted to show the inviting pink tunnel within. At least they were what he used to consider large before he met his dear Elsa and her hateful-big sheets of roast beef.  Elsa’s made this one look almost petit.

Both holes were cleaned, lubed and ready for use.  When he had been at work thinking about this noon-time fun he had been looking forward to that lovely tight-ring feel of impaling an asshole, but now, that little pink opening of silky folds looked really inviting, offering all the full-cock sensations that only a vagina could give.  He slid into the higher hole in a long, slow, slick thrust.

Mmm, wet vagina.  Yeah, good call.  He liked that tight grip of an ass hoop as much as the next guy, but there is nothing quite as good as sliding into a glistening wet cocksheath and feeling it massage the entire length of your prong.

He turned his attention back to his girl on the screen thinking, “Man, if I owned a girl like that I don’t think I would ever leave her cunt”.   Elsa was blubbering, snot running out of her nose while the old guy plowed her shithole.  Just a few seconds of that and James started wondering if this time he should let himself come.  Still 3:41 left.

Then the old guy gave a couple of decisive final thrusts, paused a moment, and then got up and started dressing.  The screen switched back to the main menu.

Well shit.

Try to find something else worth watching? He could easily waste all his remaining time and find nothing.  He went to NightVision.  The screen was filled with the eerie green image of a woman’s face, mouth open and ready.  Most of the mouths in this arcade had Welcome dentures. James really appreciated that.

Welcomes were fairly new, only really becoming common now that degrading slaves was becoming increasingly popular.  Made of silicone rubber, the front teeth were completely flexible so you never felt any hard scraping and the molars were extended so the jaw could not close completely.  James loved the look and could not wait until his sweetheart had a pair.  What could make a woman more beautiful than having her mouth always open an inch, always ready for cock.  And the feel?  SO much better than natural teeth.  He hated them as customers because he could never understand a word they said, but that was a small price to pay for an arcade full of women walking around with their mouths open.  But in an arcade?  That was very high-end.

The woman’s eyes stared blankly up, her pupils huge in the darkness of her prison.  Unless you were doing something to cause them real discomfort, they usually had this same blank look.  Beyond simply bored, it was the look of nothing at all, of being alone with her thoughts so long that she no longer had thoughts, no longer felt, of being having been fucked by so many unseen men for so long that she barely noticed that out there in the world someone was fucking her.  Sometimes it turned him off to see how little the occupant felt about what he was doing.  Other times, though, he quite enjoyed seeing her in her private little hell while he took his pleasure.

Today, however, with just 3:28 left on the clock, he wanted to see her feel it.  He pulled out of her gash, and plunged straight into the dark pucker of her shithole in a thrust. Her eyes opened wide at that!  She was too well trained to make a noise but she was biting her lip as he started thumping into her asshole.  It was a little loose.  Not gaped, but neither did it have that nice tight grip of a fresh hole.  See, this was the real problem with the arcades.  When you were only paying one or two ¤ they did not bother to maintain the holes properly.  How difficult could it be to keep these damned holes tightened up?  They had the technology, they just don’t bother using it on the arcade girls.  

The red circle in the top corner of his screen lit telling him that someone was going to be using her mouth.  Fuck, not now!  Her head snapped back, pulled by some mechanism, and all he could see was her green throat and chin and a cock entering the top of the screen to slide into her face. James rammed hard into her asshole, making her lurch onto the other guy’s cock.  “You watching this, buddy?”  He eased his cock out so only the tip was till buried and again rammed it home, hoping the guy was watching the side-cam close-up of his cock stretching the poor girl’s hoop.  James could tell from the lump that throbbed in the girl’s throat that the guy was all the way in.  And he stayed there.

And he stayed there.

And he stayed there.  “Oh, my God, he is going to tilt her” James realized, still fucking the shit out of her.  Sure enough, the guy did not withdraw. The girl started floundering, panicking, helplessly skewered between the two impaling cocks.

There was something of a bonding moment you felt with a guy, even an unknown stranger, when you were both fucking the crap out of the same girl.  James pushed the “High 5!” button.  A moment later, his screen flashed the big yellow high 5 hand symbol, too.

And still the guy stayed there.  Her ass was bouncing around as she struggled, desperate for air, but the straps held her down securely enough that there was no risk of her bucking James out.  After a minute or so the ass suddenly stopped all movement and the word “Tilt” flashed on the screen.  He never knew why it said “Tilt”, but that meant the girl inside had let go of the dead-man switch that said she was still conscious.  Throat-fuck a girl too long and too deep and you tilted and the access bars came out, forcing you out of her mouth.  They would not retract again until she regained consciousness and again gripped the dead-man.  The electrodes on her nipples would now be providing some fairly unpleasant stimulation to bring her around as quickly as possible and encourage her to grab the dead-man, but until she did you could not start a new session at a different station until she did, so most people tried to avoid it.

At her other end, however, James was welcome to continue using her and the idea that he was fucking an unconscious body was just perverse enough to push him over the edge. He started pumping his load into the dark, insensible hole, tapping the “High 5!” repeatedly, which sort of meant “Thanks, Mate, I just dumped”.

Glancing at the clock he saw he still had 23 seconds left so rather than doing the post-squirt chill thing in her butt he pulled out, checked station 4 – occupied – and went into 6 where a flash of his cred stick gave him 17 seconds access to a mouth.   Realizing he was still gripping the last of his cold burger, he shoved it into his mouth with a big, contented sigh, chewing while unseen lips obediently slurped his shrivelled cock clean.

“Okay, well maybe it satisfies Most of my ‘feminine needs’”, he thought as he zipped back up and headed back out into the mall.

http://diaryofsickman.com

[insearchofwhores]

The devil porn is getting to me today. Brain cells taking a nap while I watch and pretend I'm the holes being used forcefully, and left covered in cum. 

[insearchofwhores]

Maybe next time

I let my cunt orgasm this morning while I was fucking her.  Can't remember whether it has been two weeks or three, but I think she is due.  I think it is important that she does not get too many Os so she never starts thinking this is about her pleasure.  Well, except the joy of being my hole.  However, I also think it is important to let her have one once in a while. Just so she always has hope.  Hope that can then be crushed most times I use her when I dump my load in her and roll off.  

No, just his hole, today.  maybe next time. 

Besides, she is always so grateful when I do allow her release.  I think gratitude is so important.