If I was to be your sub you would have to check off all my boxes. Looking for something currently post of what I want down below. DM if you have all the qualifications. 🫶🏻
Tumblr. Pure effervescent enrichment. Old internet energy. Home of the Reblogs. All the art you never knew you needed. All the fandoms you c
Tags are below.
#meeee = pictures of yours truly
#story time = the good, the bad, the ugly
# kinda ranty = just the feelings in my slut brain
#the reg = just regular everyday me things
#texts from Master = what he said.
I don’t tag everything I try please message me or comment on Untagged post for me I will send you a thank you. 💕💕💕💕💕
"wow, you're such a dirty girl, you actually like this shit?" as he scrolls through my tumblr likes with one hand and rubbing circles on my swollen clit with the other.
when i say i want to be bred, i don’t mean one creampie and done. give me round after round of your cum. give me so much of your seed we’re using it as lube. i wanna feel the burning heat against my cervix, filling my little pussy until it’s pouring down my thighs, pooling on the sheets, and don’t forget to plug my cunt up after so i always know who owns me
mutual masturbation is so… (꩜ ᯅ ꩜) both so needy and desperate, whining for each other’s touch while we get off to the sight of making ourselves feel good!!! yes pls
little miss likes to bite during sex. little miss likes to be condescending during sex. little miss brat during sex. little miss likes to fight for dominance only to end up with an arched back and full hole. little miss, little miss, little miss…
Does anybody know why it feels so fucking good to deny your submissive for weeks and sit on their face and make them eat your ass while you jerk off onto their tits and occasionally slap their cunt really hard so they try to close their legs and whimper and beg for release but then you remind them that dogs don't talk and you force their face back into your ass covering their face in spit and tears and you start hitting their cunt again until they tap out because they can't breathe and their cunt is throbbing and sore
Godddd so horny thinking about doing kink and consent discussions with somebody...just sitting across from one another, discussing limits and boundaries and fantasies you want to try, looking the other in the eye and seeing how excited they get at the ideas put on the table, at sharing the things they want to do to you, at hearing the things you want to do to them...
Been having this fantasy lately of being tied down to the bed, my legs spread wide and a pair of headphones + blindfold blocking out all of my senses. Unable to hear, unable to see, unable to move--so completely at somebody's mercy for them to do as they like to me~
Maybe they torture my clit, maybe they stuff me full and see how much my tiny holes can take, maybe they suck and bite and slap my tits till they're red and bruised--but after every orgasm they rip from me, they take a sharpie and keep a tally on my splayed thighs~ Keep a little count of how many times I cum so that afterwards, when the blindfold and the headphones come off and I'm so fucked dumb, you can trace each tally and tell me what a good job I did, cumming so many times all for you~ 🥰
Double Life. It’s a careful balancing act, this tightrope walk between two beds, two men, two versions of yourself. One makes you feel like dirt, the other like divinity, and the fucked-up part is how much you crave both.
With him, the Degrader, it’s all teeth and sharp edges. He pushes you down, not just into the mattress, but deeper, into some raw, exposed place inside you. His words are precise, calculated cuts. "You're pathetic," he’ll sneer, grabbing a handful of your hair, forcing your gaze down to the mess you’ve made under his hands. "Such a greedy little cunt. Always needing more." And you do. You arch into the degradation, the shame building in both directions — a hot flush crawling up your neck, and a puddle between your legs. He fucks you like he’s punishing you for existing, hard, fast, impersonal thrusts that hammer away at your composure until you shatter, whimpering his name like a curse. He leaves you feeling hollowed out, scraped clean, used up. And you crawl back every time.
Then there’s the other one. His friend. The Praiser. With him, the world softens. His hands trace your skin like you’re priceless art. He whispers exaltations against your temple, your throat, the curve of your hip. "You’re incredible," he breathes, eyes full of something that looks dangerously like reverence. "So beautiful, so responsive." He takes his time, mapping your body with his fingers, his mouth. He learns your rhythm, anticipates your needs, builds your pleasure slowly, until you unravel in a wave of warmth and light, feeling cherished, whole. He makes you feel seen, powerful in your desirability. He leaves you glowing, replete. And it’s never quite enough.
The lies are exhausting. The scheduling gymnastics, the careful scrubbing of scents, the constant vigilance. One slip, one misplaced text, one lingering touch noticed in public, and the whole fragile structure collapses. They’re friends. Good friends. The thought of the fallout is terrifying. But the thought of choosing, of giving up either the razor-sharp thrill or the comforting balm… that’s impossible too. Each man unlocks a different door inside you, accesses a different hunger.
So, you decide. Not out of malice, not out of strategy, but out of a desperate need to consolidate, to stop splitting yourself in two. Or maybe it is a power play. Maybe you want to see them both stripped bare, confronted with the reality you’ve been juggling. You pick a night. Your place. Neutral ground, your territory.
You text the Degrader. Come over. 8 PM. Need you. Direct. Simple. The kind of summons he expects, the kind he always answers.
Minutes later, you text the Praiser. Thinking of you. Can you come by tonight? Around 8? Softer. An invitation, not a demand.
You shower, letting the water sluice away the tension, or trying to. You dress in a simple night gown, something easy to tear away. You don’t know what you expect. A shouting match? A fistfight? The anticipation is a physical thing, a low thrum beneath your skin.
The first knock. You open the door. It’s him, the Degrader. He pushes past you without a word, eyes already stripping you down, a predatory glint in their depths. He just stalks towards the living room, expecting you to follow.
The second knock, lighter this time. Your heart kicks against your ribs. You open the door again, it’s the Praiser. His smile is warm, lighting up his face until he glances past you and sees the other man silhouetted against your living room window. The smile vanishes. Confusion flashes across his face, quickly followed by a dawning, sickening understanding.
The air crackles. Thick, heavy silence stretches between the three of you.
The Degrader turns slowly, his expression shifting from possessive annoyance at the interruption to cold, hard shock as he recognizes his friend. Their eyes lock. Accusation, betrayal, confusion — it all hangs unspoken in the air.
"What the fuck is this?" the Degrader finally grinds out, his voice dangerously clipped. His gaze snaps to you, burning holes.
The Praiser just stares, looking between his friend and you, processing the impossible. "You… and him?" The question laced with hurt.
You don’t flinch. You meet both their gazes, holding steady. This is your doing. You wanted this collision. "Yes," you say, your voice clear, surprisingly steady. "Both of you."
The Degrader laughs, a harsh, ugly sound. "Playing games, little slut?" He takes a step towards you, menace rolling off him.
But the Praiser moves too, stepping slightly in front of you, a protective instinct warring with his shock. "Hey," he says, his voice tight. "Let's hear her out."
And there it is. The tension shifts. It’s not just about you anymore. It’s about them, their friendship, this new reality laid bare. Unspoken history and sudden, raw desire redirected.
You watch them watching each other, the initial shock giving way to something else. Curiosity? Resentment? A dark, shared understanding? Maybe the betrayal itself is an aphrodisiac.
You break the standoff. You walk towards the Degrader, stopping inches away. You reach up, tracing the hard line of his jaw. Then, slowly, you turn and walk to Praiser, mirroring the gesture, letting your fingers linger on the pulse beating frantically in his neck. You step back, positioning yourself between them again.
"I want both," you state, not a plea, but a fact. A challenge.
The Degrader's eyes are dark, calculating. He looks at his friend, then back at you. A slow, cruel smirk spreads across his face. "Fine," he says, his voice rough. "But let's see you earn it." He grabs your wrist, hard, pulling you towards him.
Before the Praiser can react, the Degrader shoves you forward, up against the wall. "Show him," he commands, his voice a whip crack. "Show him what a whore you are."
You lose your breath as the familiar shame floods you, but now it’s amplified, witnessed. The Praiser is watching, his face a mask of confliction — disgust, maybe, but underneath, a flicker of something else. Fascination? Arousal?
The Degrader doesn't make you wait. He unbuckles his belt, the sound loud in the tense room. He kicks your legs further apart. He doesn't bother with preparation, just lines himself up and slams into you, hard and dry. You cry out, biting back a sob. It’s punishing, as always, but the presence of the Praiser changes everything. You feel utterly exposed, pinned like an animal waiting for examination.
He fucks you brutally, his hips hammering against you, his hand fisted in your hair, forcing your head up. "Watch," he snarls at his friend. "See what she really is."
You squeeze your eyes shut, but you can feel the Praiser's gaze on you. You expect him to leave, to shout, to stop this. But he doesn't move. When you risk a glance, his face is taut, his fists clenched, but his eyes… his eyes are fixed on the juncture of your bodies, on the way your hips jerk with each rough thrust.
Then, slowly, the Praiser moves. He comes closer, standing beside you. His touch, when it comes, is startlingly gentle against your tear-streaked cheek. He wipes away a tear with his thumb. "It's okay." But his eyes are still locked on the relentless rhythm of his friend fucking you.
The Degrader grunts, driving deeper. The Praiser's hand slides down your back, tracing your spine, then rests possessively on your hip, mirroring his friend’s grip on the other side. A low groan escapes you, torn between the brutal friction inside you and the confusing tenderness of his touch.
The Degrader seems spurred on by this, his thrusts becoming even more frantic. He pulls out almost completely, then slams back in, forcing a choked gasp from you. The Praiser's fingers tighten on your hip. He leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "You like this, then?" he whispers, not accusatory, but fascinated. "Being used like this."
You can only nod, shame and arousal warring within you.
The Degrader suddenly pulls out, his breath coming in harsh pants, having seemingly exhausted himself. Before you can react, the Praiser is moving. He pushes his friend aside slightly. "My turn," he says, his voice strained. He positions himself in front of you, his erection thick and hot against your folds. His entry is different — still hard, still demanding, but slower, stretching you, filling you in a way that feels both possessive and protective.
The Degrader watches, his breathing ragged, his cock still slick and hard in his hand. He steps forward, reaching out, his rough fingers finding your clit, rubbing ruthlessly. You cry out, caught between the deep, stretching fullness inside you and the sharp, focused friction.
They find a rhythm, a strange, unspoken collaboration. One fucking you deep and steady, the other tormenting your clit, whispering a confusing mix of praise and degradation in your ears. "I'd give you anything" the Praiser groans, burying his face in your neck. "You could have told me." Simultaneously, the Degrader mutters, "Dirty little whore, couldn't have just one," while his thumb circles relentlessly.
Before you can catch your breath, the Praiser shifts again. He grips the Degrader's shoulder and turns him slightly. Their eyes lock for a moment. Then, wordlessly, the Praiser's mouth finds yours, kissing you hard, possessively, tongue plunging deep as if trying to stake a claim right there in front of his friend.
While you're lost in that bruising kiss, the Degrader positions himself behind you. You feel the blunt pressure of his cock probe between your clenched cheeks, slicked only with your own arousal and maybe spit — you can’t be sure. He shoves forward ruthlessly. A sharp, tearing pain makes you gasp against the Praiser’s mouth, biting down on his lip unintentionally. The Praiser doesn’t pull back; he just groans into the kiss, his own thrusts deepening inside your pussy, pinning you between them. The Degrader forces his way in, thick and unwelcome, stretching your ass until he’s fully seated. You’re impaled, front and back, filled to bursting. The pressure is immense, a violation that sends shockwaves through your entire body. You scream, the sound muffled against the Praiser’s mouth, overcome by the sheer overwhelming sensation of being completely, simultaneously claimed and invaded from both ends. You scream, overcome by full body contact, bucking against them both as they surround you front to back.
The boundaries blur completely. Hands roam, mouths explore. You feel a hand slide between your legs from behind, fingers joining the assault. At some point, they switch places without breaking rhythm, a seamless, predatory exchange. The one who usually praised you now fucks you with a raw intensity that mirrors his friend’s, while the one who degraded you whispers filthy worship against your skin.
It’s too much. Sensation overload. Your orgasm pulls you apart at the seams, tossed between pleasure and pain, reverence and humiliation. It ends in a tangle of limbs and sweat, all three of you slick and panting on your living room floor. Spent. You lie there, pinned between them, feeling the rise and fall of their chests, the heat radiating off their skin.
You got what you wanted. Both of them. Here. Together. The balancing act is over. But looking at their faces — exhausted, still processing – you realize this isn't an ending. It's just the beginning of something far more complicated and far more dangerous.
Rotation. The blunt comes back to you, its tip glowing a warm, promising orange in the dim room. You take a long, slow drag, holding the smoke deep in your lungs until your head feels light and floaty. The edges of the room are getting soft, the low rumble of the guys’ laughter blending into the music. You pass it on, your fingers clumsy, your whole body humming with a pleasant buzz.
You just want more.
The next time the blunt comes around, the guy next to you holds it just out of your reach. He’s got a lazy smirk on his face.
"You want another hit?" he asks, his voice a low drawl.
You nod, your eyes fixed on the thin trail of smoke curling towards the ceiling. You can almost taste it.
"Gotta earn it," another one chimes in from across the circle. "Do something slutty for us."
The other guys chuckle in agreement. Your cheeks flush hot, but the craving for another hit is a physical ache in your chest. You need to get higher. You need to chase that feeling until you disappear completely.
"Like what?" you hear yourself ask, your voice sounding small and distant.
"Grab your tits," he says, his eyes glinting. "Let’s see you play with them a little."
For a second, you hesitate. Then you look at the blunt, so close. It’s an easy trade. Your hands, feeling like they belong to someone else, move up to the front of your shirt. You cup your breasts, the fabric rough against your palms. You give them a squeeze. A cheer goes through the room.
He grins and hands you the blunt. You take the deepest drag yet, the smoke searing your throat in the best way. The world tilts, and you melt back into the couch with a satisfied sigh.
The next round, it’s the same game. The blunt is held hostage.
"Something else," another voice demands. "Take something off."
The world is syrupy now, your thoughts a slow, happy river. The idea isn't embarrassing anymore. It’s just part of the game. Part of the price. You pull your shirt over your head and toss it onto the floor, leaving you in just your jeans and a plain black bra. Their eyes are all over you, hungry and dark. You're starting to feel a different kind of high, one that starts between your legs. You get your reward, sucking down the smoke greedily.
You’re so fucking high. Your head is a messy puddle of pleasure and fog. When the blunt is denied again, a genuine whine escapes your lips. You’re desperate.
"You really want it that bad?" the guy next to you asks, a real challenge in his voice this time. He sounds like he’s joking. "Fine. Get over here and bounce on my cock for it."
The room goes quiet. They’re all watching you, waiting for you to blush and refuse. They think they’ve finally found your limit.
But the thought isn’t even shocking. It’s… right. The idea slides into your hazy mind and fits perfectly.
Without a word, you push yourself off the couch and crawl over to him. You hear the sharp intake of breath from the other guys. You hear the sound of a zipper being pulled down. You look up at him, and his smirk is gone, replaced by stunned, raw hunger.
His cock is already thick and hard, springing free from his jeans. You reach out, your hand closing around him, and he groans. You don’t hesitate. You slip your jeans and panties off, then guide yourself down onto his lap, the blunt head of his cock pressing into your pussy.
You start to bounce. Softly at first, then with more purpose, grinding down. It's so intense. This is better than the weed. So much better.
Then, hands are on you. Someone is behind you, his fingers digging into your hips, another guy’s mouth is on your neck, sucking hard. Your bra is unhooked and pulled away. Hands cup your bare breasts, thumbs flicking your nipples until they’re aching pebbles.
You’re pulled off his lap and pushed down onto your hands and knees on the floor. Someone’s tongue invades your mouth while another positions his cock at your entrance.
He shoves inside you without warning. You scream, but it’s a sound of pure pleasure. He fucks you hard and rough, his hips slamming against you. Before you can even catch your breath, another cock replaces the tongue, thrusting into your waiting mouth. You take it all, gagging as you suck, your eyes rolling back in your head.
The cock in your mouth pulls out, leaving you gasping, your throat aching. The one fucking you from behind slams into you one last time, his hot cum flooding your pussy as he groans your name. He collapses onto your back, spent.
For a moment, there’s a lull. The room is thick with the smell of sweat, sex, and stale smoke. You’re on all fours, trembling, your mind a blissful, empty void. Then the craving hits again.
You turn your head, your eyes hazy and searching. Another guy is kneeling in front of you, his cock thick and ready in his hand. Your mouth waters.
"Another hit," you beg, the words tumbling out before you can think. "Please… I need another hit."
He understands the new game perfectly. He grabs your hair and guides your mouth onto his cock. You take him in eagerly, sucking down on him like you’re trying to pull smoke from an ember. You suck until he’s groaning, until his hips start to buck, until he’s pushing your head down, fucking your throat. He comes fast, a hot, thick rush you swallow without thinking.
He pulls out. Another is already there to take his place.
It becomes a rhythm. A new rotation. They use your mouth, your pussy, your ass. You’re passed between them, a communal toy. And with every new cock, you beg for it.
"One more hit… please," you whine as you’re flipped onto your back, your legs pulled wide open.
A new guy settles between them, his cock pressing against your soaked cunt. He slides in and you cry out, the feeling of being stretched and filled all over again making you squirm. You wrap your legs around his waist, taking every brutal thrust. Your head lolls to the side, and you see another cock waiting by your mouth. You don’t even need to be told. You open wide and take it, your cheek pressed to the ground, your body being used from both ends.
You take their cocks, drawing out their pleasure, making them groan and shudder. You don't stop until they’re spent, until they’ve given you everything.
Finally, you’re lying on the floor, a slick, trembling mess. Your body is a beautiful ruin of spit and sweat and their cum. You’re dazed, your muscles aching. But the craving is still there, a low thrum deep inside you.
"One… more… hit…" you whisper to the ceiling, your voice barely there.
They surround you. Standing over you, their cocks all hard again, slick and dripping. You look up at them through barely open eyes, your mouth falling slack in invitation. This is it. The final, perfect drag.
One by one, they give you what you’ve been begging for. Hot streams of cum cover your face, your tits, your stomach. It splashes across your cheeks, drips from your chin, paints your body white. You just lie there, taking it all, a gasp leaving your lips with each new volley. Drenched and shaking under the weight of their release, you finally feel it. The high you've been chasing.
