unwanted orgasms are such a hot idea. squirming under someone crying and begging them to stop, it hurts so bad but there's pleasure building up. desperately trying to ignore it but eventually it's too much and I cum all over their cock or fingers
they take notice and laugh at me and whisper "see, I knew you wanted it"
The fact that there's no one holding me down and forcefully making me cum again and again and again, growling that it's not my choice and if they want to ruin my puppyhole forever they will, that I am not strong enough to fight them anyway so I should stop whining and start moaning, it's just cruel
little whump details when someone is going through an invasive, violating assault
heavy panting breaths through gritted teeth
eyes squeezed tight shut, tears forcing their way down red, sweaty cheeks
little shifting, squirming movements of their hips and shoulders, unable to stop themself from moving as they can’t stand the pain and the inescapable touch on their skin
their breathing going unsteady and jolting, too fast one moment, thin and shallow and long the next, whimpering sounds they can’t bite back all the way
trembling taking over as their body dissolves into shock and horror and grief that they can’t even emotionally process as they’re dissociating from what’s happening to them but can’t physically escape
the mismatch of their pain and fear, the panting and stifled whimpering, and the deep, satisfied groaning and moaning or angry, aggressive grunting of whumper on top of them
the creak of furniture over and over and over, a sound that’s going to make pain and terror seize their body when they sit on a couch or lay down too hard on a bed for years to come
whumpee being kissed over/through a gag. whumper’s mouth is hot and wet and inescapable. whumpee can’t bite. they can’t get away. if it’s an open mouthed gag, a ring or spider gag, they can’t escape whumper’s tongue forced inside, deep and choking and invasive. kissing over or around a ball gag, kissing over the top of tape, kissing and licking at the sides of a muzzle, the insistent, forcible passion. the helplessness is horrifying, and it’s so confusing too. why. why is this happening, what is happening, why?
strugglefucking is so fun, like yea show me how much bigger and stronger you are than me, show me how easily you can hold me down despite all my kicking and screaming. Put your hand over my mouth n tell me to shut up and take it because I’m weak, weaker than you, and this is my place. muffle my sobs as they devolve into whimpers, until all the fight leaves me, til I wear myself out and have no choice but to be used
the most humiliating thing you can do to a trans guy is push his legs up against his chest. oh you’re a man? with your pussy on display? all helpless and easily raped? sure man
To be forced to keep my legs open as they toy with my clit, squirming and whimpering because I’m so sensitive only for them to slap my cunt and tell me to hold still. Maybe I’ll have my legs restrained next so I literally can’t stop what they are doing, either they force a dildo deep inside me, or just continue to circle my clit slowly edging me for what feels like an eternity. Maybe they do both, and I’m left stuffed with a toy while they have fun with my swollen clit until my brain melts.
being told to take that cock while you’re pinned and getting fucked is so hot cause it’s not an ask or praise, it’s an outright demand. they’re inside you, pounding your cunt so hard and slamming into you that you can barely catch your breath and you quite literally have no choice but to take it. the phrase is a mockery, made to remind you to lay there and submit, let your cunt do what it does best
Times Up. The room is dim. Expensive furniture reduced to shapes in the darkness. The only sound besides your own breathing is a quiet hum from a digital timer mounted on the opposite wall. Red numerals glow in the gloom: 00:59:57.
Just under one hour.
"You're awake." The voice comes from somewhere near the door. You crane your neck, wrists already testing the leather restraints, and watch him step into the faint light. You don't know his face. But you recognize the way his eyes move over your body. Roaming. An inventory assessment.
He's carrying things. Metal glints.
"The rules are simple," he says, approaching the bed. His footsteps are unhurried. "When the timer hits zero, I undo the restraints. The door opens. You leave." He pauses at the edge of the mattress, looking down at you. "One small addition."
Cold metal touches your nipple. You gasp as he fastens the clamp, the bite sharp and immediate, radiating heat straight down to your core. The second clamp follows. You arch involuntarily, straining against the leather.
He produces a vibrator. Sleek. Expensive looking. You watch him lower it between your legs, watch the silicone part your folds and settle against your clit. He turns it on.
"Every time you cum, an hour gets added to the clock."
You look at the timer. You look at yourself. Spread open, clamped, vibrating.
One hour. You can do one hour. You just have to not cum.
He steps back. Settles into a chair at the side of the bed and watches.
You try to focus on the numbers. Try to think about other things. Work emails. Grocery lists. The pattern of shadows on the ceiling.
But the clamps send sharp little signals with every breath. The vibrator hums against flesh that's growing wetter by the minute. You clench your jaw. Breathe through your nose. Don't cum. Don't cum.
He hasn't moved. He's just watching.
Your hips twitch. You didn't tell them to. The pressure is building low in your belly, a warmth that spreads and tightens simultaneously. You're wet enough now that the vibrator glides, hits new angles.
You bite your lip until you taste blood.
The numbers blur. 00:47:23. You've been holding on for twelve minutes. It feels like hours. Your thighs are trembling. Your breath comes in sharp little gasps you can't control.
He knows. You can see it in his stillness. The way he's leaned forward slightly. Waiting.
"No," you whisper. To yourself. To your body. To the orgasm building like a wave you can't outswim.
It hits you anyway. Your back arches off the bed, a sound tears out of your throat that you don't recognize, and you're cumming so hard your vision goes white at the edges. It rolls through you in pulses, each one a betrayal, each one exquisite.
When you can see again, you look at the clock.
01:46:12
"Impressive effort," he says. He's standing now, holding a remote. "Let's try a different setting."
The vibration changes. Pulsing now. It mimics something. A heartbeat. A thrust. Your overstimulated clit throbs in response, too sensitive, too raw, and somehow already building again.
"No... please.." you gasp out, the words weak.
"Please what?" He moves closer. His fingers trail along your inner thigh, impossibly light. "Please make you cum again?" He dips a finger into the wetness pooling between your legs, holds it up so you can see. "You're dripping. Your body knows what it wants."
You shake your head. But your hips are rocking against the vibrator, tiny movements you can't seem to stop.
This time when you cum, you're crying. Tears streaming down your temples into your hair. The clock resets: 02:38:47.
He fucks you for the first time somewhere around hour four.
Slow, at first. Long strokes that let you feel every inch, that build friction to an unbearable degree while the vibrator keeps humming against your clit. You cum on his cock within minutes. The clock adds another hour. He doesn't stop. Doesn't even pause.
He switches to something harder. Brutal. Each thrust punches the air out of your lungs, drives you up the bed until the restraints catch. You cum again. You can't help it. Your body has stopped consulting you. It just responds. Takes. Shatters.
He introduces other things. Hot wax pooling in the hollow of your throat, dripping down between your breasts. Ice traced along your inner thighs until you're shivering and burning at once. His mouth on your cunt, tongue flicking precisely where the vibrator has made you most sensitive, most ruined.
He talks through it the whole way. That's probably the worst part. "You get wetter when you're scared." "That's three in a row. You're getting efficient." "We have so much time now."
The clock climbs. Six hours. Eight. Twelve. You stop being able to track it. The numbers lose meaning. Everything loses meaning except the next wave, the next peak, the next hour added to your sentence.
Somewhere in the blur, you realize you've stopped wanting it to end.
The thought surfaces between orgasms, when you're floating in that shattered space where language doesn't quite work. You should want to escape. You remember wanting that, vaguely, like a dream you had as a child. But the wanting has curdled into something else.
He slows down. You're not sure when. The frantic edge bleeds away, replaced by something almost gentle. The vibrator stops. He removes the clamps. Your nipples throb with the renewed blood flow, a pain that registers as pleasure now. Everything registers as pleasure now.
You blink at the clock. 00:06:43.
Six minutes. After everything. How?
He's undoing the restraints. Your wrists fall free. Your ankles. You can move. You can leave.
The thought sends ice through your veins.
Leave? Leave this room? Leave him? Go back to a world where no one touches you like this, where you're responsible for your own orgasms, where pleasure is something you have to chase instead of something that hunts you down and devours you?
The silence of outside presses against the walls. Empty. Ordinary. Unbearable.
He steps back. Gestures toward the door. "It's almost time."
Your hand moves own between your legs, finding your clit, swollen and slick and excruciatingly sensitive. You rub with clumsy desperation, chasing the build.
"Don't," you hear yourself say. Begging. Sobbing. "Don't make me leave. Please. I need to cum. I need more time."
He goes still. Watching you fuck yourself on his bed, desperate to add another hour to your captivity. The pressure is building fast, your ruined body trained now, eager.
"Let me stay. I'll be good. I'll cum as many times as you want. Just don't make me go."
Four minutes on the clock.
Your fingers work faster. You're so close. So close to another hour in this room, in this darkness, in this endless cycle of being broken and put back together wrong.
Currently thinking about scissoring another girl while a Man jerks off above us🥰 Both of us constantly looking up at him for his approval because we only exist to entertain cocks and our goal is purely to be porn for Men’s pleasure🙏
three girlfriends sitting down for a casting couch interview - one lesbian who's tried straight sex before and decided she definitely didn't like it and she was definitely a lesbian, one bi girl, and one gold star lesbian who's never even considered doing anything with a man - talking about their triad relationship, their experiences as sapphic women, and other similar topics, to the off-screen male interviewer slash cameraman
hard cut to them naked kneeling on the floor sucking him off together - bi girl gets to throat his cock, while the lesbians are happily latched onto his balls, slobbering on them with earnest dedication. all three moan and hum with delight as they look up at him with their mouths full and cheeks hollowed out from suction, drooling mindlessly.
they swap places every now and again, so that each of them gets to pop each of his fat heavy nuts into their mouths and each of them gets to swallow down his thick cock. they squirm and buck their hips, staying close together so their fat tits, shining with globs of spit that dripped down their chins, rub against one another
he jerks off above their faces as they share a sloppy drooly three-way kiss
I get so turned on kissing my girlfriend like this, tongues twisted together on show....knowing every hetero man in eyesight is immediately thinking of his cock between our lips and tongues.
your girlfriend really really should have warned you about what her father was like before you met him for the first time. here you are, dressed in the nicest button-down you own, your hair neatly styled, and you even brought a nice wine that you spent way too much damn money on to impress him. and here he is, eyeing you up and down like you aren't dating his fucking daughter.
for a while, you assume it's in your head. men always gave you a terrible impression, and maybe you're simply jumping the gun and assuming the worst. your girlfriend spoke so highly of her father for as long as you've dated. she must have her reasons for it.
until, that is, you're all seated at the dinner table, and the topic of sports comes up, and you mention that you're on the basketball team at your college. "been playing all my life," you say, proudly.
he smiles and coos at you. "aw, that's cute."
"well, in women's basketball," he returns. "really only one good reason people wanna watch that." he takes a long, slow sip of his wine, but his eyes watch you over the rim, never losing that condescending glint.
you blink, almost unsure if you misheard him. cute? "we're nationally ranked," is all you can say.
you turn your gaze to your girlfriend, silently pleading for her to back you up and push against the implications of his words. but to your shock, she's smiling and giggling. she reaches across the table and takes your hand. "it's definitely the first thing that caught my eye about her. you should see her when she's playing!"
"maybe i will," he muses. "i'd definitely love to see more of her." something in the way he says it sends a shiver down your spine.
the moment you enter your girlfriend's bedroom, you slam the door and groan in frustration. "what the fuck is his problem?"
your girlfriend chuckles as she stretches out on her bed, her eyes watching you pace back and forth to work off some of the anger pooling in your stomach. "he's just like that. you'll warm up to him, trust me."
you huff out an incredulous laugh. "yeah, i highly doubt that. how in the hell did that pig raise you of all people?"
she hums in contemplation. "my empath senses tell me you need to vent."
you want to roll your eyes at her, but you're not turning down a chance to complain about those torturous two hours you had to spend withstanding one sexist remark after another.
she pats the spot on the bed beside her, and although you'd prefer to pace until the buzzing under your skin ceases, you absentmindedly sit down as the words tumble from your mouth.
"cute. he really had the audacity to call my entire athletic career cute."
your girlfriend hums in acknowledgment as she listens, though she says nothing more as she squeezes your tense shoulders, willing them to relax. she watches your face closely as her hands sneak down to unbutton your shirt.
"what an asshole. do you guys have a basketball hoop in your yard or something? i'd really love to kick his ass and wipe that stupid condescending look off his face." you don't always get a chance to play against men, and you can't help the distant voice in your head wonder how much his height would be an advantage. when he greeted you at the door, it wasn't lost on you how big he is, and you practically had to crane your neck to look him in the eye.
she doesn't answer the question as she slides the shirt off your shoulders and tosses it aside. regardless, the question was so far from your mind as you pictured his face, those eyes peering at you in a way that left you wanting to cover yourself even in your modest clothing.
you barely notice the way she pushes you onto your back as you keep speaking. "maybe he should come to one of my games next season. spite is a great motivator, and it'd really have me on my A game." or it'd fluster you to the point of being entirely inept. something about him made you feel so jittery and restless. you can't quite tell if it's your body's instinct to fight him or what.
"and what was with the mansplaining? all evening! god, i never should've mentioned my major. i was hoping it'd earn me some basic respect when he realizes i'm in his field, but he just kept treating me like an amateur!"
distantly, you register the sound of your belt being unbuckled, and the way your hips are pushed just enough to slide your pants off. and maybe you should be paying a bit more attention to your girl right now—when did she take off her clothes?—but that burning anger that's been building in the pit of your stomach all evening has yet to be extinguished, and she's nodding at you to continue. you don't even know if you can stop venting if you tried right now.
and you want to growl from the anger, but suddenly a moan slips from your lips as you feel two fingers press deep into your cunt and curl just at the spot that makes you melt.
"how many times does he have to hear, 'yeah, i know,' before he gets the damn message? he was talking to me like i'm a child, for fuck's sake." even as you were trying to tell him about a very competitive internship you'd earned the previous summer, he talked down to you like a teacher praising a child for learning to write. your teeth grit and your face burns as you replay his tone as he called you a "smart little girl."
"fuck, baby, you're so wet," your girlfriend sighs as she pumps her fingers into you.
"i'm what?" you hardly noticed. but now you can feel how easily her fingers slide into you, and suddenly you're painfully aware that the fiery sensation you'd been feeling all evening started between your legs where her hands worked deftly.
"drenched, darling," she repeats, and chuckles as she presses a kiss to your inner thigh.
of all the times you've done this, you've never felt so... exposed. there's some private, hidden part of you laid bare that neither she nor you yourself have seen before. you try to close your legs, embarrassed by the revelation, but all you can manage to do is squirm. has it always felt so good to be touched like this?
"well, don't stop now," she tells you. "keep talking. tell me how degraded he made you feel."
"is... wait, wait, oh fuck—" you grab her wrist to still her hand but you can't seem to find the strength to push her off. "is this weird? i mean, shit, he's your dad."
she brings herself closer now, and you can feel her hot breath on your pussy as she speaks. "and just look what he does to you."
how much of the heat you feel is anger and how much of it is lust? you're losing track, unable to separate them out. but with every little humiliation you recall and every swipe of her tongue over your clit, the two emotions feed into each other. your whole body is alight with it.
you purse your lips tightly as the humiliation of the moment washes over you. you don't want to keep talking about him, to keep exposing how deeply he's somehow wormed his way into your head. but he did, and all your efforts to focus on the gorgeous woman between your legs fall flat. all you can see in your minds eye is him. him and those hungry eyes that raked over your body all night. him and those lips that curled into a smirk every time you took his bait.
"he was getting off on it." you couldn't help voicing the realization aloud, nor could you help the way your hips bucked up to chase the friction of your girl's tongue. "he wanted to get under my skin. to see me squirm, to piss me off, to degrade me."
as the realization hit you, you feel her lips curl into a smile against your skin. did she know all along?
"so fucking demeaning," you say. between your breathy moans and gasps, it sounds unconvincing to your own ears. "i came here trying to impress him and he looked at all my accomplishments and just, aah, jerked off all over them!"
with the awareness came a whole new scene in your minds eye. not just of his eyes and lips, but parts of him you wanted so desperately to ignore. was he hard under the table as he mocked you? would he stroke his cock to the memory of how flustered he got you, how desperately you tried to fight back against his condescension only to be pushed back down with more?
it makes you sick to your stomach, and twisted up in that disgust is a lust that you can't contain. it's spilling out of you, making a wet mess of the sheets, as inconsiderate of your willingness as he was. you feel as violated by your own body's reactions as you did by his leering gaze, by this new awareness that you're nothing but a sex toy to him.
for a moment, your lover's tongue leaves your aching clit just long enough for her to ask, "could you imagine what he'd do if he saw you like this?"
you shake your head viciously. "no, no, god, fuck no—" but you can, so vividly. you can see his smirk and hungry eyes. how he'd make his way to the other side of the bed, over your head, and shuck off his pants. you can see the way his hard cock would fill your whole field of view, feel the weight of it as he slaps it down onto your face, hear the mocking laugh as he watches you in such a helpless state. but what you can't imagine, what you've never found yourself thinking of until now, is the taste.
burning with shame, you swallow the saliva that's flooding your mouth.
you shouldn't be so close already. but somewhere hidden under the anger and hate you've been stewing in all night, this unwanted arousal was building and building, feeding off your own humiliation. you've never been so sensitive.
between long, languid licks, your girl asks, "mmm, you're getting close, aren't you, dear?"
you hate how familiar she is with your body that she just knows. you hate that it's getting to you so much. "no, no," you insist, and your voice comes out in the most embarrassing whine you've ever heard.
she coos at you, like you're a sad, pathetic little animal. "it's okay," she says, and she sounds so earnest, so understanding. "you can say what you really want. it'll be our secret."
she gives another slow, firm swipe of her tongue over your clit. you've never fought so desperately against your own pleasure.
don't cum, don't cum, you think to yourself.
"it's okay to want him."
another lick. your legs shake around her head.
"it's okay to cum for him."
and it's not, it's really really not. but that doesn't matter to your body. despite all your frantic efforts, you can't stop it. the orgasm rips through you and leaves you screaming and moaning in its intensity. you try to shut your legs, try to scramble away from her tongue as she laps at your sensitive clit, as if interrupting the orgasm will somehow absolve you of the shame of it.
but she holds you firmly and forces it out of you. and with it, the truth you've been desperately shoving down comes spilling out of your lips.
"i want him to make me his dyke slut!"
you wish you could grab the words and shove them back into the darkest part of your psyche where they'll never be heard. but you can no more do that than you can undo the mind-numbing, leg-shaking, screaming orgasm.
you don't know how long it goes on, but by the end, you're panting and your heart is racing as if you had just finished an intense work out. your face is on fire, and you stare up at the ceiling in horror even as the warm, happy afterglow washes over you. your mind is too scrambled to even try untangling the mess of emotions in your chest.
your girlfriend is kissing up your body, and you shiver in response. she settles beside you, her head nestled under your chin as she sighs pleasantly. "i meant it when i said that it'll be our secret. i won't tell," she promises. "i just hope the walls are thick enough that he didn't hear that."
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