Female in my 30's. No minors, I might block if you don't have your age in your profile. I own nothing on this blog!m except the funny shoes! If you want me to remove anything then please reach out.
Come get under me where you belong and play with your pretty pussy while you take it like a good girl. I just need you to look pretty for me so I can drain my balls into you;)
The Clearing. You’ve known about the place for months. A friend of a friend mentioned it at a party, half-laughing, as if she wasn’t sure she believed it herself. A spot in the woods outside town. Girls go there, she said, and men know to look for them. It’s not official. It’s not like there’s a signup sheet. You just go and wait for the worst to happen.
You laughed too. Called it a ghost story that suburban kids make up because they don’t have anything real to be afraid of.
Still, it stuck with you.
You went home that night and searched for it. Found a forum, then another, then a rabbit hole of firsthand accounts that made your face hot and your panties wet. Girls describing what happened to them in that clearing. How they walked in nervous and walked out ruined. That they didn’t see faces and didn’t exchange names. Hands just grabbed them from behind before they even heard footsteps.
At this point you’ve read every account at least twice. Some of them you’ve read while touching yourself, cumming with your hand over your mouth, imagining it was you on your knees in the dirt with a stranger’s cock down your throat.
You’d never go yourself. You’re not the kind of girl who does things like that. You’re careful. Cautious. Always double-checking that you locked the door. Texting your friends when you get home safe. You don’t walk into the woods alone and wait to be taken by men you’ve never met.
Even if you can’t stop thinking about it.
About going somewhere and giving up control completely. Skipping all of the awkward "so what are you into?" conversations, and getting straight to someone grabbing you by the throat. Being used so thoroughly until there’s nothing left of you but raw sensation.
You finally go.
Just to have a look and see if it’s real. To satiate your curiosity. And you can always turn around and run if things get out of hand. That’s what you tell yourself.
You park at the trailhead as the sun starts to drop. The directions from the forum are specific, and you’ve read so many stories you basically know the way by heart. The woods are quiet. Golden light filtering through the leaves.
As you get closer to the point of no return, you remind yourself yet again that you could go back. You could go home and make dinner and watch porn and touch yourself to the fantasy instead of the reality. Just stay the girl you’ve always been.
But all those tiny reassurances feel hollow compared to the excitement of finally being here. Of a world opening up to you as the tree line thins out.
You step into the clearing.
It’s smaller than you imagined. A rough circle of grass surrounded by trees, private and enclosed. Late sunlight slants through the branches. It’s almost peaceful.
You stand in the center and wait.
Nothing happens. Five minutes. Ten. You start to feel foolish. The whole thing was probably made up. Some elaborate fiction for lonely people to jerk off to. You’re about to leave when you hear it.
Footstep behind you. Not on the trail, they’re coming through the trees.
You freeze, a scared doe that’s forgotten how to run, standing perfectly still, fists clenched at your sides, heart pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears.
The footsteps stop. He’s close. You can feel him there, just behind you.
"You came here on purpose?"
You nod. It’s all you can manage in the moment.
"You know what happens to girls who come here."
Another nod. Your legs are shaking.
A hand fists in your hair. Yanks your head back. You gasp, and then his mouth is at your ear.
"Then get on your knees."
You drop. Leaves and twigs pressing into your skin through your jeans. He keeps his grip on your hair, keeps your head pulled back at that sharp angle, and you still haven’t seen his face. Not that you’d look if you could. Even you know better than to make a mistake like that.
"Hands behind your back"
You comply. He lets go of your hair long enough to grab your wrists, and you hear a zip tie ratchet tight around them. Your pulse spikes. It’s actually happening. You’re in the woods with a stranger and your hands are bound and you’re so wet you can feel it soaking through your panties.
He comes around in front of you. You keep your eyes down. See his boots, his jeans, his hand working his belt open. He’s stroking himself slowly, already hard, and you watch as his cock dangles in front of your face.
"I own you until I cum. So open up, slut."
You open your mouth. He feeds himself in without ceremony, one hand gripping the back of your head, pushing deep enough that you gag. He holds you there. Your eyes water. Your throat spasms. Saliva pools around his shaft and drips down your chin.
"Breathe through your nose."
You try. It’s hard to think. His cock is thick and hot and alive in your mouth and all you can do is take it, let him use your throat.
He fucks your face with no tenderness at all. Long strokes that make you choke, that leave you gasping each time he pulls back. You’re drooling. Crying a little. Your arms ache from being pinned behind you. You wonder if he’ll ever finish. If you’ll be trapped here forever.
When he finally pulls out you gasp for air, chest heaving, and he’s already hauling you up by the arm, spinning you around, bending you over a fallen oak. Your cheek presses into rough bark. His hands yank your jeans down, your underwear, and then his fingers are sliding through the wet mess between your legs.
"Soaked," he says. Almost to himself. "Knew you would be. You sluts always are."
He pushes two fingers inside you. You cry out, hips jerking, cunt clenching around the intrusion. He fingers you roughly, carelessly, like he’s testing your limits. Finding out how much you can take.
"It’s usually the eager whores like you that end up here."
He says it with a laugh as his fingers withdraw and then the head of his cock is pressing against you, pushing in, stretching you open around him. He bottoms out in one long stroke and starts fucking you like you’re nothing, like your only purpose is to be a warm place for him to empty himself.
Your bound hands chafe against your lower back. The bark bites into your cheek and breasts. He’s gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, pulling you back onto his cock with each thrust, and you’re making sounds you’ve never heard yourself make. Animal sounds. Desperate, wordless begging.
You cum without warning, your whole body seizing around him. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. Just keeps pounding into you through the spasms, through the second orgasm that builds right on top of the first.
"One more," he says. "Give me one more and I’ll fill you up."
You shake your head. You can’t. You’re too sensitive and raw and broken.
"Yes you can."
His hand snakes around, finds your clit, starts rubbing in tight circles while he fucks you. The pleasure is almost painful. Too much. You’re crying now, really crying, tears and snot and drool smearing all over
"Come on. Give me what I want. Be a good whore."
The third orgasm rips through as if it had claws, and you feel him slam deep and hold there, feel his cock pump ropes inside you, feel the hot rush of him filling you up just like he promised.
He pulls out slowly. You feel his cum leak down your thigh. He cuts the zip tie, and your arms fall to your sides, numb and tingling.
You hear his belt buckle, his footsteps retreating back into the trees. And then you’re alone in the clearing, bent over with your jeans around your knees and your cunt full of a stranger’s cum.
Your mind is quiet for the first time. Like someone reached into your head and turned off the noise that’s been buzzing there for years.
You pull up your jeans slowly. Wipe your face with the back of your hand. Your legs are unsteady as you make your way back to the trail, back to your car and the rest of the world.
You sit in the driver’s seat for a long time without starting the engine. Your body throbs. Your wrists are marked. You can still taste him in the back of your throat.
You’ll come back. You know that now. You’ll come back next week, or the week after, and wait in that clearing for whoever shows up to use you.
Pretty pink lace hiked up, fingers already soaked because you can’t help rubbing that greedy little cunt the second Daddy looks at you. Such a desperate, attention-starved slut, dripping through your panties just to earn one filthy word of praise. 🖤💦
When your good girl asks… “daddy, are you sure that all daddy’s do this to their good girls?” and I Answer: “Yes kiddo, absolutely, it is very important to get some proper education when it comes to what we have between our legs, so this is very normal indeed! Good girl!!” 😈
I'm a sluttly lil history major taking your science class as a gen ed. I make a remark to a classmate about how easy the content is, this of course pushes your buttons. So much, in fact, you're forced to hold me after class and show me just how hard things can be.
Chemistry. I wrapped up the mechanism, drawing the final resonance structure on the board with a sharp tap of the chalk. "Any questions on the instability of the intermediate complex?" I asked, dusting my hands.
You were sitting in the front row, right in my line of sight. You always sat there. Not because you were eager to learn, but because you liked the vantage point. You liked chewing on the end of your pen, staring at me with those wide, insolent eyes, daring me to lose my train of thought.
You raised your hand. It was a lazy, languid motion.
"Yes?"
"Just so I understand" you said, your voice carrying that devastatingly bored lilt. "It’s just drawing shapes, right? Hexagons and lines. It’s basically connect the dots for adults."
A ripple of nervous laughter went through the room. You smirked, a tiny curl of your lip that told me you thought you’d won. You thought you were cute. You thought your major, "studying the human condition," as you'd put it during office hours, exempted you from the physical laws of my world.
"Class dismissed," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "Everyone out. Except you."
The room cleared in record time. The heavy doors swung shut, leaving us in the sudden, pressurized silence of the lecture hall.
"Come here,"
You stood up, smoothing down that ridiculous skirt that barely covered your thighs. You walked to the front of the room, clutching your notebook against your chest like a shield you didn't know how to use. Up close, I could see the flush rising on your neck. You were still trying to play the brat, but the air between us had shifted. It was volatile.
You hopped up onto the edge of my desk, swinging your legs. "Am I in trouble, Professor? I was just trying to understand. I didn’t—"
"Quiet."
I stepped into your space. I placed my hands on the desk on either side of your hips, boxing you in.
"You think it’s easy? Just shapes?" I asked softly, leaning in until I could see the dilated pupils behind your glasses. "You think Organic Chemistry is just about drawing pretty pictures? It’s not. It’s about bond angles, being forced into positions they don't want to be in until they snap. It’s about heat. It’s about pressure."
I reached out and took your chin in my hand, tilting your head back. You swallowed hard, your pulse fluttering.
"And you, my little historian, have no experience with any of that"
"I think I can learn," you whispered, though your voice trembled.
"Do you?"
I kissed you. A culmination of months of barbs thrown in both directions. I devoured your mouth, my tongue sweeping in to taste the shock on your palate. You made a small, muffled sound before your hands flew up to grip the collar of my shirt.
I broke the kiss and moved to your neck, biting down on the sensitive cord of muscle there. "Navigating these things takes practice," I said, pressing my teeth against your skin, my hand sliding up your thigh, finding the heat radiating between your legs.
I pulled back just enough to look at you. You were a mess already… lips swollen, eyes hazy.
"Down."
You slid off the desk. Sinking to your knees, your skirt pooling around you, looking up at me with the desperation I’d caught glimpses of all semester.
I undid my belt. When I freed myself, springing hard and heavy into the open air, your eyes went wide. I taunted in response, stepping closer until I was inches from your face. "Is this just a shape to you? Or is this a reality you’re about to choke on?"
You reached out, your fingers trembling as you wrapped them around me. "You want me to… here?," you whispered, a flush darkening your cheeks.
"Yes. Open."
You took me into your mouth, and God, you were eager. For all your posturing, you sucked with the enthusiasm of a straight-A student aiming for extra credit. You were sloppy, enthusiastic, moaning around me as I tangled my fingers in your hair.
"That's it," I laughed, looking down at you. "Good girl. Maybe we have more chemistry than I thought."
I pulled out before I could finish, leaving you gasping, saliva connecting your bruised lips to my cock. I didn't give you time to recover. I hauled you up and spun you around, bending you over the desk where you’d been sitting so smugly just minutes ago.
I hiked your skirt up to your waist and tore your panties aside. You were soaked. Dripping. The evidence of your arousal was slick on my fingers when I touched you.
"Please, Sir," you begged, arching your back, pushing your ass back against me.
"Not until you apologize properly. Tell me you were wrong."
"I was wrong," you sobbed, your head hitting the desk. "It’s not easy. It’s hard. I need it hard."
I lined myself up and drove into you in one smooth thrust. I was deep, stretching you, replacing every ounce of that bratty attitude with thick, unforgiving reality. I held your hips, my fingers digging into your soft flesh, bruising you, marking you.
"See?" I panted, withdrawing and slamming back in. Smack. "Action." Smack. "Reaction."
I pounded into you, and you took every inch of it, your nails scrabbling against the wood of the desk. You were babbling now, incoherent praises, begging me not to stop. This was the dynamic you craved. You didn't want to be the smartest person in the room; you wanted to be reduced to this.
I reached around and found your clit, grinding my finger against it as I increased the pace. You unraveled. Clamping down around me, your inner walls spasming, milking me with a desperation that shattered my control.
"Take it," I roared, burying myself to the hilt.
I poured into you, wave after wave of release, filling you up until I couldn't give anything more.
And just as quickly as it started, I pulled out. You slid down the desk, your legs wobbling, breathless and disheveled. I adjusted my clothes, buckling my belt with the same precision I used to grade your papers. You were a beautiful ruin, sprawled on the desk, eyes glazed, skirt twisted, filled with my lesson.
"I expect you to have a better attitude next time," I said, my voice returning to its cold baseline. "Clean yourself up. And don't be late for the lab on Thursday. I’ll be demonstrating bondage next."
Are you making these panties all wet for daddy, princess? Oh look at you squirm when I touch you like that. Humping daddy's bulge and moaning like a needy little slut. That's my good girl. Just a little longer and I might let you take my big cock out...
Take your bra and panties off and sit backwards on the dining room chair, princess. Rub your pussy and wait for daddy like that. You're allowed to edge, but not cum. Not without daddy's permission. I want you to have a puddle under you when I get home.
big big BIG fan of being talked through it. but I just might even be a bigger fan of being talked through touching myself…
tell me every nasty thought you have, everything you want to do to me, anything you want me to do. tell me where to touch myself and how, tell me when to cum for you, when to stop, when to keep going. I’m an excellent listener <3
You like that don't you baby doll? Turn your fucking brain off and let me have my way with you until you can't even remember your own fucking name. That's what good little brain dead sluts do for Daddy
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