fantasy is that you're dressed in a black patent leather set that I have have put together. It is a short tight mini skirt, a bra from which the breasts almost fall out, a tiny thong, suspenders, black sheer stockings with a seam and to top it off a pair of mega high platform heels that you can barely walk on. Your makeup will be very slutty with bright pink lips, perfectly painted in a slutty pink color, long black eyelashes which gives you a doll-like look, a bright pink blush and bright pink and light blue eyeshadow which completes the slutty look. Your long fingernails and toenails painted the same pink as your lips. And you wish to be used by me as my personal whore, standing in a parking lot where I will pick you up and abuse you completely. I will wear a strap-on that you will have to suck, and then I will fuck you senseless, like a cheap whore like you needs to be Fucked
Everything changed the day Amira was born.
The world outside was collapsing — bombs, dust, screams, and fear. Yet inside a small room, by the dim light of a single candle, a new life began.
While others were running for shelter, I was holding my newborn daughter, trembling, crying, trying to believe that something so pure could still exist in a place like Gaza.
I named her Amira, because I wanted her to feel like a child of life —not a child of war.
A year has passed since that night, but nothing has really changed
Our house is still rubble, our streets still carry the smell of smoke, and the sky still echoes with sounds that make Amira flinch in her sleep.
She has just turned one.
She’s learning to walk, holding my finger with her tiny hand, laughing at the smallest things — as if she doesn’t see the destruction around her.
She doesn’t know the word “loss.”
She never met her father, but when she smiles, I see him there.
Sometimes I watch her sleeping, and I wonder what kind of world she will grow up in — whether she will ever know what peace feels like, what home smells like.
And yet, when she opens her eyes in the morning and says “mama,” everything becomes bearable again.
I want to rebuild our home.
Not just for the walls — but for her future.
For Amira to have a small room, a safe place to dream, a life that belongs to her, not to war.
I’m not asking for much. Only for a chance to give her a beginning filled with warmth instead of fear
My name is Saja. I am a mother, a wife, and just one of many women in Gaza trying to hold on — to hope, to my family, and to a life that no
A Mother’s Message
To everyone reading this — thank you for listening to our story.
Your kindness means more than words.
Every share, every message, every donation — it all helps me rebuild not just a house, but a future for Amira.
From the heart of Gaza, from a mother learning to hope again —
we will live. And I will make sure my daughter grows up in a world that knows love more than war.
You constantly think about your therapist making you edge on my shemale couch. You are sitting there naked with your legs spread and your fingers slowly circling your clit while you tell me your twisted naughty fantasies. when you reach the edge you have to tell me, and I will lean over and hold your hand away until the edge passes, and I will tell you how wrong it is for girls to cum and how your sexual pleasure is not important and how you should direct your frustration and horniness towards being useful instead. sometimes, when your naughty fantasies contain thoughts of you cumming, I will makes you bend over the armrest of the couch and spanks your bottom until you're sore. one of my therapeutic strategies is to humiliate you by feeding you your boi pussy grool, or making you edge in exposing positions. at the end of the session I will always locks you up in your chastity belt to make sure you don't touch until our next session. I don't want all of our good progress to go to waste, after all.
kianamaiart
dailybridgerton
yousharknotpass
snowghoul
baratheonpilled
prguitarman
