my nsfw sideblog :3

nsfw/kink blog! 23 y/o, it/she, minors DNI, probably untagged stuff here so view at your own risk! also feel free to message if you want~

[amaranthine-paws]

finally took some pics that may interest the paw girls hehehe

[amaranthine-paws]

kinda insecure about my paws so be nice please 💗

(if you wanna tip me see my pinned post!)

[benvey4]

[lustfulsinner657]

There's a dog at this party 😵‍💫 Im so drunk and high and.... I hate how wet I am.... Petting the dog.... 😵‍💫😵‍💫

[renixie]

party fit from the other day btw

[lilyblisslys]

pov: you’re a snail or some kind of bug watching me take photos. Idk this caption isn’t very thought out. grovel, insect

Onlyfans

[renixie]

got my tits out at a party last night and everyone was crowding around to touch them and exclaiming "oh my god they're so soft and nice" and ppl were putting their faces in them and oh my god chat actual highlight of my life

[perception-filter]

Remember: if they can regenerate it is completely okay to do as much brutality as you want because they'll just heal it away anyways ^_^

[foxgirlmindcrank]

The humble boot pervert is at it again

[foxgirlmindcrank]

My old nemesis.... The other boot.....

[yoursweetcorpse]

thinking about a boy who's really trying hard not to make any noise. rather than whine and moan, he swallows hard, focusing on his breathing. watching his chest rise and fall, his loud heartbeat, his fists all balled up. the way his breath catches in his throat when I touch him. or... yeah ok

[puppygirlarmpitsweat]

i need to be made fun of for shooting blanks. i need to be coming down from orgasming just to be degraded and laughed at for barely releasing a single clear drop of cum. i need to be vulnerable and exposed and pathetic.

hoooly shit i need a stronger puppygirl to show me why a real cumshot looks like over my chest while i just lie there unable to escape

[amiyayuri]

Love biting you <3

@icekyjelly

[fastandyurious]

was at my tgirls friends house the past 2 days. got raped #enjoyed

[serenadeformice-deactivated2025]

She gets hungry late at night.

You know this, it's fine, you've gotten used to the feeling of her rousing from sleep and slipping out of bed. She's very careful not to jostle you too much in the process, but it's unfortunately inevitable she wakes you up anyway when you're sleeping on a decade-old double mattress. On the rare occasions you murmur something she stops and runs her hand through your hair and soothes you back to sleep. On the rarer occasions you're awake by the time she returns, her hands are always so warm, her breath rich in the smell of toothpaste and mouthwash.

You're not sure what makes you rise the night you decide to do so. Perhaps it was that she left in a particular hurry, such that she had no time to soothe you back to rest. One way or another you do rise, though, and you tip-toe out from the bedroom and down the hall and the stairs thereafter, and you linger just outside of the ring of light produced by the fridge as she rifles through it.

She pulls from the back of the fridge a long heavy thermos, which you had assumed held her coffee, pre-brewed for tomorrow morning. When she opens it, however, it is filled with meat. Raw meat, bloody and red and dripping and rich in the scent of murder. You cannot believe how sharp her teeth seem to be as she rips into it, taking no caution to stop the blood dribbling down her chin. She is soon drenched, gulping it down like a predator in those nature documentaries she's so fond of. You don't know what animal the meat is from. The scraps of skin dangling from it don't seem like animal flesh at all.

You stay there watching her for a very long time. When the thermos is empty and she straightens her back she turns and looks directly at you, where you thought you were hidden in the blackness. Your heart goes cold. She is drenched in a beautiful sheen of crimson down her chin, much of it cascading down onto her bare chest. She runs a finger through it and licks it clean while she stares at you.

"You know," she says quietly. "Sometimes I imagine it's you."

"Ready to go back to bed?"

You try not to think about how warm her breath feels on your neck when you're back beneath the sheets, her arms wrapped around your waist. You try not to think about how long she kisses you for, or how her tongue flicks across the surface of your skin as though trying to discern your taste. You try not to think about yourself as shreds between her teeth. You don't succeed.

[serenadeformice-deactivated2025]

She gets hungry late at night.

You know this, it's fine, you've gotten used to the feeling of her rousing from sleep and slipping out of bed. She's very careful not to jostle you too much in the process, but it's unfortunately inevitable she wakes you up anyway when you're sleeping on a decade-old double mattress. On the rare occasions you murmur something she stops and runs her hand through your hair and soothes you back to sleep. On the rarer occasions you're awake by the time she returns, her hands are always so warm, her breath rich in the smell of toothpaste and mouthwash.

You're not sure what makes you rise the night you decide to do so. Perhaps it was that she left in a particular hurry, such that she had no time to soothe you back to rest. One way or another you do rise, though, and you tip-toe out from the bedroom and down the hall and the stairs thereafter, and you linger just outside of the ring of light produced by the fridge as she rifles through it.

She pulls from the back of the fridge a long heavy thermos, which you had assumed held her coffee, pre-brewed for tomorrow morning. When she opens it, however, it is filled with meat. Raw meat, bloody and red and dripping and rich in the scent of murder. You cannot believe how sharp her teeth seem to be as she rips into it, taking no caution to stop the blood dribbling down her chin. She is soon drenched, gulping it down like a predator in those nature documentaries she's so fond of. You don't know what animal the meat is from. The scraps of skin dangling from it don't seem like animal flesh at all.

You stay there watching her for a very long time. When the thermos is empty and she straightens her back she turns and looks directly at you, where you thought you were hidden in the blackness. Your heart goes cold. She is drenched in a beautiful sheen of crimson down her chin, much of it cascading down onto her bare chest. She runs a finger through it and licks it clean while she stares at you.

"You know," she says quietly. "Sometimes I imagine it's you."

"Ready to go back to bed?"

You try not to think about how warm her breath feels on your neck when you're back beneath the sheets, her arms wrapped around your waist. You try not to think about how long she kisses you for, or how her tongue flicks across the surface of your skin as though trying to discern your taste. You try not to think about yourself as shreds between her teeth. You don't succeed.

[serenadeformice-deactivated2025]

She gets hungry late at night.

You know this, it's fine, you've gotten used to the feeling of her rousing from sleep and slipping out of bed. She's very careful not to jostle you too much in the process, but it's unfortunately inevitable she wakes you up anyway when you're sleeping on a decade-old double mattress. On the rare occasions you murmur something she stops and runs her hand through your hair and soothes you back to sleep. On the rarer occasions you're awake by the time she returns, her hands are always so warm, her breath rich in the smell of toothpaste and mouthwash.

You're not sure what makes you rise the night you decide to do so. Perhaps it was that she left in a particular hurry, such that she had no time to soothe you back to rest. One way or another you do rise, though, and you tip-toe out from the bedroom and down the hall and the stairs thereafter, and you linger just outside of the ring of light produced by the fridge as she rifles through it.

She pulls from the back of the fridge a long heavy thermos, which you had assumed held her coffee, pre-brewed for tomorrow morning. When she opens it, however, it is filled with meat. Raw meat, bloody and red and dripping and rich in the scent of murder. You cannot believe how sharp her teeth seem to be as she rips into it, taking no caution to stop the blood dribbling down her chin. She is soon drenched, gulping it down like a predator in those nature documentaries she's so fond of. You don't know what animal the meat is from. The scraps of skin dangling from it don't seem like animal flesh at all.

You stay there watching her for a very long time. When the thermos is empty and she straightens her back she turns and looks directly at you, where you thought you were hidden in the blackness. Your heart goes cold. She is drenched in a beautiful sheen of crimson down her chin, much of it cascading down onto her bare chest. She runs a finger through it and licks it clean while she stares at you.

"You know," she says quietly. "Sometimes I imagine it's you."

"Ready to go back to bed?"

You try not to think about how warm her breath feels on your neck when you're back beneath the sheets, her arms wrapped around your waist. You try not to think about how long she kisses you for, or how her tongue flicks across the surface of your skin as though trying to discern your taste. You try not to think about yourself as shreds between her teeth. You don't succeed.

[femmetragedyke]

so soft and easy to use

[sisterslvt]