you care more about keeping your guns than kids dying? wack. trash. ugly. worthless.

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@userx238199
you care more about keeping your guns than kids dying? wack. trash. ugly. worthless.
Stick your fingers in my mouth - or, for longer enjoyment, put a clothes peg on my tongue. Let’s talk. Ask me about my day, make me read from War and Peace, ask me why I’m here, naked, looking up at you so pathetically. Laugh as I mumble answers, slur over great literature. Tell me I sound stupid; “you are stupid, aren’t you?” Don’t let me get away with a pitiful nod. Slap me; tell me to use the big, fancy words I learnt at university. Laugh again as I garble something, blushing, almost crying because I’m not stupid, not normally, not when you’re not looking at me like that.
Smile smugly as I drench my panties.
Control is kneeling next to a girl who can sleep through loud music and alarms, softly whispering her name, telling her to wake up, and watching her open her eyes at the sound of your voice.
Control is telling a girl, who takes hours to fall asleep, that you expect her to be asleep within the next 10 minutes, and knowing she will be after only a few have passed.
Control is her body reacting to your words before her mind has had a chance to catch up.
Control is her anxiety alleviating at the mere thought of you.
Control is deciding what her day will feel like.
Nothing feels more amazing.
I want you to cover my cunt in alligator clips, and tie heavy weights to swing down from them. Then I want you to make me do jumping jacks until all of them fall off
I’d like that. Id enjoy covering your sensitive little cunt with vicious clamps and have you bonce around for my pleasure. Perhaps id have you do it for me while I fuck a prettier, bustier, tighter girl. (Nearly any girl would fit that catagory I know) I bet she’d laugh at you for how desperatly someone like you has to work just to get my attention.
it feels so good to be kind. it’s the warm feeling you get when you tell someone that they look nice today, or that they did a good job, or that their voice sounds lovely, or that the cookies they baked were delicious, or how you always laugh at their jokes. it’s the warm feeling you get when they respond bashfully, or surprised, with that small smile and a thankfulness that shines in their eyes. it feels so good when someone is kind to you. when it feels like the effort you put into yourself is seen and acknowledged and appreciated. it feels so good when you’re able to make someone feel that wonderful. we should always try and encourage each other.
Accept every flaw, or learn to. Stretch marks? So what. Soft stomach? Who cares. The fact is, the only person that should be paying attention to your body is you. Anyone who has the guts to criticize your temple deserves a swift kick to the shin.
wise words from @alexisrenask (via monicatheriault)
Rosenberg Loses It On Police Officer Over Alton Sterling Killing #BlackLivesMatter #AltonSterling
Show this to all your “#NotAllCops” friends.
trans women deserve better
This has to be it.
Michael Brown Jr. (May 20, 1996 – August 9, 2014)
We should make this the most reblogged image on Tumblr.
Break this post
Will reblog whenever it’s on my timeline.
Never forget
Don’t act like you forgot.
I want a hood. A proper one, black, padded, smooth. I want him to pull it out after he’s been at me a while and my face is red and tear- and snot-stained. “I don’t want to look at your ugly face anymore.” I look up at him beseechingly as he pulls it over me, then settle into the darkness as he adjusts it so that only my lips are visible, pulls up the zip at the back so it tightens around my throat.
I want to imagine I look appealing, my features pretty and delicate under the fabric, but really I just look strange. A black blob, nose slightly poking out, red lips lipstick half gone. You can’t tell there’s a person there, not exactly, but that’s what we want.
I want him to forget my wide smile when he told me I was his good girl. I want him to forget how I looked the first time I kinda cried for him, tears delicately balanced on my nose and cheeks. I want him to forget how my eyes flash in anger or widen in shock.
I want him to forget me, momentarily, because then he’ll fuck me the way he really wants: without caring about hurting me. He’ll punch me hard, harder, if he can’t see how it makes me cry and he can’t feel the twinge of guilt. His hands will tighten around my throat often because it doesn’t matter whether he gives me time to breathe. He’ll slap my tits, twist my nipples, shove his fingers roughly into my holes because here is all this flesh for him to enjoy, not a person anymore, just a toy, just a faceless plaything, just something for him to vent on, sort of like those inflatable punching dolls.
Good girls should torture their clits. They should do this every day, not only because the pain is good for them, but because it reminds them that their purpose is not their own pleasure. It’s not enough just to edge. Yes, edging is essential, but edging only serves to keep you wet and needy. Pain keeps you disciplined. It keeps you focused. It lets you know that you are here for other people’s pleasure. So make sure that you slap it. Spank it. Flick it. Hurt it, so that it understands as well as you do that your pleasure doesn’t matter.
Cute date ideas.
Give her a black eye for no other reason than because you can. Tell her she deserved it. Make her come back and tell you why she deserved it, then watch as she frantically guesses what she’s done wrong and second guess herself.
Then give her another beating for getting it wrong.
Ramblin’ rose. by Rüveyde Via Flickr:
My name is Darkness. I have a contract with light, I lurk in corners and alleys. I follow you with sadistic delight and I will take you, as long I can make you
Mine. My name is Evil and you are My toy