trauma whore lillie

Cnc audio in both ears, texting a boy whose face I'd sit on and reblogging shit on tumblr. That's fucking life.

Wanted to start out this post with "I think I like men suffering" but nuh uh we ain't uncertain here. Me, myself and I - we all fucking love men suffering. I'd break my own fist punching a surgeon just to have him wince and scream and then I'd just beat him up some more until that deliciously looking red oozed out of really any body crevice. That'd be enough intimidation to have him care for my injury before his. I hope he'll hate women after that but will hate himself more for how hard he gets at the memory.

Irish perv talk from an older man might be too funny to take seriously but from a teenage paddy? God fucking yes. I'll give him the blowjob of his life as long as he does.not.stop.talking.

Biting and scratching each other's faces until we bleed and then forcing his cock into my mouth. A swirl of stringy red as he abuses my throat into oblivion. I'd look up at him and have his blood drop onto me, having it travel down until it mixes with mine. Ruin. Me.

He could drug me and tattoo "his whore daughter" on my skin and you know what a good daughter would do? Thank him. With all 3 holes.

Feel you bulging in my throat. Capture the exact moment I am literally choking on your cock. Modern impressionism.

Today's prayers filled with the image of reassuring him I'll make him cum even when he's a lying, manipulative piece of shit. Favorite kind of boy.

I miss when men were unapologetically just fucking disgusting. Gross me the fuck out sexually.

A good son so trained he opens up by reflex just by the mere specific look in my eyes. Seeing my spit slide down his tongue and into the dark of his throat is so fulfilling. A mother and her son are always connected. Always.

The cool aunt that's so cool she'd jerk off her teenage nephew. You gotta teach 'em young that family does it best.

Maslow was wrong. Self fulfillment only requires a boy that needs me above him with my knee between his bare thighs to grind on. He'd paint my knee in white spurts like a careless artist makes of his canvas. Up on his knees, his tongue would clean up every last drop with a drive bordering on reverence. Kinda like those mini vacuums that move on their own. They have a job they're wired for. One makes sure I have a clean floor, the other makes sure he's enough of a good boy to lay on said floor, for me to step on him.

Nobody knows how to suck you off better than your mom. Never forget how good it feels, filling up the person that made you.

Making a boy clean my hand slick in a web of his own cummies. Real sloppily too.

Every time he confesses he wants to smoke weed so bad, I want to hold the blunt between my fingers passing it to his lips like he's a baby in need of a paci. Once he's out of it enough, I'd let him believe he'd be taking a drag, but really he's sucking on a mouthful of my breasts. His lips wrapped around the bud so sweetly while I cradle his head. "That's it, baby, I got you. Gonna get you real high and you're so safe with only me." And then the wet sounds. Fuck, I should drug him more often.

Got a serious thing for loser nerds whose faces I'd suffocate. They should thank me, really. Be grateful I'm even breathing near you. I'd make them cum their brains out and praise them for being such a good boy while they stutter about the latest season of their favorite anime. Ugh and then force feeding them their own cummies knowing damn well it's fucking gross