What follows is a catalog of your thoughts.
I don’t feel pretty without his cum on me.
His cock in my mouth, whether fresh from his pants or fresh from my ass, centers me.
His handprint on my face feels like love.
I wonder if he knows I love it when he makes me cry.
The marks he leaves on my body are love letters.
My body is his to manhandle. My mind and soul are his to fuck.
He pushes me, slaps me, hurts me. Thank goodness.
Fear makes me so wet.
He almost never lets me take his piss. What have I done wrong?
When he told me not to talk back, I was surprised to realize I couldn’t.
I don’t deserve him.
The only thing better than having his marks on my ass is having his hand there.
I can’t process the feelings when he spits in my mouth. I just swallow.
I like it when I can’t breathe.
I promise not to make a sound. I want to listen.
Sometimes he makes it so impersonal. I am in love.
What should I look like for you today?
He rapes me when I’m not ready. I’m so happy.
When he kisses me, I get scared, but I forget the world.
I don’t want to be as stupid as he makes me feel.
I hope I’m tight enough.
Tits out, ass out, eyes on him. Forever.
Before I began this tumblr, I wrote this to serve as my Collarspace profile. It’s been reposted several times (including by ohhowdegrading), and now it’s my 500th post. Thanks for reading.















