Welcome to horny I guess

"Please use my cunt Master. It's what it's made for"

Because honestly, while that turns me on to no end, there's another end that I've been procrastinating on ever using properly

So maybe I should grit my teeth and accept a gift whore's mouth for what it is

No need to make eye contact

No need to pretend it'll bite me in the ass later

Because the one thing that makes any good bitch salivate is knowing that their mouth will receive the honor of draining my balls dry one lick at a time

Because no matter how regularly a cunt may close for renovations, a tongue can always be there when you need it most

Every single day

Because a good toy isn't single around me for long when that singular hole is willing to house something more intimate than my keys

So I should really update my new favorite phrase to something more elaborate, such as

"Daddy, can you fuck my mouth like you're trying to get me pregnant?"

No penetration without degradation

It's so nice that it even rhymes. Besides that, anything goes, but if I have to say it first, you're the one ruining your brain reading it

It was only a kiss. It was only a kiss

But that was enough

Enough for me to forget how to flirt

Enough for me to feel. . . Vulnerable

I always made the first move. It was always enough to make someone blush by just pulling them close and slipping my hand along their inner thigh

But I didn't expect a kiss of all things to floor me like that

I didn't expect anyone to make me feel. . .

Safe

Safe to love anyone ever again

Safe to . . .

Want my own cockiness ripped away like a bandaid that's only covering a birthmark

To want my vulnerability played with like the flute in front of a snake

Because that's all I felt when I was with her

That despiration to maintain eye contact and move where they wanted me

Like their hips were motion controlling mine

Like their eyes were drinking me up like they were sipping their favorite cocktail

Like. . .

Their kiss was enough to confess the only thing I was too shy to say before she called a cab

There's something about the way you lie to me that I can't get enough of

The way you think that you needed to make a statement about yourself by changing something you wanted to cling to

I don't think you ever truly wanted to be called a good boy or even a good human

Not when you get wet at even the opportunity to be called a good girl

Not when all your vocal training slips away as soon as I run my fingers through your hair

And especially not when you'd rather get new lipstick over testosterone

So please, admit it for me

Stop calling yourself a good boy when that's not what you should be around me

Start by asking for permission to get called a good girl

Start by telling me the last time you wore something pretty

Don't stop

Just keep begging to be my good girl

Keep showing me how happy you are to wear your favorite clothes that you hid in your closet when you thought it was necessary to come out of it to be yourself

Keep me in your heart

Honestly, the void of oblivion does make me happy. To know that there's nothing there at all- no judgement or sentimental value but all the care I put into reminding myself that I could be safe there

Away from everything physically, but as near to the thought of your smile as I could get

Gosh, just imagining the way your curled lips would feel on my skin is enough to give me a high

Because nothing is better when it's mixed with the thought of you

When it's mixed with thinking you'd follow me into oblivion just to keep me around

When it's mixed with you knowing that you'll be there to pull me out of my own thoughts

Because what I want more than anything isn't nothing; it's you

It's the way you can save me from having my head in the clouds

I love you. I love everything about you

No, not just what you say is your favorite like you're trying to pretend only one piece of you matters

EVERYTHING

The way you stutter when you forget how to think straight around me

The way your eyes glaze over with pure joy when you hear my voice

The way you say you love me too

No, not just when it's out loud

When you do that thing where your nipples make for the hardest staring contest of my life when I can't look away for your smile

When your legs wrap around my body like a bicycle lock would stop me from ever wanting to leave you

Because when you tell me you love me with everything you do, I can't help but love you with more than just my heart. I start loving you in ways I swore I couldn't

But that was a lie. I said I loved you and I'm sorry I didn't mean it.

I still love you

I still daydream about the way your body was the only thing I ever wanted to read

I still wish I never put you down

I still wish. . .

That if I took a bus to your house, you wouldn't say you'd love me too

You'd just kiss me like I was finally waking up from the nightmare of ever leaving you

You'd just

Care for me in ways I pretended I didn't need

Propose to me that we can do it all again

Please. . .

I don't want to fall in love with anyone new

I want to you and only you

Only your love that shrouded so much of my pain I thought I was being happy when I was with you

Only your smile that made my heart skip straight to yours as soon as it kissed my chest

Because nothing matters to me more than you

Nothing could ever add up to what I reminisce about

Even you.

I fell in love with what I saw you as, but not what you were

It's like. . . Loving a tornado just because my furniture is in place in spite of the walls being in a new town

It's like. . .

Making a statue of you without your birthmarks to stroke like I'm trying to rub away a bruise

It's like. . .

Every day, I want to confess to you all over again that I never stopped loving the IDEA of you

Because nothing is more perfect than the way you look in my mind

Nothing is more poisonous than the sounds you make in my head as I go to sleep

Because if I was addicted to drugs, I could at least find a sponsor that'll stop me when I get close to it

But with you, I don't want anything to stop me from thinking of you

All I want is something stronger

Something to overwhelm me so much I could still feel the way your attention gripped me like someone afraid of heights would clench their ass on a suspension bridge

Something like a way to taste your lips when you bite them thinking about me

Here i am. The engine to your positivity. Why you cry when you forget, yet smile in bliss as you love.

Hear i am, listening to your every pain like the ACDC of flattening and waving at you.

My heart is with you. It never left you

Because being without you doesn't feel right.

Because being without who can guide me only leaves me with regrets i was too scared to bear

So as a mother to a cub that's lost a father of compassion to a present of agony, I present myself

Someone you can unwrap on your coldest nights to warm your insides with me

I can't help it when I want to feel. . . Useful. Not in the way where I'm the one being as submissive as possible, drooling at every word.

One where I make someone else feel like just holding a conversation with them is better than fingering them. Where it feels like at any moment they'll orgasm to the thought of holding my attention for just a second longer than they feel like they ever deserved

In a way where every time I message them, the vibration their phone makes feels like it's rubbing just the right way on what's most sensitive to them.

Because I want them to know they're worthy of my attention.

Because I want them to love me for how they feel around me

It helps me feel like I'm at home when I've never felt like it was a place I can pin down in a game of geoguesser.

But it's a blanket that I keep thinking of getting rid of. It's not soft in the sense that its fake fur that'll muffle the screaming my internal thoughts always try to make like the perfect mental noise canceling headphones.

It's soft like it's pliable. Like it wouldn't hesitate to wrap around me to interrupt my loneliness with a hug that can last forever.

But that moist clinging to my skin brings a mildew I can smell on their damp, decaying flesh.

I've felt like there's never going to be salvation from what I've done as long as that smell lingers in my nose.

That no matter how much I wash myself from my own problems, that using her again as my safety blanket recontaminates my mind in a way that I hesitated to put into words.

Because I knew that as soon as I did, I couldn't hide away from them any more.

Because I knew that as soon as I come up from my disassociative bliss like a whale getting beached, I don't know if I'd want what's kept me comfortable anymore.

I don't know if I want to be around the person that treated people like disposable, replaceable objects anymore when the fantasy of the perfect blanket shows up in both my daydreams and my nightmares.

Because waking up to someone walking out on me with mildew lingering in the air felt like replacing it for a copy of what I've done like a knockoff so dedicated to accuracy it tastes better- waking up from my own daydream of having the perfect person when reality reminds me that they're just broken people so often treated like a tool that they'd graffiti their own skin to tell me what they know they're good for.

For every new denizen upon our vessel, an old wound splits open with the same vigor a rescue team makes with a locked door in a burning building.

We pride ourselves for running on steam because the cumulative hot air that finds its way through the ears of every citizen aboard of our ship daily is enough to power all facilities.

Stay for the night life. The moaning that's better than any haunted house. The rocking of bedposts that only get accentuated upon the tumultuous waters that any relation ship may struggle to stay afloat upon.

Stay for the mornings so filled with regret that even the free meals don't feel earned as we pride ourselves for every instance of our mission bringing another captive to succumb to the endless struggle of pretending to love something so much that admitting that they want something better only ends in tears.

Tears that unlock the open bar for our. . . Guests.

Tears that rip apart someone's psyche with more fervor than a dumpster diver trying to find a meal that won't taste like poison.

Our prison of regret takes no survivors; just an infestation of people so down on their luck that they think they'll have control if it means making a market for more lost souls that'll have a chance at a purgatory of denial based bliss. Just a plague of people that would rather make everything around them worse than treat humans as. . . Human.

Help. Run while you can. Never look back.

I'm too far gone to fantasize about a life outside of this uncharted circle of hell without falling asleep dehydrated and sobbing.

I'm too shattered to remember how I felt before the bar welcomed my tears with a never ending supply of guilt.

I thought I finally found somewhere that'll feel different from what hurt me.

But I was wrong.

So. Fucking. Wrong.

What I found was someone running from the same mistakes. What I found was someone with defensive wounds on their soul while I had them linger on my fingertips.

What I found was someone so hurt by what happened to them that they couldn't make eye contact without flinching.

And what they found was me. Someone who cowers at their own shadow for the space it took up without either of our permissions.

What they found was someone who worked so hard on de clawing themself that they never stopped to appreciate the moments where they've made better decisions.

They found me when I didn't even want to show up in pictures.

They found me when I've hit lows I thought were only worst case scenarios.

But they never let go of me.

They wrap their bruised body against mine and. . . Love me.

They may not always be able to look me in the face since they sometimes still see the glares behind my eyes when I think of who I used to be, but they never needed to do that to begin with.

They never needed to stand up to someone new by raising their voice when neither of us ever would want to do that around each other.

What they needed was a hug. A moment to admit that they're somewhere better. First, to themself, and for me to agree with them.

Then, for me to mean it too.

That it's safer here since I can listen to a safe word.

That it's safer here since even if my claws can grow back, we can just hold hands tighter when they do.

Because no matter what we've been through; no matter what mistakes we made before we even met each other; no matter what mistakes we'll make as we recover. . .

Trauma never had to unite us as a shared enemy. Trauma never had to bring us together like a finger trap that only tugs tighter on your skin the more you resist. Trauma is never why I stayed.

I love them because our matched wounds heal in a healthier way when we can admit how we've adapted to things. I love them because every time I think I've made an irredeemable mistake, they can hold me close when they can't look into my eyes. I love them because everything they do is for us to remember what it feels like to enjoy all the parts of ourselves we thought had to stay on the shelf forever when what we truly wanted was to be held.

Honestly, even if I have forever to look at them, it wouldn't be enough time to thank them for being everything I've needed and more than I thought I may ever want.

Because what I wanted was never to run away from my past forever.

Because what I wanted was never to hurt someone again.

What I wanted was someone to love me forever for who I am.

Not the kind where all they do is say how much they adore me while wearing their secrets around their heart more often than a bra.

What I want is for them to throw off their dignity along with all their clothes the second they see me in a room.

What I want is for them to show me things that they didn't trust themselves to let anyone so much as find out.

Something like. . . This

I walked into my own house through a door I thought I locked. Swinging it open & smashing my face into theirs.

Except. . . They didn't bat an eye. They told me to hit them harder as they pressed their tits against me.

They told me that if I wanted to hurt her, I shouldn't aim for her face.

She tapped her thigh like it was someone telling her to sit on her lap and told me that any hard hits there would make her squeal into a timid vulnerability of behaving just so another smack wouldn't happen.

She bent over and tugged her jeans just low enough for her wet cunt to grip her panties with just a string of her juices and said that if I ever do decide to spank her, she's trained to spread her asshole and admit that her holes are for my pleasure and that hers is just incidental

She knelt down with her tongue out and her drool almost as thick as her other juices & then had a dazed look in her eyes as her face looked at my dick. Then she shook herself out of her stupor enough to skip the subby mumbling and told me that any time her throat wraps around my cock, she feels more at home than any level of hug could acheive.

That even getting to be carried with her legs around my back & her tongue in my mouth as I attempt to breed her meant nothing compared to the sensation of being useful for my pleasure alone.

She told me the truth

That no matter how much I love her back by treating her nicely, it would just give her an itch that she'd never want to scratch enough to leave me.

The rash that she knows is purely psychological as more and more of her feels like taboo territory for the most common feeling of all.

Wanting to be told that she isn't good enough for a vanilla relationship.

Wanting to be used in ways that exploit her trauma for making her lean into it until she falls on her face.

And to demonstrate, that face I slammed into slammed into the floor. Then she begged with her ass in the air for a spanking so her insides could be used for the sensation she memorized so well she could cum to the thought without touching herself.

But the way she chose to fall asleep with her face buried into the pillow and her legs spread further apart than I've ever seen her do feels like bait.

I should know. I'm a master baiter. It's easy to tell when something's too good to be true.

Butt that doesn't stop me from seeing her ass and wanting to use it like a cock Muppet. That doesn't stop me from wanting to use her until my cock can't take any more orgasms.

So as soon as I laid my entire weight on top of her and slipped my cock as deep as possible inside of her cunt so her womb could nuzzle the tip of my dick, I should have expected what would cum next.

Me. Me panting into her ear as I bred my fucktoy. With her locking her legs around me like a bear trap. With her taking control of the situation completely while half asleep and completely in heat.

With my girlfriend reminding me exactly who has the highest libido as I got the chance to feel the inverse of cockwarming- constantly having a living, lustful flashlight of a woman using me like a meat dildo & cumming on my cock every time I sounded out of breath.

And the best part is: she pretended to put her phone on the charging dock so it wouldn't get in the way, but it recorded everything.

The way i was debating if I should use her while she wasn't even conscious.

The way I bred her as soon as I heard her attempt at a snore.

The way her legs spasmed and squeezed as soon as the trap closed.

Woops.

Now you're stuck waiting until some other idiot makes the same mistake as you while a hot girl who you'd swear teleported right into your closet milks you of all fluids. Your cock started shooting blanks hours ago.

You ran out of water and only have some saliva from her surprisingly wet kisses to keep you from wheezing from dehydration.

But this morning was different. This morning, they didn't just glare at me with eyes that I projected as being they're way of saying that I'll never deserve their sympathy; they. . . Held me. . .

They pulled me close without using their favorite words to cope through the pain of us making everything so transactional.

They just. . . Nuzzled against me. In a way where there was no room for me to keep lying to myself; to keep pretending that there was ever a day that they stopped loving me. That there would ever be something I could do that would break their heart more than seeing me treating mine as though it didn't matter.

It felt so different than what I was used to- constantly taking control over every moment so they were finally able to relax and being so overworked that I'd hit a disassociative bliss.

It's a level of perfect I never thought that I'd receive. I've had my ego stroked so often I got rugburn, so the warm embrace of someone just. . . Being there. . . Was enough to heal something in me I forgot I ever knew I had.

Except this wasn't something I forgot to escape the pain. It was a level of bliss I discarded as a daydream that never could have been real.

So this morning, when they held me is something I'll try my hardest to never forget.

The way their eyes were closed and their face brushed against mine was a form of affection I never had. I spent so long keeping people literally at arms reach that I didn't let anyone get closer than headpatting distance.

I made it to escape from being social. I made it to withdraw myself when no one listened to my plea for solace. I made it for myself to find a way to battle emotional entanglement.

And it worked.

I made the perfect double edged sword. Me telling them to back off was my only warning; their only opportunity to step away before someone gets hurt. And so many times, they didn’t. They wanted to hold me tighter when it was the one thing I had too much off. So instead of just using some threads to leave them hanging, it felt to me like I used a scalpel to cut into everything they held dear.

There was nothing safe when I used that blade. From all the blood on my hands after those fights, I didn’t recognize that some of it was my own as I wondered what I could have said that would have hurt less. From all the times I gave the explicit warning of it being in my arsenal; saying sharp- do not poke me right now; those were the times that hurt the most when someone said that they’ve been hurt too much to know what pain feels like.

Their hubris was quickly laid to rest along with their faith in me. Their doubts that they could feel were replaced with a sting so deep that it broke something inside of them; crashing their numbness into a searing pain that doesn’t go away with just an “I told you so”.

But the thing is; even if I rarely pick up that blade, it still left its own share of scars on me. For cutting into me as I dug into the people that I wanted to be there as soon as I took a break to isolate. For stripping me of the comfort of reassurance as every signal I made for distance got misread as a strong desire for a hug.