Hidden Behind your Tumblr Blog
You hide behind your Tumblr blog
as you fuck yourself in black and white.
All the filthy, dripping, desperate images
mirroring the raw need twisting inside you.
You scroll.
A woman bent over the counter,
her skirt bunched at her waist, panties ripped aside,
a man behind her, fingers spreading her open,
his cock teasing her entrance, dragging through her slick heat—
before he slams in, deep and unrelenting,
her moan caught between pleasure and surrender.
You scroll.
A pair of rough hands gripping a full ass,
holding her steady as he drives into her,
her back arching, her nails clawing at the counter,
his teeth at her throat, his growl in her ear—
“Take it.”
You scroll.
A nipple stretched between fingers,
pinched, twisted, sucked between greedy lips,
her thighs trembling, spreading wider,
the wet sound of her cunt filling the room
as she rocks against his mouth, whimpering, begging.
You watch.
A woman on her knees,
spit trailing down her chin, her eyes glassy with lust,
her mouth stretched wide around a cock too big,
her throat swallowing, struggling, taking more—
his hands tangled in her hair, forcing her deeper.
You watch.
A body pressed to the sheets, wrists pinned,
legs forced apart, a cock sliding against her slit, teasing—
before he plunges inside, hard, relentless, brutal,
her back arching, her cry caught in the pillows
as he fucks her like she’s meant to be fucked.
And then you pause.
Fingers still.
Breath ragged.
What’s going to be the one thing that pushes you over the edge?
The last image you see before your eyes flutter shut,
before your body clenches, trembles, spasms.
How filthy will it be?
Will it be her, wrists bound, spread open, taking him so deep she can’t breathe?
Will it be the slick sound of her pussy swallowing his cock as he pounds her from behind?
Will it be the way she whimpers, the way she begs, the way she screams?
Or will it be something darker?
Something filthier?
Something that makes your stomach clench and your thighs tighten,
something you’d never dare admit?
Or will you close your eyes, bite your lip, and come hard in silence—
your secret safe, dripping between your fingers,
as you close the tab and pretend you’re not still aching for more?
