Let me ease your burden, a misogyny kink blog.

Some other housekeeping:

I am Bi. (Pan if you want to get picky). I do my best to make this a safe space for my fellow queers. If you want to mentally edit stuff to fit with your gender presentation, go the fuck ahead.

I write erotica. I am not playing a character. Please do not come into my DMs expecting me to bust out some roleplay. I'm not interested. Seriously. Not a porn dispenser.

Never apologize for spam liking. Live it. Waking up to a lot of likes and reblogs is a big dopamine hit. I am not a morning person, and you just made it better. So if you DM me to tell me this, I promise I will not be mean.

I am not looking for a partner. Play or romantic. Platonic friendship is what I have the emotional energy for. Even if I was, 24 is my age floor.

I often write while I am high. The writing reflects this. If my misspellings bother you, keep it to yourself or block me. Telling me will result in a block that takes longer.

I do not interact with ageless blogs. When I point that out, I am not asking for your age. If you can't figure out what I want, maybe don't message me.

Nudes. If they are yours and you are a legal adult, I will accept them gladly. 'Your writing makes me wet, here are my tits as a thank you' is a pretty great thank you. If they are not yours, I will not believe "She's an exhibitionist but is too shy to send". I will believe it's revenge porn.

You spent the whole ride looking at the pretty scenery, and being groped by your husband. Your tits, your cunt, your ass. Leaving the train you were pretty sure if everyone couldn't smell your arousal, they could see the wet spot on your dress.

So you read. You lounged by the pool. You took a bath. But you felt guilty whole time. Your husband was working so you should be working. That was only fair wasn't it?

You told him that later before bed. He just looked at you and laughed. "Princess, you are just a girl. A 40 hour work week would make you cry. I don't want you to work that much. I want to protect that delicate softness. So when you have done your chores, do what makes you happy. Watch soaps. Lounge by the pool. Goon to porn. I want you to have a hobby."

He held you against him. "You free up time for me. I don't need to cook. Or do laundry. Or clean. When I lived alone I had to do all of that. Now I don't. I get more time to relax. So I want you have time to relax too."

And what have you done to thank men today? Did you do the bare minimum and dress pretty? Did you show one your tits or ass? Did you blow your boss to thank him for reminding you that you are just a girl? Have you recorded how wet you are from that man eye raping you?

You didn't have a thought in your head. No voice in your head tell you that you weren't enough. No sadness. No looming thing you were putting off. Nope, you were just pretty little arm candy. The joy in your face clear for the world to see. You were radiating joy and sunshine.

You were free use to him. He could do what ever, however he wanted to do to you. It was so freeing. And it incentives you to dress pretty. You remember him being possessive of you. Almost putting you in the hospital when a man asked for your number.

Pausing for a moment, you debated telling them. They wouldn't understand, but you decided to give them a chance. Telling them that you didn't dress for other women to praise you. You dressed for his praise.

He didn't care about the labels. He cared if you looked good. He paid attention because you dressed for it. He complimented you because you were appealing to him.