Menrulecuntsgrool

put into law in a world where it is illegal to be a lesbian, any confused woman expressing behaviours attributed to dykeness are arrested, charged with public indecency, and distributed to godly homes with strong father figures.

it was quickly determined that most if not all women who confuse themselves into thinking theyre "lesbians" lacked a strong, guiding male role model growing up or misinterpreted the efforts of a man correcting them as something wrong. putting them back into stable homes with good family values until they are made whole and heterosexual as intended will not only ensure their own health and wellbeing, but contribute to a healthier society also.

in these homes the male members of the family are responsible for the re-education of these presumed dykes, reminding them as often as they are able what their body's purpose is: male sexual pleasure and reproduction. day and night, whether idle or in another task, the foster fathers and brothers and uncles are required to fill every improperly used orifice of the misguided woman for the men's own pleasure and until the woman is returned to a malleable submissive state in which she is begging to be nothing more than cockwarmers and cumsleeves for the men in her new family.

once the corrected dyke is the one initiating these encounters by grinding her dripping aching cunt on the cocks and crotches and legs of the men in her foster family, once she is the one grabbing their manly hands and pushing them into her pussy or mouth or onto her ass and breasts, once she is the one waiting on all fours naked to be used by anyone, there is the option for her to remain in the family as a communal possession or rehomed elsewhere to please another man and his home.

Are you becoming a naughty little pervert, my love? Hope not!

Mama's gotta get dressed!

Or do you wanna watch that too, you naughty little perv?

She laughed as she tousled his hair with love, as she guided him back out of the room before turning around and letting the towel fall down.

I'll just have to make sure the next one ends up somewhere else, she thought. So much easier to just launder my blouse than to clean the cum out of the carpet.

Or just launder a thong. I wonder whether he prefers to come in a tight cunt or splatter a girl's tits.

It starts simple. I make you cum and I tell you to say thank you and you do because that’s easy. That one makes sense. Someone made you feel good, and you express gratitude, that’s just good manners. You don’t even think about it. Thank you. Of course. That felt amazing. Thank you.

But then I have you say it again the next time while my hand is around your throat. Say it. And you do, thank you, a little choked and sputtering, and something about forcing the words out while you can barely breathe makes them feel different in your mouth. Heavier. More real. You said thank you while I was hurting you and you meant it and that’s a new piece of information about yourself that you have to carry around.

Then I start expanding the territory. I want to hear it when you’re wet. Not just when you cum. When you’re wet. The moment you notice that your body is responding to me I want you to stop whatever you’re doing and say thank you. Because that arousal doesn’t happen without me. That drip between your legs is something I built. I put it there through weeks and months of conditioning you to respond to my voice and my hands and my words and the least you can do is acknowledge where it comes from. So every time you feel it. Thank you. In the morning when you wake up thinking about me and you’re already soaked before you’ve opened your eyes. Thank you. In the middle of your workday when something I said three nights ago surfaces in your brain and suddenly your thighs are pressing together under your desk. Thank you. You text it to me like a little status report. Like a prayer you send throughout the day to the person responsible for keeping you this ruined.

But we can push further. I’ll have you thanking me for the things that should horrify you: Thank you for taking your limits away. Say it. Thank you for crossing every line I drew. Thank you for making me need this. Thank you for making it so I can’t cum without your permission. Thank you for showing my friends what I look like when I beg. Thank you for the bruises. Thank you for the photos you keep in a folder I pretend I’ve forgotten about. Thank you for making me say all of this out loud.

Say it after I make you do something new and degrading, and hear the thank you come out before you’ve even processed what just happened to you. Your brain skips straight past the shock and the shame and lands on thank you as your default setting. No matter what I do to you the first thing your body produces in response is a thank you that I’m the one doing it.

I think I prefer the power trip of turning her into her own instrument of torment. Setting her mind against her cunt.

Watch her cry, see her hand twitch towards her pussy for more before she makes herself remember that only I decide what touches her there. Lost in the agony of having to keep deciding whether to stay my obedient slave and get more of these moments forever, or give it all up just to get one mind-shattering cum right now.

Alternatively, a handkerchief code system would do. Like gays used to have, to signal their availability to each other. If you're my follower, repost to tell us how much you would love to have a surefire way to signal us to casually grope you and use you in public. To be able to wear a particular scarf or hair clip or something, and walk through a park or ride a subway train, knowing that someone will at any moment pull out your tits, or reach into your skirt and start fingering your aching clit. And maybe 3 or 4 of us surround you and push you down on your knees to suck us all off. Like flipping the channel of your life to "porn."