It is in fact illegal in the United States to view and purchase pornographic material if you are under the age of 18.

Besides it being illegal I am also morally obligated to ask children to not view my site or my photos. I DO NOT care how close you are to 18.

The pain is excruciating. Anne takes a shallow breath, her eyes roving over the wide imperial staircase twenty feet ahead. Martin stands at the first landing with the Donaldson family, laughing against the tapestried backdrop. He glances at her and nods tightly. 

She makes her way carefully, stepping between huddled couples and groups of young men drinking too quickly. The bannister is thick, curved and oiled, and she likes how it feels under her hand. She grasps it and trains her eyes to Martin. 

“Here she comes,” he says, smiling. The group stops talking and looks at her, nodding hellos.

Her toes ache, crumpled in black heels a half a size too small. She teeters, and prays it was unnoticeable. 

Martin descends a few steps and takes her arm. 

“Remember, darling, as charming as ever,” he says. “Smile.”

Anne knows there’s something too stiff, too careful in her walk. She swallows against the pain and grips his arm. Two more steps. They exchange pleasantries with the Donaldsons and she fights disassociation. There, a guéridon table. There, a mission chandelier. There, French Rococo armchairs. 

“Anne?” Mrs. Donaldson waves her mauve-tipped fingers in front of her face. “Are you ok, dear?”

Martin squeezes her arm.

“Yes,” Anne says. “I’m sorry. Just getting a blister.”

Mrs. Donaldson nods and gestures to her feet. “These are killing me. Let’s find our table and send the men for a drink.”

The group moves along the brightly lit hallway to a high-ceilinged room. The orchestra plays on a raised platform. The bar is crowded. Almost every table is full. The sheer noise startles her. Competing voices and too-loud laughter and lively music. Martin stops and mingles with various groups, talking about the weather, the markets, the opera they’ve just left. The Donaldsons are already at the table, and Anne is sure Mrs. Donaldson has slipped off her shoes under the table and has sent her little husband off for a glass of something. 

They’re hailed by a short, dark haired man at the end of the bar. Anne strains to see him better. Christian Hensely. Oh, and his wife. Stephanie or Jennifer or –

“Martin! It’s been too long,” Christian says. The men shake hands.

“It’s good to see you,” Martin says and he turns to the woman. “Heather, hello.” He kisses her cheek and she smiles, squeezing his shoulders.

“Hello, Anne,” Christian turns to her. “It’s nice to see you. How are you feeling?”

“Good, thank you, Mr. Hensely,” Anne replies. “Hello, Mrs. Hensely.”

The older woman smiles at her. “You look wonderful tonight, Anne. Doesn’t she, Christian?” 

He watches her closely. “She does.”

“Thank you,” Anne says.

“Should we find our seats?” Martin leads the way through the maze of chairs and bodies. 

Mrs. Hensely takes Anne’s hand and they follow the men.

“Is she wearing it?” Christian asks Martin quietly.

Martin nods. The two couples take seats around the large round table and Martin introduces everyone to the Donaldsons. He motions to the server.

“Who’s wearing what?” Mrs. Donaldson asks. 

Anne stares at the tablecloth. Martin takes her hand and squeezes.

“Anne wears a special bra that I designed for her, hm, maybe a year ago,” Martin says and glances at his wife. “It’s fitted just for her, very snug, and the interior is studded with steel spikes.”

Mrs. Donaldson takes a sharp breath. “Oh, my.”

“Isn’t it marvelous?” Mr. Hensely’s eyes shine. He turns to Anne. “It must be torture. Anne, are you suffering terribly?”

Anne looks up at him. “Yes, I am.”

Mr. Hensely glances around the table and settles back on Martin. “And then this one, absolute devil, he brings her to the opera and to the parties and has her socialize…”

“That’s delightful,” Mr. Donaldson says. “What a thing, Martin.”

“Doesn’t she bleed?” Mrs. Donaldson asks.

“Not much,” Martin says. He pauses while the table orders drinks. He kisses Anne on her cheek and takes care to press against her breasts. “In any case, the bra is thick. What she really hates are the clamps on her nipples. Don’t you, dear?”

“Yes,” Anne whispers.

“We have to find a quiet corner every forty-five minutes or so,” Martin goes on, “to remove the clamps for a bit, let the blood flow. I think taking them off is the most painful.”

“My God,” Mrs. Donaldson says, shivering. “I just love it. But how can she stand it?”

“She has to.”

The woman leans forward in her chair. She lowers her voice. “Do you like it? Even a little bit?”

“No, I don’t,” says Anne.

“What would be the point if she did?” Martin says. He takes a long drink. “Christian, why don’t you take her for a dance. Careful, her shoes are a little small and she keeps tripping–hold her tightly.”

Mr. Hensely stands, eager. “Anne?” He extends his hand. 

“Alright,” she says. She rises to meet him and he leads her to the floor. 

“You do look beautiful,” he says. He pulls her tightly against him. Anne tries, gently, to maintain a space between their bodies but he keeps a strong arm around her waist. 

“Painful?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he says. “It's good to see you suffer. Oh – no, keep your eyes on me, please.”

A few more slow steps and Christian slides his arm a couple inches higher, pulling her harder against him, her breasts pressed into the front of his tuxedo jacket. Sweat breaks out on her forehead. 

“Easy, please,” she says. “People will see…”

“No, it’s fine, Anne. They’ll see a couple dancing. They’d never think of anything else.”

He pulls her tight, eases up, pulls her tight again. She makes a high whining sound and he smiles into her hair. 

“That really hurts doesn’t it? Of course it does, poor thing. You’re trembling. Careful, your husband is watching and you’re squirming. Let’s move over here to the side…”

He dances her to an open spot in the corner. Anne’s face stays impassive but she whimpers softly and writhes against him.

“Please let me go,” she says.

“No, Anne. Keep dancing. Keep hurting. Do you remember last month at the lake house and Martin had you try on your new bra for us?”

“Mhm.”

Christian laughs. “He had you lie on your stomach almost all day, just hurting and being fucked and rubbing against the floor. God – wasn’t that a perfect weekend? Anne?”

“Yes, Mr. Hensley,” she whispers.

“I’ll bet Mr. Donaldson will want to dance next. Or maybe take a walk in the garden.” He slides a hand between their bodies to finger the clamps on her nipples. She shakes.

“It’s agony, isn’t it? I could come right here. Do you want that?”

She shakes her head no.

“I want to hold you a little tighter but I’m afraid you’ll scream,” he whispers. 

The song fades away and a new one begins. Couples pull apart, adjust to the new tempo.

1-2 seconds 😂 I've got no upper body strength beyond lifting 50-100lbs. Leg strength though... I got that

Not gonna lie, I thought I could pull at least 10 seconds...

Ooh, yes, it should be painful~ It should hurt, and the pain should only make the entire experience better <3

Ears aren't meant to accommodate cock, which honestly has its appeal already. A tight hole, not designed for penetration and yet oh so ripe for it? That's a target. And it's one I unfortunately find out about when someone talks me into trying it despite my reservations; I'm interested enough for it to be an intriguing prospect, even though I know it will be uncomfortable. A cock forcing its way deeper into my skull hurts, of course, but there's just something, something about it that gets me throbbing. The person fucking me holds my head still as they push deeper, ignoring my uncomfortable shifting to resolutely spread out a hole never meant to be fucked.

Eventually, painfully, they stuff enough of themselves inside to reach their target. The sensation of cock meeting neurons is something I'm entirely unprepared for. A jolt of undiluted input, just sheer physical feeling rattles me to my core, followed by another; the pain is reduced to a dull ache, a current in the background that serves to elevate the rest of the experience while the person fucking my skull works their way deeper. Brain matter gives way so easily that it's almost like I was meant to take something like this - a thought that comes out of nowhere. Or maybe a thought that comes from the literal cock on the mind I'm experiencing.

Shoving aside connections and chunks of matter to slide deeper, the person at my head doesn't take long to get hilted. They groan in satisfaction, adjusting positions slightly while my consciousness starts to wriggle uncomfortably, aware that I'm in danger, somehow; unfortunately for the lucid part of my brain, the part currently yielding to sexual pleasure is much louder, and much more in control. The first thrust does away with almost all of my reservations, and the next serves to wipe away what remains of my trepidation. It's all too easy to start fucking my soft, warm brain, the matter in my skull cavity squelching and sloshing as it's pulverized into a useless sludge that used to make me human.

On the outside, the damage to my head is clear. I'm already moaning wordlessly, my eyes rolled back in my head as my hand works furiously at my cunt. I'm so dripping wet that I can stick three fingers inside myself with ease, jamming a fourth in with little hesitation while I slouch to the side, into the grasp of the person reducing me from a human being into a moaning fleshlight. It still hurts, on some level, but I've stopped caring about the pain; in fact, I welcome it at this point. It's just a part of the experience, and the experience is one I'm relishing at every turn, now that I don't have any other choice. Now that I don't have the presence of mind to do anything else.

With a moaning slut under their control and a tight hole milking them dry, the person fucking my skull doesn't take long to cum after I start drooling, my tongue lolling out and my eyes rolling back in my head like I'm getting railed normally instead of brainfucked. That's really the nail in the coffin for what remains of my psyche. Once able to complain and think for myself, the only thing I'm capable of now is begging to have a cock in my head at all times, something to get rid of the rest of that pesky gray matter leftover. I only want cock and cum to fill my empty skull cavity.

C/W Rimming, piss, forced bi, impact

Oh lookie here, if it isn't the geeky little nerd. What do we have here? Aww? Your books? It'd be a shame if I did—

Slam

Go on. Pick them up, you dumb cunt. There we go. You look much better on your knees like that, you stupid little bitch. Ha! You know I can see right down your blouse, right? Are you trying to get my dick hard? Stop lying, you whore. You're trying to get my cock all hard and throbbing, aren't you? Do you really think that'd stop me from beating your pathetic ass up?

Ziiiip

What? Never seen a real cock before? Yeah, you don't seem the type, you fucking nerd. Keep your fucking eyes on my cock or I'll beat the shit out of you again. That's right whore, look at me jerking my thick cock. What the fuck are you blushing for? You realise I've just finished fucking that cheerleader, don't you? And your worthless little cunt's drooling? Pathetic.

You know what? Lick it. Did I stutter? Lick her fucking cunt off my cock, you pathetic failure of a human being. You're too fucking slow. Bite and I'll kill you. I won't be able to cum from some loser's pathetic blowjob so I'm going to skullfuck you instead. Fuckkkk, I don't care if you're complaining or begging, but every time you sob I feel it on my cock.

Shiiiit yes, that's a good little whore. How do you like the taste of a real woman's cum on my cock? SLURP IT ALL UP. Don't leave a single fucking drop, you stupid skank. Fuck, yes, SHIT, I'm cumming. Fuck, don't spill a single fucking drop, you dumbass!

You look so disgusting with all those strands of drool connecting your lips and my cock. God, are you crying? That's... such a turn on. Fuck, you're going to eat my ass now. 'NoO, pLeAsE DoN'T MaKe mE', shut the fuck up, cunt. Shove your fucking tongue up my asshole and I won't give you another black eye. There we go. That's a good ass-licking whore. Are you retching down there? Am I going to have to suffocate you with my fucking ass? SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP. AND EAT MY ASS.

This clearly isn't working. This slap isn't slap working. God, you look fucking disgusting. All that mascara running down your face, those teary eyes, those bruised, red lips. You know what would make you look better? Open your fucking mouth. SLAP. Do as I fucking say. Now say 'ahhh'.

being pretty is a requirement.

being submissive is a requirement.

sucking cock is a requirement.

anal is a requirement.

your feelings don't matter.

your hunger doesn't matter.

stop whining.

I focus on "big strong conservative men" a lot. But all men are superior to women, no matter the shape and size.

The apartment is a mess after last night. You stumble over the empty bottles and crushed pizza boxes that litter the room, staggering into the kitchen. You sigh contently as you sip the cool glass of water left on the counter, enjoying the sun on your naked body.

A hand snakes around your waist and pulls you into a warm body. Gavin kisses your shoulder as he trails his hands down the slight curvature of your wide hips.

You turn around quickly and look at him. His eyes now level with your lips. He quirks a smile as he moves forward to kiss you.

"Stop! What are you doing!"

Gavin scrunches his eyebrows together, his curly short hair bobbing as he tilts his head. "Continuing where we left off? What do you mean?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I am not attracted to cis men. You're being really creepy right now."

Gavin is usually a sweet man. With a slight, lean frame and an upbeat demeanor, he is the surprising cis het male in your queer friend group. He is the best ally you could ask for, a listening ear to your marginalized voices, sensitive and respectful to your experiences. He also didn't bat an eye when you came out as non binary last year. It is one of the reasons you are comfortable rooming with him off campus this fall.

Gavin cracks a grin. Do his teeth look sharper than normal? "Oh baby girl, you told me you would do this. I know what you need" He suddenly pushes his knee in between your legs and jams his thigh up into your crotch, making contact with your clit. You gasp. His hands pin yours to the countertop as he leans in, his naked body touching yours in too many places. You try to wiggle out but his grip feels like iron.

"Don't you remember..." His soft words drifted in but you stopped hearing them.

You look fearfully at the empty bottles by your feet. An icy chill shoots down your spine as his words pull up memories from the hazy mists of your mind.

I'm curious about cock. I feel like a fake dyke. I just want to try it once. I want to get it rough. Just a little inside me. I want to be used. I need to be put in my place. I want to feel it throbbing in me. My gender could be fucktoy. I want to feel cum. I need a cis man to take me and show what I am for. I want cock. I need to be bred. I need a real cock inside me.

All the carefully-hidden, shameful desires that you've harboured. They've never emerged from the frantic rubbings under your blankets. Pussy juice on one hand, phone on the other, scrolling Tumblr kink blogs through the night. They're fantasies. Not real. Never meant to be heard by anyone else.

Gavin is supposed to be safe. Gavin is a friend. Gavin is a nice modern liberal man who respects women and enbys. Gavin is... looking at you with eyes that make you feel small despite your greater height.

His hand is now rubbing your clit. Your knees weaken. He knows the truth. He's going to take you. You clench your thighs by instinct but end up rubbing your pussy on his leg.

He kisses you with an overwhelming hunger. A tongue touching the insides of your mouth with a forcefulness you've never experienced before. His hip grounds into your leg with his hard shaft leaving a trail of pre-cum on your inner thigh.

You try to fight but you're still reeling from the betrayal. You're shakey. You've never been touched by a cis man before. The world seems to white out in your daze. He takes the chance and spins you around. You're staring at your own reflection in the window, bent over the counter. The moments are captured in the spotty glass like translucent ghosts. Watching him look down to line up with your hole. Feeling yourself stretched. Watching his face light up and his mouth open in pleasure. Feeling him plummet into you, invading you.

Just like you said you wanted.

The swinging of his balls is perfectly positioned to hit your engorged labia with every thrust. Your legs slip farther out, and suddenly your clit is tingling from the impact too.

A man is fucking you. A cis man with a hot and hard penis. Reaching inside you and taking you. Touching you in the places you wish you didn't have. It doesn't matter that you're friends. You have a vagina that his cock could use. You bite your lips. Afraid to make this worse.

Afraid to let your pleasure escape.

You blink back the tears as you are pressed onto the ground not too gently, the cold kitchen tiles embracing you with its own hardness. Gavin resumes pounding into you without caring.

"I've wanted to do this for so long. You're so fucking hot. I can't believe you're letting me do this to you. Your pussy feels amazing"

You have never felt so grossly feminine in your life. It feels... strange to look up and see a man on top, his chest heaving as he takes his pleasure inside you. Your hard nipples rub against his hairy chest and you can't help but bring your hands up to pinch them harder. You close your eyes in shame as a moan finally escapes you.

Sex with women, enbies, and trans men feel like play in comparison. This is primal. A satiation of biological needs that your body is responding to. You were born to have your female womb bred by a male penis. There will be consequences, your life will be ruined. Not because of the potential pregnancy, but because you will never be able to associate sex with anything else again. You clench around him, eliciting a growl from Gavin.

You can't live without cock again. The punishing thrusts of a hot shaft touching you in places you wish you didn't have. But it feels so right, so good. A real penis is inside you. Sailing higher and higher, your mind grasping for a peak that you have never reached before. Have never imagined before.

Suddenly, he withdraws. His hands on your thighs, and he's bending your legs back until your knees are almost touching your shoulders. Your dysphoria flares as you realize how open your vagina is, a gaping hole presented to a real man in all its vulnerability. Just as painful, is the loss of his cock from your body. You're clenching around air, devoid of the fullness moments ago.

"What are you?" Gavin asks, his hard erection causally sliding on your clit. He knows you hate this question, the forceful attitude from a world that doesn't recognize your fluidity.

Yet, the answer seems to bubble underneath your moans.

"What. Are. You." Each word is punctuated by a heavy slap of his cock on your clit. He is averaged sized, at best. And you are so proud of your growth after a year on T. Faced with biological reality, you can see his penis is huge on your tiny clit as you whimper under him. You can't speak as you look down at your genitals touching. He could breed you, change your body forever. Force you into womanhood.

"I'm... " You hesitate. His other hand spreads your labia majora open to reveal your drooling hole. Your drooling, empty hole that needs to cum. Look at this. He seems to say.

"I'm...a..." The tip of his penis poised at your hole. Barely touching. His shaft coated with your juices. Lubricated to slide into you, as nature intends.

It feels like your breath is trapped in your body as you tighten and resist. But the throbbing of your clit and the warmth of his cock keep you in the unfortunate reality of your assault.

"I'm... a... girl." It feels like something in you changed. A flush of heat raced down and straight to between your legs. You tell yourself that you just want to get this over with.

His pushes into you hard. It's painful, but your body feels full with pleasure too. When he grounds his pelvis against you, your clitoris feels positively electrified.

Hot breaths warm your ears as he buries his head in the crook of your neck. His hips drive into you with a careless abandon as he penetrates your pussy.

Faster. With a breathlessness shared between your bodies as you kiss, your bodies meld together as you push back against him. His motions grow erratic. You know what is coming. Instead of disgusting you, the realization draws out a longing you have felt for so long, through all the secret moments of rubbing alone in the dark. He groans and you clutch at his shoulders, your legs spread wide.

"You're gonna take my load." He states. It isn't a question.

Is it you who wrapped your legs around his waist? You don't know when you gave up the fight as you writhe under Gavin's body, his penis inside you, his body dominating yours in every way possible. He penetrates you. You feel it coming, the peak that seems unreachable. You could see in his eyes that it's coming. It's coming... And...

He penetrates you again, and lets out a groan as he grabs your waist and pushes his cock as deep inside your pussy as possible. His penis throbs and expands inside of you, and a spurt of his sperm shoots into your cervix. Another spurt as he shoves himself in and out again and his body jerks against you. You can't help but clench on his cock, which feels impossibly large in you. He keeps cumming and it feels so right to receive it, to give him pleasure. Your innocent womb now swimming with millions of his seeds. You feel it deep in you, and your body goes tight, clenching hard on his cock as you soar towards your own peak.

You don't want to cum on his cock. You've never cum from penetration. But a man has just taken your body. Used you. Unloaded his balls completely in your fertile womb. Bred you.

Climbing upwards to your ecstasy, trembling, looking into the eyes of your rapist. The orgasm rips through you like a windstorm and you feel yourself giving over completely to your pussy. She is tightening and milking all the cum from his hard cock. It's so good to be fucked. To be a girl. To be bred. You let go, and the fall into your darkest pleasures is more exhilarating and scary than you could ever imagine. Waves of pleasure radiating from your pussy and through your body, leaving you boneless and devoid of any scrap of fight. It's so good to accept your place.

How could you ever go back?

You clutch and squirm and moan. Nobody would ever think you were anything but a straight cis woman if they saw you. Drunk on the pleasure of being cummed in. Forced to accept your biology. The scent of his musky sweat and cum fills you up and leaves you heady.

He draws his cock out of your pussy with a definite *pop*. He smacks your bottom as the cum dribbles out of your vagina and onto the tiles.

"I'll tell my ultimate frisbee team. Let's skip the feminist author panel tonight. We'll get a few more loads in you." He smiles, back to the reliable and supportive Gavin.

Imagine bringing a hot date home and telling her that you have a pathetic shit pig that *is* your toilet. She would find it hilarious and love how you had such a pathetic bitch at your hole.

Make me pay for all your dates too, and use me for your entertainment however you wish

You start working over time to get your fix. It's the only thing you think about these days anyways. You've become obsessed. Your time away from me and working is spent edging your shitpig cunt to the thought of seeing your God, just even a minute of worship makes you feel complete again.

I start charging extra. For something so pathetic and desperate like you, it's only right I get paid. I don't want to see your ugly face anyways, it's why I only sit on or squat over your face now, you don't even get the pleasure of licking my hole while I'm on my back.

Your mind is always thinking about your next payment. Just another 5 minutes with your tongue up my shithole. Nothing else makes you cum anymore, I've corrupted you far too much for that.

I start dipping into your reserves more and more. A fancy steak house dinner with someone far prettier than you'll ever be. A nice afternoon rockclimbing date. They all *kinda* know about you and our arrangement. They find it hilarious and ask if they can use you too.

You realize how pathetic you are to want this? Reflect on this for a moment. You want to lay under me, mouth agape and tongue out, while I sit down on your face. You *want* my ass to taste of shit and you want the pleasure of being able to clean me.