i'm abigail. i used to be on tumblr a decade ago and now i'm back because i'm horny and want to read and write and talk about sex. my DMs and asks are open for a reason. anybody can come and talk about sex, anybody from the 1900s can come and flirt with me. xoxo
this blog contains adult content not suitable for minors.
i like: fisting, lactation, pregnancy, petplay, hypnosis, tentacles, pee, cum, drool, the way my wife's loving homecooked meals are making me big and round :)
i don't like: degradation, humiliation, cnc, any kink that's just oppression-but-make-it-horny (misogyny kink, detrans kink, etc etc)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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If you like this art you might also like the EP ANOTHER M by Sammus. It's a Black feminist nerdcore hiphop retelling of Metroid. It's got everything you could want: It's emotionally powerful and explores Samus' grief as an orphan who has to do incredible and dangerous things because of the circumstances of her early childhood, the beats are catchy flips of original Metroid tracks and sound effects that'll leave the tunes stuck in your head for months if you ever played them, and the lyrics are clever and densely packed with references to the games and wider 90s nerd culture.
Here's an official press kit photo for her latest LP release:
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I got big booty bitches, big, big booty bitches
I got big booty bitches, big, big booty bitches (HOOOO)
Big booty bitches, big, big booty bitches (HOOOO)
Big booty bitches, big, big booty bitches (I got, I got)
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Little bitches get out, we don't want no skinny bitches
Little bitches get out, we don't want no skinny bitches Little bitches get out, we don't want no skinny bitches
Little bitches get out, we don't want no skinny bitches
We want big booty bitches, big, big booty bitches (HOOOO)
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Yeah
Oh
I'm bringing sexy back
Only if you fat
Big bitches
All need stitches
300 pounds, come on
We can have a laugh with a tub of of Häagen-Dazs
We can watch the moon cause I know you like the stars
We're sharing two scoops with one spoon it's too cute
It's kinds turning me on isn't that what you wanna do?
We can food fight cause I'm in the mood tonight
Dirty kisses, dirty dishes in my sink I'll be your dirty missus
What ya think, I think flirtin' is vicious
Especially after a meal when you start lickin' your fingers
Bad gal, give it to you goody goody
Know I can't be toying around when it comes to woody
Neighbours making noise 'bout the sound, they ain't getting nooky
But if they were, what, they'd probably overlook it
But here they are, preeing my life, preeing me off
Legs in the sky, me on top
Drip sauce, they love the sloppy top
Ay, big woman ina dis, I kid you not
Wings from the chicken shop
Big spliff, hit the spot
After that, I finished off, that's how I finish off
Tongue was to get me started, not to piss me off
Don't ask me if I'm into girls, are we gonna kiss or not?
Hope that you don't kiss and tell
Hoping that you kiss it well
Wishing that you'd get it wetter than a wishing well
If you drown in it, wouldn't I wish you well
I roll it up, you would've thought I was a Libra how I put the piff on scales
I'm a foodie, I'm a foodie I'm a foodie
That's why my body looking juicy
Yeah, I'm a foodie, I'm a foodie I'm a foodie
Got breast got belly and a booty
Whip, whip the whip up the grub
Me I whip up the munch, whip up the lunch
Cooking the tasty
I'm hungry and I'm thirsty, mass up formally
Never did changed up, but they wanna change us
Been a foodie since day one
Why they wanna change us yeah
Why they wanna change us yeah, yeah, yeah
Unruly, unruly, unruly
Watch me do me and do me and do me
Yeah, I'm a foodie, I'm a foodie I'm a foodie
That's how I do me and do me and do me
went to the cinema yesterday and couldn't comfortably fit in the seat. in the heat lately I've had to spend a lot of days in front of the fan barely able to move or think. can't hold a conversation when i'm walking with my partner, partly because of what a whole body exertion it is to walk at her speed. my knees hurt walking down the stairs and i am out of breath by the time i'm back up them.
i love love what i see when i look in the mirror but i also am trying to pull myself out of a five year long mental health decline and i want to be able to do more with my body. i dont know if i'm making smart choices towards that or not.
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She started off small, quiet, anxious. It was how she'd been raised, it was what women were to her—ankle-length skirts, small waists, a perpetual diet, downcast eyes—and even after she got out of the church and got away from all that, it was already a habit.
Then she met you.
She stood out at Dyke Night, standing quietly in the corner in a long, red dress that was new and fit badly, baggy, a bold color on a nervous, unflattering cut. You were there watching all the people drinking and mingling in their ironic, niche t-shirts and vintage crops and bizarre combinations of flannel, and there she was, something new, picking at her nails and sipping seltzer water. You walked toward her quietly, saying a soft hello when you were close enough for her to hear you, but she still jumped, and your heart melted. Who was this soft, sweet, scared girl? What was she doing here all alone?
You gave her a soft smile, asked her name, gave her yours in return. She smiled back and you were dazzled, already lost in her warm green eyes, the long folds of her skirt, the brilliant gravity of her grin. You pulled her aside to a quiet corner of the patio, pushed a beer into her hand, asked her where she was from, and that's where it all started.
The blush crept into her cheeks, and her country accent, a lilting around the vowels, came out. You're both grinning now, leaning closer towards each other, every little fidget bringing you closer to her until you can see the constellations of her freckles. Finally, you ask the question you already know the answer to: "So, what brought you here?"
"I'm. . . hungry, I guess. I want something new," I guess," she said, "new experiences. New people. New food."
"Oh, sweetie, I love a girl with an appetite," you say, leaning forward, your belly pushing over your cut-off shorts, your tits almost falling out of your top. "I think I can help you with all of those."
She smiled, blushing, grinning from ear-to-ear but not quite looking at you. "I was hoping you could."
It's been a year now since you met her at the bar, the night you now call your first date, and it's hard to recognize her. She wasn't playing it up; she'd seen and tasted so little of what this life has to offer, and even now there were still so many firsts you wanted to do with her, even after you'd already shared her first beer with her, her first kiss, her first real orgasm. She was hungry, hungrier than you could've ever guessed, and it was all you could do to keep up with her, but you wouldn't trade it for the world. You were there when she first saw the sea at sunset, when she saw her first redwood, when you cooked her the first authentic Mexican food she'd ever had, and the delight in her eyes were what kept you going, amongst other things.
"Baby," she calls from the other room, her voice low and flirty, "can you help me get dressed? I'm stuck." You round the corner and you're dumbstruck by what you see.
Gone is the narrow waist, the slim jawline, the air of quiet reserve, all of it buried under a hundred pounds of soft, new fat and a confidence bordering on arrogance—she calls you over with her eyes. "This doesn't fit anymore," she pouts, "what happened? Did you shrink it?" It takes you a second to realize it, but it's the red dress from the first fateful night. Her tits, swollen and stretch-marked, pour over the pitifully small cups, a stray bit of areola making you bite your lip. Her belly is tight against the fabric, her belly button a soft dimple in the red, the pert roundness of her gut deforming the entire line of the dress, her side rolls flowing out of the zipper she's holding with both hands. She didn't even try to close it herself, that's why you're there, but it's cute she pretends to make an effort.
"You've been greedy, my girl," you say, helping her to her feet without her even asking, examining the hopelessly small dress with amusement. "All those new restaurants, all those nights out, all those late-night food deliveries, they have to go somewhere, honey. Look at you. This big, soft, stretch-marked gut. These tasty udders. That giant, wobbly ass." Your hands punctuate your sentence, her moaning when you grope her, and wandering from her ass to between her legs as you stand behind her. "And this big squishy fupa, baby. What would they think of you back home? Would they even know you? You look like you ate that shy girl who I was eyeing across the bar all that time ago." She was helpless, leaning into you, grinding her hips into yours. "Anyways, let's help you get dressed."
Your forearms straining, you manage to pull each side of the zipper together with one hand and force it closed with the other, watching the fabric stretch thinner and tighter against her in the mirror, every curve and roll and dimple highlighted, all the more sexy for how this used to drape on her. "God, what did you do to yourself?" you ask.
"It's not my fault," she mumbles, nuzzling her head against you. "You feed me too much."
"I'm just letting you try new things, baby," trying to sound sexy as you can while forcing the zipper closed, its teeth clicking begrudgingly together as you slowly push it closed. "I didn't force that food down your throat. I didn't make you order more food after you came home stuffed. I didn't—"
You both gasp as the dress gives up, side seam bursting, her hips bulging out of the seam. She shimmies a little and the seam rips entirely, and the little laugh she gives as it falls to the floor leaves you burning. "It's okay baby," you say, pulling her towards you, slipping her fingers right where she likes it, kissing her neck, feeling how heavy her belly is on your arm and how wet she already is, "I'll get you something new."
orajel is an over-the-counter painkiller gel designed for toothache. an ex introduced me to it in a kink context: it has the side effect of making you drool a bunch. drool is very sexy and fun to me.
put on a pair of sexy black latex gloves so you don't get it on your fingers and take the gloves off once you're done - you don't wanna be accidentally applying numbing gel in other places you're touching after. put a pea sized amount on the tip of your finger and go explore the mouth of somebody you love. rub it into their gums and tongue and usually after a minute or so they will start uncontrollably drooling for up to 15 minutes. make sure they're well hydrated before so they make lots of drool for you and after to replace the fluids they lost.
has anybody else used orajel for fun before? how was it? what wisdom have you got to share about it?
its active ingredient is benzocaine, which is in some cough sprays and drops, as well as condoms designed to delay orgasm. it doesn't make you drowsy or high. my wife has been accused of trying to sedate and assault people for suggesting its use (by a friend of the ex who first introduced me to it) so be aware that it's an easily stigmatisable kink thing to a prudish audience.
the instructions say to not use it if you're allergic to benzocaine, sorbic acid, or you're on certain antibiotics or have a methaemoglobin disorder. here's the full safety and instruction sheet, i am not your doctor.
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Hi! curiosity neovagina science question here that I was unable to find a decent answer on when trying to internet search. does vaginoplasty increase your risk for UTIs? logically, it would, given that the urethra is being shortened, but what seems like it should be the case and what actually happens don't always line up.
statistically yes i think, personally I have never had a uti before or after vaginoplasty. i've had all my holes pissed in if that helps!
