Pulling back and spitting on your tongue and watching you hold it there with your mouth open and your eyes gone because I didn’t say swallow. Diving back in and sucking it off your tongue. Taking it back. Spitting it into you again. Your chin soaked and your jaw sore from being held open and you’re moaning into my mouth like you’re being fucked but I’m not even touching you below the neck.

even just feeling a brush of my boyfriend’s hard penis against my body activates my female reproductive system for mating. i can feel my clitoris begin to stiffen and grow sensitive, my vagina begins to drip and relax to invite his cock inside, and i’m overwhelmed by the urge to lay back and spread my legs so he can’t resist penetrating my pink, wet, clenching pussy.

once he’s truly claiming my pussy, on top of me holding my body bent in half so he can slam his penis in and out of my babyhole at will, it feels so right to surrender all control of the situation and accept that being female means he can do whatever he wants to my body, and that my body now exists to lay there helpless and pleasure his cock. even if i tried to push him out, the contractions of my vagina would only further stimulate his penis and cause him to orgasm inside of me quicker.

when i feel his breathing get heavier and his penis start to harden and lengthen, preparing to inseminate me, i feel ecstatic. my pussy naturally clamps down around his cock, causing overwhelming pleasure for both of us as he loses control and thrusts fast and hard and so deep inside that it hurts. i can always feel him harden the last bit and shove himself as deep as he can inside me to cum, following the most basic male sexual urge to impregnate a female.

nothing turns me on like his masculine grunting and moaning as he thrusts, thrusts, thrusts, and finally slams so deep he hits my cervix and pumps his semen right into it. each pump of sperm into my unprotected pussy is ecstasy. i feel whole, i feel womanly, i feel bred. he stays there with his still-hard penis inside me, making tiny little thrusts to keep pleasuring his penis with my pussy, and to make sure his sperm doesn’t leak out too much.

He then invaded your womb likely against your little will and pounded you, fighting your body from the inside, while you lay there and just take it.

Then he shoves himself down deep and unloads himself, claiming you despite your pathetic protest. And now, your body goes through a change.

Your breasts swell and grow large and heavy, your belly grows, your hips widen. And worst, even your brain changes completely.

There is no deeper defeat than this. And pathetic cunts rate themselves on how many times they’ve had this defeat.

So now I’m grinding on you through the fabric, and the wet spot is spreading against the head of my cock and I’ve completely lost interest in doing this properly. I should stop. Pull them to the side. Be a person about it. But we’re dry humping like teenagers, except I keep pressing harder than a nervous teenager would, shoving you into the mattress, feeling the cotton stretch tight across your pussy every time I roll my hips forward. I want to know what happens if I just don’t stop.

The fabric gives a little more each time. I can feel you opening underneath it, your hips tilting up, trying to take me in through the cotton because neither of us is willing to pause long enough to move it. The resistance is making me feral. My whole brain begging, get through, get through, get through. And then the threads start to pull apart and the head of my cock tears through the wet ruined cotton and into you.

All this is to say...

I’m sure you think you’ve mapped this whole thing out. I write something in pink. you get wet. you touch yourself. you cum with my words in your head and the orgasm fuses everything together. The submission, the sinking, the need to cum back. Classical conditioning. Pavlov’s slut. And you feel kind of smart for having identified the mechanism, right? Look at you, tracking your own corruption in real time like a good little analyst. Getting wet while you deconstruct exactly why you’re getting wet.

Now think about what you do on a random afternoon when you check for a new post and there isn’t one. Think about what happens in that gap. Your brain starts filling it. You start imagining what I might say. What I’d make you do. You start composing scenes for yourself, building them out, adjusting the details until they’re perfectly tuned because nobody knows how to ruin you better than you do. You’re writing filth in my voice and getting wet at your desk and you haven’t even started to touch yourself yet. Then you check again an hour later. Still nothing. So you build another one. More vivid this time. More desperate.

By the time I actually post something you’ve spent the whole day edging to your own imagination. You’ve rehearsed a dozen versions of me. You’ve cum to at least one of them. So when my actual words finally land you’re so primed that anything I write hits because I’ve been inside your head all day. You put me there. You did all the work yourself.

Every hour you spend waiting and checking and filling the silence is you training yourself for me with more precision than I could ever manage. I just gave you a shape to pour it into. You show up ruined and dripping and I get to take credit for it while you thank me.

And it builds. My grip tightens. My breathing changes. My stomach tenses and I can feel it gathering, this heavy hot pressure that keeps winding tighter the longer I drag it out. I’m edging myself because I like the torture of it. Getting right to the limit and then loosening my grip and letting it fade just enough to start building again. My cock is flushed and leaking and twitching every time I take my hand away and honestly it’s a beautiful thing and it’s a shame no one’s here to appreciate it.

Which is why I need you.

I want to wake you up when I’m close. Just to watch. I’d tap your shoulder and you’d roll over still half asleep and see me with my cock in my hand, thick and hard and dripping, my chest already rising and falling fast, and I’d tell you to open your eyes wide because you’re not going to want to miss this. You can touch yourself. Rub your clit under the covers, grind against your pillow, whatever you need to do. But you’re just here to enjoy the show. You don’t get to put your hands or mouth on me without permission. You just get to watch me stroke my cock and listen to the sounds I make and get yourself off to the privilege of being in the room while it happens.

And then I cum.

Long ropes across my stomach and up my chest because I’ve been edging the entire night and I’m so, so pent up. It’s on my abs and my ribs and pooling in the dip of my collarbone and dripping down my side onto the sheets and I’m still twitching, still catching my breath, still leaking onto my own fist.

That’s when you get the okay. That’s when you get to work.

You start at my cock. Of course you start at my cock. You’ve been staring at it this whole time and now your tongue is finally on it, licking it clean from base to tip, gentle because I’m still sensitive, feeling me flinch against your lips while you lap up everything that’s left. You take your time with it. You’re thorough. That’s why I like you.

Then you work your way up. Your tongue tracing the trail along my stomach, licking the cum off my skin, following the mess up my abs and across my ribs. Cleaning each line I left there like it’s something precious. Your mouth on my chest now, your tongue dipping into the pool at my collarbone, swallowing everything I gave you. Working all the way up to my neck where you press your lips against my throat and I can feel you breathing hard because doing this got you more worked up than whatever you were doing to yourself under the covers.

Many cultures attempted to limit this to marriage, but after marriage a husband would simply be cumming inside his wife all the time. Pregnancy and babies were not really a choice so much as they were the natural outcome.

Women, especially, weren't making decisions about this. This is just something females have had to accept: you're going to take cock in your pussy, and it's going to fill you with cum. Your body will take care of the rest.

People weren't avoiding pregnancy with timing, either--the timing of ovulation and peak fertility wasn't even well understood until the 1900s.

Raping a girl isn't just about getting some pussy; it's about the rush of power when a girl can't tell you no. Especially if she tries, or begs. I can just push my cock inside of her and have fun. It's her body, but it's mine.

But it is about getting pussy, too - just dialed up by that rush. Because she can't stop her body any more than she can stop me. She'll still get just as hot and wet for me as if she desperately wanted it; maybe more. She'll still milk my cock when she comes - even if she'd never come like that before.

Have you ever really imagined how that will feel, for him? How much pleasure you'll be giving him, when he takes you? How good your pussy will feel wrapped around his cock, even if you hate every second of it?

Two or three filled condoms later and I'm confident that he's not gonna stealth me, so I ask to get a little more kinky. He's good at shibari so he ties me up tight and puts on another condom. Only after another round of rough sex and another filled condom is he sure that the ties will hold tight no matter how much I try to move.

Not for a little weekend fun. I mean for long enough that you stop counting the days. Long enough that the rope starts to feel like it belongs etched into your skin, like your wrists have always been bound behind your back and your ankles have always been spread apart and this is just how your body is shaped now. I want you to forget what it feels like to close your legs.

And I want to be the only thing that feels good. That’s the part I keep coming back to. I want to edge you stupid on my cock and then pull out and let you sit there shaking and desperate with nothing to grind against because I’ve taken everything away. Nothing to fall back on. Just your own wetness dripping down your thighs and the memory of how I felt inside you and the slow maddening understanding that you can’t do anything about it until I come back and give you more.

But don’t worry, I’ll always come back. That’s how the addiction works. I’ll fuck you slow and deep until your eyes roll back and your brain turns off and you’re right there right at the edge and then I’ll stop. Pull out. Watch your hips try to follow me. Watch you pull against the ropes trying to get closer to the only thing in your world that makes the ache stop. You’ll beg. You’ll say things you’d never say if you had the use of your hands or any dignity left. And I’ll stroke your face and tell you you’re doing so well and slide back in just to feel your whole body shake with relief.

Every time I use you you’ll gets more desperate for it. Every time I pull out the absence gets louder. Eventually you’re not thinking about the ropes at all. You’re not thinking about being untied. You’re only thinking about my cock. When it’s in you you’re alive and warm and full and safe. When it’s not you’re empty and aching and counting the seconds. Two states of being. Full of me, or waiting to be.

Once I get in his deluded little head I’d like to liquor him up and take him back to my place. Once I get him inside I’m locking the door and getting him naked. I’ll be so gentle at first, slowly building up to groping his ass and then shedding his shirt, then the binder, then his pants, and boxers.

Once I reveal his sticky kitty and pull out my dick I wont give a fuck though. It gets me so fucking hot thinking about how vulnerable and nervous he would be. I’m sure he’d be subconsciously trying to cover his tits but I wouldn’t allow that. I’m groping hard and tweaking his nipples while we make out.

Before he tries to warn me about using a condom I’m pushing my cock in her swollen hole. Tboys are usually wet as fuck from neglect and how horny all those hormones make them. I love their juicy clits and would be bullying the shit out of that little guy.

After thrusting in balls deep I’m sure she’ll say something like “pull out before you cum” or “I’m not on birth control” But I wont give a fuck. I’m just keep fucking her until she’s coming on my cock over and over again.

I’m not stopping until this slut is on the edge of passing out. I want my cockhead jammed up her cervix and punching stars in her vision. I want that little pocket pussy wrapped around my shaft and milking the jizz out of me.

Once my balls start seizing up I’m blowing a huge wad inside her unprotected pussy. I’m not pulling out for a single pulse and sending all of my swimmers directly into her waiting womb.

I can imagine a cuntboy being so overwhelmed that she wouldn’t know what to do. 9 times out of ten you can fuck them again while they are in a state of shock even harder. Once I’m done taking her cunt for a ride and dumping a couple more loads in her I’m grabbing my shit and leaving her to cry with my cum dribbling out of her pussy.

Here are some options -

Easy mode: buy yourself a pack of women’s underwear and wear it until you’re due your next shot.

Intermediate: touch yourself. Stuff your pussy with a dildo. Get it in there deep like the cock that’s going to breed you one day. but don’t cum. pull your underwear up. Carry on with your day with that dildo lodged in there. go to work. run your errands with your pussy full of cock. uncomfortable and anxiety inducing? good. this is practice.

Hard mode: hook up with at least three random guys before the week is out. It doesn’t matter who they are. Your attraction to them doesn’t matter either. Get filled. All that matters is that they cum in you.

-your holes are soft and warm and wet

-your body was made to be groped and slapped and stared at

-men love your wide hips and round ass

-your high-pitched voice sounds especially good when you're being fucked

-it's okay to shave your legs and cunt and to want your skin to be smooth and soft