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.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Need to hurt myself around a repressed sadist who is trying so, so hard to act repulsed. To watch the way their eyes lock onto each cut. They cant tear themselves away no matter how hard they try. The ‘oh fuck’s and whimpers when they watch the blood drip down my thighs and onto their waist when i’m on top.
They’re shaking and trying so, so hard to be ‘good’, to not want more, but they suck the blood off my fingers like they’re starving and look at me like i’m their god.
dni: minors, trump supporters/maga, bigots, basic dni criteria
kinks: cnc, fauxest, somno, intox, bdsm, piss, age play, pet play, snuff, blood play, knives, guns, power play (kidnapper x victim, teacher x student, dad x daughter, etc), breath play/choking, breeding and more!
limits: scat, actual rape and incest, waterboarding, race play, cheating, probs more
🫧•*¨*•.¸¸ 🫧•*¨*•.¸¸ 🫧•*¨*•.¸¸ 🫧•*¨*•.¸¸
im not great at answering dms and i do rather asks but i appreciate every one ♡
He found you in the bedroom, face down on the mattress. You hadn't even bothered to lift your head.
You hear the rustle of clothes. Of course, he needs to change; he just got home. You hope that afterward, he'll just go about his business and leave you alone. But the bed dips under his weight as he sits on the edge beside you. A hand lands on your ass, squeezing it pointedly through your sleep shorts.
“Why are you dressed?” he asks. Right. You're breaking the rules. Stupid, meaningless rules.
You try to blindly push his hand away.
“Not now,” you mumble into the sheets.
Your own voice sounds disgustingly hoarse. You’ve always hated it, but after hours of sobbing, it's even worse.
He brushes your hand aside.
“Why. Are. You. Dressed?” he repeats. Slowly, one word at a time. In that cold, stern tone you sometimes like, but not now. You thought you'd cried all the tears you had, but something vile and prickly is stirring in your chest again.
He doesn't care that you feel like shit. No one does. As usual.
You clench your jaw tighter, trying to force the feeling down. Then you push yourself up on an elbow and turn your head to look him in the eye. You know you look a mess—tear-streaked face, snot, red eyes… But fuck it. Let him look. His sex toy isn't very sexy today.
He does look. His gaze locks onto your face, scanning every centimeter. You wanted to say something cutting, but all your resolve instantly evaporates. Instead, you just sigh tiredly and answer:
“Just… can you not touch me today, please?”
It sounds pathetic.
“No,” he replies curtly, with a smile, and his hand returns to your ass possessively. The smile doesn't reach his eyes. They're watching you with greed. “I want you now.”
He's only wearing his jeans. You feel his hands hook the waistband of your shorts and underwear and tug them down.
You twist around, grabbing his wrist again, trying to curl into a ball.
“I don't want it now,” you hiss. This time, less pathetic. Like an angry cat.
He doesn't even consider letting go, just lazily hooks a finger through the ring of your collar and gives it a slight tug.
“Free use,” he reminds you. “Anytime. You belong to me. You agreed to this.”
“Ahhh fuck that!” you snap, your patience finally running out.
You are too exhausted to think too hard about what you're doing. You just twist and sink your teeth into his arm. You get a sharp jab in the stomach for it. You flail your fists, hitting anything you can reach, trying to scratch. Your nail accidentally catches on something on his jeans, and a sharp pain shoots through your finger, but you ignore it. You're fighting back.
As always, it's useless. You're in different weight classes, as he likes to remind you—in word and in practice. You end up on your stomach again, with him on top of you, your arm twisted behind your back to the point of pain.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. We'll have to fix that,” he says thoughtfully, and you feel a touch on that very finger that hurts. Seems you broke your nail down to the quick.
“Red!” you spit out hurriedly. Though without much hope.
He doesn't let go.
“Did you forget what safewords are for?” he asks with feigned surprise. “This isn't a scene. I'm just going to help you so you don't hurt yourself further… You'll have to bear with it a little, but it's your own fault…”
You barely have time to clamp your teeth down on the sheet before the torn piece of nail is ripped from the quick in one sharp motion. A nasty, sharp pain. The kind you don't like. Tears well up in your eyes again, and you whimper.
“There now,” he notes with satisfaction. “Stop resisting, or something even worse might happen to you… Will you be good?”
You've known him long enough to hear the threat in those words and take it seriously. Your choked 'Mhm' is enough for him. He releases your arm and gets up. He strips off your remaining clothes and tosses them somewhere on the floor. His hands grab your hips and pull you up, positioning you on your knees, so your ass is in the air. You hear the clink of a belt buckle, the sound of a zipper being undone. The click of a lube bottle opening.
No foreplay. He just positions himself behind you and pulls you onto his cock. Not in one smooth motion, of course—your size difference makes it somewhat difficult—but without ceremony.
Like a fleshlight, your brain supplies.
It hurts, and it stings, and it hurts, and it stings, and…
“Still so tight,” he chuckles, and starts to move.
You whimper again. Once again, you're just being used. You're always just being used. But you feel that thought, along with the pain, along with the sensation of his cock stretching your ass, starting to arouse you. As always.
“Tell me why you were crying,” he says. Not asks. Demands.
What does it matter? Why not tell him. Why not tell him while he's fucking you in the ass. You have nothing left to lose.
“Just thinking about how worthless I am,” you force out. You try to sound casual, but your throat tightens again.
“Oh, yeah?” he drawls, not stopping thrusting into you. “In what way, exactly?”
You swallow with difficulty—and start talking. Everything. Literally everything. It can't get any more humiliating than it already is. You're just a walking bundle of problems. Unattractive. Defective. Worse than everyone. The one who’s not enough. The one who's always abandoned, always cheated on, always used. Sometimes you manage to forget, to deceive yourself for a while, but it's always right there. Something always reminds you. A carelessly dropped phrase, a random memory, any fucking little thing…
“And you're just using me, aren't you?” your tears are dripping onto the sheet. “Just… fucking me, and then you'll dump me. I'm not good for anything else anyway.”
You sob, your body shudders and clenches—and clenches around his cock too. He grunts and starts moving even more sharply, his fingers digging into your hips, moving your ass back and forth, sheathing you on his length.
“Keep going, baby, I'm close,” he moans.
You turn your head and look back at him over your shoulder. A handsome face, showing pure lust. A heavy gaze, parted lips, beads of sweat on his forehead…
What did you expect to see there? What did you wish was there?
“You make me wanna die,” you giggle through tears, through your own matching lust, the shaking, the tension…
“But why? What's wrong now, sweetheart? You came to me yourself, remember?” he purrs in response, sensually, without a trace of sympathy. Accompanied by the sound of flesh slapping against flesh.
Something inside you seems to crack.
“I just wanted you to love me!” you almost yells desperately in a final attempt to get through to him. Casting the last remnants of pride aside.
You stare at him point-blank, from below, and he looks back at you, even stopping his movement. For a moment, you almost believe he heard you.
Until a cruel smile blooms on his lips, until he reaches for you, grabs your collar, and pulls you towards him, forcing you into a kneeling upright position. He turns your head to the side to see your face, and says:
“You know what I want? I want to cum inside you right now.”
He stares at you greedily.
The crack grows, widens, and something inside shatters, explodes into a million pieces, and he sees it.
And you can physically feel how that only turns him on even more.
He shoves you in the back, and you fall onto your elbows.
He's rutting into you violently, so fast you can't take it anymore. Your body reaches its climax almost simultaneously with his; you scream into the sheets, already soaked with your tears and drool. You feel him cum—deep inside you.
But he doesn't stop. You know this isn't over yet.
There's not a single thought left in your head.
…
You hear him leave the room. You hear the door close. Then it opens. You feel your finger being wiped with antiseptic and bandaged. You hiss softly but don't otherwise react. You hear him leave again. You hear the kettle boiling in the kitchen. You hear him walking back and forth through the apartment. Talking to someone on the phone.
You vaguely recall that yesterday you were hurt by how he was talking to someone else… Maybe. Your memory fails you like this all the time.
A strange thought comes to you: if you had something like a pencil within reach, you'd pierce both your eardrums just to not hear anything. But you simply don't have the energy to get up and find something suitable. A stupid idea.
The sheet beneath you is unpleasantly wet and cold from your own release. The throbbing pain in your finger is a slight distraction from the feeling.
You wish you could just not exist.
You watch the tree branches swaying in the wind outside the window. You don't feel the passage of time. Just watch as the sky darkens. The streetlights come on. It starts to snow. Big, fluffy snowflakes slowly, slowly fall down… You're cold. You imagine lying out there, being slowly buried by the snow.
Until the door opens and the weight and heat of another body cover you once again. You feel so small.
“Do you like it, my love?” a voice mockingly purrs in your ear as its owner forcefully pushes his cock into your tired, aching, miserable body one more time.
You're not a person. You're not even an animal—they have at least some instinct for self-preservation. An animal would gnaw off its own paw to escape the trap you walked into willingly. You're just a worthless thing to be used, ready to serve its owner again. Things are unfamiliar with concepts like dignity.
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.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I'm obsessed with the idea of getting worse, becoming the sickest version of myself. letting those with dangerous intentions tell me how to live my life, despite knowing their thrill is in my downfall. I want to be reduced to the most pathetic version of myself. the one who doesn't resist, who doesn't say no, all without ever questioning what I've become.
I want to be too far gone for normal hands to touch.
Want somebody who is just hungry to hurt me. Whose eyes light up whenever I whimper or cry out. Who I have to fight back against to keep from going too far. I want to be genuinely afraid.
