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The Whole World I really do feel like a doll in your hands. Not a sex doll exactly, or even a mannequin. More like a Barbie or the cheap own-brand equivalent that gets bought in the knowledge that the hair will be cut off and the clothes replaced with ones made out of torn-up bits of paper towel. You make feel small and vulnerable; safe and afraid in equal measure. Nothing terrible will happen in your hands, unless you will it. You do, of course. When you tell that knowing that you could my neck if you decided makes you feel tempted sometimes do it, I believe you. When you tell that you won't because that would mean you couldn't fuck me anymore, I wonder if you mean you wouldn't immediately afterwards while I was still warm. Your death and necromancy fetish lends itself easily these kinds of thoughts. You are a mixture of sensuous and shocking, coiled around , serpentine, as you take apart. Long smooth strokes along my ribs, sudden violent slaps and punches my cunt. Your fingers curl in my hair, around my throat, dig into my flesh. Your teeth sink into the skin and muscle of my outer arms, my tits, my inner thighs. All of the places most tender and vulnerable to their violent incision. Your mouth seizes my throat as your fingers find my cunt and the push and pull of you punching and tearing into leaves my body bruised, both visibly and inside. Little wolf cub, you call , when I bite you back, just a little, and you laugh. We both know this isn't rebellion, but . Bite harder, you tell , bite my cock, it can take it. When I do, you moan and thrust your head, with its sealed metal ring, past the entrance my throat making gag and panic. More laughter. You can take it, be a good girl, you tell , as the grip on the back of my neck pushes lower, ensuring I have no choice but be good. You spend the briefest of time sliding your cock into my desperate slick cunt. Almost as if you just needed to remind yourself that it isn't really what you want. Your satisfied grunt each time you force your way into my arse gives way to growls and swearing. For me, the pain, still present every time, and the blissful, ineffable headspace of being used like this means I don't really know what I am, if I am, for a while. You tell me to push back against you. You can still cry, you say, it's ok to cry, but I want you to push your arse onto my cock, show me how enthusiastic you can be, even if you have to fake it, show me how much you love me. I do all of these. I couldn't do anything else, knowing this is what you want: my love, my tears, my enthusiasm for your violation pour out of me. Your hands dig into my hips before closing around my throat. I increase my movement, impaling myself as roughly as I can. The pain is transcendent and my head spins. That's my good girl, my good doll My vision blurs as I feel your cum burst deep inside me. |
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9/18/2020 1:41 am |
The journey to sub-space can be fraught, but is worth it.
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The great feeling of fucking you in the ass, knowing that you hate it.... Tied on all four, legs spread wide and asshole gaping open after an inflatable plug stretched it wide... The panic in your eyes when my cock penetrates your throat and my fingers keep your nose shut... I love it !
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8/31/2020 12:14 am |
great pic whether it is you or not
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