Really Into Object Insertion Today. Imagining Someone Finding Progressively Bigger And Bigger Objects

Really into object insertion today. Imagining someone finding progressively bigger and bigger objects to stick inside their partner. Imagining them doing so with clinical efficiency, entirely fixated on how much can you take and how big can you go. Saying Just a little more, don’t move now. Shushing their partner when they whimper or try to move or squirm away from the huge wine bottle entering them. Or the sanded-smooth chair leg. Or the baseball bat. The sick fascination on their face as they watch it sink in, in, in into that once-tight hole. Leaving it stuck inside, groaning and starting to get themselves off right then and there at the sight of it, at the little noises and gasps their partner is making at being so utterly, utterly filled. So deep they can see the bulge in their stomach, can press one hand against it from the outside and revel in the aborted jerk it earns them. And then doing it again the next night, except with something even bigger. You know what I mean?

gay sex won’t fix this. it’ll probably make this worse. that being said don’t you want to see how much worse it can get?

FIGHT CLUB/ JENNY HOLZER

you tell them it hurts, and they say That’s fine. as if you’re just giving them an update and they’re unconcerned

Miguel Cotto

sadistic predatory women, i’d like to propose a trade

i get: a bunch of sleeping pills

you get: my address and the key to my apartment