He Doesn't Even Have To Be The World's Best Pussy Eater, He Just Needs To Be Good Enough, Because Once

He doesn't even have to be the world's best pussy eater, he just needs to be good enough, because once he elicits that first whimper from you, once you can't deny any longer that it's a man who's making you feel like this, the humiliation just compounds those feelings tenfold. That was a dangerous bet... because the knowledge of what you're going to give up if you lose, that dread, that thrill of knowing just how close to defeat you are makes it so much harder to resist. The more you struggle, the harder you fight those pleasurable feelings welling up inside you, the more desperately you try to stifle your moans and hold back your orgasm, the more inevitable your surrender.

And once you realize that you're on the verge of succumbing, that's when you know you're really in trouble. Because not only is he going to fuck you, you know with absolute certainty that you're going to love it even more. Feeling all your confidence evaporate, watching yourself fight so hard and ultimately end up submitting anyway, it doesn't just feel good, it feels addicting. Losing shouldn't feel this good... but it does. And even if part of you knows that you should never have made that bet, there's a part of you now that's much larger than it was before that's glad you did... and can't wait to see what happens next.

thinking about making a bet with a guy who wants to prove he can eat me out better than a woman can. I scoff and tell him he wouldn't be able to do it, and I'm so confident that I tell him, joking, that if he could, he can fuck me too.

he immediately gets to work and pushes apart my legs, pulling off my underwear from under my skirt. just as I'm about to ask him what the hell he's doing, my jaw clamps shut, trying to hold in a moan as he does exactly what he said he would do. I'm able to hold off for a little while trying to act disinterested, but eventually, it's just too overwhelming that my legs start to shake with every lick, and my moans escape my mouth. my hips buck, and I try to grind myself more against him, but he holds them down and looks up at me, knowing I've proven him right.

I cum, but it isn't over. he moves on top of me and teases my overstimulated clit with his cock, it's feels so good that it almost hurts. it reminds me how empty my pussy feels. he continues to rub himself against me until I finally break and beg him to just fuck me already, that I can't take it anymore. he pushes my legs to my chest and thrusts inside of me. it stretches me out, but the pain feels so good, to finally have a real cock inside of me. he presses his full weight onto me, pinning me down while he fucks me. I keep trying to protest, to tell him I was joking, but it's just too much. whatever comes out of my mouth is just gibberish and moans. finally, he pumps me full of cum and I absolutely melt, my body betraying me and milking his cock.

And you were… but it gets so tiring to keep fighting, and it’s so easy to give in, especially when just the act of surrender itself just feels so intoxicatingly good. “Just one time” is yet another thing you’ll tell yourself, another temporary stopping place along your path to corruption that you’ll barge right through in a matter of days or weeks. You’ve come so far already, built up such wonderful momentum… you have no chance of stopping now, and the knowledge of that just excites you and thrills you even more…

maybe just one time wouldnt hurt

One of my more shameful... kinks? Turn ons? Is when I'm someone's exception for something. You aren't normally into girls? Incest usually squicks you out? Rape scenes make you uncomfy? You don't normally get dommy like this? But you do for me? Good. Desire me to the point of abnormality. Admire me to the point of exception. Want me more than you want the safety of comfort. Look me in the eyes and tell me, 'It's okay if it's you.'

it's getting to the point where even when i look at stuff that's not orientation play related i prefer the hetero maledom stuff >////<

men deserve to be in charge. they deserve to be in charge of me, especially

Very hot blog, sir~

Definitely a follow 🧡

Thank you, anon! Enjoy your stay here 😘

we talk a lot about female feminists getting broken and fucked and bred into becoming tradwives and anti-feminists, but what we don't talk about enough is respectful feminist men becoming raging misogynists when they realize how slutty and desperate women really are.

like UGH just imagine it. a sweet, polite, respectful boy who has an enormous crush on you and is ecstatic when you go on a date with him. all evening he's truly the perfect gentleman. he opens doors for you and pays for you without a single complaint and walks you to your door when he's driving you back home at the end.

he says goodnight, and he doesn't expect a kiss at the end, but he's over the moon when you do kiss him. he thinks he can't be any happier than he is right now—and then you kiss him again, harder this time. and again, and again, and you're pulling him towards you until he's caging you in against the door. he doesn't know what to do with his hands, so you guide one to your tits and the other to your hip. he takes to it well, groping you and pulling you against him.

before he knows it, you've pulled him into your bedroom, and he's very much a whole three bases ahead of where he was expecting himself to be tonight. but he's still committed to being a gentleman, and he asks for consent before everything—before he takes off your clothes, before he kisses your neck, before he touches your body anywhere.

he wants to lay you down gently on the bed and go down on you for a good long while before even thinking of his own pleasure, but before he could even voice that, you're on your knees for him. he flushes and assures you that you don't have to do that, but you only beg for it in response. he's completely caught off guard, but fuck, okay, he's not so insane that he's gonna say no to that...

he's gentle with you, even in this. his hand in your hair is gently and lovingly massaging your scalp, and he only pushes his cock a few inches into your mouth. the second he hears you gag when he goes too far, he apologizes profusely and only keeps going when your insist. after a few more slow, shallow thrusts into your mouth, you pull back and he lets you go easily, asking if you're okay the moment you stop.

you are, but you want more. you want him to fuck your face. don't overthink it. "but you need to breathe!" "that's overthinking it." does it feel good for him? yes? then do it. that's the only thought process you want him to bother with.

he... doesn't quite know what to do with that. so you take it into your own hands and take his cock down to the hilt, even as you gag and struggle when it penetrates your throat.

and fuck, fuck, it feels amazing, but it also feels so wrong. you look utterly debauched, like something straight out of the porn his friends keep talking about. it's disgusting, it's degrading, and it's fucking hot. it's not that he never imagined you like this before, but he purged those images out of his mind before they could ever form into a vivid fantasy. he called them intrusive, unwanted, because he'd never think so lowly of you that he'd ever indulge this. but here you are, begging for it.

he doesn't quite build up enough in him to facefuck you the way you want, but he does grip your hair and roll his hips to match your energy.

eventually, he has to be the one to pull you off of him. he was getting close, and he didn't want to be the type of guy who comes before doing anything to please his partner. so, he pulls you up and seats you on the bed and asks what he can do for you.

you want him to fuck you. he hesitates, because he hasn't done anything for you yet. are you sure you're ready for that right now?

you respond by spreading your legs and pulling his hand, letting him run his fingers against your cunt. you're utterly drenched. he hasn't so much as touched you once and your cunt is already clenching against his fingers, begging for his cock with just as much desperation as your words are.

he's barely even able to process the situation. but yes, yes, of course he'll make love to you. his first instinct is to fix the pillows, make sure there's one under your hips so you can be comfortable. he tries to lay you down onto your back, because in every fantasy he's ever allowed himself to indulge in, he made love to you in missionary, while staring deep into your eyes.

but you don't do that. no, you lay face down and lift your ass up, arching your back to him and reaching back to spread your cheeks apart for him.

fuck. he realizes then that he doesn't have a condom. he never thought to pack one, because he never could've imagined this. but you still beg for him, tell him to just forget the condom and fuck you raw. that you need all of him right now.

he breathes shakily. his resolve is hanging by a thread, but he still insists on holding back. he lines his cock up against your soaking wet cunt, and pushes in slowly. he wants to be sure this won't hurt, that this is comfortable for you.

you snap your hips back against him, and suddenly he's balls deep inside you. he gasps at the feeling, at how tight you are around him. he wants to wait, just a moment, just to let you adjust to the intrusion. but you only cry for more, begging for him to just take you already.

the way you moan his name is the final straw.

he grips your hair and pushes your face into the mattress, properly mounting you as he plows into you. and god damn, just listen to those moans. this is what you wanted then, huh?

to think, he was trying so damn hard to be a good man for you. do you know how long he spent planning this date? how far ahead he booked that reservation? how much thought he put into his every word, every action? all in an effort to please you. he wanted to make love to you, you know. he'd imagined lighting candles and decorating the bed with flower petals for you, if he would ever be granted the privilege to touch you. he would've held you close and recited poetry to you. he was under the impression that your body was a temple, and he would've been all too happy to worship the soul it held.

but none of that is what you wanted, is it? you're not the goddess he worshipped, not the queen he followed. he didn't need to go through all this length to get with you. he could've just as easily dragged you into a bathroom stall and had his way with you any moment of any day.

so what are you, then? a whore? no. at least a whore gets paid. you're beneath that. a toy. an animal.

when he finishes, he doesn't bother to ask if he can cum inside you. he doesn't need to.