Nnngh When I Made This Blog It Was With The Intention Of Only Reblogging Stuff Its Almost Embarrassing

nnngh when i made this blog it was with the intention of only reblogging stuff its almost embarrassing how quickly i started talking to people and posting my own fantasies publicly

dykes that let men control their orgasms are so hot. its funny how it usually boils down to long term denial

It makes sense tho, the longer i go without cumming the hornier i get for men, and for Daddy especially.

lately one thing Daddy and i tried out was having me talk him through an orgasm, beg him to cum and thank him for it afterward. His orgasm counted for both of us and it felt soooooo good when he came. i think training myself to ignore my own desires and substitute Daddy's pleasure for my own will be really helpful on my journey to becoming straight! ^-^

Imagine getting to know a bunch of older men and they invite you out to their favorite dive bar to officially induct you into their little friend group. They're a little more old-school: a mix of leather daddies, bears, and generally hairy, burly, masculine guys, but they love having you around even if you don't fit their usual model of attraction. It doesn't matter to them that you're a dyke; you're just friends, after all. And you love how they don't hold anything back with you; they make you feel accepted, just like one of the guys, clapping you on the shoulder, making raunchy jokes with you, getting you nice and tipsy off whiskey and beer.

You're having a great time, shooting some pool with your new friends, until you bend all the way over to line up your shot... and a couple of them quickly step up on either side of you, pull the pool cue out of your hands, and pin your wrists against the soft green felt. That warm haze from the liquor is instantly replaced with cold fear as you start to struggle, to panic, but you're no match for their thick, hairy arms as they hold you firmly in place. You feel someone else step up behind you, their strong hands on your hips, pushing you up against the table so you have nowhere to go. Your voice fails you as all you can do is stammer and look up at their grinning faces, silently pleading with them, holding onto some slim hope that maybe this is just a prank. Your thrashing starts to grow weaker as you realize with horror that they planned this, that every eye in the bar is now quietly watching you, waiting to see what will happen next, and you understand that they're not going to be convinced... there's only one way out of this for you.

The man behind you bends down over you and purrs in your ear. "Shh-shh-shh... hey, don't worry about it, man... we do this to all the guys sooner or later... it's just our fun little rite of passage. You do want to be one of the guys, don't you? We've all been really looking forward to it... it's rare for us to get along so well with someone who has a cunt, and all the boys are super excited to get to feel it."

You feel his hands reach around and start to unbutton your jeans, and you want to scream, to kick, to bellow and plead, but instead, like a deer in the headlights, you freeze. There's too much adrenaline rushing through you, those big, beefy arms holding you down are just too powerful... ultimately, you're just a helpless piece of meat for them, with no choice but to take whatever they give you.

He pulls your jeans and boxers all the way down at once, and lets out a whistle at what he sees. He grips one of your ass cheeks in each hand and takes his thumbs and uses them to spread your hairy cunt for them all to marvel at. It's embarrassing, humiliating, degrading, and what's even worse (better?) is the way they act, keeping up that jovial atmosphere, cracking jokes without a trace of cruelty in their voices. It's fucking with your head... you should be feeling violated, disgusted, traumatized, but there's a part of you deep down that feels a twinge of pride... they're talking about you like you're nothing more than a communal toy, a prized possession, their favorite little masturbation tool, as opposed to a helpless dyke who's about to be gang raped. You want to push those thoughts away, but they keep coming back to you: you're going to make your new friends feel so good...

When you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling behind you, and that fear starts to mix with unwanted arousal, he lets out a little chuckle at your involuntary whimper. "Look at that... you're wet already. I might not even have to use lube..." You burn with embarrassment as you feel his fat cock tumble out and land on your ass, and you realize that he's right... you're getting soaked, and knowing that his rapidly swelling member is going to be stretching you out in a matter of seconds is only turning you on further.

When his tip nestles in between your lips and starts to press forward, and you let out a yelp as your wrists and hips futilely thrash around, you realize you're not fighting back as hard as you used to. You're putting on a performance for them as much as you are for yourself... you don't want to admit how much you like it, but you also want to make sure your new guy friends are getting as much enjoyment as possible out of their brand new toy... and it's only a matter of time before you can't hide the telltale signs of arousal, or hold back the moans in your throat that so desperately want to break free...

When he starts fucking into you, grabbing you by the hips and sliding in and out of your swollen cunt, there's no savage or animalistic character to his thrusting: he really is just using your body to jack off, to release all his pent up stress, pumping into you rhythmically as he grunts, until he finally presses himself balls deep inside you and lets out an erratic groan as you feel him twitch, and feel the unmistakable flood of warmth inside you. He lets out a loud sigh and pulls out as your cunt attempts to clench around him and pull him back in, and you feel his hot cum drip out of you and onto your boxers where they lay between your ankles.

After he catches his breath, he gives your ass a playful smack. "Daaamn, he's tight... you fellas gotta try this, pussy feels totally different." He looks down at the mess he made of you, and lets out a sheepish laugh as you lay there, panting, your head spinning, that pleasurable aching sensation pulsing in your cunt, as you try to mentally and physically prepare yourself for what's still to come. "Well, I'd been planning on having us all pull out, but fuck, I just couldn't help myself... I guess it doesn't matter now, does it? Who wants next?"

I've kept this ask in my askbox for so long because, honestly, I think it might be my new favorite orientation play post/fantasy. There's so many layers to this that I honestly really love.

Part of what I love so much of it is how much of the boundary breaking is just so subtle and easy to forgive or overlook, at least in the beginning. They're older gay guys, so even if they smack my ass or joke about getting me to suck them off, it doesn't really phase me. They do that with each other all the time, and they're very understanding when I explain that I'm a butch lesbian. It feels good to be included with them-- I look up to them, admire them for being community elders, ask them for advice about leather and kink and relationships.

I can imagine how the plan starts to form, slowly. One of them gets it out of me that I like to bottom, teasing me and noting the way I get flushed when I explain that I've got a thing for other butches. They encourage me to go on T, coach me through it when I complain about how horny it's making me. A few even ask me about my clit, under the pretense of just learning more about the effects of the HRT, and no matter how much I squirm I answer their questions. After all, we're just trying to be open with one another, and maybe some of their questions are invasive... but we're all friends, right?

Slowly they start working me up to taking me to the bar. Using more masculine terms to refer to me, wheedling it out of me that I like being called a good boy in bed. Coaxing me into the men's room with them when we go out, promising to cover me if things go bad, sharing subtle glances and grins with one another when I come out of the stall and walk past the urinals, blushing. I like to imagine the private group chats, the hushed conversations, the low whispers. There's no malice in it. They're my friends. They wouldn't be doing this if they didn't like me. But at the end of the day, they're experienced enough to know a boy who needs an introduction to good, raw, cock when they see one-- no matter how much he cries about being a dyke.

Once the door shuts behind me in that bar, it's all over, even if I don't know it yet. Everyone there's been specially invited. The door locks, the bartender eyes me with a friendly yet secretive smile. There's a sense of anticipation in the air, even if I can't tell, every man in the room imagining what it will be like to get a taste of cunt from me.

By the time I'm bent over the pool table, jeans and boxers around my ankles and stained with cum, it's already over for me. My cunt is sore and aching, the crowd around me a blur of noise and motion as the first man who fucked me shows off the goods to the guys around him. I can barely listen, over my own drunken shame and arousal, only catching brief snippets-- how I'm such a good fuck, how tight my cunt is, how the pictures of my cunt stretched out around his cock look (pictures? they took pictures?), and hey I want to be a good boy for everyone, right?

After that first man, like you described, I can only imagine how the rest of the rape would go. Maybe this is something they do with everyone, or maybe that's just a lie they tell me to try and calm me down. I love the way it'd be a little bit different for each man. Some of the bears might be more gentle, rubbing my back or stomach to soothe me as I sob from the pain of their fat cocks splitting me open. Others might be more rough, pinning me against a wall or bouncing me on their lap as their balls slap against my clit, surrounding me in strong, soft flesh and hair and musk, grunting in my ear about how long they've been waiting for this, and doesn't it feel good to take it like a man?

The leather daddies could tie me up, collar me, leash me. Grind the sole of their boot into my fucked out cunt, laughing at the way I spill cum all over myself as my hips twitch and hump against them. They pour shots into my mouth every time I bark like a dog, forcing their hands and fingers down my throat to make sure I swallow. One steadily fucks my cunt as another teaches me how to take his cock down my throat. Every time I try to pull back my ass is slapped, and in the end it's sore and aching too.

Every man wants something different from my body, and in the end I'm powerless to stop them. But there's two constants-- the first being that they never fuck my ass. Even at the height of the gangrape, when they're trying to see if they can get two cocks up my cunt at once, my ass remains largely untouched except for a few fingers here and there. Maybe they had some sort of unspoken agreement, or maybe they were just all so eager to see my cunt twitch and break around them that they had no interest in it. The other is that, despite the depravity, they're all encouraging. Oh, they make fun of me for the things I'm willing to do, humiliate me for my actions. But there's praise in equal turns-- for how good I'm being, that this is what I needed, that I'm doing them a favor and my cunt feels so good.

By the end of the night, I'm fully broken. It doesn't make sense anymore. I am-- was? -- a butch dyke, but as I am carried back to the car to be driven home, I can't help but think that maybe they're right. After a night spent cumming on the cocks of all the men present at the bar, it doesn't seem like a good idea to go back to being a dyke anymore. After all, my new friends seemed to love giving me all the attention.

The next day I awake in my own bed, jeans half pulled up my legs, my boots discarded on the floor, topless. I shift and realize that my boxers are gone. I scramble for my phone and find a text message-- the first man who raped me's cock wrapped around my torn rainbow boxers, stained with cum.

"Hope you had a good time. Boys and I are planning an encore next week. I'll pick you up."

I can't bring myself to respond. But when his truck pulls up in front of the house next week, I slink out and climb into the cab, refusing to meet his eyes. He just laughs, and gropes me through my jeans as he makes a call.

"Yeah, he's coming. Nah, we don't need condoms. Don't worry-- I'm sure his cunt will be just as tight as it was last time."

Another mental barrier shattered along the road to losing that precious gold star… you’d better be careful, sweetheart, there’s very few of those left before you start taking cock for real… I can’t wait to watch it happen.

maybe just one time wouldnt hurt

find it very ironic that my rabbit toy is the lesbian flag colors. doesn't feel very lesbian when I'm desperately fucking myself with it wishing it was a real cock. hm.

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.