erosiawriter:

A Room of One’s Own
Some people might have said that the cage was a little tight, a little claustrophobic, but she liked it. It was her own little space, a room with a view. She didn’t need a lot so she let her boyfriend take the rest of her apartment and she was happy to use the cage he provided.
Everything she needed was in there; her food and water dishes, her blankie and teddies, her sex toys. Well, not everything. Her boyfriend lived outside the cage, and he had the key. But if she was good, he would let her out before she got to lonely, and if she was being a little pill, whimpering and begging for him to fuck, then she deserved to be locked away until he wanted to use her. Her boyfriend owned her pussy and he decided when he could use it. 
Sometimes she wouldn’t have to come out of the cage at all. Her boyfriend could just stick his incredible dick through the bars and she could suck it from inside. That was the idea anyway. She would press her face up against the bar open her mouth and drop her tongue, and invited him to use her at his convenience.
If she was a very, good girl, and she always knew because he would say you’re a very, good girl today, she could turn over and press her butt up against the bars as hard a she could, and he would push himself into her. 
After a few months, she was starting to find the size and volume of the apartment to uncomfortably enormous anyway. She felt safer confined in her little cage. Her boyfriend would force her out for walks and fetches and buttfucks because he told her, she needed to stay healthy, but then he would open the cage door, and she would run back into her safe, little world.
A year had gone by. It was winter and her boyfriend was having a party. “Auld Lang Syne” drifted past the locked door. From the back-room, in her cage, she could hear people singing and laughing, and blowing tiny horns. She knew everyone out there was ready for the new year and wishing for a change of scenery. 
She gave a little bark and sucked on her chew toy. She was happy exactly how things were.
 

erosiawriter:

A Room of One’s Own

Some people might have said that the cage was a little tight, a little claustrophobic, but she liked it. It was her own little space, a room with a view. She didn’t need a lot so she let her boyfriend take the rest of her apartment and she was happy to use the cage he provided.

Everything she needed was in there; her food and water dishes, her blankie and teddies, her sex toys. Well, not everything. Her boyfriend lived outside the cage, and he had the key. But if she was good, he would let her out before she got to lonely, and if she was being a little pill, whimpering and begging for him to fuck, then she deserved to be locked away until he wanted to use her. Her boyfriend owned her pussy and he decided when he could use it. 

Sometimes she wouldn’t have to come out of the cage at all. Her boyfriend could just stick his incredible dick through the bars and she could suck it from inside. That was the idea anyway. She would press her face up against the bar open her mouth and drop her tongue, and invited him to use her at his convenience.

If she was a very, good girl, and she always knew because he would say you’re a very, good girl today, she could turn over and press her butt up against the bars as hard a she could, and he would push himself into her. 

After a few months, she was starting to find the size and volume of the apartment to uncomfortably enormous anyway. She felt safer confined in her little cage. Her boyfriend would force her out for walks and fetches and buttfucks because he told her, she needed to stay healthy, but then he would open the cage door, and she would run back into her safe, little world.

A year had gone by. It was winter and her boyfriend was having a party. “Auld Lang Syne” drifted past the locked door. From the back-room, in her cage, she could hear people singing and laughing, and blowing tiny horns. She knew everyone out there was ready for the new year and wishing for a change of scenery. 

She gave a little bark and sucked on her chew toy. She was happy exactly how things were.

 

(via misogynistowner)

itsmrheartless:

Your dad’s having poker night, so you’ve been told to stay in your room and be quiet. If only you know your pretty little girlfriend was downstairs. “Oh, Mr Dean, if only your son knew all the naughty things you and your friends do to my little asshole with your big, hard dicks. It’s such a shame he doesn’t take after you.”

itsmrheartless:

Your dad’s having poker night, so you’ve been told to stay in your room and be quiet.
If only you know your pretty little girlfriend was downstairs.
“Oh, Mr Dean, if only your son knew all the naughty things you and your friends do to my little asshole with your big, hard dicks. It’s such a shame he doesn’t take after you.”

(via degradedbimbo)

humiliationcunt:

reblogging again because it (i) don’t know of a better technique to reduce a female to her lowest level - a throbbing cum, cock and piss craving piece of meat

she will come back for more

humiliationcunt:

reblogging again because it (i) don’t know of a better technique to reduce a female to her lowest level - a throbbing cum, cock and piss craving piece of meat

she will come back for more

(Source: torturedbyk8)

misogynyandbimbos:

Your friends will pretend to be concerned. They’ll ask why they don’t see you as much as they used to. They’ll tell you it’s not a good idea to get too serious too fast. They’ll say you should make more time for them. Eventually this will escalate – they’ll say you aren’t acting like yourself, that you’re changing, that it’s not healthy. It’s important that you be able to recognize this for what it really is: not concern, but jealousy.

When addicts go into recovery, they have to cut themselves off from all their addict friends, because otherwise those “friends” will drag them back into their addiction. And your friends, they’re addicted to unhappiness. If you let them, they’ll make you the woman you used to be: lost, unhappy, unfulfilled. Trudging through your days worrying about monotonous bullshit like self-respect and complaining about loser boyfriends. They want happiness handed to them on a silver platter, totally unwilling to work for it.

Of course they’re jealous of you. You used to be one of the losers like them, and now you’re so much more. Every time they look at you, it reminds them that they’re not as hot as you, that their boyfriends are overgrown children, that men see them but don’t desire them. And while they’re stagnating, I’m making you more desirable every day.

If you let them, they’ll fill your head with all kinds of garbage, like how you should be respected for more than your body. But all you have to do is look at their lives and you’ll see the flaws in this argument. None of them have boyfriends who will make them exercise. None of their men has ever had the balls to pin them down and teach them that if he wants anal, he gets anal. None of them gets a hard slap to correct them when they start acting up or a black eye when they get really out of hand. None of them has ever been left crying in a corner after being told to shape up or get out. None of them has been challenged, and so none of them have ever become worthwhile.

You’re smart enough to weigh the pros and cons. If you want, you can leave – I wouldn’t waste my time stopping you – and go back to that life. The life full of mutual respect and dignity and being your own woman. The life that never made you happy in the first place. The life where you fit right in with your pathetic friends. 

Or you can stay here with me. It won’t be easy for you, but nothing worthwhile ever is.

misogynyandbimbos:

Your friends will pretend to be concerned. They’ll ask why they don’t see you as much as they used to. They’ll tell you it’s not a good idea to get too serious too fast. They’ll say you should make more time for them. Eventually this will escalate – they’ll say you aren’t acting like yourself, that you’re changing, that it’s not healthy. It’s important that you be able to recognize this for what it really is: not concern, but jealousy.

When addicts go into recovery, they have to cut themselves off from all their addict friends, because otherwise those “friends” will drag them back into their addiction. And your friends, they’re addicted to unhappiness. If you let them, they’ll make you the woman you used to be: lost, unhappy, unfulfilled. Trudging through your days worrying about monotonous bullshit like self-respect and complaining about loser boyfriends. They want happiness handed to them on a silver platter, totally unwilling to work for it.

Of course they’re jealous of you. You used to be one of the losers like them, and now you’re so much more. Every time they look at you, it reminds them that they’re not as hot as you, that their boyfriends are overgrown children, that men see them but don’t desire them. And while they’re stagnating, I’m making you more desirable every day.

If you let them, they’ll fill your head with all kinds of garbage, like how you should be respected for more than your body. But all you have to do is look at their lives and you’ll see the flaws in this argument. None of them have boyfriends who will make them exercise. None of their men has ever had the balls to pin them down and teach them that if he wants anal, he gets anal. None of them gets a hard slap to correct them when they start acting up or a black eye when they get really out of hand. None of them has ever been left crying in a corner after being told to shape up or get out. None of them has been challenged, and so none of them have ever become worthwhile.

You’re smart enough to weigh the pros and cons. If you want, you can leave – I wouldn’t waste my time stopping you – and go back to that life. The life full of mutual respect and dignity and being your own woman. The life that never made you happy in the first place. The life where you fit right in with your pathetic friends.

Or you can stay here with me. It won’t be easy for you, but nothing worthwhile ever is.

nedverdige:

Of course you can wear that to your high school reunion. You will be so much more popular than you were back when you went to high school before you dropped out. Just be sure to not let that dress slide any further down than where it is now. And remember always smile, always keep your mouth half open and giggle at anything you think is supposed to be funny even if you don’t understand it. And make sure you thank guys properly when they get you even free drinks. And if you think anyone is disappointed by the way you look, tell them you are saving up for breast implants and lip injections to make you prettier.

nedverdige:

britneyswallows:

Me working hard inside the Sex Box

Good idea to put the fuck meat in a box like this. I only wish the box was more solid, and it should be possible to close a lid over it and lock it.
I know this is not a new idea, but it would be even better to build a bar with a small space inside it, with a locking door. Small enough so the fuck meat can’t stand up. It has to crawl to move around. And there will be a hole for every barstool. One or two pieces of fuck meat get locked in the small workspace at opening time and let out at closing time. Bowls of food and water are put in a few times every night. And there is some kind of toilet arrangement in there so they can do their business. A few tip jars specifically for the holes are placed on the bar so the guys who come in to drink can have their drinks while the fuck meat in the bar service them without knowing who the guy is. There can be picture of each piece of fuck meat on the wall so the men will know who is working the holes each night. The holes are part of the service, so no one is required to pay for using them. 

nedverdige:

britneyswallows:

Me working hard inside the Sex Box

Good idea to put the fuck meat in a box like this. I only wish the box was more solid, and it should be possible to close a lid over it and lock it.

I know this is not a new idea, but it would be even better to build a bar with a small space inside it, with a locking door. Small enough so the fuck meat can’t stand up. It has to crawl to move around. And there will be a hole for every barstool. One or two pieces of fuck meat get locked in the small workspace at opening time and let out at closing time. Bowls of food and water are put in a few times every night. And there is some kind of toilet arrangement in there so they can do their business. A few tip jars specifically for the holes are placed on the bar so the guys who come in to drink can have their drinks while the fuck meat in the bar service them without knowing who the guy is. There can be picture of each piece of fuck meat on the wall so the men will know who is working the holes each night. The holes are part of the service, so no one is required to pay for using them.