u/Jay_the_slut

HOW FUCKING GREAT IS GIRLCOCK?!

Look. LOOK. I took too many edibles. I'm ovulating. I've been thinking about getting fucked all day. I'm in a mood.

Just... girl cock!!!!!

Hard, throbbing, leaking girl cock deep in my cunt. Hitting my cervix hard enough that I yelp with each thrust. Hot, thick girl cum painting my insides. And don't even get me started on being bred by girlcock!

AND GIRLCOCK UP MY ASS?! FILLING MY BOWELS WITH MORE CUM?! WALKING AROUND WITH CUM DRIPPING FROM MY ASS INTO MY PANTIES ALL DAY?! YES. FUCKING. PLEASE!!!!

I'll take girlcock bent over the bed, in the back seat of her car, on her couch, in the shower, in the movie theater, by force, ANYWHERE! MY CUNT WAS MADE TO TAKE GIRLCOCK!

Okay. End rant. There's nothing better than girlcock and I'm very sad that a cute transfemme isn't splitting me open right now and making me her bitch >:3

Edit: Wow! I'm so glad I made so many of you feel accepted and wanted ♥️

Second edit: To the person who called me a chaser... What the fuck is wrong with you? I'm a trans inclusive lesbian. If my post was about cis women bodies, would you have called me something equally derogatory? Not once did I ever say that trans girls are a walking cock on legs. My wife is trans, but i did not marry her because she's trans -_- You're fucking weird. Get off my post. And stop projecting. Trans women are women, and I'm attracted to all women regardless of what's between their legs. Sorry that offends you.

Third: I'm not deleting my post. Sorry, not sorry. If you don't like it, report it. Let's the mods handle it. I'm not kowtowing to anyone. And maybe stop coming after my wife? Who is literally just here to defend me? Those of you denying that she's Trans are disgusting and not people I ever want to associate with. Block me and move on with your life.

I’m sick as hell right now. Like, fully pathetic Victorian woman on a fainting couch levels of useless, except instead of looking delicate and ethereal, I’m just congested, overheated, cranky, and personally victimized by my own sinuses. I caught the flu at work. It's been a week. Who the hell gets the flu in June?!

And as if that wasn’t already rude enough, my body has apparently decided that while I’m sick, I do not get to cum. Which feels illegal, actually. Deeply homophobic. Extremely anti-sapphic. I’m already suffering. I’m already wrapped up in blankets like a shivering, sneezy little burrito, I’m already drinking fluids and making sad little noises every time I have to breathe through my mouth, and now I don’t even get the dignity of one tiny little orgasm? Cruel. Unusual. Uncalled for. Fuck. My. Life.

I’ve tried, okay. I have made an honest effort. I have approached the situation with hope, determination, and stubbornness usually reserved for assembling furniture without instructions and teasing Mistress until she gets angry enough to slap me. And still, nothing. My body is just lying there like, “No thank you, we are closed for maintenance.” Closed? Babe, this is a 24-hour establishment. I didn’t approve this holiday schedule.

Anyway, I’m not saying this creates the perfect opportunity for a very smug, very patient, very mean-in-a-loving-way dommy mommy to take one look at me and decide this is now her problem...

I’m not saying it’d be an absolute tragedy if someone with a calm voice, warm hands, and a dangerously affectionate superiority complex decided to take advantage of my frustration...

I’m not saying I’d be easy to tease right now, because obviously I’m too sick to have dignity and too frustrated to pretend I’m above begging. That would be ridiculous...

I’m just saying, hypothetically, if a woman were to be very sweet about tucking me in, making sure I had water, checking my temperature, calling me a poor thing, and then slowly realizing I’m also incredibly pent-up and whiny and in need of a completely different kind of attention, who am I to interfere with fate?

Especially when I’m already so tired and weak and dramatic about it. Like, oh no, what a shame, I’m too drained to put up much of a fight. My poor little sick body simply cannot be expected to resist a woman who already knows exactly what she’s allowed to do to me. Tragic, really. Devastating. Someone should help me. Or make it worse.

God, it’d be so unfair if she decided I was far too pathetic and feverish and needy to be trusted with my own self-control.

It’d be so unfortunate if she decided I wasn’t allowed to do anything about it myself.

So tragic if she told me I clearly couldn’t be trusted to handle this on my own.

So devastating if she got all smug about how frustrated I was and made me admit exactly what I wanted, in detail, while I was already embarrassed and trying very hard not to sound as needy as I absolutely am.

And if she decided to be patient about it? Horrible. Awful. Catastrophic. If she decided that since I can’t cum, she might as well see how worked up she can make me instead? That would be a crime against my already fragile little body.

Like, imagine being sick and miserable and then some woman decides the correct treatment plan is soup, medicine, hydration, forehead kisses, her hard cock, and psychological warfare. Imagine her being all soft and caretaking one second, then smugly condescending the next because I’m clearly too out of it to be anything but obedient. Imagine her saying “poor baby” in that tone where it sounds comforting but also absolutely means she’s about to make everything worse for her own amusement.

Imagine being all limp and feverish and useless under a pile of blankets while she’s just sitting there, perfectly composed, telling me I don’t have to fight it. Imagine her being so gentle about checking in and so mean about everything else. Imagine her making sure I’m okay, making sure I can breathe, making sure I have water, and then immediately returning to ruining my life in the exact way I asked for.

Terrible.

I would hate that.

I would be so brave about it.

I would absolutely not immediately fold the second she called me good.

And honestly? The worst part is that I know I’d be so annoying about it. I’d be lying there all congested and useless, pretending I’m not desperate, while she sees right through me because of course she does. I’d make one little bratty comment and then instantly remember that I’m too tired to back it up. Just fully at the mercy of someone who knows I’m all bark, no bite, and currently barely even bark.

It’d be humiliating.

It’d be tender.

It’d be so deeply unfair.

It’d probably fix me.

Anyway. I’m suffering. I’m frustrated. I’m dramatic. I’m gay. And I think it’s frankly very unfair that there isn’t currently a dommy mommy here lovingly bullying me through this difficult time.

For medical reasons, obviously.

I'm really high right now and ovulating. And I can't stop thinking about spreading my legs for dick and being bred. Which means I keep thinking about the man who first introduced me to dick.

But right now, I'm thinking about his hands.

His huge, calloused, strong, rough hands and those thick fingers.

I keep thinking about his fingertips gently prodding at my dry little hole, seeking out parts of me that I wouldn't be able to name until many years later. His calloused thumb rubbing my clit until I squirmed on his erection and cried. His fingernails scratching at my insides if I made too much noise. His knuckles pressed up against my entrance as he tried to fist me much too soon. The hot, abrasive friction from his aggressive fingering. His palm cupping my sore cunt, giving me my nightly massage before letting me sleep.

Fuck... Maybe I'm too high.

Limits: piss, spit, scat, diapers, demanding nudes or sending me dick pics

The following is simply a recounting of a scene I've succesfully played out with partners many times. It's not as lewd as I usually make my posts, but I enjoyed writing this while I was stoned and horny. Enjoy :)

I was always a little too trusting for my own good, especially with Mommy. I wanted to believe every soft touch meant safety, every warm smile meant mercy, and every gentle instruction meant she was only taking care of me in the innocent ways lovers are supposed to take care of each other. That was what made it so easy for her to ruin me with sweetness. I would climb into her bed thinking I was just being loved, just being tucked in, just being held by someone who knew me better than anyone else in the world. I never seemed to remember that she knew exactly how to turn that trust into permission, exactly how to take my sleepy little faith in her and make something wicked out of it. And I definitely never questioned the powdery white remnants that always seemed to stay behind in my water glass. I knew better.

I woke up slowly. My eyes wouldn't open, no matter how hard I tried. My eyelids fluttered, heavy and useless, while my breath caught in my throat. Sensations began to register: the fan humming, the sheets twisted around my legs, the cold air moving over my skin, the hot weight pressing me down. For one awful second, I didn't know who it was. I only knew I couldn't move the way I wanted to, couldn't think fast enough, couldn't make my mouth shape a question before panic started crawling up through my throat. I felt small. I felt helpless. I knew this room, but it felt unfamiliar. I knew this body over mine, but my sleeping brain had not caught up enough to give me her name.

"Hey, sleepyhead..."

All I felt was pressure, heat, the dark behind my eyelids, and the terrible sense that something was happening to me before I could understand it. There's hot, humid panting in my ear. I feel bare skin against mine. I feel scratchy rope around my wrists as I try to uselessly free myself to push off the dark figure above me, rutting into my already sore hole. I can hear the obscene squelching my cunt makes when she thrusts into me, forcing a soft, pathetic little yelp from my dry throat.

“There you are," she says, her fingers pressing harder into my arms. I try to form a word, a cry for help. Her hand's over mine. She shushes me. Keeps thrusting. I'm crying now, and she's licking my tears.

“I wondered when my sleepy little thing would come back to me.” The pain between my legs grows stronger. I try to close my legs, and find that I can't. She notices, and one hand drifts down to painfully grip my inner thigh until I begin to squirm. This just makes her moan harder. I begin to panic. She feels my heart racing beneath her, which only makes her want to fuck me harder.

“You woke up in the middle of my fun, sweetheart. The least you can do is let me finish. Don't be rude.” The words made my stomach twist. I tried to hide my face in the pillow, but she catches that too, laughing quietly as she grabs a fistful of hair and forces me to look at her. I'm awake enough now to know what's happening, but not awake enough to feel in control of my own body.

“My good little puppy,” she whispers. “You gave me such a pretty present while you were asleep. You take me so well when you're sleeping. Can you keep taking it for me, baby? Just for a little bit? You're making Mommy feel so good right now...”

I should have been embarrassed by how much that affected me. I was embarrassed, actually, but she liked that too. She liked the way I got shy after being brave. She liked the way I melted once she reminded me I was safe. She liked the way I stopped trying to pretend I had not wanted exactly this.

She makes one last soft grunt against my neck and stills. I feel Mommy's cock pulse inside me as she coats my womb with her cum. She was breathing hard, warm and damp against me, while I lay underneath her with my wrists still bound, my face wet, and my whole body trembling with the awful knowledge that she had gotten exactly what she wanted from me yet again. For a moment, she stayed there, letting me feel her cock twitching and spurting inside me. Letting me understand that she was done, and I was not.

Then she lifts her head and looks down at me. I hate how badly I want her to soften. I want her to untie me. I want her to kiss my face and tell me I had been good for her. I wanted the warm voice, the water glass, the blanket, the ibuprofen, the careful hands that always came after. Instead, she brushed my hair away from my tear-streaked cheek and smiled with that same terrible tenderness that had ruined me in the first place.

“My poor little puppy,” she whispers. “Still waiting for Mommy to pay attention to you?”

I try to answer, but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper that makes her smile widen. She leans down and kisses my forehead. “Not tonight, baby.”

I start crying harder, because I know this is my fault. I had wanted to know what it would feel like to be kept after I was no longer useful. I had wanted to feel used in the safest room in the world, by the only person I trusted enough to leave me aching and wanting and alone inside my own home. I had wanted her pleasure to matter more than mine, and now it did, and the unfairness and frustration and fear all made me want to kick and scream.

Then, she rolls away from me.

The loss of her weight on top of me was worse than the pressure had been. Cold air rushed over my skin, and I shivered hard enough to make the ropes bite deeper into my already irritated flesh. She pulls the blanket over herself, tucks one arm under her pillow, and gets comfortable beside me as if I was not still bound, still crying, still sore and leaking her cum from my well-used cunt. I turn my face toward her, helpless and ashamed, but her eyes are already closing.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” she mumbles, drowsy and smug. “Mommy’s finished with you.”

I lay there listening to her breathing even out, each slow exhale making the room feel bigger and lonelier. The fan hums. The sheets cool beneath me. My wrists ached. My body feels too awake in some places and too far away in others, caught between the humiliation of being left and the sick sweetness of knowing I had been trusted with exactly the kind of darkness I had asked for. I cry quietly because there was no one to perform it for anymore. No one was praising me. No one was fixing it. No one was making it softer. There was only the dim room, the rope, the ache, and the terrible little thought that she had used me for her pleasure and gone peacefully back to sleep.

And somehow, that was what finally broke me open. Mommy had wanted me, taken what she wanted, and left me there because she knew I would stay. Because I had promised I would. Because even tied up and crying, even sore and trembling and unsatisfied, some ruined little part of me felt proud to have been useful.

The sleepiness came back slowly, warm and chemical and impossible to fight. My thoughts started slipping apart again, softening at the edges no matter how hard I tried to hold onto them. I could still hear her breathing beside me. I could still feel the ropes around my wrists. I could still feel the wetness on my cheeks and between my legs drying cold in the breeze from the fan.

The last thing I remembered before sleep pulled me under was the shape of her back beside me, calm and satisfied, and the horrible comfort of knowing she had left me exactly where she wanted me.

A is for anal, and the extreme burning and stretching I felt when his penis speared through my colon for the first time.

B is for 'babygirl', the pet name he whispered into my ear as he held his hand over my mouth and rutted into me.

C is for, "Choke on it, you fucking whore"- what he told me as he forced his dick into my jaw so hard and rough that I still have jaw issues to this day.

D is for dick- that seven-inch, girthy monster that tore every single hole apart without mercy and found its home inside me for the following seven years.

E is for exhibitionism, like the times he'd have me sit on his lap in church and work his finger inside me under my poofy dress.

F is for how filthy he made me feel after leaving me covered in cum, tears, and his spit night after night.

G is for how guilty he made me feel when I didn't willingly spread my legs for him.

H is for the heat radiating from his erect cock when he slapped my face with it until I gave in and opened my mouth for me.

I is for how insatiable he was, and how he made sure I felt him inside me every single fucking day.

J is for, "Just one more time and I'll stop, I promise," which was obviously a fucking lie once I woke up with him inside me the next morning.

K is for knees and how often they were rug-burned because of how much he loved to face fuck me.

L is late periods from how often he was cumming inside me.

M is masturbation and the memories he gave me of teaching me how to jack him off.

N is for how needy he made once he taught me to be addicted to his thick cock.

O is for the thousands of orgasms we shared after I was conditioned into enjoying it.

P is for the panting moans I can still feel against my ear as he lay on top of me and defiled me over and over again.

Q is for quiet - He taught me how to cum around his cock and his fingers without making a sound or letting it show on my face.

R is for rape (pretty self explanatory).

S is for his sweat dripping onto my back when he took me from behind.

T is for the therapy I'll need for the rest of my life.

U is for Uncle Manny.

V is for the virginty Uncle Manny stole from me.

W is for the wetness between my legs that will never go away because I'm now extremely hypersexual.

X is for the Xanax he'd dissolved into my water when I was being too bratty and refusing to stop clenching my anus so that he couldn't fuck me.

Y is for the yelps he'd force out of me every time he rammed his dick against my cervix.

Z is for the zero restraint he showed when he saw an innocent, naive, too-trusting girl that didn't even scream for help when he first opened her legs by force.

Limits: dick picks, demanding nudes, scat, vomit, urine, diapers.