Late night writing

I only find myself drawn to sadistic, predatory men—my mind constantly hungers for a sense of ownership and cruelty. A disgusting, aching need to be tormented and worn down until my brain is completely and utterly broken. Trained like a Pavlov dog, obeying every command of my abuser without thought or question.

I crave a man who will throatfuck me until I'm a drooling, breathless mess—gagging and whining as I bob my head up and down in a helpless rhythm. My vision swimming as he pinches my nose shut and forces his cock so far down my throat that I retch violently. A sharp slap across the face sends me reeling; strong hands grabbing a generous fistful of hair, slamming my head to the floor and smearing my cheek into the mess I just made, reminding me of what filthy pig I am.

I want to be corrupted even further, reduced to nothing but a living fleshlight and punching bag. I want my holes to be ruined, defiled until they're gaping and leaking with rapist seed—spoiled and useless for any cock that isn't cruel enough to break me again.

I need a man to smash his fist into my swollen udders whilst he's buried deep in my cunt, bruising my cervix with every punishing thrust. His cock throbbing at the sight of me flinching and crying beneath him.