Your gateway to endless inspiration
breakfast? what’s that?
( this is a joke, i had two cookies and a dr pepper for breakfast. )
nsfw. tw.
please, please, please.
i need you to tell me how to do it. how to get off. i can’t..i can’t do anything unless you’re telling me how.
i need to give up control, let myself be a little braindead, let myself be truly yours, in every sense of the word.
mark me up, from the inside and the outside. i want to be nothing but a myriad of purples and blues and swollen reds, nothing but a walking show of your affection.
i’d let you call me the nastiest, most vile names. i’d let you use me whenever you want…i’m made for your pleasure. i’d let you use me whenever…please do. that’s how i know you enjoy having me around.
i woke up like this, and it’s awful. i feel squirmy and pathetic and disgusting. i feel like someone’s abandoned puppy, wandering the streets, waiting for be picked up by some kind soul…
i’ll be so, so good for you. the perfect dog. just please, keep me around? don’t toss me to the side once you’re done with me…
pick your poison (version of me):
— fuzzy-brained, whorish puppy
— self-hating, disgusting mutt
— your loyal, possessive dog.
call me your pretty boy.
your angel, your darling, your slut.
i don’t care, as long as i’m yours.
the undeniable, deep-rooted urge to call them some sort of title, some sort of ranking.
because they’re simply better than me, and i must address them as such. correct?
the sleeves of my hoodie are tear-stained. i’m shaking like a leaf. i’m a grown man, dammit. it has been 2 minutes. and yet…