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The feminine urge to become the stereotypical Latina housewife and let Thomas Hewitt shove his big fat cock into me from behind while trying to make dinner or get chores done and fill me to the brim with white cum oozing down between my thighs while the family is gone 🥺☺️🥰

Lord have mercy... So, anyways—

w: female-coded language.

The moment you're all alone he can't get his hands off you. He tries, he swears! But you just look so good in that sundress, you only had it for a couple of months and it's a little tight around your curves now, but that makes it even better for him. The bigger and fuller you get, the harder his cock gets for you. So he's groping you over the flimsy fabric of your dress, his huge palms encasing your hips and guiding you to grind against him while you scrub the countertop clean. He knows he has his own tasks to tend to, but he doesn't care, at least not now. Not when your hair is falling out of your updo, and your hands are so soft from washing the clothes, and your breast are almost taunting him with a peek every time you bend down. So he takes the rim of your dress' neckline and pulls it down, watching your tits fall out and bounce before he silences your protests with a kiss and starts rolling your nipples between his fingers, and he grunts in satisfaction when you become pliant against his body, throwing your head back on his chest and whining so sweetly when he squeezes your chest and gives a rough thrust against your ass so you can feel how hard he is for you, how devoted, how desperate. So you do what any good wife would do— you take your panties off, push the skirt up, and spread your cheeks while bending over so he can split you open with his fat cock. But you're never prepared for the burn, the ache that comes from your walls trying to accommodate your husband's cock. But he's so sweet, he stops the moments he bottoms out, kissing your hair, the back of your neck, until you're panting and grinding your hips back into him, and he grinds his hips back, until you grip his shirt and beg him. Beg for his cock, for his cum, for him, “Wan' your babies, Tommy, please, please, please” he hears you cry, and he hears the lewd squelch of your pussy trying to suck his cock, deeper, deeper, deeper, “Wan' em so bad, please, give it to me—”. It always surprises you, the raw euphoria you feel when you know you're about to get fucked by Thomas, how light-headed you feel when the fat tip of his cock reaches so far inside you, you can feel your body struggling to accommodate him. You know you'll feel him for days the moment he rolls his hips against you so he can test how ready you are, so he can hear the lewd squelch of your cunt, pulsing helplessly around the base of his cock. And Thomas may not know many things, but pleasing his wife? Second nature. So he picks you up, back to his chest, your legs hanging and he starts rutting, barely thrusting his hips against you, just the nonstop rubbing of his fat cock against that spot inside your cunt that makes you want to scream and cry and beg for mercy. And he does not stop. He keeps going even when your moans turned into sobs, and even when those sobs became screams, because he knows, he just knows, that he is making you cum on his cock like the good little wife you are for him, he knows your wet little cunny will take all of his cum and give him children, and he knows then you'll be utterly his. His wife, the mother of his kids, keeper of heart and owner of his cock. And he knows you'll look so beautiful, split on his cock, belly rounded with his baby, and holding onto him while you bounce like he could get you anymore pregnant. That's the future he thought he would never have, right before his eyes when you dig your nails into his arms around your waist, your pussy sucking him in so diligently he has no other choice but to release that fucking gallon of cum he has directly inside your awaiting womb. Then he puts you down gently, puts your panties back on for you as if that would help keeping cum inside you, kisses you like he doesn't need air to live and off he goes. You'd be proud to have such a hard-working husband... If it wasn't for the fact that now you have to clean this fucking counter again.

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Nice fallacy you got there

I was confused as hell about what you meant for a good minute HSKSAGASHS

But thank you! 🖤

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Something with Tommy Hewitt? Maybe something to do with those huge hands squeezing all the best places

w: female-coded language.

You know what's his favourite thing to do after a long, hard, tedious day of working? Taking a bath with you. More precisely, having your cunt split on his fat cock while he lathers soap on your tits. He likes the way your spongy walls flutter and stretch against every inch of flesh he presses inside of you, how angelic you look with your brows furrowed and you eyes lidded, how you cling to his neck and shoulders with urgency, moaning his name in a voice that haunts his waking hours without respite. He lets you move at your own pace for the most part, whether you want to cockwarm him while kissing him feverishly, or fuck yourself on his cock with abandon, or grind your clit against his lenght until you cum, that's okay. He just wants to touch you, he wants to squeeze you tits with both hands, tease your nipples under his thumbs until they pebble, and redden, and burn, take your wrists and pull you down so his cock fills you to the fucking brim, just to hear you wail and sob about being so full it nearly hurts, and yet you still beg for him to cum, to empty his balls right into your awaiting womb. And he does, with a broken sound, a hoarse, crude sound that forces your pussy to clench and milk him dry. He wants to flick that cute clit of yours until its overstimulated and swollen and he can pinch it softly between his finger, making you cum over and over again until you are nothing but a ragdoll on top of him.

He wants to cup your ass in his hands, squeeze it so hard he leaves bruises with the rough palm of his hand. He wants to see that pretty mouth of yours wail and your eyes roll back into their sockets while he moves you up and down, up and down on his cock until, inevitably, he has to cradle you like a baby when you loose all strength. And even then, he won't stop thrusting that fat cock of his into your pussy. And if you don't think that after becoming a Hewitt you gained some weight? You're wrong, baby. And Tommy loooooves every ounce. Almost obsessively. If he sees any part of you (and I mean any part) jiggle a bit when you move? You know, a little bounce on you belly, on your cheeks, your arms? His cock has never been harder. It's kind of a fetish, since chubbiness equals healthiness in his book, he feels like he's doing good as provider, as a protector, and as a partner. He will caress any fat on your body with downright reverence, he will bury his face on your stomach, your thighs, your ass, and just... enjoy. All while his tip is leaking precum profusely. And if you voice any complain about this weight-gain? You're getting fucked. He's angry, he thinks you're the most beautiful creature to walk this earth, and he's going to make you understand his point of view by folding you in half and plowing your cunt until he feels like stopping, and that's when there's enough cum in and on you to deem that your mattress has no salvation.

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I love your writing I hope you’re doing good!!

Aw, you're so sweet! Thank you so much. 🖤

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Been 100 days I hope your doing well!!

I am! Thank you for your sweet words! I just have the biggest writer's blog ever, and I just can't come up with anything? I don't know, but I haven't abandoned this blog, I swear! 🖤

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BITCH THE FUCK??? This quote is so all of us. If our mums only knew our thoughts about slashers............

I think my mom kind of... knows? Like, not really, but she has her suspicions, you know? She'll come to my bedroom to check up on me, and be like: “Watching TTCM again, huh? How surprising 👀”

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“I wonder what my mom would think of me if she knew. If she knew what doing those sinful things made me feel, how powerful, how alive. How my knees would tremble ever so slightly, how my lids dropped, and my lips parted. How that man drank me in as if I was fucking ambrosia, how he took, and took, and took, and gave me more that he could get from the depths of my ecstasy. I wonder if it would disgust her. I wonder if it would make a difference. I wonder why I don't care at all.”

— “sex through the eyes of a former ninfula”

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We stan boyfriends/girlfriends who listen to our slashers shit 😫👊.

We do! 😭🖤

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I love the way you write Michael myers👌 tbh I always thought both og Michael and rz Michael where simps for plus sized girls 😏

w: female-coded language.

And you're were absolutely right! Michael loves to see some extra meat on his girl's bones. Especially...

When she's wearing those cute little high-waisted skirts (or high-waisted anything, but skirts in particular? His all-time favorite). The way that little pouch at the bottom of her belly stands out? He's salivating. Mikey is handsy, groping your hips, kneading your ass, sneaking his hand underneath the flimsy material and cupping your pussy over your underwear. It won't take long before he's pulling your panties down, picking you up with ease and fucking you against whatever surface he deemed sturdy enough. Wait, wait, wait! When did he take his cock out? Well, nobody knows. He's a fucking ninja.

When she wears sweatpants? That ass should be illegal, Y/N. And those thighs? He wants them wrapped around his head, now. And he will bury his face in your cunt without a care in the world, because Michael doesn't play around. He wants to eat pussy, so he does. He wants to make you scream his name, so he does. Simple, right? Not for you, it isn't. Because this man is ravenous and unstoppable, and he keeps on working his mouth long after it became too painful to cum.

When she rocks that innocent, just-woke-up look girls pull off delightfully? The one with an oversized t-shirt, panties, and nothing else? Yeah, that one! Don't pull that move around Michael. Don't strut around the house with that outfit on unless you want to be used as if you were nothing but a toy. I hate to be the one to tell you (not really), but he's going to bring you to your knees, use your throat to stroke his cock, and admire the sight of your scantily-clad ass, so plump and cute, jutted out like an invitation.

So, yes, Michael does indeed love plus-sized women. 🖤

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My boyfriend: /minding his own damn business/

Me: /seductively lays across his lap and rants about slashers/

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bo: pissed off, arguing with me

me: oooh you wanna kiss me soo bad it’s making u so mad

Bo: /jaw clenched, glaring me down/

Me: /putting my hair in a ponytail/ Say less.

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yes , yes , yes!!!! i loooove your posts and would love to hear more from you

(you're so sweet, thank you 🖤)

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Confession:

I want Thomas to FRICK ME I WANT TO HAVE HIS BABIES that is all thanks 💙

Don't we all? I mean, just looking at him makes me want to go into Housewife Mode™, you know? I want to cook for him, and please him, and give him babies, and sit on his thick cock until my pussy is ruined for any other man. He makes me horny, but like... An unrestrained kind of horny, you know what I mean? Shit, just looking at that mountain of a man makes me go wild. I'd call him “my love” and “sweetheart”, all while bouncing on his lap and begging for his cum like a cheap whore. Is it kind of embarrassing? Mhm. Am I going to stop? No, ma'am.

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Honestly I just want to be used as a breeding bag for Thomas Hewitt 🥰✨ he can bend me over whatever he wants and use me as his personal fleshlight. I want him to rearrange my guts to the point cum is oozing down my thighs ✨🥺👉🏼👈🏼

Thomas: /breathes/

Me:

w: female-coded language.

I just know he'd keep you full of his cum. I know it. Even when you can feel your womb so heavy with his load, panties barely keeping it from running down your thighs, he just won't be able to stop himself from bending you over his workbench, or the bed, or the fucking stove, and using the head of his cock to push his seed back inside your body, grunting deep in his throat when you mewl and begin pawing at his thighs, trying to pull him closer. He'd be so sweet, caressing the nape of your neck soothingly, knowing that, even though you enjoy it, and even though you want to start a family with him just as badly as he does, this whole process is putting you in such a strain. He wants to be careful, make love to you sweetly, but you're whining and moving your ass back into him so he goes deeper inside your abused pussy, the entrance stretching to accommodate the base of his cock until... “Fuck, yes! Right there, Tommy!”, and the head of his cock gives your cervix an obscene kiss, the sulcus rubbing on a particularly soft spot that makes your eyes roll back into your skull. His control snaps easily under your obvious elation, holding onto whatever he can find, your hair, your waist, your tits, and drilling his hips wildly until your canal feels puffy and bruised. He just wants you to be his, completely— his wife, his sanctuary, and the mother of his children. And if he has to keep you full of his seed for the rest of his life, he will.

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Since I want to interact with y'all and my inspiration needs some help, would you guys like sending me thoughts/confessions/etc and I'll write little snippets for them? If you do, just start sending me things, no need to ask. 🖤

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I’m going to confess something: if I could only kiss one slasher I would definitely kiss Vincent. I feel like he would be so delicate, soft, and completely melt into the connection *sighs dreamily*

And he'd make those sounds against your mouth, little sighs and moans suffocated by lips and tongues and teeth, and your hands are dragging him down by the straps of his overalls. His hands are covering yours, big and warm and soft and— Is he trembling? Of course he is, how could he not? You're kissing him. Him. Not Bo, not anyone else. Him. And he's kissing you back. You taste like heaven to Vincent, your tongue so sweet it puts ambrosia to shame. He can't think straight, and he just can't stop letting you completely consume his senses.

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bo: pissed off, arguing with me

me: oooh you wanna kiss me soo bad it’s making u so mad

Bo: /jaw clenched, glaring me down/

Me: /putting my hair in a ponytail/ Say less.