#the collar... the leash......... help me..........

[vegaseatsass]

Here are some things I loved about Episode 8 Ramilpaytai!

Lipgloss smeared all over both their faces. In my honest but rock solid opinion, this is sexier than any toy in Paytai's side dresser. Thank you thank you thank you The Next Prince for letting Jimmy and Ohm beat the hell out of each other's mouths and cheeks and chins, it is everything 2 me

It IS Paytai's side dresser btw. Nothing will convince me otherwise. Those are Paytai's personal belongings that Ramil gets to pick through like a kid at a slumber party eagerly pulling toys he doesn't have at home out of his friend's closet

But really I love how in past scenes it's been Paytai choosing the toys and offering them to Ramil, but this time Ramil laid out three sequential toys in preparation for their scene, and one of them was a COLOR-COORDINATED BLINDFOLD that matched their COLOR-COORDINATED lace slut shirts.

And that blindfold and those handcuffs were for Ramil! !!! !! ! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Just as Paytai offers him the collar and the leash, Ramil is the one to initiate when it's his turn to surrender. They trust each other so much, and are so so careful with each other.

I'm assuming longer scenes is not actually their norm (or ours sob rip) because Ramil's life mostly runs on his father's time table, so he took the risk of canceling his entire fencing practice just so they'd have this time to really, really play. He's kind of in renewed honeymoon mode with Paytai right now.

I have seen lots of interpretations of Ramil with the crop so bear with me on a very "this is just, like, my opinion, man" take: For me, the way it read when Ramil put the crop down is that reality punched through their scene and took the wind out of his sails as a dom. So much of this space Paytai has helped him create is about building Ramil up and letting them both but especially Ramil feel like there's one protected place where Ramil has absolute power and can keep them both safe. Imo what Ramil needs is to feel in control and what Paytai needs is to be Ramil's complete focus. So when Ramil remembers the other connotation that whips have in their relationship it punctures his ability to stay in that powerful, in-control place; the powerlessness and pain of real life intrudes and he crumbles. But as much as Paytai loves it when Ramil is in control, when Paytai can let go of the reins in their relationship and just float in Ramil's hands, he also loves it when Ramil is stripped down to his core, raw and needy and vulnerable, espeeeeeecially when what he's shaking and crying about is Paytai. Because again! What Paytai needs isn't for Ramil to run the show but for Ramil to keep his eyes on Paytai. So both his strong, cruel side and his weak, hurt side sate the same obsessively deep craving in Paytai. And I think that's neat. I personally don't see Ramil putting the crop aside as like, okay he articulated a need, averted a bad scene, and has established he's not into whipping Paytai ever, so that toy is going back in the dresser for good. I think they probably have reclaimed punishment, discipline, and physical pain in the past, and will reclaim it all again in the future. For me this was just a window into what it looks like when the unlivable conditions they're trapped in intrude on their attempts to reclaim some control and comfort for themselves, but those attempts are a work in progress, will continue, and best of all, will continue to feature so much experimentation, trial and error, and open-ended play. God I love that they aren't limited to rigid roles but are trying things. I love it so so much.

I KNOW I MENTIONED RAMIL IN THE CUFFS ALREADY BUT: RAMIL IN THE CUFFS!!! PAYTAI KISSING HIS BOUND HANDS!!! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YO

[mariacallous]

In 1999, the year I turned 16, there were three cultural events that seemed to define what it meant to be a young woman—a girl—facing down the new millennium. In April, Britney Spears appeared on the cover of Rolling Stone lying on a pink bed wearing polka-dot panties and a black push‐up bra, clutching a Teletubby doll with one hand and a phone with the other. In September, DreamWorks released American Beauty, a movie in which a middle‐aged man has florid sexual fantasies about his teenage daughter’s best friend; the film later won five Academy Awards, including Best Picture. In November, the teen-clothing brand Abercrombie & Fitch released its holiday catalog, titled “Naughty or Nice,” which featured nude photo spreads, sly references to oral sex and threesomes, and an interview with the porn actor Jenna Jameson, in which she was repeatedly harangued by the interviewer to let him touch her breasts.

The tail end of the ’90s was the era of Clinton sex scandals and Jerry Springer and the launch of a neat new drug called Viagra, a period when sex saturated mainstream culture. In the Spears profile, the interviewer, Steven Daly, alternates between lust—the logo on her Baby Phat T‐shirt, he notes, is “distended by her ample chest”—and detached observation that the sexuality of teen idols is just a “carefully baited” trap to sell records to suckers. Being a teen myself, I found it hard to discern the irony. What was obvious to my friends and to me was that power, for women, was sexual in nature. There was no other kind, or none worth having. I attended an all-girls school run by stern second-wave feminists, who told us that we could succeed in any field or industry we chose. But that messaging was obliterated by the entertainment we absorbed all day long, which had been thoroughly shaped by the one defining art form of the late 20th century: porn.

By this point in history, pornography, as Frank Rich argued in a New York Times Magazine story in 2001, was American culture, even if no one wanted to admit it. Porn was a multibillion-dollar industry in the United States—worth more money, Rich suggested, than consumers in the U.S. spent on movie tickets in a year, and purportedly “a bigger business than professional football, basketball and baseball put together.” It was a cultural product few people bragged about consuming, but it was infiltrating our collective imagination nevertheless, in ways no one could fully assess at the time. And things were just getting started. Porn helped define the structure and mores of the internet. It dominated popular music, as the biggest hip-hop stars of the era released hard-core films and the teenage stars of my generation redefined themselves for adulthood with fetish-tweaking music videos. In 2003, Snoop Dogg arrived at the MTV Video Music Awards with two women wearing dog collars attached to leashes that he held in each hand, to minimal protest. In 2004, the esteemed fashion photographer Terry Richardson released a coffee-table book that predominantly featured pictures of his own erect penis, and the models he’d cajoled into posing with it.

This period of porno chic arrived with an asterisk that insisted it was all a game, a postmodern, sex-positive appropriation of porn’s tropes and aesthetics. But for women, particularly those of us just entering adulthood, the rules of that game were clear: We were the ultimate Millennial commodity, our bodies cheerfully co-opted and replicated as media content within the public domain. If we complained, we were vilified as prudes or scolds. This kind of sexualization was “empowering,” everyone kept insisting. But the form of power we were being allotted wasn’t the sort you accrue over a lifetime, in the manner of education or money or professional experience. It was all about youth, attention, and a willingness to be in on the joke, even when we were the punch line.

What did growing up against this particular cultural backdrop do to me? What did it do to all of us? I didn’t start trying to process this particular initiation into adulthood until two decades later. A few months into the coronavirus pandemic, I gave birth to twins, and becoming a parent in almost complete isolation triggered a kind of identity crisis. I was too exhausted to read; I could no more sit through an entire movie than I could sprout wings and fly. When I went back to work, the #MeToo movement had many women parsing their own historical experiences of assault and abuse. All of the subjects I wrote about seemed to be circling the same theme: an environment that had been set up against women from the beginning.

In 2022, when the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade, progress no longer seemed inevitable. The recreational misogyny of the aughts was back, this time with new technology and a cult figurehead, Andrew Tate, who’d briefly appeared on the reality series Big Brother while under investigation for rape. (In the years since, Tate has been accused by multiple other women of sexual misconduct and is now under investigation for human trafficking. He has denied all allegations against him.) On TikTok, doll‐like women murmured in affectless monologues about living the financially dependent dream of a “soft, feminine life.” In 2024, when Kamala Harris ran for president, she was subjected to a targeted campaign of sexualized slander, some of it broadcast personally by Donald Trump. And when Trump became president for the second time, his victory was jubilantly claimed by misogynists, who taunted women with a new catchphrase: “Your body, my choice.”

So much of this seemed familiar. It was all too reminiscent of the beginning of the 21st century, when feminism felt similarly nebulous and inert, squashed by a cultural explosion of jokey extremity and Technicolor objectification. This was the environment that Millennial women had been raised in. It informed how we felt about ourselves, how we saw one another, and what we understood women to be capable of. It colored our ambitions, our sense of self, our relationships, our bodies, our work, and our art. I came to believe that we couldn’t move forward without fully reckoning with how the culture of the aughts had defined us.

But as I revisited the entertainment of the ’90s and 2000s, what surprised me the most was how much the murk of the era came right from porn. It’s a more influential cultural genre than any other, and yet its impact outside of people’s homes and hotel rooms has hardly been analyzed. I should say here that I’m not opposed to porn on principle. Some of it is liberating; some of it is ethical; a tiny amount of it is even devoted to understanding female desire in a universe built on the male gaze and money shots. Still, in studying porn’s long cultural shadow, I’ve come to agree with the radical feminist Andrea Dworkin, who wrote in 1981 that “pornography incarnates male supremacy. It is the DNA of male dominance.” Porn has undeniably changed how people have sex, as researchers and anyone who has even fleeting experience with dating apps can attest. But it has also changed our culture and, in doing so, has filtered into our subconscious minds, beyond the reach of rationality and reason. We are all living in the world porn made.

Pornography has tended to be at the forefront of emerging technologies, for the simple reason that titillation mixed with novelty is a powerful draw. The porn industry adopted VHS before many Americans had even heard of it. In 1977, when videocassette players first went on the market, up to 75 percent of the tapes being sold were pornographic. Over the course of the 1980s, as AIDS became an unprecedented public-health crisis, both VHS adoption and porn consumption surged, fueled by convenience (movies you could watch alone, at home) and fear (casual sex was much safer as a solitary endeavor). Independent video stores, which pragmatically stocked the explicit tapes that chains such as Blockbuster refused to carry, also realized that porn could shore up their bottom line—in 1985, Americans rented 75 million adult videos. A decade later, that number had increased almost tenfold, according to the trade magazine Adult Video News.

America’s adoption of hard-core porn as a leisure pursuit happened so quickly that its effect on popular culture was hard to measure in the moment. But, as David Friend writes in his book The Naughty Nineties, the final decade of the 20th century was consumed with sex, a subject that dominated politics and art, but also public health. By the end of 1990, AIDS had claimed more than 120,000 lives in the United States; one‐fifth of the victims had lived in New York City, the epicenter of fashion, art, music, media, and advertising. The idea that sex could kill you had led to two wildly divergent schools of thought in American culture. One, nicknamed the New Traditionalism after a nostalgic Good Housekeeping ad campaign, called for a revival of old‐fashioned family values, suggesting that women go home and stay there. (The 1987 movie Fatal Attraction made this fear of a corrupted American culture literal, in the form of Glenn Close’s sexually adventurous, bunny‐boiling career woman, the fling who won’t be flung.) The other, the New Voyeurism, embraced sex—as a spectator sport. “At a time when doing it has become excessively dangerous, looking at it, reading about it, thinking about it have become a necessity,” a Newsweek feature on Madonna declared in 1992. “AIDS has pushed voyeurism from the sexual second tier into the front row.”

Already, the ’90s were a decade of unprecedented sexual openness. Explicit representations of sex were no longer taboo; they were, in fact, now considered vital for public education. This shift meant that artists could experiment with pornographic tropes in plain sight. Near the end of 1990, Madonna released a video to accompany her new single, “Justify My Love,” that set the tone for the coming years: audacious, fiercely sexual, a bit trollish. Madonna, shot in black and white, is seen walking down a hotel hallway toward an assignation, limping slightly in heels and a black raincoat, clutching her head as if in pain. As she passes different doorways, we see fleeting glimpses of the rooms’ occupants, watching us watch them. After she enters a room, orgiastic flashes of different scenes appear: Madonna with her lover (played by her real‐life boyfriend at the time, the amiable lunk Tony Ward); a man lacing a woman into a rubber corset; a dancer in a unitard contorting into shifting positions; Ward watching Madonna with another partner, then getting trussed up in a fetish harness. Finally, Madonna puts on her coat and leaves, laughing, renewed and jubilant, no longer tired.

The brazen sexuality of the video was the whole point. Madonna had lost many friends to AIDS, the artist Keith Haring among them. But she was adamant that sexual freedom, fantasy, and pleasure not be sacrificed amid the devastation. What some people call “sex positivity” today was, in the ’90s, understood by those promoting it as an expression of defiance and celebration. In 1990, HBO debuted Real Sex, an unfiltered peek into the lives of strippers, phone‐sex operators, porn directors, and exhibitionist couples looking for an audience. The show, according to HBO’s then–head of documentary programming, Sheila Nevins, was a direct response to fears about sexuality that had been stoked by the AIDS crisis. Depicting sex, she said, had become “much more important because of all the terror that surrounds it.” Four years later, Janet Jackson released a video for “Any Time, Any Place” that teased the same voyeuristic impulses at play in “Justify My Love”: An elderly neighbor looks on, disapprovingly, as Jackson pushes her lover’s head down while he’s on top of her—a then-radical assertion of sexual power and equality.

It was around this same time that then–presidential candidate Bill Clinton admitted on 60 Minutes, with his wife at his side, to “causing pain” in his marriage, referencing an affair with the TV reporter Gennifer Flowers. “I have said things to you tonight,” he acknowledged, “and to the American people from the beginning, that no American politician ever has.” Clinton’s public acknowledgment of scandal, nonspecific though it might have been, was unprecedented, and it helped underscore how much his era would embrace confession and self-exposure. The Jerry Springer Show had debuted in 1991, offering Americans a space to air their wildest secrets to a nation of rubberneckers. By the end of the decade, we had been obliged to consider what stains on a blue dress signified; what, exactly, Hugh Grant was arrested for on Sunset Boulevard; whether John Wayne Bobbitt got what he deserved; and whether a person might sell themselves for $1 million, as Demi Moore’s financially struggling Diana did in Indecent Proposal.

In the mid‐’90s, DJ Yella, of the hip-hop group N.W.A, started directing adult movies, kicking off a collaborative relationship between hip-hop and porn. In 1996, Lil’ Kim’s debut album, Hard Core, opened with what sounded like a recording of a man going to an adult theater, purchasing a ticket to a porn movie, unzipping his pants, and audibly masturbating when Kim appeared as its star. In 1998, the tired porn trope of the sexy schoolgirl was defibrillated by the video for “Baby One More Time,” in which the 16‐year‐old Britney Spears thrust her hips with an intensity that, now, I find more unsettling than her much-discussed exposed midsection. The video works because Spears seems so earnest, so unaware of how people might be reading her. She looks so young. This is teen sexuality as postmodern spectacle: a mishmash of transgressive allusions transmuted into a product that can’t possibly be interpreted as serious.

In 2001, Snoop Dogg starred in the top‐selling hard-core pornographic video in America, “Snoop Dogg’s Doggystyle.” (Snoop didn’t perform explicit acts on camera, but rather acted as a hype man and an emcee, introducing performers and providing the soundtrack.) For fans, this was less a shift toward transgression than a cultural crossover event. “We’ve been using sex to sell music for years,” Camille Evans, a magazine publisher, told The New York Times. “Now we’re just flipping it to have music sell sex.” At the beginning of the decade, the provocative, expressive experimentation of artists like Madonna and Jackson had foregrounded women’s desires. By the end, the cultural dominance of porn was pushing a much more regressive set of sexual standards. And the technological mechanisms that helped bolster this dominance would come to underscore—and exacerbate—a potent idea: that women existed only for men’s pleasure.

The impulse to look at eroticized pictures of other people, of course, is as old as art itself. What changed toward the end of the 20th century was the ease with which pornographic images and videos could be made, disseminated, and turned into profit. If you investigate the origins of today’s most prominent online platforms, a surprising number stem from the equivalent impulse of an eighth grader typing boobies into a search bar. Google Images was created after Jennifer Lopez wore a vivid‐green jungle‐print Versace dress to the 2000 Grammy Awards, cut so spectacularly low that it became the most popular search query Google had seen to date. Facebook was born in 2004, after Mark Zuckerberg first experimented with making a website dedicated to assessing the relative hotness of Harvard undergraduates. And when Jawed Karim, Chad Hurley, and Steve Chen founded YouTube in 2005, it was partly because Karim had been searching for videos of Janet Jackson’s “wardrobe malfunction” at the Super Bowl and couldn’t easily find one. “Sex is the one drive that can shape immediate consumer response,” Gerard Van der Leun wrote in January 1993, in the first-ever issue of Wired, considering the extent to which the early internet was already being informed by sexual content.

In the mid-’90s, with porn now firmly propping up the rest of the web, and with shows such as Real Sex typifying the kinds of footage Americans wanted to watch, two women found themselves traversing fresh technological terrain. Both would end up determining the future of the internet. One was Pamela Anderson, who in 1997 became the first celebrity to have sexually explicit footage of herself disseminated on the internet without her consent. Despite the fact that the video in question was extremely private—made by herself and her husband, Tommy Lee, on their honeymoon, and stolen from a safe in their Malibu home—millions of people delighted at the opportunity to see something wholly new: a celebrity, an American icon, as exposed as anyone could possibly be.

When Anderson sued Penthouse, which was trying to profit from her tape, the company’s lawyer told her that because she’d previously posed nude for Playboy, she could not legitimately claim that she was being victimized and had “forfeited” her right to privacy. The following year, exhausted and seven months pregnant, Anderson agreed to let a distributor broadcast the tape online if he stopped selling physical copies on VHS, not understanding that the internet was already a thriving marketplace for porn. The footage became the quintessential cultural product of the ’90s: One of the most famous women in the world lost the right to a private sex life, and countless more people learned how to get online, enticed by a novel form of public spectacle. That very same year, Girls Gone Wild made its infomercial debut, selling videos in which college girls (and, often, high schoolers) revealed their breasts, made out with one another, and performed stripteases on camera, all for the low, low compensation of branded trucker caps and dubious street cred.

Just as Anderson was making futile attempts to protect her own image, an unknown college student was becoming the first woman to allow the internet unfiltered, unmediated access to her life. In 1996, a 19‐year‐old student at Dickinson College named Jennifer Ringley bought a webcam that she connected to a computer in her dorm room. Ringley was, in her words, a “computer nerd,” and she wanted to see if she could write a programming script that would take pictures in real time and upload them to her website. The script worked, and Ringley began to post: regular, unposed, black‐and‐white images that published first every 15 minutes, and then every three. The banality of the pictures seemed to be, for her, the draw of the project: She sat at her computer, she ate, she talked on the phone, she slept. “I think the camera would be a lot less interesting if I paid that much attention to it,” Ringley told Ira Glass on a 1997 episode of This American Life, by which time her “JenniCam” was getting upwards of half a million hits a day. “It would be more of a staged show. And you can go see a staged show anywhere.”

There was nothing particularly erotic about these photos, but the majority of visitors to her site, she said, were men. Many people seemed interested in JenniCam less for its humdrum snapshots of everyday life and more for the long‐odds hope that Ringley would do something salacious while they watched her. The first time she invited a date over who didn’t flee as soon as he saw the camera, so many viewers flocked to her site that they crashed the server and ended up seeing nothing. Ringley’s intentions weren’t to actively court what the film theorist Laura Mulvey termed “the male gaze,” and the camera didn’t deter her from doing anything that she felt like doing. She was opening up her life online to try something different, brokering a parasocial intimacy with the people watching her. But what most of them wanted to see—and what even well‐meaning interpreters such as Glass and David Letterman wanted to talk about—was nudity and sex, the most fascinating contours of private life turned into public exhibition.

The internet, at this point, still felt redolent with possibility. Going online was an opportunity to experiment with identity, self-presentation, communication. For women, though, what was becoming clear was how much we were already the primary objects of the online age. As the ’90s went by, third-wave feminism was edged out by postfeminism, a cheerful, consumerist movement arguing that feminism had achieved what it needed to and now women were largely free to behave just like men, sexually liberated and socially empowered. The catch was that we were also subtly being conditioned to perform.

I’m fascinated by Ringley because in her effort to find a new way to connect online, she set a template for how women would learn to act. Her experiments with radical honesty influenced the confessorial online writing of the 2000s. And her willingness to become a living, breathing character on people’s computer screens, coupled with the expectations that porn had already set, shaped the future of both celebrity and sex work. Before Instagram and TikTok and OnlyFans, even before blogs and MySpace and reality television, the internet had reaffirmed that women were to be what Mulvey defined as “erotic objects” whose bodies were very much in the public domain. With no other direction to go in, 21st-century porn would exploit this idea to new extremes.

By the time I was in college, porn was everywhere in popular culture, providing a recognizable aesthetic that filtered through fashion magazines, advertising, independent film, and online media. In 2004, the Deitch Projects gallery, in New York City, debuted a splashy exhibition of new work by Terry Richardson, accompanied by the publication of his coffee-table book, both titled Terryworld. Richardson, by that point, was the torchbearer for a visual mode that was irresistible at the beginning of the 21st century: a tacky, sweaty genre of portraiture that gave Hollywood stars and random passersby the same high‐flash, semisurprised, not‐quite‐human aura. Richardson’s book included images of Dennis Hopper, Kate Moss, and Pharrell Williams, as well as the photographer’s erect penis, which he captured in different settings: resting on a brown teddy bear, pointing down at the head of a seemingly passed‐out model whom Richardson holds by the hair; choking another model whose eyes display what appears to be discomfort. (In 2017, Condé Nast finally ended its working relationship with Richardson after years of well-publicized allegations by models that Richardson relentlessly harassed, manipulated, and coerced them into sexual activity during shoots; Richardson has always denied the allegations.)

The tone of Richardson’s work—the way it flattens its subjects into two‐dimensional beings seen through the photographer’s leering, cynical lens—might feel discomfiting now, but the substance of it, in that moment, wasn’t unusual. In the early 2000s, popular culture was doing everything it could to emulate hard-core pornography, playing with its tropes and lack of boundaries. In 2003, the British photographers Rankin and David Bailey (both of whom had previously shot Queen Elizabeth II) collaborated on a series devoted to explicit images of female genitalia that was known officially as “Rankin + Bailey: Down Under” and unofficially as “the pussy show.” At the Cannes Film Festival, the British filmmaker Michael Winterbottom—who’d previously directed a Thomas Hardy adaptation starring Kate Winslet—debuted his movie 9 Songs, the story of a young couple’s relationship that contained multiple scenes of unsimulated sex. In the summer of 2004, Jenna Jameson’s memoir, How to Make Love Like a Porn Star, spent six weeks on the New York Times best-seller list. In October, stars including Ben Stiller and Rachel Weisz attended the opening of Timothy Greenfield‐Sanders’s XXX, a photographic series featuring porn actors that was accompanied by an HBO documentary—a project that captured the porno-chic style of the moment. “Fashion has tremendous influence on how the culture changes,” Greenfield‐Sanders told a Times reporter. “And porn has had a tremendous influence on fashion.”

At the same time, porn was adapting to a world in which it was no longer on the margins. The more mainstream culture ripped off its imagery and its sexual excess, the more pornographers had to find new ways to stand out. The techno-optimistic vision of porn saw the medium as a sexually liberating force for everyone. But as the industry adapted to the jaded palate of the contemporary porn consumer, it pushed boundaries further. “The new element,” Martin Amis wrote in 2001, reporting for The Guardian on the business of porn, “is violence.” And it was overwhelmingly being inflicted on women, in content so degrading, it sometimes made even Larry Flynt, the Hustler publisher, uncomfortable.

Porn was getting crueler, and so was popular culture, as both met a growing taste for extremity. In 1999, a documentary was released about the porn actor Annabel Chong, who’d had sex 251 times in a single 10‐hour period and then went on The Jerry Springer Show to discuss her experience, while audience members gasped and cringed at the spectacle. Chong’s feat of endurance and the 2002 Gaspar Noé film Irréversible—which included a nine‐minute anal-rape scene featuring the actor Monica Bellucci—were arguably extensions of the same idea: testing the limits of what men could do to women for entertainment while the cameras rolled.

As the decade progressed, photographers lay on sidewalks trying to get up-skirt, genital-exposing pictures of actresses who’d only just turned 18, and female celebrities psychologically disintegrated in full view of the cameras; what remained consistent was how people kept on watching. We had been conditioned to see people on our computer screens not as human beings but as characters in an ongoing, multiplatform story, whose degradation was all part of the grand spectacle. Male aggression and female submission had been coded into the ways women in public were treated. The photographers who haunted Princess Diana until her death, in 1997, had supposedly used violent language to describe their methods: They “blitzed her” as a group, “whacked her,” “hose[d] her down.” The overwhelmed princess once reportedly shouted at them to go “rape someone else.” In her 2023 memoir, The Woman in Me, Britney Spears describes how she flipped out after a photographer repeatedly harassed her during a moment of crisis, attacking him with an umbrella. “Later, that paparazzo would say in an interview for a documentary about me, ‘That was not a good night for her … But it was a good night for us—’cause we got the money shot.’ ”

The vivisection of women peaked in 2007, when, within the space of a few months, Spears shaved her head, Anna Nicole Smith fatally overdosed on combined prescription drugs, a sobbing Paris Hilton went to jail, and a pantsuit-clad Hillary Clinton announced that she was running for president. All of this was documented in what felt like real time, in a rolling barrage of blog posts, paparazzi photos, and cable-news clips. The cruelty and disdain expressed toward women during the aughts were, I’d argue, more significant and enduring than they’ve been given credit for. We were being asked to see a woman as capable of occupying the most powerful position in the world, in a media landscape conditioned to view us as high-definition train wrecks. Early in 2008, when Clinton briefly welled up in a coffee shop after a bruising loss in the Iowa caucus, the moment was interpreted as being a melodramatic scandal fit for TMZ and a cynical ploy for attention that eventually won her New Hampshire.

The specter of a Hillary Clinton presidency was immediately presented by some pundits in objectified terms. How else were women in this era to be understood? “Will this country want to actually watch a woman get older before their eyes on a daily basis?” Rush Limbaugh asked on his radio show in 2007. It’s no longer at all surprising to me that a capable and experienced woman lost to a reality‐TV character and virulent misogynist in 2016 (to say nothing of 2024). The overwhelming cultural message that Americans had absorbed during the decades leading up to Clinton’s first presidential campaign enshrined the idea that women fundamentally lacked the qualities required to gain and exercise authority: intelligence, morality, dignity.

Clinton tends to loom large in any discussion of female political ambition in this century, but there’s another woman whose rapid, turbulent ascent fittingly illustrates the cultural trends of this era. In August 2008, when Senator John McCain announced Sarah Palin as his presidential running mate, the 44‐year‐old Alaska governor was virtually unheard-of outside her state. She had minimal political experience: two terms as the mayor of Wasilla, a town with fewer than 7,000 residents at the time, and less than two years as governor. But she was a woman—which the McCain campaign hoped would energize voters—a conservative Christian, and a mother. An early profile of Palin in the Times highlighted the latter identity, describing her as someone who had never had political ambitions of her own but rather was drawn to office reluctantly, out of a pragmatic desire to share her skills. Her successor as mayor described her to the newspaper as just “a P.T.A. mom who got involved.”

Palin also fit neatly into the decade’s understanding of what a woman should be. She’d won the title of Miss Wasilla and had placed as a runner-up in the 1984 Miss Alaska pageant. Mere days after she addressed the Republican National Convention as a candidate for vice president—the first woman ever to do so—Larry Flynt’s production company posted an ad on Craigslist requesting a “Sarah Palin look‐alike for an adult film to be shot in the next 10 days.” Flynt had a history of trying to unite porn and politics: In 1975, one year after launching Hustler, he published photographs of former First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis sunbathing nude in Greece, and in 1983, he attempted to run for president himself as a Republican. Who’s Nailin’ Paylin?, which filmed over a weekend in October, starred the porn performer Lisa Ann as Serra Paylin, a politician who thinks the Earth is 10,000 years old, struggles to keep from saying “You betcha,” and participates in hard-core group scenes, including one with satirical versions of Hillary Clinton and Condoleezza Rice.

What did it mean, that American culture’s immediate response to a woman’s political ascent was to put her on her back? Who’s Nailin’ Paylin? was absurd, but it made undeniable all the ways in which porn had reset ideas about women. “Porn does not inform, or persuade, or debate,” Amia Srinivasan wrote in her 2021 book, The Right to Sex. “Porn trains.” For the past few decades, it has trained men to see women as objects—as things to silence, restrain, fetishize, or brutalize. But it has trained women, too. In 2013, the social psychologist Rachel M. Calogero found that the more women were prone to self‐objectification—the defining message of porn and aughts mass media—the less inclined they were toward gender-based activism and the pursuit of social justice. This, to me, goes a long way toward explaining what happened to women and power in the early 21st century. For decades, male supremacy was being coded into our culture, in ways that were both outlandish and so subtle, they were hard to question.

Given what Millennials had grown up with, it wasn’t surprising when they started examining their own conditioning through storytelling, taking stock of what the first decade of the new century had wrought. One of the most prominent was Lena Dunham, whose HBO series, Girls, debuted in 2012. The show reckoned with, among other subjects, the indignities of sleeping with 20-something men whose sexual scripts and practices now tended to be ripped right out of porn. (In the second episode, while Dunham’s Hannah is having sex with Adam Driver’s Adam, he calls her a “dirty little whore” and puts his hand around her neck before he ejaculates. “That was so good—I almost came,” she says meekly in response.) By the time Sam Levinson’s Euphoria debuted in 2019, explicit sexual imagery was omnipresent among teenagers, something Zendaya’s protagonist, Rue, notes in a voice-over: “I’m sorry. I know your generation relied on flowers and fathers’ permission, but it’s 2019, and unless you’re Amish, nudes are the currency of love, so stop shaming us. Shame the assholes who create password-protected online directories of naked, underage girls.”

Euphoria was provocative to a fault—one locker-room montage featuring more than a dozen full-frontal penises felt more like a challenge to find premium cable’s limits than a coherent piece of storytelling. But the series was intent, in a bleakly cynical kind of way, on exploring what porn culture had passed down to the next generation. In one scene, Rue, who battles addiction throughout the series, blithely offers a tutorial on the art of dick pics; in another, she tears apart her house looking for pills. Many of the show’s sex scenes were unnerving: Kat (Barbie Ferreira) loses her virginity after being challenged by other high schoolers to prove she’s not a prude, but she’s secretly filmed and the footage is uploaded to PornHub; she panics that she’ll become a social pariah. Jules (Hunter Schafer) meets a man online named “DominantDaddy” who turns out to be the father of one of her classmates, and when he meets her at a motel to have sex, her pain and forced submission are hard to watch.

Levinson has insisted that his show was simply trying to convey how rapidly the experience of adolescence was changing. By the time Euphoria debuted, porn’s practices and mores had thoroughly defined not just culture but sex itself. That year, a survey found that 38 percent of British women younger than 40 had experienced unwanted violent behavior—including slapping, gagging, spitting, or choking—during consensual sex. A culture of unfettered male dominance had simultaneously sprawled across the rest of the web, as misogynistic abuse and harassment manifested in different communities and targeted campaigns, and even culminated in episodes of real violence. “Incels,” as certain disaffected young men began calling themselves, hate women for not being more sexually agreeable, as though sex is a commodity that should be redistributed to the needy rather than a matter of personal desire. That particular term was relatively new, but the rest of their verbiage was familiar: One 2021 study conducted by researchers in Britain found that much of the language used in incel forums is identical to the language used in mainstream pornography, routinely employed to dehumanize and sexually humiliate women.

The impulse to subject women to sexual violence obviously predates porn. And not all porn is degrading or hateful toward women, even if much of it is. But, looking back across the past few decades, it’s hard not to see that the explosion of pornography as a cultural product during the 1990s and 2000s changed the terms of how women were to be viewed and understood. The ramifications have rippled throughout our on- and offline lives. In 2014, two years before Trump’s first presidential victory, approximately 70 percent of American men ages 18 to 39 reported using pornography within the past year. Trump’s election confirmed how widespread and even tacitly accepted the degradation of women had become: Here was a winning candidate who’d been accused of sexual misconduct by dozens of women (which he has denied); the first “porn president,” as my colleague Caitlin Flanagan wrote, for whom the reduction of women to sexual objects was as natural as breathing.

By 2024, the debasement of women in public life had become so instinctive that Kamala Harris was subjected to sexual slurs in the lead-up to her presidential campaign—even before she was officially a candidate. On Fox Business, a guest labeled Harris “the original Hawk Tuah girl,” a reference to a viral video about blow jobs; Trump himself reposted memes inferring that Harris had used sex to further her career. In October, a week and a half before the election, a billboard appeared in Ohio that depicted Harris on her hands and knees, mouth agape, about to engage in oral sex with a frenzied look on her face. I spent much of the year with my head in my hands. For a moment, it seemed possible, again, that Trump’s hateful rhetoric, his nonsensical diatribes, his coalition of creeps and podcast bros and internet-poisoned trolls might be enough to make a capable woman seem favorable by comparison.

But that wasn’t the case. And as he returned to the presidency, I found myself thinking less about men than about women, particularly some of the women in Trump’s orbit—the ones who trade power for visibility, a high-definition, glaringly enhanced veneer of public womanhood that insists being seen is the same thing as being significant. So much of this century’s popular culture has presented women as spectacles: chaotic, melodramatic, hypersexualized recipients of attention.

Porn’s logic of male supremacy has successfully saturated politics. The new administration is in thrall to the manosphere, and unabashed about its project of white masculine domination; in 2025, just 15 percent of Republican members of Congress are women. Young men and boys are growing up with misogynist influencers who assert that women are something less than fully human. “One must believe in the existence of the person in order to recognize the authenticity of her suffering,” Andrea Dworkin wrote in her 1983 book, Right-Wing Women, during another period of anti-feminist backlash. “Neither men nor women believe in the existence of women as significant beings.”

The first part of her argument stands. That the second part is questionable—regarding how women see themselves, at least—is a positive development. And for all the ways in which popular culture helped enshrine porn as the defining form of modern entertainment, culture may be turning into the one place where we no longer want to be reminded of it. I keep coming back to HBO’s 2023 miniseries The Idol, a work to which Sam Levinson brought all of Euphoria’s provocations and none of its emotional intelligence. The show starred Lily-Rose Depp as a disgraced pop star in the Britney tradition and Abel “The Weeknd” Tesfaye as the nightclub owner and cult leader who seduces her with rough sex and BDSM; its intentions seemed to be to marry premium-cable aesthetics with the hollow transgressions of extreme porn. In one scene, Tesfaye’s character suffocates Depp’s Jocelyn with a scarlet silk robe, then uses a knife to slash a hole so she can breathe, reducing the character to a bright-red slash, a pornographic crevice. Jocelyn’s experiences, the show implied, had empowered her, a suggestion so absurd and anachronistic that viewers could only cringe in response. The Idol was a critical failure that hardly anyone even talked about—a possible sign of progress.

For me, the process of adulthood has been less about lessons learned than unlearned—the steady dismantling of ideas I absorbed before I could really think critically about them. But I still believe that by understanding all of the ways in which women have been diminished and broken down in the recent past, we can identify and defuse those same attacks in the present. Our culture isn’t just entertainment—it’s the means by which we understand and relate to ourselves and one another. In moments when I’m galled by how cyclical backlash and progress are, it’s consoling to remember that most women have newfound language and skepticism that I couldn’t have imagined while watching Girls Gone Wild or listening to “P.I.M.P.” Both of those developments feed the kind of unlearning, in other words, after which power is real, change is necessary, and wholly new stories can begin.

[jujutsukaisen0]

yuri needs to step up its game. i want disgusting perverted lesbians doing the shit yaoi boys do to each other. i dont want wholesome romance i want blood and flesh

[sarahsartistportfolio]

Sexy women in my phone !!!!!

I want to draw a picture of Kaiser but I’m having trouble finding fanart of him for reference 😭

This isn’t like the good old days of deviantart where if I wanted to draw a sexy anime man I could just pop his name in and get a good handful pieces of fanart

Where can I find maybe official art of Kaiser from the manga or anime? Or just a good sizable amount of fanart of this man?

[lunapwrites]

Me and my partner were out for a walk with Bean yesterday, and we passed by these robins just beating the absolute PISS out of each other. And the reason I know my partner and I are great together is because we both, without missing a beat, turned to each other like

OOOOO DID YOU SEE THAT

YEAH I DID OOOOOO

And we proceeded to giggle about that for a few until we inevitably both got distracted by A Dog (loose, but clearly old and friendly) followed by Another Dog (also loose, but spiky) and two plaintive children trailing after them.

The dogs made it back home okay eventually and I dealt with spiky dog so Bean could be whisked away home by my partner. (She warmed up quick but it was touch and go for a minute there.)

[theinfinitedivides]

you're welcome.

[dio-in-dogspace]

anyone need a punching bag (sexually) ?

[lorelune]

LORE?

vic the things this woman is going to make you do. you might as well be her second dog. just a more spoiled one with a shinier collar <3

[caterpillarinacave]

i have. such strong feelings. very specifically about Matthew Fairchild, his little sister, and both of their dogs.

[sysig]

A bit more Defeated, and thinking about this post (Patreon)

[oreo-creampies]

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬

Satoru finds out that you like reading gangbang fanfiction. Naturally, he has to do something with this newfound information. With the help of Toji and Suguru.

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞! 21 minutes/6.1k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: gangbang, double penetration (anal and cunt along with two dicks in one cunt right after), oral, anal with prep, light pain kink, biting, bondage, bdsm, collar and leash. usage of daddy/mama once, heavy praise/light degradation, mindbreak, thumb in ass, some satosugu, light painal for Satoru since suguru sticks a thin vibrating dildo up his ass, suguru edges satoru, teasing, friends w benfits/some type of sugarbaby set up, choking, knife play/no blood, pussy slapping, manhandling, squirting, overstimulation, satoru and toji put their balls on your face, ball sucking, face fucking, hair pulling, manhandling, light size kink, licking suguru's cock with satoru, making out with satoru, biting, bullet vibrator, strap on that gives toji a second cock, plugging cum in your ass, they are all sweet mean, satoru spits cum into your mouth

𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: 6.1k

oreo: i hope the wait was worth it, thank you for all the love and patience ya'll have given me

Satoru leans next to you, reading off your computer. “Gangbang, knife play, bondage, double penetration ya like it kinky.” You’re too late to close your computer. “He looks like me.”

Your body is burning, jumping out of your chair and whirling around to face Satoru. “Ok and? So what? You already know you’re attractive!” Crossing your arms, glaring into pretty blue eyes. “Is it dumb I would find someone who looks like you hot?!” Satoru’s playful grin spreads into an infuriating cocky smirk.

Satoru slides his fingers through his hair. His black sleeve straining with his bicep flexes. Long snow-white locks fall into his intense, beautiful blue eyes. The silence thickens the air.

Tilting his head to the side, his jawline, thick adam’s apple, his pale neck would be perfect to kiss. “So defensive.” Smirking, “I like the way you’re looking at me.” Stepping forward, closing the small gap forcing you to look up.

Your cunt is getting wet from the height difference. “I’m not looking at you any type of way.” Jabbing his chest with your finger. His pec is hard, “Fuck me!” He leans in, pressing your palm flat on his chest.

Your voice softens, “You barged into my room n’ spied on my computer!” Squeezing his hard pec, swiping your thumb over his nipple. “You’ve gotten so much bigger.” Sliding your hand down feeling his sculpted abs through his shirt.

You accuse, “You’ve been working out with Toji and Suguru too much.” You turn around facing your desk, flipping him off. “Unless you plan to be anything other than a menace I wanna cum whilst reading my fic. Help me cum or leave!” You softly gasp in surprise when Satoru presses you against your desk with his hard, large body.

He a fistful of your hair yanking it back, spitting on your face. Smearing it with his large hand, crooning, “But I thought you liked your men big n’ able to throw you around like a doll? Isn’t that what you said?” Smearing his spit with his hand, stuffing two fingers in your mouth.

Satoru smacks your ass, squeezing a handful of your stinging cheek. “I could help you cum.” Sticking his fingers, his cock lightly twitching when you gag. “Want me to read your fanfiction out loud for you?” Dragging his fingers out of your mouth.

He lifts your laptop lid up not caring he is smearing spit on the screen. Reading out loud. “He drags the knife along her inner thigh. She squirms the closer he gets to her soaking.” Sliding your shorts down, roughly smacking your ass

Crying, “What if they hear us?” Satoru pushes your underwear aside, gliding a thick finger between your soft lips. Getting his thick finger wet before nudging it in. His long thick finger filling up your cunt shouldn't feel this good.

Satoru outs them, “Tojj and Suguru would jerk off off to the sounds of me clapping your cheeks. I could cuck them both.” Your cunt squeezes Satoru’s thick finger fucking your cunt sloppy. “Or you can moan their names, they could join us. You can be the slut who lets us run a train on her, or fuck you all at once.”

Satoru slips his finger out roughly slapping your cunt You whine sweet stinging pain cuts through the stinging pleasure. Slowly fucking his thick fingers into you at a steady pace.

Insisting to you, “You can write about it after, call it one girl, three cocks n’ three holes." Three more slips, each harder than the last. "Come on say their names, I wanna see you struggle to take Suguru’s fat cock.”

You whine, “Toooojiii, Suug!!!! Satoru is being mean to meeeee! Cooommmee helpppp!”

Suguru calls from the hallway, “Aw Toru why bother her, she said she wanted to read.” Coming into your bedroom, taking notice of your shorts in the ground. His eyes flicking from those to your sweet soft ass and cunt stuffed with Satoru’s soft fingers.

Satoru’s large body hiding your’s. Till he steps aside letting Suguru watch how your soft wet cunt takes Satoru’s thick fingers. “What’s so mean about this?” Suguru glides his finger in with Satoru’s. “Your cunt is drooling n getting so tight sweetheart.” They pump their fingers in sync.

Suguru squeezes a handful of your ass, his hand larger than Satoru’s. “Fuuuck that feels so good! I love having my cunt played with. Don’t stop please.” You bend over holding onto your desk, cupping Satoru’s hard cock through his sweats.

You stroke Satoru through his sweats moaning, “Satoru you’re big, wanna you to fuck me hard, make me squirt with your long hard cock.” You clench Satoru and Suguru’s thick fingers with your sloppy wet cunt. Whining when Suguru roughly smacks your ass.

Satoru sneers, “Not even able to pay attention long enough to answer.” He pulls out of your grasp, keeping his thick fingers in your soft wet cunt.

Satoru pushing his sweats down his cock pops out. “What’s wrong with how mean I’m being? Answer me n’ you can touch my cock.” He spits in his hand, smearing it over his cock hand. Groaning as he strokes himself.

You glance over your shoulder admiring the beautiful sight of Satoru’s arm flexing as his large hand strokes his long cock. Thick white pre cum dripping from his pale pink head.

Suguru pushes his gym shorts down, kicking them aside. Grabbing your wrist when you try to touch him. You whine, “Nnnnothing’s wrong!” Their fingers graze your sweet spot your body tingles with overwhelming pleasure.

Your thighs are trembling, toes curling into the carpet, slick dripping down your thigh. You confess, “I want you to y'all to help Satoru bully my cunt, make me the house whore, I wanna be the one y'all stuff your cocks in when it gets hard. Please lemme be your pretty cumdump.”

Toji barges into your bedroom, demanding, “Why do I care if he's being mean?!” He slips his large headphones off his head and sets them on your dresser. “Princess,” his scarred smirk looks predatory, “I can show you mean, they are spoiling your sweet little cunt right now. I’d fuck ya like I hate ya, make sure you can’t walk.” Toji wastes no time ripping your underwear off to get a better view of your stuffed cunt. Slowly stuffing two fingers in.

Your jaw drops with a loud moan. You’re naked with your three incredibly hot roommates fucking their thick fingers into you. It's a situation you'd masturbate to.

Satoru strops stroking himself, standing next to your face. Letting out a softly sigh in relief when wrap your lips around him. Groaning dropping his head forward, watching his cock vanish within your mouth.

Suguru tells Toji, “Satoru found out our sweetheart is a smutty fanfic reading pervert, gangbang. N’ now she wants to be the house whore, sounds kinky, I’m down.” He moves next to your head.

Suguru glides his fingers out smearing your slick on his cock. Grabbing your laptop, sliding it over for him to scroll to the warnings reading. “Bondage, squirting, anal, double penetration-one hole/triple penetration, With some face fucking, face slapping, and light knife play? I’ll be right back.” He rushes out of the room.

Satoru glides his fingers out, sticking both in his mouth to lick clean. He roughly grabs your hair fucking your soft wet mouth. With his balls slapping your chin.

Toji pumps his fingers faster. Quickly finding that sweet spot that made your soft cunt quiver. "Can I fuck your ass?" Satoru slips his cock out with a soft pop letting you breathe.

Pleading "Fuck whichever hole you want." Toji spits on your asshole and stuffs his spit in with his thumb. Slowly pumping his thumb letting your soft hole adjust. "Nn it feels weird but good!”

You cup and massage Satoru's balls, kissing and licking his warm cockhead. His cock standing up eager for attention making it easy to suck and kiss without using your hands.

You look up into his beautiful ocean-blue eyes and plea, “Even if I’m asleep I want you to spread my legs and do what you want to my cunt.” Taking his long, pretty cock in your mouth bobbing your head.

Satoru groans, his cheeks flushing a dark pink, “Fuuuuuccck!” He grabs your head holding you still. “You’re a dirty pervert who wants to wake up to Suguru eating you out as Toji and I jerk off onto your face.” He tightens his grip on your hair, slowly fucking your face, testing and getting off on your gag reflex.

Satoru groans, “We could cover you in cum, make your sloppy wet cunt sore.” Fucking your mouth faster, some spit drips down your chin. Smearing onto his balls with each soft smack.

Toji squeezes your cheek whilst tugging on your asshole stretching you out. Steadily stroking your sweet spot getting you so close to cumming. Your thighs tremble, toes curling into the carpet.

Toji groans, "She's dripping." Fingering your tight, sloppy wet cunt faster. Refusing to let up on your sensitive sweet spot. "Are you really cumming for us that quickly?" His thumb glides in your asshole easier.

Satoru glides his cock out of your mouth. "Whatcha thinkin' sweetheart?" Toji's thick fingers in your cunt, and thumb in your ass make it difficult to think. "She's already getting dumber, can't answer a simple question." Satoru softly slaps your cheeks with his hard cock then stuffs your face into his balls.

Without another thought you open your mouth to softly suck Satoru's balls. Suguru comes back in, dumping a bag full of toys onto your bed. "Here are some butt-plugs, dildos. cock rings, ropes, o ring, and for you Toji," He grabs a strap with a thick dildo dangling from it. "You can fuck both holes; the dildo will need to be above your cock."

Toji glides his fingers out of your ass. Whilst Suguru pulls the toy out of his grasp. "Actually, here is disinfectant. We don't want to get our cock sleeve sick and be out of commission." Toji grabs the packet with his cleaner hand. Forcing the lid open and tugging out a wipe.

Suguru drops the strap on. onto the bed leaving Toji to help himself to it when ready. He grabs the knife off the bed, flicks out the blade, and returns to your computer.

Satoru pulls his balls out of your face, tugging you up by your hair. Then Suguru's words hit and you retort, "Commission implies I'm paid and if that's the case I'mma need more than just dick for payment. I'm too broke." Suguru turns around pressing the knife to your throat whilst sweetly grinning down at you.

Suguru insists, "If you wanna be our sugar baby get on your knees and beg for it." Satoru let go of your hair. stepping aside to give you room to kneel.

You don't have the chance to speak before Satoru adds, "If you beg well enough, I could cover your half of the rent." He grabs the collar with its leash off the bed, "I already get your broke-ass food."" He carefully wraps the collar around your neck, fastening the clasp, then tugging on the leash.

Toji decides, "Satoru is rich enough to be your sugar daddy, my cock and cuddles will be payment enough." He grabs a bottle of lube and a small buttplug off the bed.

Suguru tilts your head up with the knife. "Bullshit you'll get her lingerie for her to wear." He glances at Toji, "What about that maid outfit she suggested after bitching about cleaning up after Satoru and You?" He looks down at you, dark thick hair framing his handsome face.

You decide, "They've been cleaner, so I could wear it as a reward. Clean your balls of every last drop of cum. Of course, you get my undivided attention first for always helping keep this place clean." Suguru is beautiful with his broad shoulders, thick pecs, and sculpted abs. His black happy trail leads to short well-trimmed hair and his thick hanging cock.

Suguru glides the sharp knife's tip up your chin to your bottom lip. "I want to see you in that see-through underwear with the maid outfit." He glides the knife along your lip, dragging it up your cheek.

Satoru glances at Suguru, "How do you know she has something like that?"

You take Suguru's cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around his head. His warm pre-cum is sweet and thick coating your tongue. There is so much pre-cum you can't help but suck harder, licking his small dripping slit.

Suguru groans, "I wash everyone's clothes that means her's too." Gliding the knife to the side of your head. You are slowly gliding Suguru deeper into your mouth with a loud moan.

Toji states, "Pineapple is the safe word to start aftercare." Lubbing up the butt-plug

Suguru sets the knife on the desk behind him. He holds your head still with a tight grasp on your hair. He stuffs his cock deep into your throat holding your head down and suffocating you.

Suguru suggests "Lift her ass up and stick it in her then." Satoru hands Toji the leash, watching Toji wrap his arm around your waist helping you partly stand up into a bent-over position.

Satoru suggests, "Why not go ahead n' tie our pretty slut up in a mating press. We can tug her around on the bed by the leash." He stands next to you spreading your cheeks apart for Toji.

Toji smirks, "We could do that." Tugging on the leash and Suguru's firm grasp on your hair keeps you from budging. The thick leather collar presses into your cock stuffed throat. Suguru groans, shallowly pumping his hips fucking your mouth slowly.

Toji lines the tip of the plug up with your asshole gliding it in. Smearing lube with each swirl and pump. Your cunt clenches around nothing from the pleasure of your ass stretching for the toy.

Suguru bottoms out giving you seconds to breathe. Before stuffing his cock back in to quickly fuck throat. He grabs the knife off the desk lightly dragging it across your back. You can't help but squirm, the air in your lungs escaping in a cry Suguru muffles with his cock.

Toji pushes the butt plug in, "Let's tie our new slut up." Satoru lets go of your cheeks. Whilst Toji moves to the other side of your bed dragging you with him.

.Suguru turns towards your laptop picking it up, setting the knife down. He scrolls through the fic skimming it.

Toji straddles your head his balls resting on your forehead and eyes. His thick cock nudging your lips smearing bitter pre-cum. You open your mouth groaning when he rocks his hips forwards.

He brings the laptop over, sitting on the bed next to you. "Do you want Satoru and I to act out the making out part while we are inside you?" He glances from the laptop down at you. Where Satoru is binding your legs together with the dark red rope.

Satoru taunts, "You don't have to use the fanfic as a reason to kiss me again." Making kissy faces at Suguru who rolls his eyes and grabs his friend by the neck pulling him closer.

Suguru nudges Satoru's mouth open with his thumb and spits. Satoru swallows, grabbing Suguru's cock and swirling his fist as he strokes him. Suguru groans, "I know." He leans in biting down on Satoru's bottom lip. The needy cry he makes your cunt clench.

Suguru pulls away, "Finish tying her up and let Toji have fun with her mouth." He stuffs his thumb into Satoru's mouth for him to suck on. "Then I want you to shove your pretty face into her beautiful cunt so you can put that annoying ass mouth to good use." He lets Satoru go.

He glides his thumb over Suguru's fat cockhead smearing pre-cum. He sticks his thumb in his mouth groaning from tasting Suguru's pre- cum.

Suguru sets the laptop down on top of a pillow, scrolling through the fic. "Cum spitting? Satoru when we cum in her you can eat it out and share it with her."

Satoru is quick tying at you in a mating press. "Are you gonna let me eat our creampie out of your cunt?." He slaps your cunt four times, pinching your clit. Your trembling, eyes stinging with tears.

Satoru grabs a vibrator turns it on and holds it to your clit. Slowly swirling it, stoking your soft sensitive nub. He stuffs his face into your cunt Suguru orders him "Keep your ass in the air."

He shifts keeping his face in your sloppy wet cunt putting his ass in the air. Satoru is giving Suguru a perfect view of his cock and balls. Suguru grabs a thin dildo with lube which he pours onto the tip before setting the lube aside.

Suguru lines the thin dildo up with Satoru's ass. Smacking his cheek. your sloppy wet cunt muffling Satoru's whine. Suguru nudges the head in, spitting in his hand and grabbing Satoru's cock.

Satoru lifts his head, "You arennnnnnn!" He moans when Suguru stuffs the thin dildo deep into Satoru's ass. Turning it on, leaving it on the highest setting, keeping it still, it's head pulsing against Satoru's g spot. "Fuck!" Suguru stuffs Satoru's head into your cunt.

Toji glides his cock out before he cums in your mouth. Pinching your nipple to hear your breathy whines get louder. He tugs on the leash, moving his hand to let you get a view of Satoru being a moaning mess between your legs with Suguru stuffing his ass.

Suguru looks at you and smirks, "Why not show him what it's like living with him? A pain in the fucking ass." Satoru bites your thigh in between the rope. Stopping when you cry. He licks the bite mark then stuffs his face into your soaking-wet cunt.

Satoru glides his tongue through your lips. Stroking your clit with the toy faster. Your cunt clenching his tongue. Satoru grabs the plug quickly fucking your asshole with it.

Toji orders, "Open your mouth and stick your tongue out." Slapping his cock on your tongue. Stuffing his thick fat into your mouth with a groan. Your eyes sting with tears as you choke on him.

He pinches, twists, and tugs on your soft nipple. "Fuck her soft wet mouth feels so good on my cock." You pull Satoru's hair, struggling to reflexively arch your back, feebly twisting your hips away from Satoru. He rubs your clit faster with the toy, sending you over the edge.

Your gushing into Satoru's mouth, your body trembles with your toes curling. Toji's thick cock muffles your moans. Toji groans, "Look at that our slut can squirt." Satoru sets the toy aside still vibrating.

Suguru grabs Satoru's hair making you let Satoru's hair go. You watch as Suguru lifts Satoru up out of your cunt by his hair. Fucking the dildo faster into Satoru's ass. Suguru lets his hair go spitting into his palm and grabbing Satoru's cock swirling his fist.

Suguru croons, "Are you getting close? You wanna cum on her pretty cunt then stuff it in with your sensitive cock?" Satoru whines unable to answer until Suguru is pulling the toy out of him.

Satoru cries, "Why did you stop?" His cock throbbing from the lack of stimulation. Missing the feeling of being full of getting his g-spot fucked.

Suguru quickly retorts, "Why won't you stop waking me up when you crawl into my bed?"

You grab Toji's thick muscular thigh digging your nails in. He glides his cock out of your mouth, slipping off the bed. He yanks you upright by the leash, causing the leather collar to dig into your sore throat.

You grab the leather prying it away from your throat. Toji leans down, "What's your color beautiful?" Twisting you around and laying you on your back with your butt dangling off the edge of the bed.

You plea, "Green please I wanna cock in my cunt or ass!" Toji cups your cheek hanging off the edge of the bed. Softly messaging your cheek then roughly slapping your ass. The force of the thrust makes you lightly bounce.

He unwinds the leash, asking you, "What about both?" He hands the leash to Suguru who shoves a pout Satoru aside. He dramatically face plants into the pillow that Toji rips out from underneath him.

He sits up and points at both Suguru and Toji, "Yall are both assholes, why she wants your dick in her is beyond me. Fucking hell, not letting me cum, shoving me to the side, and stealing a pillow out from under me."

You chime in with, "Don't cry on my other pillows either." His eyes widen, his fingers lower and his bottom lip trembles.

Satoru's voice cracks "Et tu?"

"Call me brutus."

Toji grumbles, "Suguru stuff her mouth these two are killing it mentioning some random ass dude's name and speaking gibberish." Suguru tugs you closer to the middle of the bed. Where Toji grabs your ass and lifts you up stuffing the pillow underneath you.

Satoru crawls over and lays down next to you. You grab his cock, still wet with Suguru's spit. He softly kisses your cheek ignoring Suguru's cock dangling close by. He turns your head by your chin to steal a kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue.

"Annoying ass thief I'm glad I didn't let you cum yet." Swirling your hand along Satoru's cock. His moans are beautiful, breathy, and needy. You could touch yourself listening to him moan.

Toji dips his head into your cunt licking up the sweet mess with loud groans. His nose occasionally nudges your soft, sensitive clit. He grabs the plug and tugs it out, setting it on your bed without giving a fuck. Softly biting your cunt's lips when you start to complain.

You break the kiss leaving Satoru's mouth at Suguru's mercy. Lifting your head looking down at Toji asking, "Did you bite me?" He slaps your cunt as Suguru nudges Satoru's lips with his cock.

You look to see Suguru grabbing Satoru's neck causing the chain leash to dig in. His thick cock glides past Satoru's glossy lips. His balls hit the top of Satoru's head. He’s so beautiful getting face fucked.

Toji grabs the male strap-on, steps into it, and sets the dildo above his own cock. He tightens the straps making sure it's comfortable and secure. He climbs onto the bed, holding both and lining himself up.

He nudges your ass with his warm, thick cock head. Swiping the cool dildo between your cunt's soft wet lips. Smearing your slick down it and gliding his cock head in. You reach down flattening your hand on Toji's hard abs.

There is a sweet pleasurable pain from Toji splitting your ass open. "Nnfuck your cock is going in! Put the other one! Please! Please! Pleeease!" Moaning when he gives you just the tip of your dildo. Stretching your wet cunt out alongside your lubed-up.

Suguru slips his cock out of Satoru's mouth. Satoru grabs your chin and roughly kisses you. And all you can taste is Suguru when Satoru's tongue rubs your's. You moan into his mouth when Toji's hips hit yours, roughly and quickly filling you up with both cocks.

He strokes your clit with his thumb, slowly rocking his hips, keeping a slow steady pace. He groans, "Fuck I don't think I can last long the dildo in her pretty cunt is pushing against my cock. Her ass is so soft n' tight, she's gonna make me bust too quickly."

Suguru grabs the bottle of lube off your side table handing it to Toji. He pulls out till the tips of the dildo and his cock are tugging both sloppy wet holes. He carefully pours a line of lube on his cock, then gives the bottle back.

Toji grabs a part of the rope binging your thigh by your side. "Stupid little slut keeping my cock hard walking around the house looking so damn fuckable." He uses that to pull you towards him as he slams into you. The dildo brushes your sweet spot with the perfect pressure to make you lose your mind.

Suguru sets the bottle aside, spitting in his hand and stroking his cock. Admiring Satoru and You making on the bed, your soft hand stroking Satoru's pretty cock. Smearing his thick white pre-cum down his cock with swipes of your thumb.

Your soft moans sound so beautiful alongside Satoru's needy whines. Suguru groans "I can't wait to feel the both of you."

Toji roughly fucks both cocks into you without mercy. Stroking your soft clit with his rough thumb, the bed rocking, your body would be harshly bouncing away if not for his grasp on the rope. The course rope rubs and presses more into your thigh.

Toji decides, "This house slut thing works whenever my cock gets hard I'll come to you." Fucking you harder, adding more pressure to your sensitive clit. Each quick stroke of your sweet spot has your mind going blank.

You can't focus enough to stroke Satoru's cock. He grabs your hand and sloppily fucks your hips. Suguru sticks his cock in between Satoru and You. You lick and kiss one side with Satoru sucking and licking the other. Your tongue brushing Satoru's.

You clench Toji with your ass and his massive beautiful muscular body trembles. He hunches over biting your chest, flicking your nipple with his tongue. His pace becoming sloppy. He lets you go and grunts, "Nn fuuuuck I don't wanna cum in ya yet mama wanna keep feeling you."

"Please cum, wanna feel your thick warm cum in my ass." Toji picks his pace keep, franticly fucking his cock into your soft warm ass. The sound of skin smacking skin joins the grunts, groans, and creaking of your bed. "Please daddy!" Toji busts instantly his thick warm cum shooting in your ass with a force you can feel.

Suguru pulls away and Satoru lets your hand go. He gets on his knees and grabs Suguru's hand pulling him in for a rough kiss. Leaving you all to Toji. He leans over, keeping enough space between to play with your soft sensitive clit.

His thick hard pecs into your face. You wrap your arms around him clawing his backside up with one hand. Burying your face into his chest, tugging on his hair. You can't help but bite down hard. The way Toji whines is getting you off.

He stops with his cock and dildo deep in you, keeping his cum from spilling out. "I couldn't stop cumming." He sits up out of your grasp, looking for another buttplug. "There's so much that I fucked deep into your ass." Snagging the biggest one, its thickest point is still thinner than Toji's cock.

Slowly pulling his cock and dildo out, slipping the plug in. He croons, "Can't let it drip out while Satoru and Suguru are fucking both their cocks into your messy slutty cunt." He kisses your forehead. "Ya did good for me, took my cock so well. How does your ass feel?"

You smile up at him, "Sore but good." He softly kisses you, keeping it short and quick. Pulling away Toji is quick to get out of the strap-on.

"I'll leave you at these two's mercy n' I'll be back for aftercare." He smirks, "Good luck you already look like a tired whore." He slaps your cunt then leaves you at Satoru and Suguru's mercy.

You look to see Suguru and Satoru sloppy kissing each other. Suguru has his large hand around both cocks, holding them together. Satoru slowly grinds his hips, rubbing their cocks together.

You suggest, "Why not rub your dicks together in me?"

Suguru breaks away from Satoru and drops the leash. "And here Toji was wishing her luck." He grabs his knife off the desk. "After all that she is already ready for more." Suguru lifts you up by your throat. His fingers are beneath the leather collar.

You feel so perfectly helpless and vulnerable tied up, held in the air by your throat. With two big guys about to sandwich in between their hard chest. You're about to feel their cocks rubbing together inside you after watching them make out.

Suguru and Satoru line their cocks up. Suguru lightly nudges past your lips. Satoru is rubbing down your slit, groaning when he feels Suguru's cock head brush his. Then gliding his wet head to your clit, stroking you.

You can't shift your hips to sink yourself down on Suguru's cock. Satoru remembers, "Weren't you about to show us how a whore begs to be a sugar baby?" You're clenching nothing, aching to feel them both.

Suguru grabs your hip, and Satoru squeezes your other hip. He presses the knife to your neck whilst glides his head in. Teasing you with his tip before pulling out. He swirls his cockhead in small circles o your clit.

Satoru taunts, "Before we double stuff your messy little cunt tell us what you are?" He loves the sight of your soft pretty nub touching his pale pink cock head.

You confess, "I'm a needy cock loving pervert who spends too much time reading smut and playing with her cunt. Please fuck me into a mindless mess then pamper me afterwards." Satoru lines himself up, with their strength they can stuff their cocks in together.

You loudly cry from the overwhelming sweet pain. Digging your nails into Satoru's hard pec whilst reaching behind you. Grabbing a handful of Suguru's hair. You are desperate to ground yourself, but they don't give you a chance.

Their pace is uneven causing their cocks to stroke each other's. Satoru grabs your hair. "Pretty little slut you gonna eat the creampie Suguru and I make if I spit it into your mouth?"

You can't think of a response. It's impossible to think with their cocks stirring your guts up and the cool metal of the knife against your neck.

Suguru croons, "We just stuck our cocks in, are you really this easy to break?" His pace is harder but slower than Satoru's. His cockhead reaches just beneath Suguru's but he's thicker pressing Satoru against your g-spot with intense pressure.

Satoru points out with a cocky smirk, "Our slut only had enough energy to beg for more cock." He slips his finger underneath the collar tugging on it. "We should get her one just for her. What do you want your collar to say? Should it say brat, house slut, or cock sleeve?" You're so full, their cocks reaching so deep.

Suguru looks down into your eyes and groans, "She's such a pretty whore taking both our cocks in her soft wet cunt." Satoru's pace falters, his cock lightly twitching, veins pulsing. "You close already? With her tight cunt pressing our cocks together I feel the pulsing of your cock."

Satoru whines "Can't help it I was so close earlier n' I really wanna cum." He leans down softly kissing you, cupping your cheek. Gently cradling your face like he isn't bullying your sore, sensitive soaking-wet cunt with his cock.

Suguru slips his hand in between Satoru and You, flicking your nipple with the knife. There is an exciting fear that he could cut you at any moment. Part of you hope he does when he glides the knife lightly across your thigh in between the ropes.

Satoru whines, his pace falters, slowly down and getting harder. Satoru moans as thick warm cum trickles from his cock in short quick bursts. He grabs your bound thigh and digs his nails into your skin between the tight rope.

Suguru groans picking his pace up chasing his high. Fucking Satoru's thick cum deeper into you getting you off. Satoru breaks the sloppy, rough kiss and whines, "Fuck her soft cunt, your soft yet hard cock both is too much. I wanna do this again later, please I wanna cock warm with both of our cocks in her."

Your soft cunt squeezing their cocks is becoming too much for Satoru. He pulls out, getting on his elbow and licking where Suguru and You connect. Your trembling, eyes rolling back, tears trickling down your face.

"Look me in the eyes and lemme see you crying." Suguru wraps his large hand around your neck tilting your head up. He stares into your eyes, fighting to keep his pace steady. Satoru groans, "Cum in her, lemme taste you both." Suguru falters, stopping with his cock balls deep in your sloppy cunt.

His thick warm cum steadily pours into you from his fat head. "You're both beautiful filthy cum loving perverts." Satoru gets on his knees grabbing you by the rope. He bounces you on Suguru's thick cock making him tremble.

Slowly Satoru lifts you off Suguru's cock. Softly laying out down, slowly pulling out the buttplug, and carefully undoing the rope, checking over for any burns.

Suguru accuses, "That was a bitch move." Carefully unfastening your collar and lightly massaging your sore neck. Their actions are a wonderful gentle contrast to how they were manhandled and fucked you a moment prior.

Satoru retorts, "So was edging me." He flips Suguru off who rolls his eyes.

Satoru softly peppers kisses along the sore indention of the rope's pattern in your thighs. "There is no rope burn, but I don't want you to try and walk anywhere. Get one of us to carry you if need be." He dips his tongue into your sloppy cunt getting a thick mix of cum in his mouth.

Kissing you softly spitting the cum into your mouth. Then pulling away, softly encouraging you, "Swallow, good, that's it. Such a good slut."

Toji comes back into the room, "I got a bubble bath going in Suguru's bathroom along with some candles. I'm not getting in but one of you can." He checks his phone. "In an hour the food I put on Satoru's card will be here."

Satoru stretches your legs out, softly massaging your thighs. "I feel too good right now to care how you got that information." He slips off the bed, leans over to pick you up, cradling you to his chest. "I'll take a bath while Suguru can do the laundry he prides himself on doing."

Suguru suggests, "We should flip a coin to see who gets to bathe with her and who washes the bedding."

[slimepuparibaba]

18+ NSFW CALEB HEADCANON, HEAR ME OUT! IF YOU ARE A MINOR THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING DO NOT TOUCH THIS WITH A 90-FOOT-POLE

ALSO I SOUND LIKE A MADMAN BUT HEAR ME OUT OK JUST... JUST HEAR ME OUT--

caleb gets worse and more depraved the longer sex goes on

HEAR ME OUT. JUST... JUST HEAR ME OUT.

The more he has you, the less restraint he has. by the time you're spent, he's PROBABLY STILL GOING SO LONG AS YOU DON'T ASK HIM TO STOP OR YOU DO NOT USE THE SAFE WORD (he abides by safe word and is heavy on consent, never assume otherwise)

It'll start with him on top of you, probably being rough (because let's be so real here Caleb is a freak and you are too), doing the usual, he'd encourage you to squirt, to cum, he'd whisper how filthy you are and how you're so perfect for him. he'll ask if you're aware about the size difference between you and him and how he could easily crush you, how he could ruin you for anyone else (oh but you would like that, wouldn't you baby? is probably what he'd ask)

I'M SAYING HE GETS WORSE AS TIME GOES ON. LET ME COOK HERE—HE GETS EXPONENTIALLY WORSE AND MORE UNHINGED THE LONGER THE SEX CONTINUES.

you think you're getting overstimulated? man's trying to get his cock milked over and over again, he's AIMING to be overstimulated. he wants to feel the warmth, the tightness, he wants to merge your flesh into one because HE IS THAT OBSESSED WITH YOU—

at some point he'd lose it entirely, start rambling about other things you could do.

"want me to tie you up, huh? use that little baton from when we first reunited, that thing in interrogations? oh you want that soooo bad don't you? want a collar around your little neck, want me to leash you and drag you around the room? you want me in uniform, want me to be gloved, spank you for misbehaving? how about i use my evol, fuck you against the wall, the ceiling? zero gravity even, drag you down on my cock? or maybe you wanna resonate, huh? wanna hear the disgusting things i think about, feel the way i feel whenever i thrust in and out of you?"

YEAH HE RAMBLES MORE THE LONGER THE SEX GOES ON. BECAUSE HE'S LOSING HIS GODDAMN MIND.

like he will start spouting out the most depraved thoughts he has of you the longer it goes, confessions spilling from his mouth. he's good at restraining, really, he is, but the longer he's inside you, the more of you he's tasted, THAT MAN? GONE. RESTRAINT? BYEEEEEEE

because you feel so good, and now his moans are turning into full on whimpers, and the moment you start seeming tired, and the moment he knows you've been going for WAY TOO LONG, he'll start bargaining

"I promise this'll end in seven minutes, just seven more minutes, need seven more minutes in heaven with you please please, please just please—"

and then when you PASS that seven minute mark (he's so invested), he finally becomes so whiny and apologizing

"I'm a filthy dog, they're right, I'm a disgusting mutt, I'm a beast, I'm a gross pervert, all I want is to take you and break you and rebuild you and mold you, I want you all to myself, I want to keep you here forever and fuck you like this forever, fuck, I'm a selfish disgusting bastard, I can't—"

he'll start raving on and on about how addicted he is, how he can't live without you, how you feel so good that he can't breathe, how he wants to stay right there with you, never leave, keep you there, breed you, and how he knows that he's a gross, disgusting pervert who's so honed in on fucking you out of your mind because it feels too good, he loves you so much, he needs you, he CRAVES you, but he's such a disgusting person and you're a divine being that's giving a sinner like him a chance--

Promise when he comes down from his high or you say the safe word that he'll return to normal and probably regret pushing it too far, ask if he did too much, etc.

he'll give you aftercare, he'll help you if you feel wobbly, he'll apologize over and over again for pushing your limits, say that you did so well and thank you for putting up with him...

...just... just know if you encourage him he will get even worse and you are in trouble

This man needs to be restrained and he would gladly BE restrained cuz the moments restraints are off and he gets a piece of you, KNOW HE WILL GET EXPONENTIALLY WORSE

(and if you're into that you should rile him up actually)

[teaboot]

I've never had a cat before and I'm hoping to get one soon. Do you have any advice?

Treat a new cat as you would a new roommate. Give them space and time to settle, establish a pattern and a rhythm, and in time they may choose to become friends and spend time with you. Dont force a friendship.

Use simple words and repetition to establish communication. Words like breakfast, treat, snack, lunch, supper, dinner, food, and eat all basically mean, "I am feeding you; expect to be fed", but it's a lot for a little guy to remember. I just say "Dinner" when I mean "cat food is coming", and so my boy knows exactly what I mean when I say it. As a plus, using only one word for snack time means he has no idea what the other words mean, so I can talk about food in front of him without ruling him up.

Pay attention to body language. Cats all have different personalities, and you'll learn their likes, dislikes, and messages over time this way. Son boy here loves anything with plumbing but dislikes getting wet- his favourite blanket to chew and snuggle goes on his favourite chair, and he gives me a specific gesture when he wants me to kneel down so he can jump onto my shoulder.

Read into problematic behaviour. Cats pee in weird places when they're hurting, in distress, or have insufficient of unclean litter box space. Biting, attacking feet , and knocking things off tables often means they're understimulated and need you to play with them, or at least need some kind of enrichment or puzzle to tackle. Tail flicking can be frustration or irritation. Purring is usually good, but may also be self-soothing behaviour to alleviate pain, encourage healing, and relieve anxiety, like over-grooming.

Like children, "bad" behaviour isn't malicious- it usually means there's something you aren't seeing.

Learn how your cat expresses love. Loads of people think cats are uncaring, cruel, and indifferent, but the truth is, they're just not dogs. Spending time near you, showing an interest in tools you're using or projects you're working on, sitting the way you sit, laying on their back, rubbing on your legs, wiping their face on your shoes when you get home- these are signs that your cat is enamored with you. You're their family, they feel safe and protected around you, they're curious about things you enjoy and want everyone to know you're family.

Set reasonable expectations. Again, cats are not dogs.We bred dogs to desire our approval- cats walked into our lives themselves. They have no human-programmed need to fulfill a duty or perform a task to your standards.

Training cats to do tricks isn't as hard as people say, but the willingness or interest in doing the trick is more heavily reliant on personality and mood. Some cats will refuse all but the most basic requests- I'm lucky in that Ollie understands and is willing to do several, provided I don't abuse his trust and he's not crowded or overwhelmed or just bored of doing it over and over in a short period.

Ollie, for example, knows Up to stand on his back legs and hold my hand, Down to get to a surface I indicate, Out to emerge from a closed space, Come to find me where I am, Help? when I'm offering to let him use me as an elevator, Dinner when I understand he's hungry and am getting food, and when I put on his collar he knows to climb into his carrier 'cause we're going somewhere. And he'll do any of these about 90% of the time, either ignoring me or phoning it in when there's something interesting somewhere else, or if he's feeling anxious.

Lead by example. If you dread taking them to the vet, they'll see the anxiety in your body language and behaviour and likely learn to hate it, too. Again using my guy an example, I starred taking him on walks long before his first vet appointment, just to get used to his carrier and leash. Then his first checkup was relaxed and informal, with plenty of treats, and I let him explore the examination room with permission from the tech. Now he loves going, so I'm not stressed about taking him, so I don't stress him out in turn, and the vest doesn't have to deal with a stressed out cat slowing things down and fighting with them.

Make sure your sources are good ones, and also good ones for you. I will recommend Jackson Galaxy's YouTube channel for cat advice because a lot of what he does matches up with what I've learned and know to be true. I don't personally recommend Ceasar Milan because I personally find his methods distressing to recreate regardless of efficacy, so even if that advice was useful, *I'd* be miserable, and it'd just be trading one issue for another.

Have a person who can help. You never know when you might end up out of town overnight unexpectedly, or when your place may need serviced or fumigated, or if you may be called out of town. Before getting a cat, research reliable pet sitters, house sitters, pet daycares, whatever, just in case.

Consider pet insurance. No long spiel here, just think about it. Especially if you don't know your cats ancestry or potenyial health risks. An on top of that, fucking vaccinate them.

Dont let them free roam. At all.

I grew up on a farm with free-roaming barn cats. Do you know how many times child-me cried over having to bury them? Illness, disease, pregnancy, vehicles, other territorial cats, ticks, fleas, litter, poisoned prey, malicious humans, local wildlife, predatory birds, scrap metal, extreme heat, freezing temperatures, tainted water sources, poisonous or venomous critters, getting stuck in small or high places, tapeworms, loose nails, old equipment, falling branches...

I've seen some truly body-horror slasher-movie shit- just truly nauseating visual fuckery- and I'm telling you not to let your cat free-roam.

Leash training isn't hard. Supervised walks aren't hard. Even keeping your cat physically fit and entertained indoors isn't an impossible feat. Don't let your fucking cat fucking free-roam. Fuck

Also read up on foods and plants cats can't do, like every houseplant in existence is toxic it's insane

Anyhow yeah that's like. A couple things I guess

Here, have an Ollie Pic

[themidnightcrimson]

she's my collar ࿏ wm

summary: in which you make wanda wait to get what she so desperately needs.

words: 4.5k

warnings: top!wanda, power bottom!reader, dubcon, enhanced strap, cumstrap, orgasm denial, teasing, grinding, use of leash and collar, slight breeding kink, please wanda let me make you beg to fuck me pleaseee i cant oauidsuhfwoierhoquihr

this fic is for 18+ only. minors dni. read with discretion.

masterlist.

You knew that her mind wasn’t there all night. Distracted she was, eyes empty yet darkly full like the face of the moon, bouncing around the room with a blankness, but when they caught you… When they caught you, her pupils swarmed like a wolf’s, olive green irises hazy under dim light.

Of course, you recognized that look on her face—that look of pure desperation, of pure carnivorous need for you, nervous and impatient and dialed and lustrous. Wanda was not good at hiding it, not in the least bit. You could see right through her, which was something she was not used to, for in her view it was always the other way around. You could not boast her telekinetic powers, yet you flipped through the pages of her brain like a mastermind, fingers dog-earing the pages you knew tortured her most.

Wanda licked her lips discreetly, casting a shine on their soft pink surface. This was an act easily overlooked by everyone else at the table, but you knew exactly what it meant. It meant that she was getting needier and needier for you, getting so riled up to the point of near drooling. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, took a rushed sip of her drink and nearly spilled it. She’d been like this all night, ever since you leaned up on those little tiptoes of yours and whispered something so disgustingly unrepeatable in her ear in that innocent little voice you knew she loved.

It also didn’t help that now your foot was reaching under the table and massaging her enhanced cock over her pants. Wanda’s face twitched each time you stroked your foot up the inside of her thigh and right to the bulge in her crotch, the hard flat of your shoe digging as delicately as it could onto her.

You were sitting at a table surrounded by Wanda’s friends, all caught up in their own conversation, all completely unaware of the torture you were mercilessly laying on Wanda under the table.

Red hair curtaining her face and darkening her eyes, Wanda leaned her elbow on the table and rubbed her fist over her mouth, letting her teeth graze her knuckles. The great thing, and the twisted thing about it, was that Wanda could stop you if she wanted to. She was taller than you, stronger than you, undoubtedly more powerful than you. Wanda’s magic allowed her the ability to do whatever she wanted to you, or to anyone, for that matter. Most people feared her and avoided ticking her off like their lives depended on it because if she was in a bad mood, it certainly could.

Wanda could control your mind and make you stop. She could simply reach down and push your foot off her. You weren’t forcing anything on her.

She liked it.

You realized early on in your relationship that although Wanda puts up a front of nonchalant dominance and power, there was a part deep inside her that fed off the opposite. With you, and only you, Wanda let herself have no power. She let herself be vulnerable, be manipulated, be used. She let you have all the control. Only you.

And with that power she gave you, came great responsibility. And you used it to the best of your ability to absolutely positively torture the fuck out of this woman at every chance you got.

A grin shocked your face when Wanda’s face started to turn noticeably red. She squirmed in her chair as everyone else continued with their conversations and their eating and drinking, while Wanda’s cock bulged painfully at the fabric of her pants. She cursed herself for wearing sweatpants even though all her friends demanded that they dress cozy for their little casual dinner.

Wanda’s green eyes slowly rose to you, and there was a mix of desperation in them and also a tint of red. A warning.

You laughed out loud.

The red in her eyes faded as she looked around to make sure no one heard you laugh, a look of defeat coming over her face before that desperation came back again. Please stop, she communicated to you in your mind, her tender voice ricocheting off the walls of your brain. You winced a little—it still stung every time she used her powers on you after not using them for a while. She rarely did.

Why? you responded in your head, focusing all your energy on making your inner voice loud enough for her to hear. You could always feel it when she was inside your head. She didn’t like the power it gave her, so she rarely used it, but there was always a slight buzzing in your head when Wanda was in it. I love seeing you get so needy for me. What, you don’t like it?

You dug your shoe harder into her, and she almost squeaked.

I can’t… It almost hurts… Please- Everyone’s here- In public- It feels too good- I need you…

Wanda was losing her train of thought, her ideas coming out in punctuated, nearly incoherent sentences in your head. You smirked—she was going fuzzy for you. That was exactly where you wanted her.

Finally, you slowly released your foot from her crotch, letting your shoe drag along the inside of her leg until you finally dropped it. Wanda sighed in relief and took another shaky sip of her drink to cover it. Turning slightly away from everyone, she fiddled with the fabric of her pants, trying to cover the hard-on you’d mercilessly given her.

When dinner ended and your friends finally all got in their cars and left the restaurant parking lot that was now empty beside Wanda’s car, Wanda was on you.

Hands grabbing your hips, Wanda pushed you against the side of her car, instantly pressing her body onto you. You felt her cock against your hip, still hard, getting harder. She dug her hips against you as her lips devoured yours, slowly letting herself start to grind on you.

“Mmm-Wanda,” you murmured into her mouth before she shoved her tongue into yours, grinding herself so much onto you that she was basically humping you against her car in this empty parking lot. “Wanda, stop.”

“Mmmh-mmh,” she hummed into your mouth, panting breathlessly, her hands going to your jeans and trying to tug them down.

“Wanda, no,” you said with a laugh, using firm grip to shove her hands away from you. You knew that if you weren’t firm with her, she would fuck you right here in this public lot against her car. The thought was hot, but the federal offense wasn’t.

“Please,” she begged, pulling your hand down to her crotch and making you feel her. “I need you. It hurts. Pleaseeeee.” She went in for a kiss again, but you gently pushed her face away from yours.

“You have to wait until we get home, baby,” you told her, watching her eyes immediately widen in disbelief. To be fair, it was a half hour drive home.

“What?! No, please, just suck me off in the car,” she exclaimed, pushing herself harder onto you. As insistent as she was, that was exactly what you wanted her to be when you were building her up all through dinner.

“Nuh-uh, get in the car. You have to wait until we get home,” you said firmly, giving her some gentle taps on her cheek and ignoring the incredibly pouty look on her face as you made your way to the passenger side of the car.

Huffing, Wanda obeyed and got in the driver’s seat. You knew it was evil, physically working her up for hours just to make her wait even longer for release, but as much as she huffed and groaned, it only made her all the more desperate for you.

࿏

Your hand on Wanda’s shoulder pushed her onto the couch of the little apartment you shared. It was a cozy place which Wanda let you have full control over decorating, though you embedded a touch of her in everything. The wallpaper, appearing to be a pretty white and red floral pattern, was actually encrypted with runes. The couch, a nostalgic green and yellow plaid, was actually the same pattern as the shirt Wanda was wearing when you first met. All the kitchen spatulas and ladles were red silicone after her signature color, and watercolor paintings of different kinds of witches hung on the walls. It was your sacred space together.

Wanda landed on the couch with a huff, and you immediately straddled her, throwing one leg over her lap and nestling down as you held your hand behind your back. Wanda perked when she heard a familiar metal clink coming from behind you when you sat down on her. Smirking, you brought your hand in front of you, revealing the pair of handcuffs.

“Baby, no,” she instantly growled, her hands grabbing your wrists. She hated when you cuffed her so that she couldn’t touch you, not for the lack of control, but because not touching you was incredibly hard for her.

“Baby, yes,” you responded with a smirk, waiting for her to let go of your wrists so you could do what you needed to do. When she didn’t, you merely lifted your brow, eyes hardening.

Wanda looked at you with pleading in her eyes which also flickered to the silver shine of the handcuffs, her wrists buzzing as they remembered the cold, hard embrace of them. Finally, she gave in, slowly letting go of your wrists.

“That’s it,” you whispered with a sharp grin. “You listen so well.”

Wanda’s soft cheeks blushed a gentle maroon as she instinctively put her wrists behind her back and leaned forward, letting her chin rest on your shoulder. You could feel how warm her body was, so close to you.

Leaning forward, you cuffed her wrists behind her back and guided her to sit back against the couch properly. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” you asked in an innocent tone as you moved to get up, letting your knee brush the thing in her pants that indeed was very hard.

The maroon in her cheeks deepened. Wanda watched you, her red hair slightly covering her lips which were already agape and letting out measured, heavy breaths. You stood before her, letting your knees touch her bent ones, and pulled your shirt over your head. Wanda’s eyes followed you the way a lion follows its prey, tracking every little movement, totally locked in for the kill, nostrils flaring with the scent of blood. There was no mistaking that where dominance lacked in Wanda, lust replaced it. If you didn’t make her follow your rules, you were sure she would be fucking you every minute of the day with her enhanced strap.

While you had spent working Wanda up all night, you had also worked up yourself. You could feel the wetness in your underwear as you stripped down to wearing only those lacy black panties, your clothes and bra left discarded on the carpet at Wanda’s feet. She was pitching a tent now, squirming at the mere sight of you. You’d trained her so well.

“I can’t recall you ever being this whiny,” you chuckled as you slowly and gracefully got back on Wanda’s lap, your core buzzing with the new exposure. As you straddled her, you let your buzzing core line with her crotch, settling down on her bulge and sighing deeply with satisfaction. Wanda made an incoherent noise and twitched, squirming more as you sat right on her strap. With the pressure, you could feel even more how wet you were at the center, your closeness with Wanda now increased with the absence of another layer.

Wanda, distracted from your slight as she struggled to remain calm with the incredible warmth of you directly on her, let her eyes graze over your bare chest. Her arms twitched behind her, cuffs clinking, and you couldn’t help but laugh at her obvious attempt to touch you before remembering she was tied. She let out a groan that escalated into another whine.

“See? Whiny thing,” you remarked. Letting your fingers tangle in Wanda’s hair, admiring just how pretty she was, you suddenly rolled your hips over her with the perfect amount of pressure. Wanda gasped, the cuffs clinking harder as her body jerked in an instinct to grab your hips. Chuckling, you rolled your hips again, feeling through the thin fabric of your panties and the soft fabric of Wanda’s sweatpants as your clit rubbed onto the hardness of her cock. Wetness gushed more out of you.

“Fuck, baby,” Wanda whined as you began to grind down on her cock, the mere image of your nearly naked body straddling her lap, your back arching just right, your tits so near to her face, would have been enough for her to get the release she desperately needed if you were not denying her of it.

And God how pretty she looked. Her green eyes so full of shadow now, brimming with lust, staring up at you from under her brows, something between a lip bite and a smirk on her face. Her red hair fell more in front of her face now, shadowing it further, brows creasing with frustration. That was what you desired most about Wanda—how deeply and with fiery passion she desired you right back.

A moan escaped your lips as you watched her, how worked up she was, the way she was trying not to buck her hips up to meet your grinding, her cock warm and twitchy under the tense fabric of her pants as you rolled your clit over it, feeling your folds slip together with how wet you were now. Torturing her, teasing her.

“I’m gonna—”

“No,” you instantly denied her, feeling her cock bulge more underneath your slit. “You’re not allowed.”

“But—” Wanda tried to argue breathily, her voice raspy and heavy, brows still creased with frustration.

“Hold it,” you demanded, letting your fingers tug harshly at her hair. “Be a good girl for me and hold it. You can wait, can’t you? Is this all it takes to make you spill?”

The whine that escaped from that woman’s lips was enough to push you three steps closer to the edge.

“I-I’ve been waiting all night,” she groaned, closing her eyes now, squeezing them shut hard. She looked so cute, wincing, gritting her teeth together, the cuffs clinking wildly as she squirmed and tried to not buck her hips into you.

“You can wait longer,” you harshly spat, breath heavy as you grinded yourself more wildly, bouncing on her bulge, tugging hard at her soft hair. “Fuck… fuck…” Your stomach tightened, hole clenching around nothing as you finally reached your orgasm.

Wanda threw her head back and squeezed her eyes shut, teeth clenching so hard that sharp pains erupted in her jaws, as she used every ounce of strength in her to not cum. She was desperate for release, but she was more desperate to obey you and please you.

Nosediving into Wanda’s neck, you inhaled her glorious scent as you came down from your high, moaning softly in her ear that burned at the sound, slowing your hips down. She whined pathetically in your ear, practically trembling under you.

Pulling away, you got up slightly and saw that there was now a large dark wet spot right on Wanda’s crotch. First thinking she had cum without telling you but then remembering that she would never do that without telling you, you realized it was your wetness that had seeped through your underwear, mixed with a little bit of her precum helplessly leaking in her pants. Clear strings kept you connected to the wet spot as you lifted, standing up from her lap.

Wanda already looked like she was in incredible pain. Her lips were ajar, head leaning against the couch cushion, her crotch still bulged now with a pathetic wet spot on it.

“You’re pathetic,” you told her with a chuckle as you kicked your pants down your legs and to the floor. Wanda peaked at this, sitting up a little better.

“I need to be inside you,” she told you directly. Just because Wanda submitted to you did not make her unable to be lustfully honest with you. “It hurts, baby, I need to be inside.”

Heat washed over you at her declaration of need for you, hitting you right in your clit that was still throbbing. As much as you loved torturing her endlessly, you also always anticipated finally giving her what she wanted.

But you weren’t quite done yet.

Going closer to her, you uncuffed the handcuffs and instead pulled something else out of the drawer of the end table.

Wanda’s leash and collar.

An excellent scarlet leather, her leash and collar were tools you rarely used, but when you did, it made Wanda weak. She was already practically drooling as you clipped the collar around her pretty neck and clipped the leash to the ring at the front, letting the cold metal chain of the leash zip through your hands as you tugged on it, forcing Wanda’s head closer to you.

But now Wanda’s hands were free, and they were all over you. Grabbing at your tits, your hardened nipples, scratching your waist, groping your hips. Her eyes stared up at you blankly as you held the leash in your hand.

Power. Control. Authority. These were things that no one had ever been able to boast having over Wanda. She was always the one with the power.

Except with you. You now controlled her, leather and chain in palm, collar digging at the tenderness of her neck.

Smirking, you leaned down and pressed a soft, gentle kiss on Wanda’s lips before you slowly laid down on the other end of the couch, legs spread open, pussy red and glistening.

“C’mere,” was all you had to say, and Wanda was already lowering herself between your legs, frantically pushing down her sweatpants to reveal her scarlet enhanced strap that bounced and poked at your inner thigh.

“Wait,” you ordered right as she started to line herself up with you. She stopped, eyes snapping up at you impatiently but also expectantly, ready to take your orders but overwhelmed with physical need. “Beg,” you whispered, tugging on the leash in your hand, causing Wanda’s head to jerk forward. “I want you to beg for my pussy.”

Wanda melted, lowering herself down so she was closer to you. “Please,” she started, her hand coming to rest on your neck gently. “Please let me have your pussy.” Nearly panting, she left a hot kiss at the corner of your jaw. “Please let me fuck you. I need your pussy. I need to be inside you. Please let me.” There was pain in her voice, her cock poking again at your inner thigh, nearly hot to the touch from the intensity of the magic flowing within her. “Please, please, please.” She left rushed, heavy kisses all up and down your jaw, her hands slipping under you to grab at your ass, her hips trembling between your open legs. Your hole ached for her.

“Fine,” you whispered, turning your face to nip at the tip of her ear, causing her to yelp. “Fuck me, pathetic thing.”

With a groan of excitement, Wanda grabbed her cock and lined it with your entrance, recklessly snapping her hips forward to shove herself inside you. Though she was large enough to still stretch you, she slipped in with ease from how wet your cunt already was. Her cock filled you, swarming all the way inside until she landed at your cervix, causing you to yell out and throw your head back in a mix of pleasure and pain.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, her face feeling hot with embarrassment as she laid it on your cool chest. “Fuck, sorry,” she apologized as she started to wildly fuck you, every inch of her cock burying deep inside you. Since she was so large, she usually started off slow with you, but she was giving you every bit of her, her cock going as deep as it could physically go inside you. You could feel her in your lower belly, rearranging your guts as she pumped inside you with chaotic rhythm.

There was hardly any trace of rhythm as Wanda plowed herself inside you, gently biting at the skin of your chest and digging her nails into your hips to keep you still. You were sure that if you tried to leave now, Wanda might murder you whether or not on accident. Though she submitted to you, she took absolute hold of you once you gave yourself to her.

A shriek of pain escaped your lips, your hands scratching hard at Wanda’s warm back under her shirt. Her sweatpants were shrugged at her knees, her ass bare in the air as it plowed between your legs. The couch squeaked shamefully under the weight of your bodies. Her leash bounced against her chest, the other end held loosely in your palm still.

“Sorry,” Wanda mumbled over and over each time you made a noise of pain, but she made no effort to slow down until her hips started to catch. Wanda’s moans turned higher in pitch as she buried her face into your neck and suddenly stopped, pulling her cock out of you and hovering her hips completely still between your legs.

Catching your breath, you tried to turn your head to look at Wanda, but her face was buried in your neck. She was even holding her breath.

“Wanda, what’s wrong?” you asked with concern, tugging softly at her leash which made her let out a little hum.

“I… I have to stop for a second,” she breathed hard into your neck finally.

“Why?”

“Because I—I keep—I keep almost cumming.”

Your lips twirled into a curl as the woman trembled on top of you.

“Keep going,” you firmly demanded.

Wanda made no movement, only shifted her face in your neck. “I just need a—”

“No.” With a harsh tug on her leash, Wanda lifted her head and looked at you, eyes crazed. “I said keep going.”

Wanda made a face in argument, but you locked your legs around her hips and forced her down between your legs again, reaching down and grabbing her cock with your hand.

“Ah!” Wanda started as you basically forced her back inside you, sighing at the stretch as she filled you again.

Wanda hung her head and made no movement, breathing hard in an obvious effort to control herself. With how sensitive her enhanced strap was, even feeling the pressure of your tight cunt around her was too much to bear.

“Fuck me,” you demanded, yanking harder again at her leash and letting it slap against her. The skin of her neck around the collar was starting to blush red.

Taking a deep breath, Wanda slowly rolled her hips and pumped herself in and out of you, simultaneously letting out a whine. “Please, can I please c—”

“No,” you responded, grabbing her hips and forcing her to go faster. “You can’t cum until I say you can, and you can’t stop, either.”

Biting her lip so hard it turned white and squeezing her eyes shut, Wanda fucked you painfully. While it hurt her to hold back her orgasm that had been a long time coming all night, she was completely lost in total pleasure. You felt so wet and warm around her, so tight and welcoming, your walls clenching around her shaft. She was obsessed with you and being inside you. It was her favorite place to be, yet it was where she had the least control.

“Faster,” you demanded, and Wanda attempted to pick up her speed, but every single movement was an offensive attack on her control. She was almost pale, trembling above you and not daring to open her eyes in fear that the sight of you would make her spill.

Growing impatient, you grunt and push her away, her cock leaving you with a wet pop. Confused, Wanda let you grab her and push her to the ground, forcing her to sit against the bottom part of the couch as you found yourself straddling her again. Lining your entrance with her tip, you gave Wanda no time to prepare as you slammed yourself down on her strap, tugging her leash at the same time.

“Fuck!” Wanda yelled out as you fucked yourself onto her on the floor, bouncing up and down on her cock that now hammered harshly inside you. Wanda’s nails dug hard into your sides, drawing blood, but you continued forcing every inch of her cock inside you with sickeningly wet sloshing noises.

“Baby, baby, baby, baby,” Wanda breathed, panting, eyes closed. She started to push at your hips, kicking her legs and trying to get you off of her. “Baby, I can’t stop it, I can’t stop.” She pushed hard at you to get you off her, and you knew it was because she had to ask to cum inside you, and if you decided to deny her, there was no way she’d be able to stop herself. And oh, how Wanda wanted so badly to be good for you.

You’d only let Wanda do it inside once before, knowing the value of the reward that you so often hung over her head during sex. You would promise to let her cum inside then shove her off you at the last moment, forcing her to cum all over your stomach or tits instead.

Licking your teeth with your tongue, you cradled the back of Wanda’s head, leash held taut in your hand, and came close to her face to whisper, “Cum inside me.”

Wanda’s eyes snapped open, and as if your words were a remote control to the machine of her body, she released.

Expletives came rushing out of Wanda’s mouth one after the other, most of them mostly incoherent from the incessant moan that escaped her throat. Wanda’s cock finally bulged one last time before unloading inside you, her hot cum shooting deep in your tummy. You forced yourself down as far as possible on her cock so that her cum would go deep inside you, biting down on her trembling shoulder as she filled you up with a seemingly endless amount of cum.

It was several moments before Wanda was able to finally compose herself, head thrown back against the seat of the couch, her body basically limp. The skin around her collar was deep red now from how much you had tugged on the leash.

As much as you loved seeing Wanda being torturously teased, seeing her wonderfully relieved was almost equal in beauty. She was so relaxed now, a stupid smile on her slightly sweaty face, her cock gleefully limp inside you, her cum nestled in your tummy.

Humming, you kissed her neck and whispered, “You like cumming in my unprotected cunt, don’t you?”

If possible, Wanda’s skin blushed harder as she slowly nodded, her hands gently rubbing up and down your waist.

You grazed your smirking lips against her ear. “Wanna do it again?”

With that, her strap stiffened inside you.

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: boyfriend Katsuki's strange guilty pleasure, harassment, nasty online comments, noncon ideations, online pervs

♡ FEM reader

“I’m borrowing your laptop, Kats!” you call. 

He’s in the bath, so you’re not sure he heard you, but also, you don’t think it’s any big deal. You’ve been a couple for years now, and living together has only brought you closer. Besides, it’s not as if you’re going to snoop or anything—you’re just going to check something real quick while you charge yours.

You rethink it when you have to write in his password. Maybe it would be better to just wait for your own machine to get ready—it’s not as if you’re in a hurry or anything. But then again, at the same time, it doesn’t hurt to give it your best guess.

Right on the first try—your name and birthday. Though you appreciate the gesture, he really should see into getting something stronger than that. The information he is privy to through his work is quite sensitive, after all.

But anyway. Onto the task at hand. You click into the browser. It’s already got some tabs open. 

You don’t mean to let your eyes wander, but it just can’t be helped. Katsuki sits before this thing, sometimes for hours during the day. Of course, most of it is surely work-related, writing incident rapports and profiles and the like. But this page right here… you don’t know… something about it seems strange.

“Some type of forum…” you mutter to no one but yourself. Katsuki had never struck you as the type to neither read nor partake in other people’s banter. Again, you’d promised yourself you weren’t going to pry, but it only takes a few seconds to read the comments—it’s over before you can stop yourself.

I bet she’s a squealer, like a really cute squealer

I wanna tie her up in an abandoned building somewhere no one will hear her scream

Same, but not on the bed though, on the floor and take her like a bitch

I‘m sure dynamight fucks her every day, i know i would! 

Dynamight’s such a lucky guy I hate him

You blink reading through the comments—completely having forgotten what you were doing in the first place. Who are these people? What are these comments about? You keep scrolling, eyebrows knit, and then you see it—your name. 

She looks like the type of girl that lets her man fuck her anywhere he wants whenever he wants

I’d literally kill for an hour of having her alone. And I’d make good use of that hour. Make her dump that blond asshat to be with me.

If she were my girlfriend, I’d keep her leashed to the bed with a collar. Can’t have other guys looking at her when she’s mine.

I’d only feed her cum. Trust me, she wouldn’t go hungry.

You’re eyes are fully wide now. Are all these chats about you? What’s Katsuki doing in a place like this? Reading all these sick comments as if he isn’t your boyfriend.

“Hey!” A shout knocks you out of your trance—and startles you enough that it very nearly even knocked you off balance.

“What’re you doin’ on my computer?” he asks in accusation while taking hurried and thundering steps toward you—still wet from his shower, wearing nothing but a white towel around his lower half.

“Uh,” you struggle to find your voice, heart hammering in your chest, head spinning—feeling both caught red-handed and the exact opposite. “Uhm, nothing—I just—”

He rips the laptop off the desk, angry eyes staring at the screen—then quickly going round.

His face pales. You can practically see the goosebumps as they rise in a rush across his skin. 

He swallows thickly, jaw-locked—doesn’t even dare look at you as he asks the question, “Did you read?”

You almost consider saying no but decide against it. This wasn’t something you could just ignore. No, you needed an explanation. Who knows? It might be completely innocent.

“Some of it…” you confess.

He shudders, and then he places the laptop down again, slowly, soundless. He rests his hands on the table and leans his weight on them, head bowed, voice small.

“I just… I… It’s, well…” He scratches the back of his neck, looking for the words.

You’ve never seen him like this before. Katsuki is nervous. But you suppose it’s for good reason.

“It’s not what you think, okay?” he declares, finally looking at you. 

His face is something unfamiliar—riddled with this guilty anxiety you’ve never pictured before—frazzled. It’s completely odd.

“Okay,” you say calmly. You don’t know if you’re angry or not yet. You know you probably should be, but the look on the man’s face is making you feel sorry for him.

“I don’t agree with any of this,” he insists, gesturing to the laptop. 

“Well, yeah, I sure hope so,” you say, although the question still remains, “But why are you on there then?”

“It…” He’s blushing—profusely—bright vermillion-tipped ears and apple-red cheeks. He looks away again. “I don’t know…”

I don’t know is an excuse you’ve never heard come out of his mouth. In fact, excuse or not, it’s a phrase you didn’t think him capable of. But look at him now, using it the same childish way a kid would after being caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“You better not lie to me, Katsuki Bakugou—or I know someone who’s sleeping on the couch,” you finally find your strict tone. He’s crazy if he thinks this is something you’ll just forget about.

He sighs and then he falls into his desk chair, back hunched, hiding his face, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you close, nuzzling his head against you, mumbling under his breath, “It’s sick, and it makes me sick…”

You wait, giving him the time to figure it out.

“But it…” he continues. You feel his hands tremble just a bit before he confesses, “It makes me feel good.”

You’re not sure you understand, and so you ask for clarification, “What makes you feel good?”

He sighs again, and this time, his voice comes out dark and lusty, leaving no room for confusion, “To know that I have something everybody else wants.”

♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist ♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist ♡ ALL masterlists

[denxxxphelia]

whos gonna let decima- [i am beat to a pulp]