#tw: denial

[conditioned-to-obey]

"I can fix her" I can lay her down on an altar like a soft spring lamb and sweetly slit her throat. I can watch her smile to herself as she lulls into the warm familiar embrace of a gentle, sleeplike death. I can devoutly relish the honeyed last breath of something pure. I can use her spilt blood and still heart to resurrect her, just to do it all over again.

[candiid-caniine]

my favorite thing about denial is the opportunities for mindfuckery. gaslighting and emotional manipulation, in particular.

"if you want to cum so bad, why do you get so wet when you're denied?"

"you came just now. yes you did. are you such an edged-out slut that you don't remember what it feels like? i know you came, and i didn't give you permission, so now you're in big trouble."

"but your hole feels so much better when it's denied. don't you want to make me feel good?"

"if you could just stop touching yourself so much, maybe you'd be able to prove you deserve to cum."

"every time i tell you 'no,' you get wetter. i don't care if you don't believe me, i can feel it."

"your orgasms are so special for me, and i don't want them to lose their specialness. don't you want to save them for special occasions? if you just cum all the time, i'll get so bored of it..."

"if you won't give them up for me, you don't really respect me."

"only sluts cum every day. do you want to be a slut? because i have no problems treating you like one."

"when you stop being so pathetic, maybe i'll let you cum."

fuck. when they say shit like this to me,,

[tummywrites]

you had the life. happy family, good grades, star of the softball and cheer team, eventually picked for your favorite sorority. every frat bro flirted with you, and every one of your sisters was jealous of you. you were a size 0, no one was skinner than you in your whole house and you knew girls envied you for it, you took joy in watching the fatties you were supposed to consider "sisters" run to the bathroom after dinners at the sorority house, the sounds of their puke hitting the toilet as they tried to purge, desperate for a body as perfect as yours. you meet a hot guy at a frat party one night, and he pours a few too many drinks down your throat and for the first time you're bloated: an unnatural roundness on your otherwise stick thin figure. you notice this and when you get back to your dorm room, drunk and stumbling and just barely able to make it into your bed and grab your vibrator, rutting your hips helplessly into your bed. your belly was so swollen, so full, and you could feel the liquid sloshing around in there, trying to making you sick, but all it did was make you horny.

why?

the next time you felt that feeling, it was at a tailgate and you were there with all your sisters & and their boyfriends, waiting for the game to finish so you could go to the frats and party. you got drunk again and this time you got hungry, so you walked over to the guy's side of the area and grabbed a slice of pizza, trying to avoid eye contact with your sisters nearby who you had overheard complaining about how "fat" they were getting (as they went from 100 to 110 pounds after spending every night partying, not eating all day and drinking all night) you laughed at those girls in your mind as you stood there in your size 0 slip dress, flaunting your body to the girls who fought to look like you. you devoured the first slice of pizza with that on your mind, and couldn't help yourself as you grabbed a second one, and with that, a few bread bites. you eyed the snack tray on the table, with baggies of chips and a cooler full of sugary sodas, but then you saw your Big sister glaring at you from across the room and you glanced down, recoiling in horror (and clenching your legs in arousal) your stomach was rounded out, pulling your dress tight across your belly in an almost obscene way. without a word, you grabbed your bag and stumbled off, embarrassed and drunk and so full, but so turned on for seemingly no reason. why would you be turned on by being so bloated from countless beers and greasy pizza, then being caught by one of the other girls there while you made a pig of yourself?

what sealed your fate was over christmas break, when your high school friends wanted to get together again and have a dinner party. you were still as thin as you had always been, but it lately you did feel a little resistance as you went to tug up your lulu pants which was unusual. your friends from high school, however, were not so lucky. your high school best friend had gained at least 40, maybe 50 pounds--a once skinny girl with a flat chest and stomach, now spilling out of a crop top and skirt, a muffin top cascading over the waistband of a skirt. your other friend, a once sporty guy who hadn't gained a day in his life, now walked in with a shirt that clung uncomfortably to his gut, which brought back that hot feeling in your pussy, your clit throbbing as you saw him, pot belly absolutely obscene to you. everyone brought a dish to welcome you home, and they all insisted you try each dish, then seconds, and thirds of this dish, this that one, and then try this one again--

good thing you had drinks.

by the end of the night, you were so nauseous you were convinced were you going to spew. you had ate so much, potato dishes soaked in heavy cream, the thickest mac n cheese you had seen in your life, cheesecakes, and at least 48 chicken wings, you had lost count after the first two dozen you had shoved down your throat in between cans of beer. you were seeing double, but you saw clearly the face your best friend was making as you chugged down another beer and before you could stop, there was a deafening pop! and the button on your jeans fell to the floor, bouncing off the cabinet and landing square in the center of the kitchen. you were so embarrassed, tears welling to your eyes. in a rush, you screamed for your friends to leave, refusing to listen to them as they tried to reason with you. after you kicked them out, you walked back into the kitchen, still crying and hot with shame, staggering as you try to bend over and grab the button that taunted you from the floor. you held it in your palm, then looked down at your belly, which was rounded out further than it ever had, and obscured your view of your feet as you glanced down, the movement sloshing all the countless cans of beer in you. your crop top couldn't hide the actual belly you were forming now, and you looked up to your reflection in the black tv. fuck. you looked pregnant. you looked at the cheesecake on the counter as you wiped your tears, one hand grabbing and the round gut spilling out of your jeans. you reached out for the tray, and without pausing ate the rest, not even bothering with silverware as you glutted yourself. before you could stop yourself, you had finished the whole cheesecake, then the rest of the mac n cheese, and then stumbled over yourself to grab the last two cans of beer, pouring them into a big cup together, throwing your head back in desperation as you drank both in seconds. you fall over chairs and tables to get over to the couch, belly so distended you let out a whimper whenever its jostled, and pass out there.

ten years later, you're 29 years old and stepping off the scale in front of your fridge. your mark your weight on the fridge, and open up while reaching for the closest bottle of wine. despite your attempts to lose weight, you've gained 15 pounds in the past month. you're 302 pounds, you wear a 4XL and a 24 in jeans, which are barely hanging on. your ass barely fits in the drivers seat of your car and your bed creaks when you lay on it. you've broken your computer chair so you moved a dining chair into your bedroom, but your thighs spilled over the side, so you had to give up the computer. you hadn't talked to most of your friends in years, probably not since new years after that christmas, where you first fell into your gluttony and addiction. you spent the rest of that break stuffing your face to cope with your feelings, and by the time you were supposed to back to school you were 30 pounds heavier and not a single item of clothing fit your growing body. you were 140 pounds, and the moment you stepped out of your car on shaky legs in front of your sorority sisters, you knew it was over. they all began to laugh, heaving and pointing in malice at the inches of overhang you had falling over your skirt, which was only zipped up halfway, covered by a shirt that looked like it was painted on. you dropped out within a few days and spent the days partying, drinking, and stuffing your face at the end of the night, rubbing your pussy until you came. you couldn't resist the feeling food gave you.

[callllio]

[br3akm3]

some pretty bruises i've collected <3

[shhhsecretsideblog]

No Time To Hide

This was something I wrote for an Imagine You’re Pregnant prompt, original post here. Thought I’d make a side blog and post it here as well cos I really enjoyed writing this and might be tempted to write more birth fics

Eva opened the wooden window of her small cottage, letting the cool autumn air whip through her hair. The smell of woodland and damp grass filled her nostrils as she took a long, calming breath.

Describing herself as a green witch, Eva loved her little cottage hidden away from everyone deep within the rich forest. Coven life was never something that appealed to her; the idea of being constantly surrounded by other witches, their opinions and their magic, was torture for Eva. She much preferred her own company, free to live her life the way she wanted. Free to use her own style of magic, without the distraction or judgement of others. It was why she decided to live here in the heart of the forest. There was a river that flowed through the centre of the woodland, the ancient trees stood tall around her home, and the forest floor was packed with all manner of plant life. It was perfect; just her, the elements and Mother Nature.

Despite her preference of living alone, as time passed Eva began to yearn for something… it wasn’t romance or friendship, but the idea of a child. Children were never something she had considered, but as she grew older Eva had begun to see the benefit of having children. Someone to pass all her knowledge and wisdom to, someone to love and care for and share all that she’d learnt. She wanted to pass on this way of living, to create a legacy.

A few months ago, nine to be exact, she enchanted a local townsman - not that he would ever remember it. And now here she was, rocking side to side and cradling the underneath of her heavily pregnant stomach, preparing herself as birth drew near.

The cramps had started yesterday afternoon, small and barely noticeable at first. Eva had been terribly uncomfortable these last few weeks, suffering constant aches and twinges, so she did not immediately give them any thought. However when they got sharper and more frequent, forcing her to pause whatever she was doing, they soon got her full attention.

Not knowing how long this could take but knowing she would eventually lose mobily as her labour progressed, she collected all her preparations and got the supplies ready. Blankets, towels, sterilised medical equipment, all within easy reach in the main living room. Snacks and drinks lay available on the coffee table and a pot of hot water sat by the open fire keeping a constant warm temperature.

“Mmmnnngghhhhh” Eva moaned deeply as the latest wave peaked. She leaned forward resting her elbows on the window sill, jutting her hips back and swaying them slightly. The baby was low and heavy in her pelvis, the head pressing downwards as her body slowly opened up.

When the latest pain had eased Eva straightened and looked down at her swollen stomach, speaking lovingly towards her unborn babe. “You’re really coming aren’t you little one? I’ve not done this before so please take it easy on me.” Her child responded with a gentle kick prompting the witch to smile.

Over the next few hours Eva got into a good rhythm riding out the contractions, each one hitting sooner than the last and with incrementally more vigour. She paced, rocked, squatted, kneeled, trying to find any comfortable position to ride out the waves. Her low and heavy stomach made moving from position to position cumbersome; one hand staying on her bump or her lower back at any given time, while the other kept her supported on whatever furniture or surface was nearby.

As the contractions ramped up, creeping steadily towards unbearable, the witch’s teeth clenched tight and she growled behind them. Three minutes apart. Holding on to the back of her armchair Eva lowered herself into a deep squat. Sweat covered every inch of her body, her thin linen dress and underwear clinging to every curve of her fertile frame.

Her hips were in agony, the pressure building. She opened her mouth to wail but no sound came out, shocked into silence by a sudden burst between her open thighs. Immediately the pressure eased and Eva could catch her breath again. The wooden floor below her feet was soaked; her waters had broken.

“Oooooooh okay- We’re getting so close- Are you ready to come out now baby? I cannot wait to meet you.”

Eva stood up, cradling the curve of her spasming bump. Her bare feet stepped ungainly out of the puddle on the floor and she quickly threw a tea towel down to soak up the worst of it.

“It’s just you and me, little one. We can do this.” Eva reassured herself, rubbing circles around her swell, preparing for the intensity to soar now her waters had gone.

However, before the next contraction could strike the witch startled at the sudden loud interruption of ringing bells. Rapid and urgent, the piercing chimes echoed all around her cottage, howling through every room.

Witch hunter!

The enchantments set up around her hidden home in the forest hadn’t gone off in decades - she had almost forgotten the wards were still in place. And yet the incessant ringing immediately chilled her to her very bones, suddenly haunting her with long forgotten memories of the brutal murders of her fellow witches.

Her stomach clenched with a new, different sensation - fear. At any other time Eva would arm herself with weapons and potions and storm outside on the offence, making sure to take down her enemy before he had the opportunity to strike. But now… the pressing weight in her hips and the constant aching of her contracting womb showed she was in no position to attack, or even defend herself, if put up against a murderous witch hunter.

She had to get out of here. The warning bells throughout her home would soon reach the ears of the witch hunter and then he would beeline straight to her hidden sanctuary. She needed to find somewhere else to hide.

Distracted by the chimes, Eva was unprepared for the next contraction when it ripped across her body, rooting her to the spot. She doubled over in pain, palms planted firmly on her thighs.

“Unnnhhhhhhhhhhhh no-no-no-no……” she whimpered through strained breaths as the pain skyrocketed and her belly hardened. Panting heavily the witch ignored growing desire to bear down. Her waters had broken, she was probably almost fully dilated, if not already. But she couldn’t stay here. If she stayed, both her and her child would certainly be killed. She had to leave and find somewhere safe to deliver this baby.

After what felt like an eternity, the contraction finally faded and she bolted straight out the back door of her cottage, leaving barefoot with nothing but the clothes on her back. She had wasted precious minutes since the warning alarm riding out that last pain - she couldn’t afford to waste any more time gathering supplies to take with her. Eva took off as quickly as she could, disappearing deep into the lush green forest.

She barely got out of sight behind the first set of oak trees before another contraction was already upon her. Two minutes apart. Leaning against the rough bark of the nearest tree, Eva squeezed her eyes shut and tried hard to swallow the whimper creeping out her throat. The unbearable pressure was demanding in its silent request and her knees trembled with the effort of ignoring it. The baby was so heavy, and dangerously low. Feeling like it would just fall out if she took a step too wide. Yet she remained strong, persevering and weathering the storm in her uterus, determined to keep this baby inside of her until she got somewhere safe.

The second the pain let up an inch the witch was on the move again running as fast as she could across the forest floor. Over ferns and moss, rocks and fallen branches, thankfully the hardened soles of her bare feet were used to the uneven terrain. She made sure to keep off the main footpath and stayed hidden within the dense trees, but it made for more of an obstacle course than she’d like. With added weight of her labouring belly she couldn’t move at speed and on a few occasions nearly lost her balance. But deeper and deeper into the forest she went.

The trees became her allies, providing cover and support when she was forced to stop with each new powerful contraction… 90 seconds apart... 60 seconds apart. A large, ancient willow tree with an unusually curved trunk was the latest comrade in her fight for survival. Eva had pitched herself within the alcove of the trunk, out of sight and leaning back against the bark, lifting the weight of her hardened stomach with both hands. The long hanging branches brushed the forest floor in a circle around her position, hiding the witch behind a nature-made curtain.

“Grnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Eva could no longer hold in the animalistic sounds of her extremely advanced labour. The baby was right there, nestled deep in her widened cervix, desperate to be born.

“Nooooooooo-please-baby-wait-a-bit-moreeeeeee-” she begged through gritted teeth. The next contraction started before the current had even finished and the need to push was too powerful to refrain. Knees bending and thighs widening, Eva’s body pushed of its own accord.

It felt right, pushing. It was what she was meant to be doing - to follow nature's primal instinct. And yet she couldn’t forget the very real threat of the witch hunter, still hidden somewhere in this forest, poised and primed to kill her.

The fierce contraction continued to hold her hostage. A long grunt escaped her mouth as her body pushed along with the pain.

“I can hear you, witch!” A gravelled voice taunted from across the thick forest.

Eva’s eyes widened and immediately clamped her mouth shut, biting her lips together drawing blood. Half squatting against the tree, every muscle in her body continued to strain as it forced the baby lower and lower and lower. She couldn’t stop pushing even if she tried. One of the hands cradling her stomach shakily ventured south, lifting up her dress and feeling between her legs. Through the thin damp fabric of her underwear she could feel the baby’s head begin to enter the world.

She panted silently, tears streaming down her cheeks. The forest stretched out for miles, completely uninhabited in all directions; she was all alone. There was nowhere to go and no one to help. Heavily pregnant, being hunted, and seconds away from birthing this child.

A loud snap of wood echoed from a few metres away. Eva suddenly bolted like a startled deer, consumed entirely by fear and survival, and disappeared again into the thickened wood. She ran, wide legged, the heavy boulder of a baby’s head deep in her pelvis screaming to be born. Push! Her body cried out. Stop running and PUSH!

But she couldn’t. If she stopped she’d be dead.

Another contraction ripped through her as she ran. 30 seconds apart. Her muscles tensed and squeezed as she ran, her body trying to force the baby out despite the mother’s desire to hold on a bit longer. She could barely stay upright, the raw adrenaline no longer enough to keep this birth at bay. Her legs became jelly, all she could feel was pain and pressure and fear. Eva faltered, she couldn’t go any further. Out in the open she planted her hands against the nearest tree, widening her stance, and pushed. Hard.

“Mnnnnnnnrrrrgggggghhhhhhh!!!”

More of her baby’s head began to appear behind the fabric of her tight underwear.

“Ohhhhhhhhhh-Hecateeeeeeeeeeee!” she whimpered, praying to the deity.

Her baby was close to fully crowning, she could feel it. The white hot agony of being widened and stretched beyond anything she imagined made her eyes water and throat nauseous. She retched, a dry heave, and desperately tried to catch a breath through the dual need to push and the sudden urge to vomit. The texture of the rough bark beneath her palms was the only thing keeping the witch semi-grounded and preventing her getting swept away in the overwhelming sensations currently tearing her body apart. Still bracing the tree, Eva’s head dipped as she took slow deep breaths, ignoring the instinct to push in order to ride out the sudden nausea.

An ominous whistling sound drifted through the trees carried on the wind. Eva could barely hear it over the thundering beating of her heart, that is until she heard:

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” The voice sang.

The witch hunter was close. But so was her baby... Eva felt between her legs again to evaluate just how bad her situation was. It was bad. Her underwear was stretched beyond repair as it housed a significant portion of her baby’s head, filling her cupped palm. Ignoring all the pain and her body��s pleas to push, she panted heavily and tried to think! She needed a plan to survive.

The witch hunter had physical strength, yes, but he did not know these woods like Eva did. This was her home, her sanctuary, and she knew every inch like the back of her hand. Beyond her laboured breaths and the unnerving whistling of the approaching witch hunter, Eva registered another sound nearby - the swooshing sound of running water. The river - she was by the river!

Lifting her head the witch frantically scanned the surrounding area, getting her bearings of where she’d ended up within the woodland. She was a few hundred yards from the river’s edge, about a mile from her cottage. It wasn’t an area she often visited because of…. That’s it! Okay, it wasn’t a great plan, and there was no way to know if it would work, but it was her only shot of survival.

She took a steadying breath through the current contraction squeezing her womb, fighting once more against the primal need to push. The baby’s head filled her underwear, millimetres from a full crown. If she pushed again there was no way she’d be able to stop until the head was fully born.

Whimpering through the pain Eva stood up straight, one hand staying between her legs, and she prepared herself to move. Just get to the river. She told herself before making her way unsteadily east.

The sound of rushing water grew louder as she stumbled slowly through the forest. One step. Another step. Nearly there. She knew exactly where to go, and where to avoid, desperately trying to stay focussed on her surroundings and not succumb to the agonising pain crowning between her thighs. Keep going.

“You can’t escape me, witch!” The voice threatened, getting closer.

Eva stumbled into the side of a tree, her bare shoulder scraping against the bark. Pausing, she took a brief moment to breathe through the pain. It was a mistake. The second she stopped to inhale deeply her body started bearing down again, forcing the baby down. Immediately the head came to a full crown in her damp underwear and she screamed.

“WITCH!” The murderous voice roared.

Eva turned and saw a flash of black leather through the distant trees, and it was coming her way. Cupping the baby’s head she tentatively wobbled forwards, knees trembling, staggering towards the riverbank. The blinding pain was constant, her eyes barely focussing. She had to make it to the exact right spot or her plan would certainly fail. Her footsteps were shaky but determined as she continued the last few carefully placed steps in her journey. Behind her the crunching sound of a disturbed forest floor drew ever closer.

Reaching the river’s edge Eva collapsed against the large boulder that sat on the grassy bank. She made it. Turning around against the stone, the cold granite pressed against her back as she faced the woods and waited for the imminent arrival of the witch hunter. But the baby’s head inched lower, her body stretched to its absolute limit. She wanted to cry, to howl, to scream. Instead she focussed inward, drawing on all the power from the earth under her feet, and taking a deep breath she finally, and intentionally, followed her body’s demands. Teeth gritted, a growl behind them, she pushed with everything she had. Her whole body trembled, bearing down against the pressure of the large round head slowly appearing between her thighs. The ears… a nose… she could feel it all. Her hands frantically scrambled under her dress and within seconds the baby’s head popped out into her underwear and she cupped it quickly within her palm. The relief was instant and for a brief moment Eva’s heart calmed as she held her child’s newly born crown.

The witch’s reprieve was short-lived as the approaching footsteps from behind one of the nearby trees resulted in another person soon entering the river's edge. The witch hunter was dark haired, full beard, but was not as athletic as Eva was expecting. There was sweat glistening on his temple and dripping down his neck, disappearing beneath a thick leather jacket. His mouth practically drooled at the sight of her and he gripped the long hunting knife in his hand. The lust for her death was haunting.

“At last… you’ve given it a good go, I’ll give you that, but you cannot escape your fate.” The man said as he took a step towards her, threateningly swishing the knife in readiness. “You are an abomination, evil incarnate. Witchcraft has no place here. My family has been taking your lot out for centuries. And it looks like I get the honour of not only killing you… but the next generation as well.” He glared at her pregnant swell.

“No- no! This- this child is innocent…” Eva panted, still holding the head of her half-born babe hidden under the draped fabric of her dress.

The witch hunter scoffed and took another two ominous steps in her direction through the fallen autumn leaves. Eva watched each step with a laser focus.

“No descendant of a witch is truly innocent.” He drawled, tilting his head with an unnerving animalistic incline. “Wickedness will run through its veins, there is no saving its soul.”

Eva couldn’t take her eyes off his feet, watching every step he took. She chose this location for a reason, knowing she needed to end up exactly here by the rivers edge - dangerously using herself as bait. His heavy boots crunched through the orange leaves, sauntering slowly towards her like he was toying with his prey. So close. Her heart stopped, breath held as Eva prayed to all the Goddesses for her plan to work. Then whoosh!

The witch hunter was suddenly hoisted in the air by his foot, caught in a primitive trap laid here many years ago by the previous inhabitants of these woods, whom were long dead and forgotten. The man roared as he was pulled sharply towards the sky, his arms flailing, the hunting knife falling from his hand in his shock.

Eva exhaled heavily and closed her eyes in pure relief. The steady thumping of heart pulsed around her body, beating once more now the immediate threat disappeared. The man yelled and shouted at her as he hung limply from the tree, but the sound barely registered with the witch. Her senses had been overtaken by the sudden movement of the baby, turning inside her, and an all too familiar urgent weight pressing down signalling her work was not yet over.

Eva tried to move but she was too far gone, too deep in labour, every muscle seemingly locked in position. “Unhhhhhhhh Hecate….. mnnnggghhhhh the baby- the baby is comingg…..” she whimpered, the pain splitting her in half as she was stretched once more with the baby’s shoulders. All her bodyweight was pressed back against the boulder, and she managed to sink towards the ground. Squatting deeply, her large rounded stomach rested heavily between her thighs.

“Ohhhh it’s coming…. I- need… mnghhhhhhhh I’ve got to… got to pushh...”

She ripped off her underwear as the next contraction started, freeing the baby’s head from the confines of the damp linen. With both hands ready to catch, the witch pushed with renewed determination. “Urghhhhhhhhhhhh!” One shoulder was out! Then the next shoulder. She took a breath, panting, holding the child dangling from her body. Eva became suddenly hyper-aware of the breeze and leaves, the nearby river and the crisp autumn air, all the elements surrounding them which her child was now being born directly into. Trembling, she beared down fiercely once more and within another few minutes a newly born witch entered the world.

Eva sobbed with relief, quickly pulling her daughter up over her stomach and placing her against her chest. The infant made a soft gurgling sound, her first breath, and then started to cry. To a new mother it was the most beautiful and reassuring sound in the world.

“Disgusting…. Filthy little vermin.” The witch hunter sneered with venom.

Eva had forgotten her audience and looked up with hatred at the man still swinging upside down from the tree. She held her baby tight and secure against her skin, as if shielding the child from the mere sight of him.

“You should drown that thing in the river.” He spat.

Red, blinding fury overwhelmed the new mother. With the pain gone and her baby safe in arms, pure fury raced through every pore of the witch’s body, consuming every atom of her being. Rising slowly, babe still clutched in hand, Eva approached the hanging man with eyes glowing with revenge.

“When I get free, I'm gonna enjoy splitting you from ear to ear!” He roared.

Her head tilted in observation watching the man’s disgusting arrogance in his determination to kill her despite still struggling against the rope binding his leg. Apparently unaware his threats were idle and his attempts to escape the trap were futile.

The witch bent down carefully to pick up the large silver blade that had fallen amongst the browning leaves. The man didn’t see the new mother pick up his weapon, and didn't notice the switch when the hunted became the hunter. Eva stalked silently, murderously towards the hanging man.

Before he could open his mouth to mock or belittle or challenge her, Eva’s hand swished past his vision in a flash, the blade gliding through the witch hunter's throat like a knife through butter. The man’s eyes widened, taking a heartbeat to register what just happened, before the cascade of blood erupted from the open wound and he began to choke and splutter.

Eva dropped the knife.

Delicately readjusting and shhhing the newborn cradled in her arm, she took one final look and started their journey back to the cottage. Eva found comfort in the sounds of the forest; of the flowing river, the whistle of a breeze, and the drip drip dripping of her enemies blood now pooling onto the forest floor.

[jewish-vents]

Six million of us died. My ancestors were either slaughtered, separated from their cultures and families, or traumatized for life. Yet people still speculate what the 'bad ending' of WWII would be. How is this ending not bad enough?

↑ this. so many people have speculated "what if Hitler won" and like... he's not some cartoon villain of world domination, he was an actual leader who lead a very serious and devastating genocide.

6 million Jews dead, entire families and histories wiped, thousands of books burned to ash. is this not bad enough for you? or is it only the "bad ending" when it starts affecting you as well?

- 🐬

[spot-the-antisemitism]

https://www.tumblr.com/tamamita/760454157641613312/another-six-killed-1st-september-2024

for the blocklist:

- “israel killed the 6 hostages”

- “all zionists should kts”

- “IOF”

Wouldn't expect anything more than what's essentially rebranded holocaust denial while calling for Jewish genocide from Tamamita

[applesauce42069]

With people like Candace Owens spreading misinformation about medical experiments at Auschwitz, it is important to be literate in this aspect of Holocaust history.

TW below the cut for: medical experimentation and malpractice, forced sterilization, antisemitism, anti-roma and sinti racism, discussion of concentration camps and the Holocaust. I will not include any photos. My source for everything is this book, published by the Auschwitz-Birkenau Museum.

There were more Nazi "doctors" at Auschwitz than I will be able to cover in this post. It is important to note that these "doctors" did not just perform experiments, but they also played a direct role in the genocide of the Jews at Auschwitz by participating in "selections." During these "selections," prisoners or prospective prisoners were chosen to be sent to the gas chambers. I say prospective prisoners because a selection usually took place at arrival upon the camp, with most children, the elderly, and anyone unfit for work, or for some people,just because, were sent immediately to the gas chambers without even being registered in the camp. This is a process that is unique to Auschwitz-Birkenau.

Josef Mengele is by far the most famous SS "doctor" at Auschwitz. He was the head physician of the sector of Auschwitz II - Birkenau which held Roma and Sinti families, before the camp was "liquidated" which mean that every man, woman and child in it were sent to the gas chambers. Mengele performed experiments related to twins, people with dwarfism, and a disease called noma (don't look it up its gross).

Lorenc Andreas Menasche and his twin sister were experimented on by Josef Mengele. Menasche testified about undergoing experimentation with his sister:

"They also gave us injections all over our bodies. As a result of these injections, my sister fell ill. Her neck swelled up as a result of a severe infection. They sent her to the hospital and operated on her without anesthetic in primitive conditions"

Elzbieta Piekut-Warszawska, an Auschwitz prisoner forced to assist with Mengele's experiments, describes experiments on Jewish twins:

"Drops were also put into their eyes. I did not see the procedure itself, since they took the children into the next room. Some pairs of children received drops in both eyes, and others only in one. I was ordered to observed the reactions, and not to intervene in any way in case of any changes... The results of these practices were very painful for the victims. They suffered from severe swelling of the eyelids, a burning sensation, and intense watering of hte eyes"

Dr. Miklos Nyiszli, a Hungarian Jew, was also forced to assist Dr. Mengele. He describes being forced to perform autopsies on a pair of "small twins" who:

"... died [were killed] simultaneously... Their death makes it possible to carry out autopsies on them, intended to solve the mystery of reproduction."

Nyiszli says that Mengele was interested in twins with the aim of "increas[ing] the birth rate of the 'higher race'"

At the same time, two separate "doctors," Carl Clauberg and Horst Schumann, were performing sterilization experiments on Jewish prisoners in order to find an effective method of mass sterilization.

Clauberg's experiments involved introducing chemicals into the reproductive organs of Jewish women. Alina Białostocka, an Auschwitz prisoner who was forced to assist Clauberg testified that

"[the] procedure was carried out brutally, and often caused complications"

When it "worked," the procedure left women forcibly sterilized for life.

Horst Schumann's experiments involved the use of x-ray on male and female genitalia. According to Felicja Pleszowska, an Auschwitz prisoner forced to assist with experiments, Schumann's experiments were

"very painful and dangerous to life. There were frequent cases of men dying immediately after such procedures"

From the combined victims of these two men, only very few individuals survived.

Eduard Wirths, Friedrich Entress, Helmuth Vetter, Fritz Klein, Werner Rhode, Hans Wilhem Konig, Victor Capesius and Bruno Weber all tested pharmaceuticals on Auschwitz prisoners on behalf of companies like Bayer (which still exist and operate).

I cannot stress enough the mortality rate of all the medical experiments that took place in Auschwitz. I cannot stress enough the harm done to those who survived. I cannot stress enough the fact that the information I have provided here is just the tip of the iceberg, and that these experiments were VERY well documented BY THE NAZIS THEMSELVES.

This is horrifying. This is real. And we cannot let people insult the memory of these horrors by manipulating historical fact for selfish gain.

[oh-starstarstar]

Anything I Can Do For You? | tangerine x reader

18+ post.

WARNING: Dark Content—Kidnapping, Consensual Non Consensual, Being tied up forcefully.

Please proceed with caution.

You're kidnapped. Surely you could bribe the kidnapper with something to be set free, right?

"Now, I'm sure you're... decent, but you're giving me as much trouble as a Diesel. Stop your little tantrum, and get in the damn car," says the man to you, an expression of annoyance on his face.

You, in his grip, keep thrashing about, unwilling to go. "First tell me who sent you!" You yell out, kicking and flailing in his grip.

"Oh my god," he sighs. "We— well, you know what? I am not—" he grunts as you kick him, trying to haul you into the car—"I am not patient enough to deal with you. Tangerine?! Tangerine?!"

The man he's calling—his partner—is currently fighting off two men, while somehow managing to not look overpowered. He probably isn't, you think, looking at his muscles through his shirt. 

He glances back for a split second, then turning again to dodge a punch. "You— fucking hell, Lemon, you can't get her in the damn car?" 

"She's a whole zoo," he says as you keep kicking and screeching and scratching him, trying your best to escape him. "I will throw her if I lose patience,"

But you'd prefer him throwing you. It would gice you a chance to run. The thing is, you ending up here is a consequence of you getting kidnapped by a bunch of men, and then getting saved by these two random men, and—because you have no idea who these two men are—worrying about getting kidnapped again. Eventful week, it has been.

Point is, you know nobody and nothing here. No whereabouts, no 'why' you were kidnapped, no 'who' kidnapped you; nothing. 

As the fight presumably ends, the man with a long hair and a white—well, now drenched in red—shirt walks up to you, looking frustrated. "What's the deal here?" He looks at you with an expression of absolute irritation. 

Lemon only signals with his eyes to you. It's enough, really. You look like you are in a boxing match with the air around you. You are scooped by the other man, who puts you down on the floor, pinning you to the car behind you. 

"Now, listen here, love," he says, his voice threatening and low. The rage in his eyes makes you stop flailing around. "You're going to get into the car quietly, yeah? No more yelling, no more acting like a damn baby. Got it?"

For a moment, you're held captive by his eyes. Jjust in case you're not held captive by him, though, you open your mouth again. "Who sent you? Did you save me to take me home or to a worse—"

He sighs in complete annoyance. He looks at you with absolute frustration in his eyes, pulling you to him, opening the car door behind you and shoving you inside. "Open the door!" You yell out. You try your level best to break the glass, to break the door, but it's no good. 

Lemon throws the keys to him, and he begins driving as you still screech and yell and push in the backseat.

"Candy?" Lemon offers to Tangerine as he drives. 

"Cand— Oh. Good god," he says as he turns and witnesses you still kicking the door, its noise drowned out long ago by Tangerine, who turned up the radio to peacefully drive (though now the noises are slowly catching up to him). You are acting feral—and, really, why shouldn't you? "...Candy?" He offers again, with a more questioning look that borders between 'are you okay?' and 'you are absolutely not okay'.

"Fuckin' hell!" yells Tangerine, halting the car on the side of the road so aggressively that even Lemon's head almost slams against the dashboard. He opens the door on your side, grabbing your jaw and pushing you behind. With his legs on either side, his face right in front of yours, and his eyes flooded with frustration, he says: "Lemon, get the rope and tape."

Just as you open your mouth to protest, his huge hand is on your mouth, his legs digging  into your lower body to keep you from thrashing. "You just don't know when to give up, hm?” he mutters, angrily, hand pressing your head down while the other holds both your hands in one. As Lemon gives him the rope he manhandles you so that you’re on your stomach now, hands pulled to the back. 

“Who sent you? Where the fuck are you taking me?!” you keep yelling out as he tightly binds your hands behind your back, head pressed down onto the seat. You whimper, body twisting and writhing.

“Don’t you care about your safety? Sit still,” he orders calmly, as if you’re just having a normal chat. When he finishes binding your hands and legs, you think it’s over, so you let out a long breath of… relief? Well, not really relief, but at least his heavy self is off of you—but oh, then you see him unlooping his tie, and beginning to tie it around your mouth. “There ya go, darlin’, all pretty and quiet now,” he grunts as he tightens it around your mouth, making you whimper from the pain.

“You coulda’ avoided all of that if you just shut the fuck up, you know?” Lemon says, raising his brow towards you. 

Three days.

Three days you’ve had to stay with them—untied, by the way—at this small house in a secluded area. They’re here waiting for the men who will take you from their hands to whoever is responsible. 

Well, the funny thing is, you’re more comfortable than you are in your usual lifestyle. Enough food, enough silence, and a T.V. to watch whatever you want. No deadlines to meet, no demands to fulfill. Of course, you’re still scared and crying because you don’t know what’s gonna happen next—who’s going to take you, where they’re going to take you, you again have no idea. 

You’re locked into your room all day; it has no windows, no extra doors to get out, and you’re served food whenever you ask for it. But you’re tired, and you’re terrified, and you just want to be freed. After rebelling—yelling—for the past two days, you’ve done all but slump against your bed and cry the entire day out of frustration and fear.

Two knocks on the door. “May I come in?”

“Yes,” you mumble into your sheets, tiredly slumped against them, quietly sniffling. 

“Oh look at the state of you,” Tangerine grimaces. He holds a plate in his hands, leaning against the doorway. He walks up, sitting on the couch beside the bed. “Here, some food for you,” he carelessly throws the plate onto the table, staring at you.

“Why won’t you just let me go?” you ask, voice groggy and weak from crying.

“‘Think I’ve made that very clear, darling.” he grimaces, leaning back into the couch.

You lightly push yourself up in bed, messily trying to fix your dishevelled appearance. “What do you want from me? What could anybody possibly want from me?” 

“I don’t know, love. I’m jus’ doing what I’m paid to do,”

“I’ll give you whatever you want, okay? Just— just let me go, please?” You try to persuade him. You know it’s pointless, but this is the least you can do to tell yourself you tried. 

“Nothin' you can give me. Sure of that.” he says, beginning to stand up. 

“Wait!” you stop him. “Please, anything you want from me, anything,” you look up at him, biting your lip in anticipation.

“And what might that be, hm?” he asks, his face plastered with the same annoyed expression.

“...anything you want,” you say hesitantly, not knowing what you have to give, but hoping you can be of some use. “There— there must be something I can give you, right? I don't have a lot of money on me, but... something I can do for you? Please, just let me go,”

He huffs in frustration, rolling his eyes. Then he rakes his eyes down your figure, as if contemplating, still. 

“Anything?” He asks again, almost as a confirmation. He stands up, walking up to you, so that now he stands right in front of you. Now, you’re really second guessing it. He puts his hand on your jaw lightly, tilting your head up, “Speak up, love. Anything, you said?”

You nod, slowly, hands pushing yourself back onto the mattress to get away from his touch. 

“Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere now,” He says, pulling you in by your throat. “‘Been pestering me for so fucking long about it, why so quiet now?”  He asks, tightening his thumb over your pulse, making you feel light-headed.

You try to swallow against his palm, hand going up to his. “Please…” you whisper quietly.

“What was that?” he bends down, as if he genuinely can’t hear you. 

You try to pry his hands away, fingers scrambling to move his hand. “Can’t— Can’t breathe,”

“You brought it upon yourself, darling. Y’keep fucking begging all the time and look where it gets you,” he looks at you with a dazed expression, his face still stoic and angry, as it always is. He pushes you on your back, hand tighter now.

“Please— ngh—”

“D’you ever stop fucking speaking? God, it’s like I’ll have to shut you up myself.” He slowly begins climbing onto the bed, straddling you. “Do I?” 

With your head in a daze, you still have no idea. So you simply sit beneath him prettily, biting your lip. He slaps you—light enough to just tilt your head to the side. “You better speak up, love. You’ve already put me in a bad mood. Do I need to shut you up or will you stay quiet?”

“I will— I will, yes,” you gasp out, both hands still on his hand. 

“Good,” he says, and then gets off of you. He goes to lock the door, seating himself back on the couch. “Take off y’clothes,” he orders, leisurely lighting a cigarette for himself. 

You sit up, still catching your breath, looking up at him blankly. “Huh?”

“Oh, y’heard me. Take your clothes off. Weren’t you ready for just anything right now?” 

You’d expected him to smirk. But he doesn’t—he has that dark look in his eyes, staring at you as if he’s angry at you. He probably is, you think.

Slowly, you start unbuttoning your shirt—his shirt, technically. You didn’t have anything of your own to wear—your hands hesitant, shy to undress yourself in front of him. Now that you think about it, him doing it would have probably been better. It would have been less… humiliating. You’re no professional stripper, after all. 

When you’re fully naked, you bite your lip in anticipation, thighs clenched and hands subconsciously trying to cover your breasts. He pats his lap, signalling you to sit on it. You get up, walking upto him awkwadly, sitting down sideways onto his lap. 

His hand snakes around your waist, spreading your thighs. As he takes a drag of the cigarette, his hand tilts your face towards himself, blowing the smoke into your mouth. You cough, turning your face away, just when he harshly pulls you towards himself. “No, no turning back now.” He stubs out the cigarette, his finger starts circling your clit, mouth peppering kisses down the side of your throat. 

“G’na make you suffer for irritating me like that,” he says as he bites down on your neck, and you whimper, knowing he will live up to his words. His finger moves up and down on your clit, touch not enough at all. It’s teasing, slow, and feather-light. He moves your panties to the side, fingers entering you only partially. Then he retreats, going back to circling your clit. You buck your hips into his light touch.

“Look at you, so fucking desperate. So willing to take my cock, aren’t ya?” His fingers still work on your clit, his touch light enough to keep you just on the edge. He looks at you awaiting an answer. Unfortunately, you’re to focused on angling your hips the right way to get his fingers to touch you properly, though he moves them farther and farther. 

“Speak when you’re fucking spoken to, goddamnit,” he hisses, frustrated, hand grabbing your jaw and tilting it towards himself. 

You instantly nod, breathy moans of ‘yes,’ coming out of your mouth. “More,” you whine, body writhing in desperation and need. In response, he only grabs your tits roughly, hands playing around with them so meanly that it makes you whimper. 

“Ouch!” you wince, hand trying to move his harsh grip from your tits. “Please,”

“Pathetic fucking girl, aren’t ya…” he looks at you with amusement park in his eyes. “Begging your kidnapper for more? That gets you off?” he lifts you up, making you straddle one of his thighs. “Go, get yourself off, then,” he smirks, leaning back in his seat as he lets your desperate self go about it. 

You’ve never felt more humiliated, to be honest. With your hands on his chest and your cunt humping on his thigh, and your face heated, you whimper quietly. “How d’you feel about rubbing your cunt on my thigh, huh?”

“Feels so good,” you moan out, humping faster. 

“No, darling. I’m not asking how y’cunt feels. I know it feels good,” he smirks, pulling on your hair harshly, making you gasp. “I’m asking how you feel…”

“F— Filthy,” you say. Truly, you do, with the sheer desperation you are humping him with. You moan, getting close to your high. 

“Hm, thought so. Really fucking pathetic…”

“I’m gonna—”

“Go ahead, wet my fucking thigh,” he says, pulling harder on your hair. Your back arches, chest now at his face. His mouth was so filthy, his words were so filthy, that it made you come instantly with your head tipped back, eyes rolled at the back of your head and eyes rolled to the back of your head. Your hips slow down, coming to a stop, chest heaving with heavy breaths. 

“Did I say you could fucking stop?” he frowns. “You will rub y’filthy cunt on my thigh ‘til you’re crying. I wanna see those pretty little tears again,”

“But it’s—”

“Anything, you said, right?”

So he makes you come again, and again, until your eyes finally well up with tears. All the while he does nothing, making the whole thing much more humiliating for you, and as your thighs shake and body trembles you lift your hips up. 

“No, no more, please,” you beg.

“I said I wanted to see you crying, love. You’ve only teared up yet. Don’t make me do it myself—I’ll make you sob. Scream, even.” 

But you don’t. You’re so sensitive right now that you don’t even comprehend—much less respond. Your head is resting on his shoulder—hesitantly—body jolting.

“Fine,” he sighs, rolling his eyes. His fingers grip your hips brutally, moving your hips back and forth. He slaps your ass, setting a quick pace on his thigh which has you gripping his hand, trying to move it off. 

“Too much— please,” 

“I gave you a choice. Shut up now.”

Your thighs squeeze his, hand desperately trying to pry his off, “Don’t you dare,” he says. “If you try to move my hand once more, I promise I will make you regret it.”

Somehow, the threat makes you come again. He chuckles, hand still not stopping. Naturally, though you keep in your mind his threat, your body tries its best to wriggle out of his grip. You moan, loudly, hands grasping the collar of his blazer tightly. 

“Please,” you whine. “Can’t anymore, it hurts,”

“Will it take my cock in your mouth to shut you up?”

When you come again, finally crying this time, your hands can’t help but fly down to his to stop him. 

“Now, what did I say?” He suddenly stops. "What did I fucking say?" Though he sounds enraged and makes you scared, those few moments are like relief to you while you breathe and shake and rest your head on his shoulder, the sound of him unzipping making you look up.

He lifts you up and manouvers you down onto the couch, hand holding your face down. 

“Now, let’s see how much I can make you cry, yeah?”

oh this is DEFINITELY one of those cringey

"i don't have money for rent🥺"

"i can think of a few ways you can pay me😼"

but HEY i tried, maybe i will get better plot ideas in the forseen future

[shhhsecretsideblog]

Hi, i hope you don't mind if i request to combine 2 prompts in one scenario.

8. "There's so much pressure..."

12. "Come on, you'll be fine. First labour's take ages.

Scenario: a pregnant woman got kidnapped by her obsessive ex-boyfriend, went into labor and begged him to take her to the hospital because she can't be having the baby in his basement, but he refused. Go as wild and dark as you want.

Thanks 💌

Thanks for the request anon, this was delicious to write. Only prompt no.8 has been included as the other didn’t naturally fit in to wherever the hell this story went. I swear I have no control, these stories take on a life of their own. You said go wild and dark, so… 😈 Trigger warnings; kidnapping, vomit, blood, violence, mental instability, death (not mum or bubs dw), oh and of course fpreg & birth. Hope you like it

Chained

Libby’s eyes fluttered open. It took a moment for her vision to focus but when it did she realised nothing was familiar. The room was dimly lit, no natural light source, only a singular light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Dark grey bricks formed each of the four walls and the floor below was concrete and rough. She was lying down, on old discoloured bedding on a rickety metal bed. Where the hell was she?! She tried to push herself upright, but she discovered one arm could not be moved. It was handcuffed to the bed!

“What the hell…” Libby muttered.

“Ah… you’re awake.” Came a voice from the shadows.

Stepping into the light Libby saw a man walk towards her. It was Scott, her ex boyfriend. He looked awful. She’d not seen him since they broke up 18 months ago. His hair had grown, now matted and unkept, dark circles hung beneath his eyes and his usually clean shaven chin now sported a severe and dishelved five o’clock shadow.

“…Scott? Where… where am I?” She asked confused and still a little bit groggy.

“You’re at home darling. I rescued you.”

Libby’s brain whirled into overdrive. She remembered going to a midwife appointment, it was her final check up before her due date, she finished the appointment and headed back to her car. She had stopped just before opening the door, hearing something behind her, and then…. everything went black.

“Rescued me?! From what?” Libby asked, managing to push herself to a sitting position with her one free hand.

“From making a mistake. Did you really think you could keep me away from my baby?” Scott drawled, his eyes staring hungrily at her pregnant stomach.

“What the fuck are you talking about? We broke up, I moved on. This isn’t your baby!”

Libby’s outburst was rewarded by a forceful smack across the face. The distinctive metallic taste of blood soon filled her mouth. She was shocked into silence.

“We were great together! We were happy; we were going to get married, have a family, and then… Brendon came along. Poisoning our relationship, turning you against me, stealing you for himself. No! I won’t let him take this away. I’ve brought you home baby… so we can be together.” Scott’s hand touched her bump and his eyes widened in glee. “Where we can be a family.”

This man was insane, Libby thought, realising the true danger of this situation. It was one thing having an ex that still held a candle towards you, but this was way beyond that. She knew Scott hadn’t taken the break up well, but since the split he’d clearly disappeared into a realm of utter delusion. The baby in her womb shifted, feeling the fear of its mother. Scott’s mouth twitched into an uncomfortable grin, feeling the child move. Libby daren’t say anything, it was clear he was unstable and there was no telling what might set him off.

“Rest up sweetie. I’ll get you some food, you must be hungry. Eating for two and all that.” Scott said cheerfully, removing his hand from her stomach and disappearing upstairs.

Libby looked down at her stomach and her handcuffed wrist. She didn’t feel hungry at all. Only nauseous.

~•~

Scott returned and brought her food. Libby didn’t say anything, didn’t move, too scared of accidentally provoking him. He left the tray of sandwiches and crisps on the side table next to the bed and disappeared upstairs, offering a firm “Eat” before he went.

Her memories had returned as she gradually came around from whatever drug Scott had administered. Brendon and Libby had decided to have a little trip away this weekend before the baby came. A baby-moon as they say. They’d told all their friends and family they’d be out of town and without signal for a few days, but this morning Brendon called to say he had a work emergency and they’d have to cancel. That was fine, Libby would just go visit her parents instead. Only she never got a chance to call her parents after the midwife appointment. Everyone thought her and Brendon were away, and Brendon thought she was at her parents - no one would realise she’d been kidnapped.

Her stomach rolled with fear. She needed to think, find a way out of here. Wherever “here” was…. Where the fuck had Scott taken her? She didn’t recognise the room, it could be anywhere. She looked over at the plate of food and her heart sank. She recognised the crockery - this was his family’s cabin, in the middle of the woods.

~•~

Days. She’d been there days. Her family and Brendon would hopefully know she was missing by now. But they’d never find her here.

Scott continued to visit, to bring her food, to talk the baby in her womb. He’d offered to bathe her once, disgusted by the thought she refused. When he tried to get more forceful, hitting her again, she faked practice labour pains and he thankfully left her alone to rest.

She barely spoke to him anymore, too fearful to say the wrong thing again, of which she had learnt the hard way. She tried once to play along with his delusion, that he had “rescued” her from Brendon and now they could be a family. Believing her, Scott eventually unlocked the handcuffs, but when she made a break for it towards the stairs of the basement Scott went ballistic. They got into a fight; she kicked and screamed and hit, but he was stronger and in the carnage she fell forward against the wooden stairs she was trying to climb.

Scott was stricter with the handcuffs after that. Libby swore to herself not to try it again for fear of what might happen to the baby if she fell again.

She had been feeling cramps ever since the fall. They weren’t too bad or debilitating, thankfully she wasn’t bleeding which Libby hoped was a good sign and that her baby was okay. The fall was a brutal reminder of the precious cargo she was carrying and she had to be careful.

The next night Libby was awoken by a forceful cramp rolling through her middle, much worse than any of the others she had felt. Curling round her stomach she breathed heavily through the wave until it passed, and she promptly fell back asleep.

It happened again shortly after, pulling her from her slumber and waking every cell of her body as it peaked, like a coil twisting tighter and tighter. She pushed herself up to sit on the bed. The room was pitch black - Scott controlled the lights and was the only way she knew if it was day or night. She rubbed the aching cramp rolling across her tightened belly with one hand, the other remaining chained to the bedpost. She wished she could move, to walk it off, but with the handcuffs and the darkness she had little options. Instead she got on her hands and knees and rocked steadily through the pain.

“Please be practice contractions…” she whispered to herself. “You can’t come now baby, you’re safe in there. Wait until we get outta here okay?”

The cramp eventually eased and after a few minutes waiting for the next, Libby let herself sink sideways back onto the bed. The baby had got the message, it was just practice pains, she thought to herself as she drifted back off to sleep.

~•~

The light to the basement flickered to life followed by the familiar stomping of feet on wooden steps.

“Morning sweetheart. How’s the mother of my child today?” Scott said in such a cheerful caring tone it caused a shiver to roll up Libby’s spine.

She glared at him from the bed, lying down under the covers half asleep and curled around her bump.

“Still not talking to me eh? Oh well. It won’t be long before I have a son or daughter to talk to.” Scott drawled, as he placed a cup of water and slice of toast onto the bedside table.

Another cramp squeezed her belly and Libby sucked in a breath, hissing through her teeth. She could feel her stomach hardening beneath her fingers as the practice contraction squeezed.

“Honey, are you alright?” Scott’s eyes pinched in cautious concern.

“Just a kick.” Libby said, schooling her face back to a neutral expression.

“Excited to meet their daddy no doubt.” He gleefully said making Libby feel sick.

This baby is NOT yours! She cried in her head.

“Get up and have some breakfast. I’ve got some things to show you today.” Scott said, offering a hand to help her up.

Libby ignored his hand and pushed herself upright. “What things?”

“All in good time my dear. It’s a surprise.” And with that he disappeared back upstairs with a gallop.

She could hear banging and thumping above her and wondered what on earth he was doing. Her stomach growled and she reluctantly nibbled on the toast that was provided. After eating she was left solely with her thoughts and the noises from upstairs. Plus the occasional cramps that continued to plague her. Sitting down became too frustrating and she managed to get herself to standing right beside the bed. Her arm was pulled uncomfortably far forward by the handcuffs, but at least it relieved the pressure in her hips.

The baby felt so low, like it was grinding on her pelvis. But she did feel like her breathing was better now. Libby tried to focus only on the positives and did not dwell enough to realise this meant the baby had dropped into position for birth.

She stayed standing as long as she could beside the bed, riding out the braxton hicks and swaying her hips side to side, but eventually her legs ached from the awkward position so she return to sit on the bed.

The practice contractions continued to wash over her whilst Scott was banging away upstairs. Libby was starting to get hot and sweaty and could barely sit still through them. She found herself biting her lips and humming through them, trying to keep the noise to a minimum. She didn’t want to attract Scott’s attention. She ended up back on all fours on the bed, one hand awkwardly attached to the bed while she rocked forwards and back through the rising waves. It was getting harder and harder to stay silent through these pains and it was getting more and more difficult to convince herself these were only practice contractions.

“Ohhhh… we had a deal baby. You have to s-stay in there…. It’s not s-safe…” Libby moaned quietly to her child, the pressure in her hips mounting with every contraction.

The sounds of movement from above made her panic. Scott was coming. Quickly, she moved from all fours and returned to her sitting position on the bed. Sitting down made everything worse - the heavily feeling of the baby so so low caused the pressure to spike. So much so she nearly threw up, gaging slightly at the same time Scott opened the basement door.

She could hear him huffing and puffing as he stomped every step, he was clearly struggling with something, and she saw the “surprise” before she saw him. It was a crib! Oh hell no, she thought to herself. There is no way my baby is being born here and it will never go in that thing.

“Darling…” he cooed as he got down to the basement “I got you something. Well, I got our baby something - a crib!” He said proudly as he placed it at the foot of the bed.

Libby didn’t say anything; saying something negative could earn her a slap, saying something positive he’d think she was up to something.

“Well?” He asked, clearly getting frustrated with her silence.

“It’s… nice.” She said timidly, he didn’t seem any calmer so she added “thank you.”

With that Scott broke into an unhinged smile. “Only the best for my baby. Made it myself!”

Libby felt the familiar tightening of another contraction approaching. Breathing steadily through her nose, she tried to keep any pain showing on her face.

“What do you think of the design?” He urged, unaware of the struggle happening inside Libby’s womb.

“Great.” She gritted out as calmly as she could.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Scott rushed upstairs leaving Libby alone for a minute.

The second he was out of sight her eyes scrunched and she panted erratically. Her hips were on fire, the baby sinking lower and lower. This was no false alarm, Libby finally admitted to herself.

Scott came bounding downstairs with a pile of baby clothes and blankets. “I also got these. I wasn’t sure if we were having a boy or a girl so got a selection of different clothes. And lots of blankets and toys. Everything we could possibly need.”

Libby couldn’t help it but she groaned loudly and curled over her contracting stomach.

“They’re not that bad!” Scott said, referring to the pile of clothes he’d now dumped into the crib.

“Ooooooh Scott….” Libby whimpered, the pain still barrelling through her body.

“Lib? What is it? What’s wrong?” He crouched down in front of her and placed a hand on her knee.

“I think… hooooo- I think I’m in labour. You have to take me to the hospital.” Libby pleaded.

“What? Oh no, you’re not fooling me again.” Scott recoiled away from her, and started pacing. “You- you tried that before remember. And then you tried to run away, to take my baby away! You were going to leave me Lib! No!! I’m not letting you out of my sight again. No way. No one else can have you. You and that baby are mine!”

“Scott… please. I’m having contractions… I need help… I need doctors…”

“No… I can’t. You’re just going to leave me again. I can’t lose you.” Scott shook his head, like he was trying to reorganise the thoughts inside. “You’re just pretending again, you’re not really having the baby, you’re just trying to escape. Well you can’t trick me twice. Nuh-uh. I’ll come back when you’ve stopped the act.”

“No! Scott!” Libby cried but the door slammed before she could say anything else.

~•~

Libby shouted and pleaded for 10 minutes straight after Scott went upstairs, but he never came back down. She stopped when her voice started to crack and when she thought she heard the front door slam.

This baby was coming and she was trapped - handcuffed to a bed in a basement in the middle of nowhere, the only person for miles was her crazy ex boyfriend who was convinced the baby was his.

Despite her wishful thinking, the contractions just kept on coming. It was as if accepting they were real had made them more frequent and stronger. There was no clock down here, she had no clue how often they struck, but Libby was aware of the gaps in between getting shorter.

Being in labour was bad enough but the fact she couldn’t move due to her restraints made everything a thousand time’s worse. In desperation she tried to squeeze her hand out the metal handcuff, twisting and pulling, but when it started to peel the skin off the back of her hand she screamed and gave up.

She couldn’t sit down anymore, the pain in her hips too great. All fours was bearable but her arms ached after too long. She tried squatting and kneeling against the headboard, standing and swaying beside the bed. Nothing helped. She felt like a caged animal; frustrated, angry, scared. All the while every contraction brought the baby closer and closer to being born, a fate she was trying desperately to avoid. She feared something might go wrong, and she was scared what would happen the moments after she delivered. Scott was clearly unstable, would he leave her here chained to the bed bleeding out and take away her baby?! She needed medical help, not only for the birth but for her best shot at escaping.

When Scott returned he found her on her knees beside the bed, slumped over the mattress and groaning heavily.

“You can stop this charade Libby! I’m not taking you anywhere!” Scott shouted from the steps of the basement.

“Mnnnghhh! It’s not a charade Scott! Oh god…. So much pressure….” Libby whimpered into the mattress, her knees widening instinctually.

“Come off it. You put on a good show but I know you’re faking it.”

Libby could only grunt, roaring against the building pressure between her thighs. An unmistakable splashing sound hit the concrete floor and she cried out. “My waters…. Hooo- I’m not - faking - it…” she panted and turned around to face him.

Scott’s face had paled and his eyebrows shot up. “Y-you really are in labour?”

“Yes,” Libby breathed, turning around awkwardly with the handcuffs and her large bump, sitting down heavily on the now-wet floor “please please take me to the hospital now.”

He didn’t say anything, instead he disappeared quickly back upstairs.

“Scott!!!” She cried out, worried he would just leave her there forever.

He returned a moment later carrying a plastic box. “It’s happening! Don’t worry darling, I have everything we need for our baby to be born.”

It’s not your baby!!!! Libby shouted in her head.

Sitting on the floor, one arm slung up over a shoulder stuck in the handcuffs, she rubbed her low and heavy stomach with the other as Scott began to unpack the box onto the table opposite.

“Towels. Gloves. Scissors. Clamps. Ooh more towels. Little sucker thing. Wow it’s got everything we need in here. Great Amazon find.” Scott commented as he rattled off everything inside the box.

Holy shit! He wants to deliver the baby here! Libby stopped breathing for a moment, panic squeezing at her heart. He was never going to let her go. She was never going to get her baby out of here before it was born.

“Scott… you can’t… be serious…” Libby said with strained breath.

“Shhhhh. It’s okay sweetie. I’ve done all the research, watched loads of videos. I know exactly what I’m doing and I will deliver our baby here.”

“But Scott I need a hospital, with nurses and medication.”

“No you don’t. Women birth babies every day. I’ve had months to prepare for this. It’s going to be fine, it’s going to be perfect.” Scott’s sinister smile chilled her resolve and another contraction struck before she could continue arguing.

He checked his watched and frowned. “You shouldn’t be having another contraction just yet.”

“I can’t hooooo control it!” Libby snipped.

“Oooo is this the part where you get all angry at me for doing this to you?” Scott joked with glee.

“You didn’t do this to me! This isn’t your baby Scott, please just let me go.”

“Don’t lie!!!!!” Scott shouted, an angry fire flashed briefly in his eyes and his fists clenched tight, but a second later the ire quickly disappeared. “You’re just scared, but it’s okay sweetie, I’m here and our baby will be fine.”

“Ohhh god…..” Libby grunted, the baby slipping lower and pressing against her cervix. She had to move, this position was unbearable, but her legs were useless during the raging contraction. She tried to push herself up, yanking her hands forward but the handcuff rattled and left her arm twisted backwards. “Mnnhhh- handcuffs…. Please undo the handcuffs…”

“You know I can’t do that Lib.” Scott said reluctantly.

“Please…. Mnghhhhh the baby…. I need to move. Can’t stay like this Scott…” Libby groaned and whimpered as the contraction peaked and gradually faded.

“I’m sorry honey, I can’t risk it. But let’s get you back onto the bed shall we, you’ll be much more comfortable there.”

The contraction had left her winded, Libby didn’t have the strength to argue anymore. But when Scott approached and went to help her up she managed to grit “Don’t touch me!” batting his advancing hands away.

“That’s gonna be difficult when I’m delivering our child.” Scott sarcastically replied.

Libby’s stomach rolled, not from a contraction but at the disgusting thought of Scott between her legs. Nausea bubbled inside, rising up her throat. She retched. “I think I’m gonna be sick…”

Scott jumped back as she dry heaved. “Erm…. I’ll get a bucket. Hang on.”

Libby struggled up to her knees, clinging sideways to the bed, and vomited all over the floor. The force of her stomach expelling its contents pushed the baby against her dilating cervix and towards the birth canal. She couldn’t stop herself from bearing down at the same time.

No no no… don’t push. Her brain cried but it wasn’t something she had control over.

By the time Scott returned with a bucket Libby had crawled back into the bed, leaving behind a puddle of amniotic fluid and vomit on the floor.

“Jeeze Libby, you’ve made a right mess. I’m glad we’re down here now, that would have been a nightmare to clean the carpets upstairs.”

“…water…” Libby panted, curled up on the bed and holding her hardened stomach, too exhausted to do anything other than bear through the labour pains tearing apart her body.

“Okay, sure.” Scott picked up the glass from the table and gently poured it into Libby’s dry mouth. “Everything will be okay Libby, our baby is nearly here.” He whispered, placing a grimy hand onto her bump and feeling the swell, his eyes hungrily lighting up as his fingers caressed the curve.

~•~

She was dying. This was how it would end; trapped in the dirty basement of her crazy ex boyfriend. She never got to meet her baby, or get married, never got to buy her own home, or travel the world. The pain was so much she could barely see. Curled up on the bed Libby groaned into the pillow as the latest contraction squeezed her body in on itself. She was vaguely aware of Scott flapping around the room, he was talking but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. The only thing she could focus on was the mass of the baby’s head sitting right behind her opening, and she was doing everything she could not to push.

The last few hours had been torture. She’d thrashed around the bed, screaming and begging to be freed, to be taken to the hospital. When transition hit she was brought back onto all fours, grunting and pushing without any semblance of control. Scott rubbed her back and encouraged her through it. She didn’t have the strength to bat him off but she did manage to aim her next round of vomiting onto his feet. And all the while Scott refused to unlock the handcuffs and she remained chained to the bed.

Now she was lying on her side over the covers, exhausted, her body completely and utterly drained. Her knees were curled up as much as she could, her bump squashed between her thighs and her breasts. The contractions were right on top of each other and she panted heavily through each one.

Don’t push! Don’t push! Don’t push! she told herself again and again.

“Right, the waters boiled, everything’s disinfected. Clamps and scissors ready. Towel, check. All we need now… is the baby…” Scott muttered, organising and reorganising the equipment.

Ever since the well-timed vomit, he had kept a grateful distance from Libby. He looked through all the toys and clothes in the crib, talking about all the things he would do with his child, trips they’d make, sports they’d play. He was in his own little world, Libby was just a background character.

Relentless contractions kept hitting her one after the other, she breathed as quietly as she could, tears leaking past her lashes from the effort it was taking not to push. She could feel the baby start to stretch her lips, the head inching further and further even without her active pushing. He’d removed her underwear not long after her waters had broken but her dress remained on her sweaty body, thankfully covering her lower half as she laid on the bed. Libby’s legs slightly parted of their own accord as the baby slipped lower. Still curled up on her side, the baby had a clear exit from its mother, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Scott was ignoring her when she was lying like this and it was the only position that didn’t make her scream. And yet it also proved to be aiding her delivery.

When the next contraction barrelled straight after its predecessor Libby found herself holding her breath and it was only when the burning feeling started that she realised she was pushing. But she couldn’t stop. Gasping another breath she pushed once more, the baby stretching her wider and wider. An involuntary grunt escaped the labouring mother and alerted Scott to her actions.

“Are you…. Libby - are you pushing?! Is it time?” Scott jumped and rushed over to the bed.

Libby curled further over, her face burying into the pillow, squashing her bump and raising her backside. She groaned long and deep as she pushed the baby further out.

“Oh babe, you can’t push like that! You need to get in the correction position for delivery.” Scott said assuredly with all the delusional confidence his “research” had given him.

He took her bent leg, rolling her over onto her back and she screamed. “Scott! No!” The pain was excruciating, her spine was being stabbed, the fire burning between her thighs. She needed to push but she couldn’t when he kept moving her body.

“You need to be in the right position. Come on now, I know what I’m doing.”

“Stop… I can’t… I need to push…” Libby grunted.

“Wait a minute darling, you’re not ready just yet.”

Scott pulled her up to a sitting position and pushed her back against the headboard, pointlessly fluffing the limp old pillows behind her. Her legs were dragged apart and knees were bent and he jumped onto the foot of the bed and looked up her dress.

“Oh my gosh I can see the head!!!” He squealed. He threw her dress up higher, creasing the fabric just below her baby bump, fully exposing Libby’s vagina and the oval shaped crown of the head.

“Push Libby! You can push now!” He urged.

“I’m not-having a contraction-” Libby panted, furious she had been moved into this ridiculous and torturous position. Nothing about it felt right to her body, she wanted to go back on her side, to kneel, squat, anything but this.

“Oh… erm… well on the next one then. Push. No wait, I forgot the equipment.” Scott bounced off the bed and collected all the sterilised equipment he’d been preparing in readiness. “Ha! All that excitement, nearly forgot these.” He placed the items next to him, by her feet. The metal scissors glinted as they caught the light.

A desperate idea began to form in her head, but a contraction soon swept over her and pulled her focus to the burning ring between her thighs.

“Yes!!! Go on Libby! Push!!!” Scott cried.

Curling forward Libby pushed, her body squeezing the baby lower, its head stretching her wider. She grabbed her thighs, gulped another breath, and pushed. The scissors caught the light again with the movement on the bed. If she could just grab them…

“It’s coming, keep it going honey!” Scott yelled and she could feel his trembling hand between her legs.

Libby huffed releasing the push. It was too much, it was too big…

“Come on baby, go again, you’re so close.” Scott urged.

“Hooo-hoooo- okay…. Here it comes….!!!!” Libby threw herself forward curling over her bump once more. With Scott’s focus on the crowning baby she quickly grabbed the scissors and hid them in the gathered fabric of her dress. She screamed as the baby reached a full crown. Panting frantically her body twitched as the baby stretched her so wide she thought she’d be torn in two. Then it slipped further and with a sudden wail the baby’s head was delivered.

“Wow! The heads out, my baby’s head is born.” Scott awed.

Leaning closer his hands trembled towards the newly born head sitting between her thighs. No! You are not touching my baby! Libby thought, and she grabbed the hidden scissors and plunged them straight into Scott’s neck as she released an animalistic maternal wail.

Scott’s eyes bulged out, roaring in agony as the sharp scissors pierced deep into his muscles. He jumped back, standing for the briefest second staring in horror at her, before collapsing to his knees. A drowning choked sound gargled his throat and when he pulled the scissors from his neck the jets of blood sprayed across the room.

Libby watched, in shock at what she’d just done, as Scott clutched his neck, choking and bleeding. After a few strangled seconds he collapsed face first on the ground.

“Oh my god… oh my god….” Libby trembled, adrenaline and fear pumping through every cell in her body. She had to get out of there.

Twisting awkwardly around, she held the handcuff steady with her free hand and pulled her other through the tiny gap. The skin ripped from her hand, the metal scraping bone, she yelled out in pain but didn’t stop pulling until her bloodied hand was free.

It was as if she had left her physical body, the pain a dull echo compared to the survival instinct to get out of this basement. “I’m gonna get you outta here…” she panted, putting a gentle hand over the baby’s head between her legs. She scrambled off the bed, legs bowed as she cupped the head, and rushed toward the stairs of the basement.

Libby was careful, her previous encounter with this wooden staircase not ending well, climbing wide legged step after step towards freedom. She barely made it halfway when she was struck by another contraction. Holding the head with one hand and gripping the bannister tight with the other, her body squatted as it tried to push.

“Mnghhhhhhh! Oohhhhhh hang on baby…. Mnghhhhhh…. Not yet.” She could feel herself pushing hard, the shoulders starting to press against her, itching to come out, but with a firm hand and heavy panting she made it through the contraction.

When she reached upstairs she was surprised how familiar it all was, Scott had taken her here once when they were dating. It wasn’t much, the furniture and decor were dated, but it was a nice family holiday home in a nice rural location. She shuddered when she thought of the secret prison that was hidden below her feet.

Being familiar with the property made her escape easier, she knew the layout and of course where he kept the keys - in the side dish by the fridge. Grabbing the car keys Libby headed for the door and threw it open. But the baby didn’t want to wait any longer.

She hung on to the doorframe for dear life as the raging contraction took hold. “No no no!!!! We’re so close mnnnnnghhhhhh!!!!” Her legs widened as she squatted, pushing uncontrollably against the wall of her hand that held the baby’s head. The shoulders were slipping through… she could feel them stretching… “Ohhh fuck!” She cried, desperately pushing and holding the baby in at the same time.

When the near constant contraction let up just the tiniest bit, Libby made a break for it and ran to the car, both hands between her legs cupping the emerging baby. Unlocking the car with the press of the button she threw open the back door and clambered inside. She quickly locked the door, scared that Scott would somehow still be coming after her, and when she heard the reassuring click of the locks she huffed an exhausted cry.

But the baby was coming, and it was coming now. On her hands and knees in the back seat Libby finally gave in to nature and pushed in earnest, grunting long and deep as the shoulders stretched and slipped out. Lifting up onto her knees to catch the infant she released a primal roar with the final push and the baby slipped into her bloodied hands.

“Ohhhhhh hey baby, it’s okay it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Libby cried, pulling the little boy to her chest. Wiping his face clear he gave a little cough and started crying, soon matched with the tears of his mother.

“We did baby, we got out.” Libby panted and cried, safe with her baby inside the locked car. After a few minutes she wrapped the baby up against her chest with the towel, umbilical cord still connecting mother and child, and she hesitantly opened the door and got into the drivers seat. Starting the engine, Libby drove herself and her new baby to safety.

[date-a-jew-suggestions]

Oh no, the author of my favorite fantasy book series, White Wizard Boy and the Goblin Bankers’ Evil Hooked Nose is engaging in holocaust denial?? Who could have known??????

[germiyahu]

When you try to make the legacy of the Holocaust a political favor done to Jews, you are paving the road to Holocaust denial. You're even planting nice trees on the boulevard!

To the historically illiterate Westerner, the true sincere belief is that Israel was "gifted" to the Jews as an apology for the Holocaust. This is actually a quite ingenious mental strategy to handle the cognitive dissonance of both wholeheartedly believing the society you live in was the "hero" of the story, but also that Western society is morally bankrupt and worthless.

See the West saved the Jews from the Nazis, but they also severely blundered by rewarding Jewish suffering with the state of Israel. It's clever. You can feel good about being the hero but also curse your own society for turning around and doing something that you'll argue was even worse in the long run (and they have been saying it's worse).

But then, it gets better! Since Israel is seen as an extension of Europe, and arm of European ideology and interest, it can be argued that the West had good intentions when they magnanimously decided to give Jews someone else's homeland. But they could never have predicted how brutal, how violent, how racist, how genocidal, the Israelis would end up being. You can curse the West but acknowledge it's not really their fault, because then it's not really your fault either.

All this context of the Holocaust being a "lesson to learn" or a precursor to some political reward for the Jews, that Jews have always been crafty and Westerners gullible... it's already on the precipice for those with conspiracy oriented minds. And this is already true and we've all seen it on social media. To those who think the Israel was a reward for the Holocaust, they think that the Holocaust warranted a "reward" in the first place. They can switch those around, and start thinking the Holocaust was a pretext to Israel. They can think that the Holocaust was exaggerated to wring more sympathy from the Europeans. They can think that the Holocaust was staged to trick the West into enacting the Jews' grand plan.

All it takes when you're at this point thinking of the Holocaust as transactional, is a genuine Neo Nazi, or perhaps a Hamas simp, to come along and say "Isn't it suspicious though? Don't you think there are inconsistencies? You should really check out..." and due to the coincidences and incorrect narratives that you made up in your brain, that have no basis in reality, you just might consider hearing them out.

So no, the Holocaust is not being weaponized or hijacked, for any reason. It was a historical event that happened. There are no lessons for the victims of all people to learn. There was no divine intervention or grand conspiracy to make the Holocaust about anything, or use it to bring about some political goal. You want there to be one or all of these things, because it justifies your preconceived notions about Jews.

So if a person is at this point, thinking the Holocaust was transactional, thinking that Israel was a reward, they're already on the road to Holocaust denial. And at this time in the Zeitgeist, they are way more likely than normal to go down that road, readily and eagerly. So be careful, be more cognizant if you actually care about the legacy of this genocide, about honoring its victims and its survivors and their descendants.

[auschizm]

Maybe it's less about me "not seeming" like I'm mentally ill/neurodivergent, but more about some people being unwilling to re-contextualize their negative judgment of me as the ableism it is

[cosmicphenix]

When your kind egg roommates inform you that you

1, own a house

2, Deserve a comfy place to sleep

And

3, are their FATHER

I can't imagine the amount of confused and regretful he is after his first day back.

Not even a single comfort skeppy either. How tragic.

At least he got to eat his own corpse lmfao

[candiid-caniine]

break, ache, ruin

on the request of 🌺 anon, i've put together a trancey little edging/brainwashing session for you all <3 all language is gender- and body part-neutral.

cw: reading on may put you in trance. trance may not end until you have a ruined orgasm. effects may very well linger.

depending on your mind, you could be here awhile. reader beware :)

you wanna be a good little edgepet? you wanna rub your brains away and give your orgasms away to your betters?

yeah, i know you do, sweetheart. touch yourself real good while you read this, okay? i promise it'll make you the best little edgepet in the world.

you get a point every time you start over. you want points? of course you do, you're such a good pet, aren't you? but you lose a point every time you reach the end...hmm...is that a dilemma? don't think about it!

three rules:

when you hit the edge, scroll back to the top.

cumming is not permitted. you must ruin if you tip over.

linger on each word. visualize it in your mind before you move onto the next. you'll be tranced in no time.

when you hit the edge, start from the top.

that's what good pets do.

good pets train themselves. that's why you're here, isn't it, pet? you know your place.

you know you're meant to be drippy

drooly

empty

needy

say it with me. drippy. drooly. empty. needy.

touch yourself the way you like. you can always get closer.

when you hit the edge, start from the top.

good pet. every time you hit the edge, take a shorter break. keep those little fingers working.

this isn't over until you ruin.

every edge is an orgasm gifted to your betters. say it with me: my betters deserve my orgasms, not me.

you can stop anytime you want. but i know you don't want to. you wanna stay achy

shaky

throbby

whiny

don't you, pet? and drippy, drooly, empty, needy, as long as you possibly can.

this isn't over until you ruin.

say these words every time you read them: drippy, drooly, empty, needy.

good pet.

your betters will be so impressed by you, won't they?

you know you're brainwashing yourself. you know you're getting dumber. you're f a l l i n g further, f a l l i n g deeper, into denial. keep those little fingers working.

your betters deserve your orgasms. envision them flying away from you, flitter-flutter, making a lazy circle like your fingers, off to someone who's worthy of them.

get as close as you can to that edge. then get closer. dumber, further, deeper. when you hit the edge, start from the top. good pet.

this isn't over until you ruin.

you can stop anytime you want. and i know you want to cum. but you want to be good more.

what does it mean to be good? to be good, you have to be

drippy

drooly

empty

needy

achy

shaky

throbby

whiny

warm and wet between your legs. fuzzy and fizzy inside your head. warm wet sex, fuzzy fizzy mind. when you hit the edge, start from the top.

your betters deserve their orgasms. every time you imagine them flitter-fluttering away, you sink a little d e e p e r.

this isn't over until you ruin.

f a l l i n g so deep, aren't you? f a l l i n g so far. you know it's happening. you can stop whenever you want if you just stop touching. but good pets touch. good pets edge until they're

whiny

throbby

shaky

achy

needy

empty

drooly

drippy

repeat after me, one word at a time: good pets break their own brains. when i hit the edge, i start from the top. every time i edge, i take a shorter break.

this isn't over until you ruin.

you're so warm now, aren't you? so relaxed, so needy, empty, drooly, drippy, fluttering between your legs,

dripping

your

brains

out

of

your

head.

stay with me. when you hit the edge, start from the top.

say it with me: ruined pets get ruined orgasms. if i tip over, it should make me worse. i am good, and good pets ruin themselves. pets who ruin themselves ruin their orgasms.

this isn't over until you ruin.

good pets break their own brains. the more you read this, the more broken you get. the more broken you get, the more achy, shaky, throbby, whiny you get, the more good you get, and good pets break their own brains.

good pets make themselves easier to control. doesn't it feel good to give in? give up? no more decisions, nothing but the edge.

this isn't over until you ruin.

when you hit the edge, start from the top, take a shorter break, you get dumber and drippier, fuzzier, fizzier, you get broken, you get better. you give your orgasms away. flitter-flutter, there they go, sending you

even

deeper.

slow down now. s l o w. long, aching strokes. feel your body want. it's not a want, it's a need. every square inch of you needing to cum.

but you won't. you can't. you're too good, and good pets edge, break, drip, ache. you're too well-behaved to cum anymore, and it's all

your

own

fault.

speed up again. when you hit the edge, start from the top.

this isn't over until you ruin.

you don't want to get to the end; there is no end for you, is there? so good for letting go. so good for breaking yourself. nobody told you to; nobody has to. this is what you are.

say it aloud: this is what i am. broken, dripping, empty, aching, brainless, yearning, edged. my betters deserve my orgasms. when i give them away, i go deeper and deeper and dumber and drippier.

get as close as you can. then get closer. when you hit the edge, start from the top.

you're broken, you're ruined, you're good. i didn't make you this way. you were already broken by the time you started, weren't you? good pet. broken brain, broken nub, broken holes.

this isn't over until you ruin.

say it with me: ruined pets get ruined orgasms. if i tip over, it should make me worse. i am good, and good pets ruin themselves. pets who ruin themselves ruin their orgasms.

ruins make you drippy, drooly, empty, needy, achy, shaky, throbby, whiny. are you making noise? are you making those sweet, stupid little sounds? if not, you will start from the top and continue until you can't help crying out for the world to hear.

edges so close together now. if you've made it this far, you're not close enough. start from the top. you're too far gone, too far to stop; when you hit the edge, start from the top.

this isn't over until you ruin.

do you want to be good? of course you do.

but if you're here, at the end, you haven't quite earned praise yet, have you? if you were edged enough to be

throbby

whiny

empty

achy

needy

shaky

drooly

drippy

you wouldn't be here at the end.

but that's okay, pet. i'll break you yet.

edge ten times and start again.