Just Fuck Me
Don’t be afraid to hurt me.
I know you worry. Please don’t. I’m not as fragile as you think.
Don’t tug my hair. Grab it. Force me to my knees with your hands in my hair wrapped in a fist. Pull hard. Make my eyes water.
Don’t graze your teeth along my skin. Devour me. Bite down until I cry out. Then do it again.
Don’t caress my throat. I want to feel your fingers wrap tightly around it. Feel my pulse hammer into your palm. Feel the breath short in my chest and that little bit of panic set in.
Don’t nudge my knees apart. Move them like they’re yours to spread. With intention. With possession.
Don’t hold my hands. I want to feel your strong grip around my wrists. Use all your weight. Make me lie still.
I want it to still hurt tomorrow.
I want to see the bruises. The welts. The handprints.
Don’t ask me if I’m ok.
I need to let go and not think.
I need you to make me yours.
Let my body answer for me with each shudder and moan. With the pool of wetness between my thighs.
These are the things I can’t control. I don’t want to control. That’s the point.
Just fuck me.
So this hot substitute logged into netflix and I wrote down the email with which he did it and used a service (it cost like $2) to find all other accounts connected to that email and I found his (private) twitter so I made a fake twitter of a hot girl and added a bunch of tweets over the course of a month to make it look legit and then I requested to follow him and he let me and he is the most goddamn boring person in the world
you need to be arrested
Customer: I want a nice chocolate cake for my young son, and he likes trucks, so could you maybe do a little frosting picture of a truck on the top?
Cake Boss: SOS WHAT WES GUNNA DO IS MAKE A GIANT TRUCK ENTIRELY OUTTA RICE CRISPIES AND COVA DAT IN FONDANT AND IZ GUNNA SHOOT SPARKS AND CATCH FIYAH, POSSIBLY KILLIN YOUR SON IN DA PROCESS.