Every day I clock in and work 9-5 calling girls sluts online. All the words on this blog (whether captions or text) are mine, hit me up if you want to talk about any of them.
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Privacy. It had been the one condition for the uptight feminist dyke professor becoming my personal pro-patriarchy whore. Obviously the word meant something a little different to a cunt who gets off on being objectified publicly by total strangers though.
I'd been fucking this dumb bitch behind her wife's back for months, stuffing her needy pussy in high-class hotels (which she paid for) and spending weekends at her lovely suburban house to drink her wine and let her worship my cock whenever the love of her life was out of town. She started telling me how she'd never felt as good as after I pinned her down and fucked her through strings of screaming, squirting orgasms. Or as fulfilled as when I gave her a huge load in her throat or across her face.
Lectures given at prestigious venues; essays printed in venerated publications; her teaching and research lauded by the brightest minds in gender studies, psychology and political science. Her marriage to a beautiful, intelligent woman; her dream home on the outskirts of her dream city; the children she'd adopted and raised into flourishing adults. All the things she and her ilk claimed were the hallmarks of a successful, empowered modern woman left her feeling emptier and less happy than trading away her dignity and intelligence to be a braindead, objectified fucktoy.
So I agreed to take it all away. Let her live her life as a piece of meat, a display in antifeminist propaganda. A cured dyke living happily in service of my cock and bank account. Her one condition was that her new role would never be tied back to her old life. I considered pushing her further, but it seemed a reasonable condition in exchange for her utter complicity.
She 'burned out', decided to move across the world to a remote village. Her wife was devastated by the sudden divorce. A quiet ripple went through her corner of academia. No one will ever know the plane tickets were fake. None of Professor Maria Young's friends or colleagues will ever know about Lezzie Soaptits.
Lezzie lives a happy life, wiping her curves across despicable men's cars till they shine. Dropping to her knees on the tarmac and giggling as those salt-of-the-earth misogynists wipe their greasy cocks across her lips at triple the rate they paid for her to 'wash' their cars. Getting on all fours and begging Daddy to pound her fat rugmuncher ass harder while he counts the days earnings out on her back. Thanks to the sticks up the asses of everyone from her former lives, she's half an hour from the woman she was married to, but no one will ever interrupt her precious privacy at our sleazy little enterprise.
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Privacy. It had been the one condition for the uptight feminist dyke professor becoming my personal pro-patriarchy whore. Obviously the word meant something a little different to a cunt who gets off on being objectified publicly by total strangers though.
I'd been fucking this dumb bitch behind her wife's back for months, stuffing her needy pussy in high-class hotels (which she paid for) and spending weekends at her lovely suburban house to drink her wine and let her worship my cock whenever the love of her life was out of town. She started telling me how she'd never felt as good as after I pinned her down and fucked her through strings of screaming, squirting orgasms. Or as fulfilled as when I gave her a huge load in her throat or across her face.
Lectures given at prestigious venues; essays printed in venerated publications; her teaching and research lauded by the brightest minds in gender studies, psychology and political science. Her marriage to a beautiful, intelligent woman; her dream home on the outskirts of her dream city; the children she'd adopted and raised into flourishing adults. All the things she and her ilk claimed were the hallmarks of a successful, empowered modern woman left her feeling emptier and less happy than trading away her dignity and intelligence to be a braindead, objectified fucktoy.
So I agreed to take it all away. Let her live her life as a piece of meat, a display in antifeminist propaganda. A cured dyke living happily in service of my cock and bank account. Her one condition was that her new role would never be tied back to her old life. I considered pushing her further, but it seemed a reasonable condition in exchange for her utter complicity.
She 'burned out', decided to move across the world to a remote village. Her wife was devastated by the sudden divorce. A quiet ripple went through her corner of academia. No one will ever know the plane tickets were fake. None of Professor Maria Young's friends or colleagues will ever know about Lezzie Soaptits.
Lezzie lives a happy life, wiping her curves across despicable men's cars till they shine. Dropping to her knees on the tarmac and giggling as those salt-of-the-earth misogynists wipe their greasy cocks across her lips at triple the rate they paid for her to 'wash' their cars. Getting on all fours and begging Daddy to pound her fat rugmuncher ass harder while he counts the days earnings out on her back. Thanks to the sticks up the asses of everyone from her former lives, she's half an hour from the woman she was married to, but no one will ever interrupt her precious privacy at our sleazy little enterprise.