Picture from this femdom post:

This is as close as I’ve ever seen to an image of the other other me, the one that only comes out every few years. A sweet girl, pale and pretty and curvy, with dark hair and eyes. Someone who looks like a Midori.

And then her thoughts, her worries, her stresses, all get wiped away, and there is only sweet confusion, bubbly happiness, and of course sex. Lots of sex.

Dunno where I’m going with this, just… Scrolling through Tumblr, saw this pic, and thought, “Oh. Hello again.”

I apologize in advance to Midorikonton for this.


She stared, eyes staring at the image in front of her her, seeing the way her soft, creamy skin almost glowed with the blush adorning her cheeks. It felt… Good she decided. Right.

Thoughtfully, she ran her tongue over her lips, tasting faintly of strawberries as they glistened with gloss.

She liked the way she looked. She liked the way she could feel the soft heaviness on her chest, the way she filled out the fabric clinging to it, supporting it, presenting the inviting line of cleavage to anyone watching. She liked the way she could feel the matching straps, lightly wrapped snug at her hips, pressing almost possessively into her skin and clinging tight to the soft emptiness inside of her.

A faint giggle left her lips, and she paused, considering the sound. It was different than she remembered. Or was it? She couldn’t be too sure.

She liked it though, and let out another, letting it wash past her lips as she smiled.

And she could feel the way it left her head a whirling, muddled, fluffy little mess as it threw her thoughts all about, whipping them, shaking them, fluffing them up until all that was left was a beautifully smooth puff of cream.

And she giggled again, her lips pulled back into a bright, sunny smile.

She loved the way that felt. Her pretty little head not emptied, not drained, not melted into a dripping, sweet mess of slag, but whipped and fluffed up so that nothing was thick enough to weigh her down. And there was no room left for anything else to get in.

It was why she loved letting go. Feeling that wonderful fluffy haze fill her head, letting the quivering emptiness between her legs take over. Letting her whole body start to just melt into a wonderful, dripping, bubbling heat that churned through her veins.

Filling her mind with all sorts of wicked, wonderful, dirty little Possibilities.

Possibilities that made her want to give in to the weakness in her knees, to fall down, hungering, worshiping as she could feel the way her desires took over, ruled her, Owned her.

Making her Want, Need and Crave like she was nothing but a dripping little toy begging to be used.

To Suck. To Fuck. To Savor. To Serve.

To just let the dripping, juicy emptiness inside of her do all the thinking, to let it make all the decisions.

Because she knew exactly what it would decide to do.

It would strip away her ability to protest, her ability to worry, her ability to say no.

It would leave her nothing but a vessel, dripping and wet and waiting to be filled again and again, until she flowed over and could feel it leaking out of her with a look of undeniably sated bliss that only came when she was so very, thoroughly take.

Holy shit that’s hot, absolutely no apology necessary.