Now This Is Next-level Awesome. These Are Methods I Can Get Behind. My Horizons Have Been Truly Expanded

Mmmm…would be happy to be of service.

gently sucking on a tgirl who’s been so stressed for the past few months and hasn’t had the time to masturbate and watching her finally start to unwind as she releases everything she’s had pent up into my mouth all at once.

God, I hate this. Though this also applies to the way the books themselves are advertised, which are festooned with quotes from reviewers which tell me nothing, which all read like

"A stunning menagerie of life, this book is thumpingly alive."

What happened to the teaser on the back cover?

I was gifted a book in which the cover, the first two pages and the back cover was just uninformative praise from prominent critics. Like, great, now I know the cultural gatekeepers of the Wank Street Journal love it. What an endorsement.

I have noticed also that authors from South Asia, Africa, Latin America tend to have the words "kaleidoscopic" and "magical realism: applied to their work, as well as "emerging voice". I mean, wow, they sure do have a different culture.

y’all really recommend books like: title, there are gay characters, enemies to lovers, young adult, written by poc

not once do i ever see a summary

God, I love this artist. I used to get terrible dysphoria in the past when I still had my girlcock. I used to hate the idea of it. But seeing Rory so hot…and also desired by another (were)woman really helps me to love my past self.

butch lesbians rise up

you can find the underwear less version on my bluesky or patreon

like what the fuck i'm not even regular horny i'm just like. some kind of weird estrogen horny where i need to swear fealty to someone. what is happening

No, you're not weird. I sleep naked as often as I can now that I have gender euphoria. It feels wayyyy better.

Contributing to @lycans-art-kingdom 's trans mornings collection!

Seriously why do so many folks sleep with clothes on? YOU'RE IN BED, THERE'S SHEETS AND BLANKETS AND STUFF.

Adding clothes is only necessary if it's like, so cold that your blankets and quilts and whatever aren't getting the job done.

Is that weird? Am I weird?

My wife wears full pajamas to bed and it blows my mind. I'm like, boiling when I go to sleep, how do people have extra layers?

Some guy: “I love falin and marcille, but what about falin and sh…”

Me: EXECUTION

Tasha, The Satyr-Maiden

Part 1 | Part 2 coming soon

types: satyr, breeding/pregnancy kink, ovipositor

At my brother's wedding there was nobody better suited to make the speeches than a satyr. Never mind that public speaking would drive Tasha into a nervous spiral for an hour beforehand. No, she was always expected to be the natural-born presenter. I hated my family for their closed-minded ways and felt a similar way toward Tasha's parents, who expected her to put on a show at any major function and be their respectable satyr-daughter.

But, she did look mighty fine from the side. A ray of light hit her through the chapel windows as she stood up to make her speech about people she barely knew. Her face was slender and long - her ears were like two floppy muscle shells and the fur on them was a pleasant grey. When she had to make a speech, she spoke in breaths that halted at the end of each sentence.

She wore a modest skirt with buttons in an attempt to conceal her ass, but her curves couldn't be fully contained. A warmth crept up toward my womb. I couldn't help but take in her solid shoulders, her powerful arms and hands - that is where her real confidence lay.

She spotted me out the corner of her eye, and that made her lose concentration. Damn! I felt so guilty I looked away at my idiot brother and his soon-to-be-wife, who was staring at her nails.

I got up to stock up on nibbles and cake, and I realised I'd left a nice sticky mess on the seat.

When I got back with a platter full of goodies, the atmosphere had become dreadful. My Tasha was slumped onto her seat and she had a stormy look. Words Had Been Said.

There was no pleasing these fools. I walked her back to her car and I stole the platter, because she would be ravenous when she calmed down.

At our ranch, Tasha stared out the kitchen window, she had been quiet for seven whole hours on the trip back. I still felt guilty, about distracting her and about not Having Words with my family. I intended to make her feel better. I slipped an arm around her and felt the muscles below her diaphragm relax.

"You didn't do anything wrong. If that's what you're thinking." She said in her soft, gravelly voice.

I traced the soft skin in between her ribs.

"I just felt like I messed things up for you." I said. Then my fingers inched toward her breasts and I lightly pinched a single nip and she let out a sigh.

"The other too." she sighed again, and I obliged. Then she leant her bountiful ass into me and I nearly fell backward.

"I should have never accepted their requests. They will learn to accept me soon enough." she said as I started making circles around her breasts.

"They won't. Fuck that kind of family. You're the only kind of family I want." I said - my throbbing mess wanted to feel her thighs.

She seemed surprised by this and she pulled away from me, turning to face me, the tips of her ears fluttered a little.

"You know, last time this happened to me, my ex was too afraid to even come back with me. He stayed by his family and then came back to me later trying to say he loved me. But when he left me, it was over." said Tasha. Then she went to a huge jug of coffee that had been brewed in the morning and gave herself a big ol' cup.

"What I'm saying is I trust you, my dear. Because I know you won't leave me out in the cold." she replied.

I felt relief at not having done her wrong, but I still had that painful thirst for her, as she loved to toy with me and deny my pleasure.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that." I whimpered so apologetically, as if I were the one who had left her in the cold. She smiled with a look in her eye that I hadn't seen before. She guzzled the whole mug of the cold black stuff in one magnificent swoop, then she cupped my chin in her left hand.

"It's high time we made something together." she whispered, making my hairs stand on end.

At the start of our relationship, I looked for advice what to expect when dating a satyr woman. The satyr women are a wilder people, the other human women said. But, if they if she trusts you enough, she can impregnate you with her own eggs and a spell, and you can give birth to...things. Little biological machines, given just a pinch of life force and a purpose (of course, you could create a baby if you truly wanted).

Tasha slapped me on the ass. "Get out of your head and into bed" she commanded me. So I rushed off to our bedroom and I fell into the lush duvet on our king-sized bed. My wetness was leaving a damp mark on my jeans that was only getting larger.

I slipped out of everything so when Tasha walked in, her eyes surveyed me up and down admiring my hills and my valleys as if I were a picturesque piece of land she was going to fuck.

"Now, this is important my dear. What sort of thing do we want to make?" she said. I was at a loss. I just wanted her to fall on me. Then I thought of the the garden, for some strange reason. The aphids were killing all the roses in the yard.

"I wish for a ladybug to kill the aphids" I replied.

Tasha cocked her head to the side in slight confusion as she knew nothing of gardening, only that its results could sometimes be delicious.

"Then a ladybug we shall make." she said and her eyes fell on my glistening lips. She leaned over me and put a hand on my lower belly, whispering in my ear a spell in the divine language of Dionysia and a little knot I didn't know existed before widened within me.

"The spell is to protect your womb, my dear, and to kill any pains of labour." she said. I stared her in the eyes. I had no patience left, I stole the first kiss from her and how soothing her lips felt. Offended, she pulled away and made revenge kisses down my neck, and I inhaled the faint woodland scent of the fur on her shoulders. Then my hands reached for her shirt and nearly ripped the buttons off opening it, grabbing her already numb B-cups, Tasha moaned into me.

She wouldn't let me have it for long and she forced me back down, her arms wrapped their way around my lower back and she kissed my nipples like they were the last thing on earth. I tried to buck my hips to find some friction on her, but she wouldn't give me any.

"I'm not gonna knock you up yet, my little princess." she commanded, making her way down to my belly, she lifted me and held my ass with her muscular frame, kissing circles around my hips and then skin below my belly button for agonising minutes. I complained and wailed at her, and my throbbing clit poked out a little from under my folds and she couldn't help herself from dipping her tongue in, circling it, until I felt her lips gently suck on it and I saw her goat-like ears just flopping onto both my thighs.

My hips bucked against her lightly, finding enough rhythm between us to send me over the edge, and the contractions rolled through me, drenching the bedsheets in puddles. Yet she had merely ploughed me, she was yet to fertilise me, she still needed to fill my cavernously empty cunt.

Tasha got out from between my legs and away from the bed and she stood over me. She had a devious expression on her face. She still had her black pants on, and there was a delicious bulge in them. It was her ovipositor, her girldick, I needed it. Now.

She said only one word - "Beg".

I got on my knees and spoke of how I'd write stories about her, I told her about how I'd let her fuck me in the mornings, but she soon stopped me.

"Romantic, but that is not at all necessary my love. You never mentioned letting me wipe the wall with your body" she said so smoothly.

"No, but I might you." I replied, surprising her. Her nipples swelled at the suggestion and she let me ram her muscular frame against the wall. Then she let me run my hands down her rugged curves, over the fine golden hairs that ran in between her breasts and covered her belly like beautiful, rampant weeds. My fingers unbuckled her belt, but the her leg found itself between my thighs. My mind lost control of my body, my hips grinded wildly against her leg. I have to admire her restraint, I was ruining her favourite pants, our nipples rubbing togeather, and her bulge so tantalisingly close.

Then she took back control and slammed me against another wall. My hands finally unbuttoned her fly and then slipped off her pants. Underneath was her smooth ovipositor, erect, wide open and covered in her own stickiness. I held her ass and pushed her ovipositor into my mess, but she thrust only very lightly and shallowly to tease me. I bought my whole body weight down on it, Tasha’s eyes fluttered, and her knees bucked. I gripped her ass, encouraging her to fill more of me. That drove her wild, as if she were almost possessed, and she forced me into a mating press against the wall. She pinned me like a picture frame. The picture - Tasha, thrusting ever more greedily and deeply into me, her willing mate, my feet no longer touching the floor. Her tension gradually built within me, until she burst, my moans went with her rhythm as her eggs pumped into me.

To be continued…

Part 1 | Part 2 coming soon!

For some reason, I find this... disturbing.

Abandoned GameBoy post box in the mountains of Shikoku, Kagawa, Japan

I love a good well-written dream.

In my dream last night I woke up in a massive facility. It was hard to discern the exact culture but it was like if Judaism and Chinese culture smashed into each other. I was told this was a breeding facility to reawaken the famous historical figures of this culture. It was a known fact that they reincarnated every 35 cycles of 36- there was a math formula, I forget. They reincarnated regularly.

They believed I was their figurehead, a woman who led them during times of crisis.

I was taken on a tour. I saw half grown creatures and fetuses in tubes, all experiments to better society. I felt lucky to be walking around. I was shown scenes of elaborate clay dolls dressed and arranged to display historic moments. This is the Betrayer I was told, the other half of my pair who would inevitably betray me. In the scene his cheeks were bright red and he was surrounded by women.

Later I got to meet his incarnation, a tall lad with a joyous smile and wild dark hair. I was shy but he was gregarious and friendly. We spent time together every day. I loved him, not romantically, but without reservation. One day while out walking together we passed by a huge open room full of musicians. The music reminded me of ATLA but with some odd notes and changes.

I was so enthralled, I stopped to stare. The music was beautiful but the people were busy with recording devices and I didn’t want to interrupt. But my friend grabbed my arm and hauled me in, swinging me in a dance until I stopped caring about being a bother and just danced with him, both of us laughing and delighted. And the musicians were happy too, delighted to please us, their very important people who were still growing up.

Another scene later was waking up in darkness and the head of security being in my room. She led me down the hall and to a secret desk where she pointed at an alphabet arrayed on the desk. She didn’t want a puppet figurehead. She wanted a leader. She began to tutor me in secret to learn the things a leader must know.

Later I remember sitting in a panel of judges looking down at a woman who wore my face. The director was forcing her to abase herself, to grovel and I snarled, wanting to defend her. My friend wrapped his arms around me, holding me close while he whispered in my ear that that’s what the director wanted. The girl was led away sobbing. We never saw her again.

I slowly gathered power to myself, trying not to tip off the head of the facility to my rebellion. But one day I couldn’t find my lovely friend, my other half. Someone trusted whispered “His cheeks are beginning to turn red.”

I began tearing through the facility screaming as he was nowhere to be found until finally I tore open a paper door and there he was at a low table, surrounded by anxiously smiling women plying him with drink.

I shrieked and launched toward him, and he slowly fell backward as I came close. His cheeks were red with poison, he didn’t move again. I raged and wept on his unmoving neck and the director entered.

“He betrayed you,” she informed me.

“You betrayed me,” I countered and rose to rip her apart with my bare hands.

And then I woke up the end.

i need a girl I can use whenever and wherever I feel like it. I want a girl who pretends to be taken aback by how vulgar and forward I can be, and maybe even scolds me a little, but starts getting a wet spot on her panties anytime I feel her up in public. a girl who gets turned on being dykehandled like a slut