the thing is it would be sooo easy for me to compile blackmail on a sadist. i already obsessively scroll through your messages over and over throughout the day, barely holding myself back from screenshotting an archive of the entire hours upon hours of conversation in case your blog gets unexpectedly deactivated by tumblr.
i already have a mental index of the most damning messages – threats you’ve made, sure, but also distinctive spellings & words, the times you slipped up & used your time zone when you told me when to stop a task, references to activities you do when you’re not torturing me. how long do you think it’d take me to find out who you really are, with all this time on my hands & you having convinced me so thoroughly that you’re all i should think about?
hell, i already journal after most scenes – it’d be so easy to craft an incriminating trail of entries about how scared & hurt & violated you make me feel. wouldn’t even be lying, really. some concerning vagueposts over time on my sfw main, too, i think, and if anyone reaches out, well, it’d be rude not to open up to them about what i’m going through.
maybe one of those nights you disappeared immediately after getting off, i couldn’t handle the unwanted feelings of worthlessness & rejection, and i had to call a hotline just to get through it. maybe it happened a couple times, even. i mean, it’d really suck if the records of those phone calls got out alongside everything else, too, is all i’m saying.
come to think of it, how would someone be able to know you didn’t actually commit all this fucked-up shit in person? like, if i gave myself those injuries you’re always saying i’d look so pretty with, do you think anyone would believe you didn’t finally snap and give them to me yourself? i bet i could even send the photos to you, like, “wanted to make you look at what you did to me,” & you’d be too busy jerking yourself off to consider how it looks when you claim full credit for my bruises & cuts. you’ve never even seen me in person? good luck convincing people of that when you’re always threatening to show up at my door.
i know, i know, you were just gonna use me until you got bored, until i got too attached, until you broke me, & then you’d toss me aside & get off remembering the heartbreak i couldn’t keep from showing on my face. well, guess what, daddy: there are worse things to be than bored.
you break it you buy it. i’m yours whether you still want me or not.
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they tease me about my drippy cunt~ but i can't wait for them to see how messy i really get for them,, sometimes there is slick dripping down my thighs just from them telling me what they'll do to me..
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there’s always so much admiration and praise for swallowers... well what if i decide your treat is to be forced to spit? to be called a good filthy mutt for getting your master’s seed all over yourself? i’d relish the feeling of gripping your chin, making sure your eyes are on mine so i can hear you whine when i order you to “drop it.”
come now, pet… be good and i might just let you keep it all inside next time.
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