#cautionary tale
Never Settle
Irrespective of how I feel about Nicki’s personality, I do respect and admire her contribution to Hip Hop and women empowerment.
So much so, that I was extremely saddened and disappointed in her choice of partner. Anyway, I urge women, especially single women, to use Nicki’s marriage has a cautionary tale. If you’re successful, and have choices, DO NOT settle down with a man who isn’t on your level.
I know that society puts tremondous pressure on women to get married and have children; but try to be strong, and wait for someone more deserving! DO NOT ignore the warning signs, the excess baggage, lack of financial security, and criminal background, just because you’re eager to become a WIVE and MOTHER.
Love yourself enough to not invest in a nonentity like Mr.Petty ♀️
Author@iameriwa
Model - Nicki Minaj
Fair play? In modern sports? She’s not going to call a penalty on any of the girls, she’s isn’t going to enforce the excessive smothering rule, and, even if the male team does somehow manage to score a bra-down (never mind a treble teat), she’s never going to allow it no matter how much they beg.
She might, however, offer to take one of the guys off to the side of the field for a “recuperative” tittyfuck when all the bouncing starts getting a little too much for him.
From drecma galleries
“You? A free man?”
“You know you don’t have to be in between them for me to completely wreck your life with them, right?”
“Girls like her are everywhere now. You can tell them by their…”, she gestures, stretching her hands far out in front of her chest, rounding her fingers to grope invisible spheres, and only then whispering the word. “By her hooters. But it’s not just the size. It’s the bouncing. And the playing. And the sweet words she says. And all of the things she does to make you think she’s a nice girl to…”
Another stumble. Again the strain of old-world prudishness overrides his mother’s tongue.
“…to go to bed with. But never forget she wants something from you. And if you give it to her, you’ll never get it back.”
His mom had once warned him about a certain kind of girl, but that had been a long time ago, back in the days before his mom had grown into that kind of girl.
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“I can’t believe this.” She scoffed. “You can’t seriously be afraid of spending your entire life between my tits. That’s what you’re for, dummy. It’s the only thing that gives your life purpose.”
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“But I’m just saying, what if you really enjoy it?
“Because sure, there’s a chance it might turn into some kind of ‘eternal dick torture’ where you spend the rest of your life begging me to let you out of my boobs. But there’s also a chance you might really enjoy it.”
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“A guy wandering around all alone? No girlfriend in sight? Not even a boobysitter to look after you? I’d almost think you want to get boobed.”
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“Look, I’m not trying to shame you. I’m just saying it’s not normal. Like, I don’t even really understand where you’re coming from with this. Is it like a dominance thing? Like a power thing, maybe? Kind of a role reversal, I guess. Like ‘oh, I’m the big strong guy. I’m gonna’ jam my dick into this girl and spray my cum all inside her’? Maybe impregnate her?
“What do you even call it? Pussy fucking? A vagina fetish? A coital kink? And if you’re down there doing whatever, where do the boobs come in? Do you squeeze them as you’re kind of thrusting? Like just rub the nipples? I don’t really get it.
“Look, it’s going to be a hard no. And I don’t think I’m being unreasonable there. I really don’t think you’re going to find many girls who are into that. Yeah, yeah, I know people used to. But don’t you think we’ve moved past that, as a society? We were flatter. We didn’t have as many choices back then. I seriously doubt anybody ever actually wanted to be pussy fucked. It’s kind of gross, honestly.
“What? ’A loving, mutual experience of shared affection and bonding’? Yeah, you’re kind of not selling it to me there. That really doesn’t sound like my cup of tea, sorry. Maybe I’m just too vanilla. But, hey, if you’re into this whole ‘bonding’ crap, I think a month or three between my boobs would really help straighten you out. You don’t mind a little ball pain, do you?”
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A smile played across the blessed girl’s lips as she rose from the swimming pool, her breasts skipping up-and-down with every sauntering step. “How come you look so scared? Surely you can at least handle a tiny pair like mine?”
Watching those supposedly ‘tiny’ breasts jiggle upwards and closer, her target stumbled backwards, falling to clatter against the pool tiles.
Uncaring—even finding some amusement in his fear—the girl leaned forwards, her back arched, her glistening tits nestled between her arms, rivulets of water trickling their way down from chest to nipple. Slowly, she teased her shoulders from side-to-side, shaking free the droplets, some even flying far enough to sprinkle her victim’s face.
“How weak would you have to be if even these little bee-stings could completely enslave you?”
And Ballsmasher did grope, and Dancer did tease.
And Stripper and Vixen bounced titties to please.
And Nipples and Cleavage and Boobies and Tits,
Tormented us boys with their scanty outfits.
We tried to resist them, we tried not to touch,
But their big Titmas tits were just really too much,
And Mistress then laughed, for all year she’d been waiting
To see us right here lined up men all a ‘baiting:
“It’s just like my list said, though I’m checking it twice:
These men are so naughty. Not one of them nice.
They play with their dicks, and they treat them like toys,
But making girls happy is the purpose of boys.”
Most boobs spurt out cream, but a few squirt out magic.
And the cream of Miss Claus is among the most tragic
with a click of her fingers, a squeeze of her breast.
The Mistress of Titmas did what she does best.
Naughty young Danny was stood first in place.
And the first one to feel Titmas cream on his face.
Falling back with a clatter, a gasp of such shock.
For his body was turning to hard, plastic cock.
Miss Claus plucked the wanker from down in the snow.
To his girlfriend went Danny, all wrapped in a bow.
The rosy-cheeked girl blushing bright with such glee:
“He’s a lovelier gift than I thought he could be!”
Next poor miss Rebecca with cream-engorged titty
Her brothers ‘came victims to Claus’s boob pity:
One sibling a dildo, Bec’s cleavage did hump
Two fondled her tits—an auto breast pump.
And to pink and to plastic turned old mister Willer.
Then stuffed in a gift-bra—a cute cleavage-filler.
And Alex and Toby, who once had been brothers
‘came a two-headed dildo for lesbian lovers.
And Bob to his wife would oft’ say: “Maybe later.”
‘til handed to her as a gift-wrapped vibrator.
And kind Mrs O’Hart loved dear her son Jack.
But she loved him much dearer all latex and black.
When Simon ‘came changed, his wife shunned her new prize:
“Got one slightly bigger? He’s not quite my size.”
Through this way and that, Claus worked through the lot.
And I felt my balls curdle as she came to my spot.
And screams turned to buzzing, though Dancer still giggled.
Her sisters in slutdom bounced, sashayed, and jiggled.
My throat came half-clogged with sobs threatened to choke.
But I could do nothing but stand there and stroke.
“You could have been happy.” said Mom, squishing boob.
“Are my tits so much worse than a rough hand and lube?
Now this is due payback for stroking it red.”
But dear mom’s cruel words gave Claus ideas instead:
“You’ve rubbed your cock hard, to a pretty red glow.”
“Perhaps you could help light my way in the snow?”
“It really won’t be near as bad as you think.”
(But who was Claus kidding with that teasing wink?)
“A slave for Miss Titmas? I’d rather be dick!”
But Claus told me, quite simply, boys don’t get to pick.
“It’s like your mom said, you gave up on your chance.
(I hope you like watching eight hot boobgirls dance).”
From her cleavage Claus plucked two ribbons with bell.
(And to keep my mom glad, a TitPounder XL)
One tied back my wrists and one went ‘round cock.
Which Miss Claus’s sex magic bound tight like a lock.
“Now lets be reasonable. I won’t let you jack.
But, honey, it’s Titmas! You need a full sack.”
And I squirmed and I writhed, as balls shuddered then grew.
My cock swollen, now painful—bright red above blue.
She fastened me proudly to front of her sleigh
Cock shining with lust always lighting the way.
To keep my cock throbbing all the way to North Pole—
For that was those eight girls true Titmas time role:
“You want me to touch it? Can’t you rub it yourself?—“
“—I’m a proud Titmas tease, not just some whore elf.”
“Is it always so hard? And you call me a slut—”
“—But you’re never not thinking of busting a nut.”
And just out of reach girls did tease and flirt.
They’d make me all horny, but not let me squirt.
And out of the lot, only Stripper seemed nice.
But I was probably just fooled by scent: nutmeg and spice.
“Oh you poor thing, balls painful and tight—”
“—Why don’t you stare at our tits for the night?”
“Sure leering at boobs won’t make you feel better—”
“—But seeing you suffer makes our nipples wetter.”
With her night’s work now done, Miss Claus sprang to her sleigh.
And with eighteen tits bouncing we flew all away.
But I heard her exclaim, as we drove out of sight—
“Happy Titmas to girls, and to girls a fun night!”
So don’t be naughty this Titmas, don’t rub your dick raw,
Or you’ll learn that my Mistress has room for one more.
But don’t fret, never fear, she’s so kind to her flock.
Once yearly—on Titmas—she kisses my cock.
-A ‘traditional’ Titmas poem. Supposedly.
Anyway, I know it’s been a tough year, but I hope all your holidays are as happy as possible. Merry Titmas everyone.
Once, enslaving her boyfriend would have been unthinkable.
She used to have all of these little scruples: morals, restrictions, a sense of fairness. Scruples grounded in old-world thinking—small-boob thinking as they sometimes called it. Fairness just wasn’t the kind of thought you entertained when you had your own heavy pair of superiortits jostling over the neckline of your top. Each boob swollen with billions of intermingled neurons sparking need, and, lust, and pleasure across their soft expanse; endless hidden glands pumping their thick hormone syrup throughout her body and reminding her of what was important; other tiny chemical factories working overtime to fill the air with black-cherry booby pheromones. Her new tits incessant in their desire to stamp their imprint on the world, on her boyfriend, and on her own mind.
Even a single boob was bigger than her own head and one alone would have been more than capable of overwhelming whatever protests still echoed from her forebrain. Two made it hard to remember she’d ever been anything other than this: this big-boobed bitch who’s nipples throbbed so delightfully when she thought of how it’d be to have her boyfriend at her mercy, squirming and writhing between her tits. She knew, deep in her bosom, that it was entirely the right thing to do. Men deserved to suffer for their lust. They were silly, pathetic, horny things and it was right to take advantage of them, to show them how small and weak they really were.
She couldn’t even think of her lovely breasts as an invasive thing. Her blessing had been sudden, the new weight that had surged out from her body had defied everything she thought she’d known about the world. But she couldn’t think of them as something abnormal. They had simply taken their place as the most necessary part of her. Twinned queens taking up their rightful throne. Her chest proudly crowned by these jiggling mounds of pure lust telling her for the first time who she really was.
Once, enslaving her boyfriend would have been unthinkable. Now, when they were together, she thought of almost nothing else.
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