#somnophilia tw
Cw/tw: cnc, intox
Something is so lovely about the idea of going out and having some handsome stranger buy me drinks and smooth talk me. Like, he’s blatantly lying to me, every time I ask him something he flips it around and never answers but I don’t notice, I’m getting progressively more drunk, and he’s getting progressively more appealing. I don’t pay attention to the drinks he’s getting me anymore I just down them like the stupid little bunny I am. His hand that was on my hip slips down to grope my ass, I just giggle and sway and he catches me when I stumble. He calls me pretty and dumb and I just smile against his lips when he kisses me. I don’t remember everything but he takes me home, I know I didn’t tell him where I live but how else would he have gotten me there? That doesn’t matter, his hands are soft and his voice is firm as he takes my clothes off. He’s mumbling something about always wanting to do this, I’m only half awake I can’t decipher what he’s talking about, stuff about him watching me for so long, telling me Im his now, that he’s going to make me feel so good I just need to sleep. I can hear a camera? I think. I can’t tell everything is so fuzzy. I just need to be a good bunny and sleep for him, he’ll take care of me. I’m so hot and floaty and dizzy, sleeping does sound nice I should sleep. When I wake up I’m alone, hungover, sore and covered in bites and hickeys, filled with a strangers cum.
Tw: somno, cnc
Sometimes when I leave my window open at night I think about someone watching me, someone taking pictures of me when I slip back in from out of the shower, staring quietly right there in front of me but I can’t see him, my room being so bright and the outside being so dark. I like to think he listens to me get off, to the blankets shifting and how I whine and gasp imagining how I’d react to someone’s hands that aren’t my own. Hands down his own pants as I send myself over the edge. He’d know I take something to help me sleep, he’d test how far he can go, from making smaller noises to whispering the things he’d do to me, pushing my window open more, climbing inside to look at all the stuff in my room, to look at me. I like to think about him pulling the blankets off me slowly, watching intently for the slightest shift, any warning that I’m waking up but I never do. He’d slide his hands up my thighs, pushing them apart as delicately as he can when I press them together in subconscious reaction to the heat growing between my legs. Some nights he’d stop there, hands wandering my body, watching me squirm and whine for more. It’d take him a while to confirm what he always knew, I’m a hopeless slut. Other nights he’d touch me, he’d push my boxers down and my tee shirt up, gathering fabric up around my chin that barely muffle the needly noises I make in my sleep. Eventually it won’t be enough to just touch and and touch himself, the pictures he has aren’t doing it anymore, I’m not wrecked enough, he needs to wreck me more. He doesn’t care if I wake up anymore, he’s trained me so well, he knows I want it. When I do wake up I’m too far gone to do anything other then beg for more of his cock, other then weakly gasp and moan as he tells me how much of a whore I am for him, how pretty I look, as he instructs me to hold my pose and my tired mind keeps pulling my eyes closed again, the sleep that has yet to leave me making everything feel fuzzy and warm, so much so that if it weren’t for the cum leaking out of me when I wake up again in the morning I wouldn’t know if it was a dream or not.
Posting about my fantasies isn’t an excuse for you freaks to do or say weird creepy shit, this is me time I don’t give a fuck about the fucked up shit you wanna do.
