ammoniagirl

[ammoniagirl]

[ammoniagirl]

See I'm the best kind of switch since I'm really really really weak to touch. I don't really like being touched too often because of that so I'm perfectly comfortable using my hands and mouth to bring my partner to a violent shuddering orgasm. But then as soon as she brushes against my nipples I start moaning and I have about ten seconds before losing all the strength in my body and falling over. So what I'm saying is that I'm REALLY easy to turn the tables on

[ammoniagirl]

cumming between my sister's tits and giving everyone else in the Aldi's produce section a big enthusiastic thumbs-up to let them know I condone incest

[ammoniagirl]

what happens when you win

Victory should have been sweet. Standing over your foe's corpse, augmented muscles straining to yank your spear from her ruined heart, should have triggered a flood of dopamine. It should have felt like your handler's hand in your patchy hair, the rush of hearing her clicker in your ear—

You thumb your radio's buttons.

Nothing.

It's as dead as your enemy, as dead as everything else within a dozen meters. Another few hours and your battlefield will be fatally irradiated; you can hear the rising buzz of radiation leaking from her ruptured engines.

The enemy used to load their mechs with scorched-earth traps, beads of antimatter magnetically isolated. Victory—or, in many cases, an unfortunately placed shard of flak—meant devastation. No one bothered to tell you when they stopped, or why. Maybe they decided that poisoning the land was better than destroying it.

Warnings hum at the edge of your vision, damaged subsystems and requests for maintenance. Her desperate struggles as you pinned her down and took her to pieces inflicted more damage than you realized. Nothing deadly, but the section of your life support responsible for managing your neurotransmitter balance is completed unresponsive: no tasty combat drugs for you.

That, then, is why you feel nothing except the last, fading remnants of war-trance and a slowly growing sense of failure.

Bad hound. No orgasm. Go back to the barracks and think about what you've done.

Not your handler's voice. Just your conditioning rising up to punish you.

You need to get back to base. If you don't, if you can't—

This is your enemy's fault.

Parts of her body are still intact. Her head, probably; you didn't land any hits on that part of her mech. No point, really; obliterate the pilot's mind and the mech's guidance systems go feral trying to read intent from whatever is left behind. Unpredictable and dangerous, like you're supposed to be.

Her armor bends and tears. It's not so hard to take her apart, really; active countermeasures get all the funding. Don't be seen; don't be hit; don't make the mechanics spend more time putting you back together. It's a pity that yours didn't work better.

There's a face under there, buried in broken machinery and leaking plastic tubes, still visible through the bismuth-like growths that encrust her skull. Still alive, barely; her eyes flutter in the sudden light, struggling to focus, failing.

There's something familiar about it. Something in the tilt of her eyes, the shape of her nose, her lips—not what your handler looks like, not at all, but what she feels like. The impression her face leaves on you when you see her in the hanger, between missions; the way your heart always skips a beat.

You shouldn't recognize her face. You have never seen the enemy's face before. A warning siren keens in your ear, filling your heart with hatred, but—how do you know her? Why?

She says something, a word your augmentations will only let you hear as painful static, and you reflexively drive your fist through her skull.

Destroying her doesn't save you.

The last thing you feel before your own scorched-earth countermeasure activates is the bloody pulp cooling on your skin.

[ammoniagirl]

[ammoniagirl]

wind up dollgirl deliberately given hair long enough to jam up her turn key

[ammoniagirl]

THEY MADE T4T REAL??

[ammoniagirl]

“god you are so. fucking. pretty.” punctuated by the sound of my cock slamming into your dripping cunt

[ammoniagirl]

[ammoniagirl]

Meeting the other trans girl at the party and coming on to her by saying "hey there cute little snuff bait, you want to come live at my house so I can treat you like a dog, make you sleep on the floor, never let you wear clothes, and fuck you until your mind snaps and you lose all ability to speak or recognize yourself as a person anymore?" And watching her start to blush and submissively latch onto you and follow you everywhere, like aw good pup.

[ammoniagirl]

need hot t4t sex now.... weh....

spoiling my sweet puppy 💜 @rebecctoplasm

[ammoniagirl]

YEAH I BE SLAPPIN MY HOG ALRIGHT CAN I GET AN AMEN

something is terribly wrong with you

I made a website for the hog slapping stuff: instructions for how to do it, what we learned, unedited videos of each slap, immediately after vs healed pics, the works. Check it out, share it with your friends, ask us clarifying questions!

[ammoniagirl]

I bite the hand that feeds me, I suck the cock that breeds me

[ammoniagirl]

oh? you wanna see my monster? you wanna get your pipeline punched huh???

[ammoniagirl]

"#食べたりしない ⑤" by なを (@Naotin3333)

[ammoniagirl]

Person who lets me smoke their weed but only if I stay naked while we get high together :)

[ammoniagirl]