#challenge pissing

[rraaaarrl]

from the meme relics, because @mortifiedandawesome

tbh it is so real me, having grown up in Baltimore ✌️

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

What's that, you say? I can get a 15 year old car with 4 previous owners, 30 reports in the maintenance history, and nearly 200,000 miles on it, all for the low, low price of just two and a half times the kelley blue book value, plus title, tag, and taxes? And I can't take it for a test drive or even turn it on because the rear differential is being replaced? Why, I'd be a fool not to buy it right here, right now, cash! Just tell me when I can pick it up in a week or two.

[carli-meows]

HE AIMS HIS COCK UP AT THE SKY

[goldemas1244]

I love this unisex toilet

Two people can piss at once, no divider, no border

[doublehelix-art]

HIME KAYAKU - THE BADDEST BITCH IN THE HOME OF CHALLENGE PISSING!

[inkskinned]

the thing about some men is that they want you to remember, at all times, that you are underneath them. that with one word or look or "joke", you will stay beneath them. that even "exceptions" to the rule are not true exceptions - the commonly cited statistic that one in eight men believe they could win against serena williams.

women's gymnastics is often not seen as real gymnastics. whatever the fuck non-euclidian horrors rhythmic gymnasts are capable of, it's often tamped down as being not a sport. some of the most dominant athletes in the world are women. nobody watches women's soccer. despite years of dancing and being built like a fucking brick, men always assume they're faster and stronger than i am. you wouldn't like what happens when they are incorrect. once while drunk at a guy's house i won a held-plank challenge by a solid minute. the party was over after that - he became exceedingly violent.

what i mean is that you can be perfect, and they still think you're ... lacking, somehow. i hope you understand i'm trying to express a neutral statement when i say: taylor swift was the possibly the most patriarchy-palatable, straight-down-the-line woman we could churn out. she is white, conventionally attractive, usually pretty mild in personality. say what you will about her (and you should, she's a billionaire, she can handle it), but a few things seem to be true about her: 1. she can write a damn catchy song, and 2. the eras tour truly was a massive commercial success and was also genuinely an impressive feat of human athleticism and performance.

i don't know if she deserves the title of "woman of the year," i'm not debating that in this post. what i am saying is that she was named Woman of The Year, and then an untalented man got onstage at the golden globes and made fun of her for attending her boyfriend's football games. what i am saying is that this woman altered local economies - and her dating life is still being made into a "harmless" punchline. the camera panned, greedy, over to her downing a full glass of champagne. congratulations taylor! you are woman of the year! but you are a woman. even her.

fuck, man. write better material.

a guy gets onstage at a college graduation and despite the fact like half the crowd is made up of women, he spends a significant proportion of it warning these people - who spent possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars on their education - that they were lied to. that the "real" meaning of femininity is motherhood. that they shouldn't rest on the laurels of that education-they-paid-for but instead throw it away to kneel at a man's heel. imagine that. sweating in your godawful polyester gown (that you also had to pay for!), fresh out of 4 years of pushing yourself ever-harder: and some guy you've never met - who knows nothing about you - he reminds you this "win" is a pyrrhic one at best. you really shouldn't consider yourself that extraordinary. you're still a woman, even after years of study.

god forbid you are not a pretty woman, but if you are pretty, you must be dumb. god forbid you are not ablebodied or white or cis or straight or good at swallowing. you must be beneath a man, or else they are not a man. the equation for masculinity seems to just be: that which is not a woman or womanly (god forbid). anything "feminine" is thereby anathema. to engage in "feminine" things such as therapy, getting a hug from a friend, or crying - it is giving up ones manhood. therefore women need to be put in their place to ensure that masculinity is protected.

this is something i have struggled to explain to terfs - they are not doing the work of feminism, but rather the patriarchy. by asserting that women and men must be (on some secret level) oppositional and in conflict, they also assume that being a woman is akin to being another species. but bigotry does not stem from observational truths or clarity - that is what makes it bigotry. there was nothing in my childhood that made me fundamentally different from my brother. we are treated differently nonetheless. to assert there is some biological drive that enforces my gender role is to assert that women have a gendered role. men do not see women as equal to them not because of biological reality - but instead because the core tenant of the patriarchy is that women aren't full, realized people.

we are told from a very young age to excuse misbehavior as a single man's choice - not all men. it is not all men, just that one guy. all women are gold-digging bitches who belong in the kitchen - but if a man is mean, bigoted, or violent to you, it's just that particular guy, and that means nothing about men-as-a-whole. it is only one guy who got mad when you gently rejected him. it is only one guy who warns her this trophy is heavy, are you sure you can hold it? it is only one guy who smashes her face into the cake. it is only one guy talking into a mic about hating our bodily autonomy.

i have just found that they often wait until the moment we actually seem to be upstaging them. you sit in a meeting where you're presenting your own findings and he says get me a coffee? or you run to the end of the marathon and are about to finish first and he pushes your kids out in front of you. you win the chess game and they make some comment akin to well, you're ugly away. we can be the billionaire and get the dream life and finally fucking do it and yet! still! they have this strange, visceral urge to say well actually, if you think you're so great -

it's not one just one guy. it's one in eight.

[the-woman-upstairs]

Really fucked up that, when they’re young, Patrick and Art are SO tactile with each other, so comfortable sharing the same space. Art lets Patrick touch him and move him and physically overwhelm him and easily acquiesces to it, if not outright enjoys it.

Then in the present, they’ve been so far out of each other’s orbit for so long, held such animosity that when they have their moment alone in the sauna, Art physically recoils from Patrick’s close proximity! It’s so painful to watch because even as Patrick’s goading him, it’s so obvious he wants to be able to get back into Art’s space. But Art has erected all these walls around himself, he refuses to give Patrick an inch or even admit to missing how close they used to be!

AND THEN we see Art and Tashi later and he wants her to hold him, to be gentle with him, and just TOUCH him. Like, he does miss that kind of close physical contact! He either doesn’t know how to ask for it or is uncomfortable being that openly vulnerable. Worth noting that he pretty much always defers to Tashi in regard to initiating physical intimacy (with their first kiss, though he does state his desire, SHE has to be the one to make the first move). And it seems pretty obvious that Tashi herself isn’t comfortable providing that intimacy, whereas Patrick actively seeks to provide it (the hug/forehead kiss after their win together in the early years, dragging the stool closer to him).

Art has tried very hard to act like he doesn’t need physical affection and even though his discipline and devotion to Tashi has made him a stronger tennis player, it’s made him a hollow person, which, in turn, has kept him from becoming a GREAT tennis player.

All of this, of course, is why the ending hits so damn hard.

[draw-the-squad-like-this]

Draw your OC like this

[jettwrites]

superrr inexperienced!art jerking off for the first time, perv bff!patrick talking him through the entire thing. guiding him to rub his thumb over his red weepy slit, palm at the velvety skin of his balls, and to stroke himself slower when patrick sees the way his face contort in discomfort. art who when he gets close he begins to panic at the unfamiliar feeling in his abdomen — expression one a mix of confusion and pleasure. his hand becomes weary as he slows down and picks up jaggedly, — scared to enter unknown territory — whining at the lessening friction yet fearful of that pressure boiling over.

“hah… pat— pat fuckk, i feel weird-” he’s whimpering through every panting breath. suddenly, the covers are so hot and everything is all too much at once. “‘m g’na pee! nmmff— can’t stop it- god- I can’t stop, please” he’s not even sure what he’s asking for anymore as the pace of movements turn feverish, art’s own tight grip pushing him over the edge into the sweet bliss of his first orgasm. blonde head of curls lolling back into the cushiony pillow, mouth open in a satisfied “o” shape. his thighs twitch while heavy spurts of milky cum land on his chest and the bed sheets. patrick can’t help but follow in suit at the sight, a sly grin morphing to his face.

[jesuistrestriste]

Puppy art squirting 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

art’s laid out on his back with your hand around his cock, three loads pooled and shot out over his toned abdomen, and you’re still stroking him.

he’s whining and letting little punched-out gasps escape his chest, but it’s no use.

he knows you won’t stop.

i think the words you had used were ‘milk you dry’ when you had explained what your plans for him were tonight.

the blonde’s hands stayed behind his arched back, right where you told him to keep them, and tears pricked at his eyes as he squirmed and bucked his hips up into your first. sweat dripped down his trembling thighs, but you ignored it from where you sat between them.

“shh, puppy,” you coo, “relax for me… a lil bit came out last time, so you still have at least one more in you, ok?”

he shakes his head vehemently, trying his best to protest, but his swollen cock is doing most of the talking as it throbs and jumps.

your hand strokes him a little faster, and he all but wails.

“noo—! oh, god, please—” he sobs, tears threatening to spill over.

you only stroke him faster at the sound of his cries and focus your attention on his oversensitive tip.

“Art,” you say lowly, almost a warning, and you swear that you can imagine a tail tucking between his strong legs just from the look on his face.

he’s withering, pouting even, and then he’s back to moaning. you knew how to push him back into his place, and he enjoyed that. even if it sometimes made his dick feel like it was being scratched and tickled at the same time.

pain and pleasure. he could, and would, take it all for you if it made you happy.

a few more moments go by, and you then move your palm to glide right over his leaking slit.

art’s body convulses like he’s being electrocuted and his eyes go from being screwed shut to flying open.

“AH—” his hands fly out from behind his back and reach down for your wrist without his permission, wetness finally dripping down his cheeks from his flooded eyes as he shudders and hisses with oversensitivity.

“no, no, wait— wait,” he pleads, shaking his head, and he shakily retracts his touch from yours, but his palms hover over his twitching length, “that’s gonna be too much, it’s too much, it’s so much—”

he’s babbling now, gasping and slurring like he’s drunk, while your hands stop for the longest (and first) time since this whole thing started.

you look to his eyes, one hand wrapped around the base of him.

“you’re going to be ok,” you say softly, using your other hand to lean forward and wipe the tears from his cheeks, “you’re just gonna cum again.”

he shakes his head, sniffling.

“no, no, that felt weird,” he tries to explain between breaths and jolts of his spent body, “like something was gonna happen..”

you quirk a brow and then your entire body heats up as you realize what he’s describing. you’d seen it once or twice online, but you had no idea that art was able do it. and now, you were realizing, maybe he could.

you smile softly and breathlessly, giving him one firm stroke up and down before you pause your hand again. he curls in over himself and keens.

“do you trust me?” you speak gently.

he whimpers, but he nods. there’s a bit of hesitation in his head’s movements, as if he’s processing that you’re about to make his body do something that he’s never experienced before.

“hands behind your back, please,” you hum sweetly, but authoritatively nonetheless, and he complies without question.

all it takes is that one little indication of obedience from him, and your other hand is gliding up to swiftly start rubbing circles over the very tip of his cockhead with the flat of your palm.

he instantly sobs and cries out, shaking his head and digging his heels into the bedding while his head tips back into the pillows.

this only goes on for about fifteen seconds before he's gasping and lifting his head up to look down to you.

“oh my god, oh my god— oh— OH— no, no, something’s gonna come out, i’m gonna— it feels like i’m gonna—!”

your hand squeezes his tip now, and you begin to swipe the pad of your thumb rapidly over his slit.

“OH F-FUCK!” he yelps.

his legs kick out frantically on either side of you, his whole body arching up towards the ceiling as the strange coil in his gut finally snaps. he lets out one long, rushed, strangled moan, and then he squirts.

your jaw drops open as you watch the clear, watery fluid gush and fly out of him like a geyser, and you chuckle breathlessly.

“holy shit,” you murmur.

your thumb continues to glide back and forth over his tip as he releases more liquid, your digit faltering the stream, and he sobs harshly as he grasps at the sheets under his curved back where his hands remain.

after a couple long moments, the rush of fluid tapers off and he moans and whines little dopey, fucked-out words that make no sense.

you stop touching his tip, and glide that hand down to meet the one still holding his base. you sigh breathlessly as you sit there completely in awe.

art’s body collapses and his chest is heaving like you’ve never seen; for a second you’re worried he might pass out or hyperventilate, but he comes around.

his cheeks are flushed a bright red, tears muddling his baby blues, and his mop of shaggy blonde curls is a mess against the satin cushion under his head.

“Wh—” he mumbles, clearly still in a haze as the liquid trickles down the sides of his torso where most of it landed, “what just happened to me..?”

a breath.

“did i just… did i pee…?”

he whines softly and you remove your hands from his cock to lean down over his shaky form and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“you just squirted, it’s fine,” you try to reassure him, but this only seems to embarrass and confuse him further. although, the kiss helps ease some of this internal discomfort, even if just slightly.

he removes his hands tremblingly from under his back and pushes himself upright a little to look down over his wet stomach. he drops himself instantly back down and covers his eyes with his hands.

“i just pissed,” he says, his soft voice cracking with humiliation and exhaustion.

you frown and shake your head.

“Art, no, i promise you that you didn’t,” you tell him, trying to further soothe him, “it can happen when you get overstimulated, it’s okay.”

he tries to process your words, he really does, but he doesn’t have the brain capacity for it yet. he just moves to wrap his arms around you and push his face into your neck.

“i’m sorry,” he wheezes.

you kiss him some more. twice on the side of his head and then once over his shoulder. he relaxes a little more.

you return the embrace and sigh, rubbing his upper back as you pull his heavy upper body into your arms a bit further.

“don’t be sorry,” you whisper, “you didn’t do anything wrong, it’s all fine..”

he doesn’t say anything but you can tell that he’s too busy recovering to really take your words to heart.

you can take a quick shower with him, make him some dinner, cuddle and dote on him, and then maybe—just maybe—he’ll be open to talking about it. maybe he’ll even want to do it again.

who knows?

after all, he’ll do anything for you.

[venusaur-propaganda]

Drawing Venusaur with every Pokemon pt. Torterra

[drip-p1ss]

Notes Game - Bladder Torture

notes game to make my bladder stretched to its limits. no cum, just edge and hold like the stupid dumb slut I am (MDNI) wanna help? reblogs, like and comments (any time you want), make me suffer like the useless whore I am

every 1 note is 1 minute to add to my holding

every 5 notes are 100 ml I have to drink

every 10 notes I press on my bladder for 5 seconds

every 50 notes I press my bladder on a counter for 10 sec and release for 5, 3 times

every 70 notes 10 squats

100 notes: after 1 hour I can't hold with my hands or cross my leg anymore

~ after 100 notes:

every 10 notes is a slap on my full bladder

every 20 notes a slap on my open spread pussy

every 40 notes lie on my belly with something under it for 5 min

200 notes: do a workout with full bladder, leaking is not an excuse to stop

220 notes: melt an ice cube in my cunt with panties on, can't remove them (fake pee)

250 notes: body write with humiliating words while sitting on the toilet

+++ I accept tasks, challenges, punishments in the comments/asks

~ punishment

leaking

drink a glass of water + add 10 min + fake pee

wetting / accident

drink 4 glass of water + add 30 min + lay on belly with a small ball on bladder for 10 min

will close on september 11th

[im-leaking]

NSFW Omorashi:

That one time I had to potty so badly that I dribbled a little on the floor. I was fully naked and I went to clean it up because I’m not allowed to potty if there’s a mess on the ground, but as I got down and cleaned it I dripped more on the floor and had to clean that. It happened for like 8 minutes, me waddling crouched down, pee dripping from my pussy whenever I cleaned the little drops from before. I kept getting so excited after I cleaned it up because I knew it was almost time to potty but my bladder would give out and just spurt a little.

This one time I let out such a big squirt I had to press my hand against my pee hole to stop it. There was a much bigger little puddle and now I was using my undies to clean up the pee accident spots.

It was so embarrassing walking on my tiptoes crouched and my legs spread or when I bent over feeling the pee hit my heels and having to wipe the accident up. I also started leaking slick all over because of how turned on I was. My bladder was so so so full I thought I was never going to get the squirts under control, but eventually I did and got the mess cleaned. At this point I was holding my wet little pussy to not potty even more on the floor and rushed to the shower where I just let go and pissed down my legs while moaning. Needless to say I was trembling the whole time and it was honestly one of the best and most humiliating experiences ever. 🤤

[theladsaregoingmental]

One of the most disgusting things that "pro-palestine" people on this site do is saying 'if this happened in Ukraine everyone would be talking about it' and then:

1. The claim about Palestine is usually either false or massively exaggerated

2. That has happened in Ukraine. Every lie/ exaggeration you have told about palestine is true for Ukraine (see claims of a genocide, civilian deaths, killing members of the press etc)

3. No they wouldn't! Reporting of the attack on Ukraine has massively decreased because it isn't considered newsworthy, and especially on social media, you people are all too busy being rabidly antisemitic to care. If you can't blame the Jews and stan a genocidal terrorist group, support seems pretty thin on the ground.

[ilynpilled]

“jaime did it mostly for self preservation” “he did it bc he was ordered to kill his father” are not only blatantly incorrect and borderline illiterate reads of what is in the text but idk why people find it unfathomable that someone like jaime would want to prevent thousands of people from violently burning alive. like it is not actually a difficult moral equation which is why it is at the center of jaime’s arc and his relationship to his society because he realizes that the ethical constructs of westeros seem to be in opposition to this very obvious moral choice as seen by how the situation could even escalate to the point that it does through the enablement of the tyrant by the respected institution of the kingsguard and the uncritical upholding of the honor system over an actual coherent moral code. same with the scorn he receives for killing what everybody acknowledges as an objectively horrid tyrant who harmed innocents and violated law that knights are also sworn to protect and uphold and actually contradict by not acting against.

[lastflowerofyourhouse]

cytherea the first will drive me absolutely fucking bonkers if i let her. like, she knows that the cavalier system is fucked up. she knows that. but she's so willing to participate in it. she cradles gideon's head and pets her hair and tells her how awful it is that harrow is taking advantage of her, meanwile, they're performing a trial that cytherea asked them to do.

all of her compliments for gideon feed into the cavalier dynamic. gideon is strong, useful, helpful, marvelous, a thing apart, and cytherea wonders if harrow even knows what she has in her. she is never anything self-contained. she is a damn good cavalier, and even when cytherea pities her, even when she aches for her, even when she's angry on her behalf, she can never seem to find anything else to say about her.

and, see, the problem with cytherea is that she views herself that way, too. even knowing how toxic and unfair it is, ten thousand years can form a hell of a habit. she says herself, "i am a necromancer and i am a cavalier," and something about the way she interacts with john and the others tells me she's not just talking about loveday.

john says it himself. cytherea was the best of them. the kindest, the most willing, the most humane, overworked and underloved, and none of them noticed. the man she served and loved and worshipped as a god for ten thousand years didn't even notice that he was wearing her into the ground until it was too late to stop. and would he have stopped? i doubt it.

cytherea was sick. she was genuinely exhausted and physically weak and in pain all the time, forever, constantly, and that's how they talk about her. so yeah, no wonder she had a warped view of personal value and duty. that's how she was treated for ten thousand years. that's how she thought of herself. be kind, be helpful, be unbothered, be willing, be pleasant, be useful, be active, be happy, be strong, be strong, be strong.

is it any fucking wonder she snapped?