Just got home from a weekend of forced civility—some bougie wedding where I had to pretend my biggest concern was the wine pairing. Fuck, the hypocrisy of it all. Smiling at relatives while my mind was replaying last Thursday's scene: me on my knees, a man's cock buried in my throat, his grip tight in my hair, telling me what a filthy bitch I am for craving what I crave. I came harder than I have in weeks just from the degradation of it. People think my kink with dogs is about the animals, but it's not. It's about the filth they represent, the raw, unapproved desire. It's the same reason I love being called a cunt while I'm fucked. Society wants us clean, polite, predictable. I'd rather be a messy, contradictory, cum-drenched masterpiece. The wedding cake can rot; I'm staying hungry.