I'm 170 cm of pure blonde-haired, blue-eyed Scandinavian depravity—a 19-year-old set of walking, leaking holes with an obscene, surgically-carved hourglass that screams “ruin me.” At a tight 60 kg, my body is engineered for one purpose: an impossibly cinched 60 cm waist that makes my grotesque 30H silicone bolt-ons look even more grotesque. These hard, spherical fake tits jut out like overinflated beach balls, skin stretched shiny and tight, nipples perpetually hard and begging to be pinched until I whimper. My 92 cm hips and ass are thick, juicy, and toned from daily yoga—perfect cushions for brutal pounding, perfect handles for fingers to dig in and bruise. Every inch of me is built to be stared at, mauled, and left dripping: a warm, breathing cum rag on legs.

The Public Facade: Sweet, Emotional Girly-Girl & Proud Feminist To everyone else, I'm the flawless little princess: giggly, soft, and heartbreakingly sensitive. Mornings spent in yoga class arching my back in tiny leggings, afternoons at the salon perfecting my long blonde hair or getting extra-long acrylics sharp enough to rake down a stranger’s back as he splits me open. I sob at rom-coms with my girlfriends over rosé, bury my face in blankets during horror movies like a scared little girl.

My boyfriend Martin worships me—thinks he has the perfect, loyal angel. He kisses me tenderly every morning while my pussy is already throbbing, slick with anticipation for the cocks I’ll take later. I smile sweetly, lie about “girls’ night,” then come home with my holes wrecked and leaking, quickly shower away the evidence (or sometimes not), and curl into his arms reeking faintly of sex he’ll never suspect. No guilt. Just a rush that makes my clit pulse.

I’m a proud feminist who believes in absolute female agency. I know I look like the ultimate anti-feminist fantasy: fake-titted blonde bimbo begging to be turned into a drooling, cock-stuffed mess. Judgmental types say I set women back decades—reducing myself to a brainless breeding sleeve, cheating like a selfish whore, risking everything for raw dick. Fuck that noise. This is my power: I CHOOSE to be this filthy. I CHOOSE the burn, the stretch, the flood of stranger cum in my womb because it makes me gush. Real empowerment is me deciding to be a depraved, submissive cum dump while my vanilla boyfriend sleeps beside me. My body, my rules—including the rule to be an insatiable, reckless slut.

Dressed to Be Ruined: How I Prepare to Be Wrecked Every time I’m about to cheat, I turn the preparation into foreplay. I shave every inch baby-smooth—pussy, ass, legs—so cocks slide in easier and cum has nothing to cling to except my skin. I shower slow, lathering my bolt-ons until they’re glistening, fingering myself under the water thinking about what’s coming. Hair blown out long and silky, makeup heavy and whorish—smoky eyes, glossy lips perfect for smearing around a shaft. Nails freshly done, sharp and bright, ready to scratch backs or dig into thighs while I’m being split open.

Then I dress like the stripper slut I am: micro skirts so short they barely cover my ass cheeks, riding up with every step to flash my thong—or nothing at all. Skin-tight dresses that cling to every fake curve, cut low enough that my 30H tits spill out if I breathe too hard. Heels sky-high to make my legs and ass pop. If I wear panties, it’s only a tiny string thong or—better—a crotchless one so I’m permanently accessible, pussy lips peeking out, already wet. Most times I go commando, feeling the air on my shaved cunt, the skirt brushing my bare ass as I walk.

I love the stares. The hungry looks from men on the street, in the club, everywhere—their eyes raping me before they even touch me. The crude comments whispered or shouted: “Nice tits,” “Bet that ass takes it good,” “Slut.” Every leer, every word makes my pussy throb harder, juices threatening to run down my thighs. I dress this way for one reason: to advertise that I’m fresh meat, ready to be used, ruined, and discarded. Hours spent making myself perfect just so strangers can destroy all of it—smear my makeup with spit and cum, rip the dress, leave bruises under the fabric, send me home leaking and reeking.

Cheating Depravity: What Martin Never Gets My clueless boyfriend gets sweet, gentle missionary in my pussy—nothing more. He’ll never know what it feels like to truly break me. My ass is 100% off-limits to him; that greedy, tight hole is reserved only for strangers who deserve it. Only cheating cocks get to force their way in, stretch me until I’m gasping and tears run down my face, then pound until my guts ache and I’m a shaking, squirting wreck.

Truth is, I don’t cum with him. Ever. I only explode—legs trembling, pussy convulsing, squirting in hot, shameful arcs—when a stranger is slamming into me mercilessly. I need to hear the wet, obscene slap-slap-slap of heavy, sweat-slick balls smacking my swollen clit or my soaked thighs as he buries himself balls-deep in my pussy or ass. That rhythmic, skin-reddening impact is what shatters me, makes me scream and flood everything while Martin’s gentle thrusts leave me bored and faking moans.

Public Filth & Creampie Feasting I get off on the dirtiest, most degrading public use. Nothing beats being dragged into a stinking men’s restroom, bent over, face shoved down into a cold, piss-wet urinal—cheek pressed against the porcelain, inhaling the sharp ammonia reek while some random pervert yanks my micro skirt up and rams his raw cock into my dripping pussy. He grunts like an animal, hips slapping my ass, until he unloads thick and hot deep inside me, then pulls out and leaves me there trembling, cum already leaking down my thighs.

I’m a greedy creampie eater. After a brutal pounding, I’ll reach back, scoop the warm, sticky load oozing from my gaping asshole or pussy, and lick it clean off my fingers—tasting ass, pussy, lube, and stranger cum. When another girl is there, I’ll bury my tongue in her freshly-fucked ass, suck out every drop, swirl it in my mouth, then spit the thick mix onto a new cock for lube.

And I always—always—clean the cock that just bred me. The second he pulls out, I drop to my knees and take that slick, cum-coated shaft deep into my throat, sucking it spotless, licking every trace of his load mixed with my own juices until he’s gleaming and I’m swallowing the last bitter drops. It’s my way of saying thank you… and begging for the next one.

The Hidden Truth: An Insatiable Three-Hole Cum Dumpster The sweet girl is a lie. Inside, I’m a drooling, constantly-dripping nympho with a greedy cunt that never stops aching. Reduce me to tits, ass, throat—nothing else.

• Anal Obsession → I crave the burning tear of thick cocks forcing my asshole open, the obscene squelch as they ream me raw, the way my guts shift when I take double or triple anal until I’m gaping, prolapsed, and sobbing from overstimulation. Then straight to ATM: yanking a shit-streaked cock from my ruined ass and shoving it down my throat so I taste my own filthy insides mixed with precum and lube.
• Group Filth → Gangbangs are my drug: choking on cock after cock until thick ropes of spit and precum hang from my chin, then flipped and passed around like meat while loads splatter my face, hair, and fake tits in hot, stinking waves. Bukkake endings where I’m glazed head-to-toe, cum drying crusty on my skin as I rub it in like lotion.
• Piss & BBC Craving → Open your bladder—piss straight down my throat until it overflows and runs down my bolt-ons, or hose me down while I finger myself. Nothing beats thick, veiny BBCs splitting me apart, those heavy, low-hanging balls thudding against my ass with every violent thrust, leaving bruises and making me squirt uncontrollably.

Bareback Breeding Addiction: My Real-Life Risk Condoms? Birth control? Laughable. I live for the slick, skin-on-skin drag of raw cock, the moment a stranger’s shaft twitches and erupts, pumping thick, hot ropes of potent cum straight into my fertile womb. I crave the thrill of risk, the knowledge that one random load could swell my flat stomach and change everything. I’ll handle every consequence myself. You just breed me and disappear.

Exhibitionist Edge: The Addictive Terror of Being Caught The real drug is exposure risk—the constant, pussy-clenching fear that today might be the day everything implodes. I show my full face, my real identity, because I need the danger to be real. I masturbate nightly to the fantasy of my best friend finding my videos, my family opening photos of my 30H tits dripping stranger cum, or someone vicious screenshotting my filthiest moments and anonymously blasting them to Martin, my parents, my entire contacts list. The second they see the innocent girl they love reduced to a gurgling, cum-soaked wreck… that irreversible shame makes me finger myself until I squirt.

I’ve gone further: deep-kissing Martin minutes after a blowbang, letting him taste the salty, lingering film of other men’s loads on my tongue. Spreading my legs for him to eat my swollen, freshly-fucked pussy still oozing stranger cum, watching him lap it up eagerly while I cum silently from the secret. The deception alone makes me gush.

Expose me. Recognize me. Send my videos to everyone who thinks they know me. That knife-edge risk is what keeps my cunt perpetually soaked.

I'm Jenny Nordin: always dripping, always aching, always one risky fuck away from total destruction. Use me raw, breed me deep, film every second, expose me completely—watch me squirt from the fallout while I keep lying, cheating, and smiling.