I can’t do this anymore.
I’m sorry to disappoint everyone reading this, but “Virginia Robinson” does not exist. This blog is a creation of me, Matt Forney, professional Internet misogynist (according to my enemies) and rabble-rouser. I’m coming clean because I physically can’t write this blog anymore.
Click here to learn about the origins of Virginia’s Secret Garden and why I’m quitting.
I’m thankful for all the new readers I’ve gotten in the past month, but it looks like I’ll have to take a bit of a break from blogging. My husband and I are moving into a new house, and packing and doing all the work involved has got me in a bit of a frazzle, haha. As a result, I’ll have to step away from this blog for a bit.
I’m a bit strapped for time and can’t write a full post for today, so instead I’ll share with you one of my new favorite blogs, Female Subordination.
For a brief time several months ago, my husband and I began implementing buttplug punishment into our Christian Domestic Discipline marriage. It worked like this: whenever I did something to upset him and he didn’t feel it was severe enough to merit a whippin’, he would make me wear a buttplug for a certain length of time (several hours usually, but one time he made me wear it for a full day) until he felt I had suffered enough for my sins. How did it work out?
Not so well.
I get this question a lot from the search engines. It would seem that a lot of ladies are clueless when it comes to pleasing their men. Here are the easiest ways to make your husband happy.
A short post today; I want to thank everyone who’s helped my blog become so successful! I love all of you perverts out there!
When we first got married, my husband suggested the idea of going to sleep without any clothes on, which he claimed would bring us closer together. I initially refused, because I’m always cold at night; the downsides of having a banana body shape! A couple months later, when the temperature shot up to a hundred degrees—weird Midwestern weather!—I finally relented and did as he asked, and I loved it. Since then, aside from that “time of the month” (when I wear a pair of panties) we always sleep naked.
I fell on the bed squirming and writhing, my half-undone bra fluttering around me. The man glared at me with evil in his eyes.
“No… please… don’t…” I begged him.
“I told you to shut up!” he growled as he slapped me across the face.
This was the last straw. I started bawling, my face morphing into contortions of fear and hate. My tears were cut short by a cold metal sensation against my temple.
“If you make so much as another peep, you die.” The man poked the barrel of his pistol against my head.
Confession time: I don’t like getting cunnilingus.
It’s not that my husband is bad at it: he’s had plenty of practice, both before and after he met me. But there’s something about the act of eating pussy that leaves me cold.
UPDATE: I have decided to apologize to Laura Grace Robins after reading her blog a bit more and realizing that we are more or less on the same page. I spoke to my husband and he agreed that I was being overdramatic in accusing her of “libel,” so I’m putting on my big girl panties and admitting I was wrong. I’ve removed the links to her blog and my comments about her. So sorry!
So there was this thing about how “red pill women” like myself are corrupting the manosphere and leading men astray with our dastardly wiles! Oh dearie me, I’ve been a bad girl! And you know what that means…