Tumblr Account

[RoseThornia9795]

Sir made me create a Tumblr account: yourlinkcannotcontainnudity

He says for every 10 followers, I have to post an embarrassing moment on GetDare.

In addition, what posts do you think I should write or post on my new Tumblr account? Any and all suggestions are welcome, but will be approved/disapproved by Sir (Heckler86).

[RoseThornia9795]

Please follow me

[theswitchyside]

Originally Posted by RoseThornia9795

Please follow me

Followed you on Tumblr. Waiting for you to put your first post!

[CrystalTrans]

Why don't you copy the pictures that I were suggested?

[Heckler86]

Originally Posted by CrystalTrans

Why don't you copy the pictures that I were suggested?

Because Pics are OUR Limit. Thats MY call. However she will be posting something humiliating soon enough!

[RoseThornia9795]

Too read story with pictures, click here: shyroseny.tumblr.com (Follow me for more humiliating moments.)

A few years ago, I was dared to listen to a hypnosis file without knowing what it was. Before this, I had never been hypnotized or had even tried hypnosis. But I was like, SURE! What’s the worst that could happen?

I went into the hypnosis with a very positive attitude, curious to see what would happen. Would I be made to chirp like a chicken every time someone said a specific word? Would I be made to dance in my underwear when five or more people were around? Or would I be made to attack someone on command? The last thing happened that I thought would happen.

First of all, I wasn’t expecting the hypnosis to take me down as quickly as it did. I remember listening to the induction and the last thing I remember hearing was the word “four.” Then, I woke up. Nothing had happened. I felt the same. I just felt a whole lot more relaxed.

That night I went to bed as normal, wearing a tank top and stripped pajama bottoms. The next morning, humiliation and shame flooded my entire body. I had wet the bed. Me, a 20-year-old girl, had wet the bed. I hadn’t wet the bed since I was 4-years-old.

I became scared and listened to the file again, making sure not to go under. I just had to listen to see what had happened to me. Sure enough, it was a bedwetting file. And it was supposed to last for a week. Sure enough, to my great humiliation, it did.

[Heckler86]

She posted her story here also, if you care to THANK her, she will be posting more!

[RoseThornia9795]

For 10 more followers, I have posted another all-too revealing post. (Though this one isn't as humiliating.)

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Read the post with pictures here: shyroseny.tumblr.com (For every 10 followers, I post humiliating posts. So follow me if you aren't already.)

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I had always been intrigued by the idea of piercing my nipples. It’s not something I would have ever thought to do growing up. You could say I was the “perfect child” and getting my nipples pierced just seemed “wrong” and “naughty.”

When my partner and I got into a relationship, piercing my nipples came up almost immediately. He was so turned on by the idea of my nipples being pierced, a symbol that I was his and no one else’s. The idea of being pierced to be labeled as his really turned me on. So I made an appointment and decided to surprise him for our one month anniversary. Of course, he caught on before I actually had them done.

The day of the piercing, he couldn’t be with me, so we texted the entire time. He was so excited; I think he was more excited than I was, and I was pretty stoked. When I got to the piercing/tattoo parlor, Alice greeted me. I knew her from college, and she was giving me an incredible discount for the piercings. Half-off.

I laid back in the chair with my top and bra removed. Alice inspected my nipples, checking and marking where the piercing would go through. My partner and I had decided an rings, rather than bars, in order to add to some sexual play later once they were healed.

Once prepared, Alice took the tweezers-like tool and pinch the left nipple, lining the holes within tweezers’ head with the markings. Then boom! Pain shoot through my nipple and rippled through the rest of my body, pleasure tingling in my pussy. As she got the ring through and closed, she proceeded to do the right nipple.

Afterwards, I looked down at the redness of my nipples and couldn’t help but feel overjoyed and a little humiliated by the thought I had actually done this. Then, I examined the rings and felt my partner’s presence even though he wasn’t there. I was officially his, and only his.

[RoseThornia9795]

I have reached 30 followers, so here is story #3.

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As previously stated in my Barefoot Enthusiast post, I am a full-time barefooter. I used to be one in high school, but recently became one again because of my partner’s love for feet. We both agree and love how bare feet symbolize freedom and connection with the world.

My first day back as a barefooter, I found myself picking up my shoes to put them on. Half-way through tying my converses, I realized what I was doing. I untied them and set them to the side, realizing I had just wasted so much time on shoes.

I walked to campus in 45 degree weather. Thankfully it wasn’t snowing anymore. I could only imagine my little toes freezing and breaking off from the extreme temperatures. Walking around campus, I ran into a few friends on the way to class. One of them, a former high school classmate, looked down and smiled: “Going barefoot again, I see.” I laughed lightly and nodded my head.

The only obstacle I had being barefoot at school was being able to eat lunch. I usually bring food to school, because college campus cafeteria food tends to be over-priced and bland. Now, why would eating lunch be an obstacle if I brought my own food? Well, even though I don’t buy food from the cafeteria, I usually sit in there to eat my prepared lunch. But guess what? No shirts, no shoes, no service. Because I was barefoot, I couldn’t eat in the cafeteria anymore. A minor setback that I quickly solved by finding a picnic table outside to eat at.

It’s been a month now since that first day back as a barefooter. I no longer think about putting on shoes and socks when I’m walking out the door. I no longer mind the stares and comments I get from friends, classmates, and professors. I no longer care that I can’t eat in the cafeteria. All that matters is that I am comfortable, free, and connected with the world through the feeling between my feet and the Earth.

[semper_virilis]

I'm following now.

[RoseThornia9795]

Because I hit 40 followers, I have posted another story on Tumblr, this time much more humiliating. For every 10 followers I get, I post a humiliating or revealing story. So make sure to follow me at shyroseny.tumblr.com (For pictures with story, read on Tumblr.)

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As a preteen, I was a part of the Girl Scouts of America. Everyone knows that the number one income for Girl Scouts is through selling cookies (Thin Mints, Samoas, Tag Alongs).

During one of these cookie-selling sprees, I was walking door to door with my mom, asking all our neighbors if they’d like to buy some cookies. Most bought at least one box. After all, who can deny the sugary goodness of Girl Scout cookies?

About half-way through our neighborhood, the urge to pee hit me hard! I guess I had had too much tea to drink earlier that day. As we knocked on a door, I couldn’t help but squirm as I asked the elderly lady if she’d like some cookies. She bought some, and as my mom and I left, I said, “I’m going to run across the street to the store so I can pee.”

Before I could make it in the store, I felt a warm liquid begin to flow from my pussy lips and run down my jeans. I stopped on the sidewalk and looked down at myself. I, a middle schooler, was wetting my pants in public (in New York City of all places). My face burned with embarrassment, and I began to cry as I took my Girl Scout vest off and wrapped it around my hips, hoping it would hide the wet humiliation. It hid my back side, but not the front.

I found my mom and she looked at me in amazement, asking me what happened. I kept quiet as we walk all the way home. Each step felt long, people staring at my wet pants. The more I wished to get home, the longer the walk felt.

This moment started my fetish for humiliation, as humiliating as that is to admit. Ever since that day, I longed to be embarrassed over and over again, to feel that sense of shame that I had done something unacceptable. To this day, I enjoy and get off of being humiliated, especially in public.