One thing in life that will always happen.. criticism. Taylor’s brilliant video is being criticized for just that reason.. because its simply BRILLIANT. It’s an easy target just because everyone is talking about it at the moment. The media outlets need the clicks,likes, follows ect. They don’t consider the time,money, overwhelming amount of heart, and effort that goes into a video like Taylor and her team just created.  Anyone that takes a moment to learn just a little bit about Taylor’s life would know that  she isn’t judgmental when it comes to ethnic background or really anything for that matter.  I wish the media would focus on the fact that this video tells a story and is so aesthetically pleasing. Not to mention that she paid for the entire video out of pocket so that all proceeds go to Animal Conservation in Africa.. which to many is out of sight out of mind. Thank you once again Taylor for creating a brilliant video and continuing to have such a giving heart.


Imagine a pristine pool house - just on the other side of the property, of the pool, from the main house, where little Rosie Callahan has lived since she was dropped on her biological father’s doorstep. Imagine this little girl, sent to school every day with her cherry red book bag and her immaculate Mary-Jane’s, pigtails of golden honey swaying as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Imagine her, nearly forgotten by each entity living in the main house, her existence being out of sight, out of mind. She’s twelve when her second cousin waltzes into her pool house, sixteen years old and fresh from the pool. Apparently, nobody had warned him there was a little girl living here, or how quickly said little girl seemed to blossom - puberty hitting her far earlier than most girl’s around her age. She’s twelve when she gives a sixteen year old boy his first orgasm with as much finesse as a virgin can possess because he caught her with her hand in her panties, exploring an act she’d not yet known. Messy; not another word can be used to describe such a situation, but more than rapturous satisfaction over using her tiny hands to provide clumsy pleasure is the utter mess made from from his ejaculate and the taste of him when she licks her skin clean.

When she gives him a second orgasm, her mouth offering far steadier pleasure than his hands, she realizes then there are far worse addictions to throw herself into. 

Imagine this very little girl, ripe for the taking, losing her virginity to a clumsy night with her first date - behind the movie theater. Neither one of them know what they’re doing, though she has much more expertise than he does, but her claims her innocence with a thrust of his inexperience.

She’s fifteen when she experiences her first orgasm; who would have believed Mister Pritchard had a thing for sweet, round faced girls with kissable lips and gorgeous tits and who he paid to watch his child while he and his wife were away for an evening. A liberal man with salt and pepper hair, he’d bade his wife an excuse for leaving their party early, finding himself home and lusting for his beautiful, scrumptious babysitter. With her fingers twisted in his hair, he drove her to heights she’d never known with boys she’d been with previously. He exhausted her tiny frame with his expert fingers, thick cock and glorious tongue. Each sensual lick of pleasure he provided her with left her panting for more, desperate for him on a level exceeding her expectation when she placed herself on his lap while his little girl slept soundly in her crib. 

She learns then, while she’s riding his cock, tiny hands braced upon his strong knees, how much power she has. How every little whimper escaping her sweet mouth makes him twitch inside of her. How when she begs him to pinch her puffy nipples, he growls his acquiescence, following through with a twist of his fingers. How when she keens ‘Daddy!’ on a whim and he picks her up to throw her on the bed, adjusting her onto all fours to pound into her swollen little cunt she enjoys the control she’s just given to him. She revels in the beauty of a claiming with such primal intent, she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t stop with her Sophomore English teacher who grants her a passing grade after she sucks him off in the middle of her fifth period class, while kneeling under his desk. She doesn’t stop with Harvey Jones, a long time business affiliate of her father’s, who she let fuck her during one of her father’s dinner parties - in his office - on his gorgeous, ornate cherry wood desk. If he notices the dried cum on his desk the next morning, he doesn’t say one word to her - though she’s certain he does know judging by the silencing money to enter her account the following morning. 

Nobody can know daddy’s little girl is a whore, you see. 

When Sherry Major called her a whore during cheerleader practice for fucking her then boyfriend, she shuts her up after attacking her in the girl’s locker room - finger fucking her with her tiny, expert hands until she shatters. Sherry Major never called her a whore again and it won’t be the last time she makes the head cheerleader cum for her. 

Fucking her way through her squad hadn’t been on her list of accomplishments to achieve by the time she graduated high school, but by the last day of Junior year, eating pussy was among her many favorite hobbies. 

Imagine this little girl, now eighteen, breathing in deep and ready to cross the stage for her diploma. Anticipation skitters down her spine, coils in her belly and she’s certain her trembling knees have nothing to do with the orgasm she’d just given herself in the ladies room fifteen minutes prior. Imagine this now adult, glancing over the crowd with hopeful jade eyes only to feel amused disappointment settle in her veins when no one is there to see her take her diploma in hand and smile falsely for the one and only picture she never wanted to take. When her graduation gift comes in the form of a ten thousand dollar check and keys to a new apartment in Manhattan, she tells herself she doesn’t care. 

She’ll spend daddy’s money and she doesn’t need them to care. She tells herself this when the graduating football team fucks her three ways from Sunday at the graduation party later that night. She reminds herself this is what she’s good for and no amount of desiring to do more will change what she wants out of life. 

She relishes in the amount of spunk she takes, leaking from every orifice and dried on her pretty little chin when she dresses herself. She grins when Tommy Kelly offers to be her willing dick for the rest of the summer.

She cries when she steps into the shower the next morning and she tells herself she doesn’t care. 

First time posting this and I don’t think I could make anymore because I suck at writing. Is this alright? Is this okay? Is my English understandable? orz

I feel like this is embarrassing but I tried to write. lol

Fear and something else that she couldn’t pin point were the feelings she had felt at that moment. Hinata could’ve sworn her eyes would fall out from its sockets at the sight before her, her body trembling at the same time as she tried to to held herself in a reassuring embrace ––her yukata hanging loosely around her shoulders, a few scratches and darkening bruises had blossomed on her bare flesh but she choose to pay it no mind.

Sasuke, Her Sasuke.

Tears fell on her now swollen and wet cheeks.

The gentleness on his handsome feature were no longer there; an aura of coldness radiated around him as he beat the life out of the assaulter underneath him, raven locks covering his angered orbs. Hinata saw it clearly despite the darkness surrounding them, her boyfriend’s lip twisted in a sadistic grin as he tortured the man who tried rape her earlier. She tried to stop him, called out to him but there were no words coming out from her mouth.

Hinata tightly closes her eyes as her body flinched by instinct, her assaulter howled in pain ––begging for forgiveness and for his life as he held onto his bloody nose then not a moment later covering his battered and blooded face. She tried to ignore his pleas, but her conscience had told her to move from her spot and save him despite what he done to her earlier.

“Not so tough now are you, scum?” came a low, dangerous voice––dark amusement lacing his tone and in that instant, Hinata’s eyes fluttered wide open, her fear worsened at the sight. The assaulter cried out in desperation as Sasuke pounced on him like a tiger on its prey, slamming his fists on the poor man over and over again without caring if blood had splattered on his handsome face.

Sasuke had not waited for answer as he continuously drove his knuckled fists on the poor guy’s bruised face, the ravenette’s rage never ceasing––hunger for revenge still flowing through his system. “Can’t even take a little beating? How foolish.” was Sasuke’s mocking taunt, his smirk never leaving his lips as he continued his assault. “You choose the wrong person to mess with.” He added menacingly, dark predatory gaze never leaving his victim’s face. ‘No!’, ’S-S-Stop!’, 'Anyone h-help me!!!’, 'You monster!’ was all she had heard and she knew the man was at her boyfriend’s mercy.

She hurriedly, albeit with trembling hands, pulled her clothing back into place ––gathering all her courage as she tried to move her feet, wobbling slightly towards them. It was both careful and hesitant, her gaze shifting from her raving lover and her assaulter. She feared he might kill a person and she did not want that even if he deserves it. 

With every careful step, she felt her strength gradually returning to her legs and she mentally thanked all the Gods because of it.

Hinata tried to open her lips once more but just like earlier her voice had failed her. Breathing in, she tried to speak once again but to her dismay,  her voice was barely above a whisper.


She said, taking another careful step towards him, but the sight of blood splattering on both his fists and face once again made her flinch in surprise and momentarily froze her on the spot. Shaking herself out of reverie, she took another breath and called out to him––her voice trembling but loud enough for anyone to hear.

“Sasuke-kun!” To her horror, she had failed once more as he gave no response nor reaction to it.

Concern immediately washed over her as she saw his balled fists in the air and before it could land on the already swollen and battered face of her assaulter, Hinata had managed to stop it as she held his hands against her own and pulled him in an embrace from behind. 

“Please… no more, Sasuke. That’s enough, p-please… I-I… I don’t want you… to continue hurting him. I-It’s not… worth it. Please.” She begged, bursting in tears as she tighten her hold on him while sobbing.

Sasuke immediately stopped, dark coal eyes blinking in surprise––the shadow that clouded his eyes was now gone. He looked down and found trembling arms around his torso; a feeling of guilt pricked his conscience and he found himself slowly laying his hand above hers with a sigh, his head hanging low as his bangs hid his eyes. 

“…Sorry.” He whispered; unhooking her hands that held him as he raised one of it towards his lips, giving it a light peck before turning his back to face her.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his voice betrayed concern while cupping her bruised cheeks with his shaking hands, stinging pain finally dawned on him but he chose to ignore it. “I’m sorry, Hinata. I should've––” before he could even finish his words, Hinata had snaked her arms around him once more; clutching on his shirt for dear life, pouring all her fears out in the open as she cried. 

“I… was so scared! I thought… I thought of you when he… and then you came.. and I thought that I-I’d lose you, Sasuke-kun! I just… I’m just…" 

She sobbed out loud, hiding her face on his chest.

Sasuke felt his heart broke into pieces at the desperate sound of her voice. "I’m sorry.. I have failed you. Sorry.” was his sincere response, calloused hands stroking her head as he gently whispered reassuring words to her before pulling her closer into a tight embrace. “It’s not your fault, Sasuke." 

Hinata whispered back, shaking her head at the same time. 

"Thank you… for saving me.”