fear

I’ve got this sick little fantasy of being taken to some kind of play party or orgy and just left like this by my partner. Helpless, scared, exposed. And, worst of all, unsure of when they’ll return.

Earlier, they’ve totally arranged with some other people that I haven’t met before to come over once they’ve left me and taunt me. Like, really taunt me. Pinch my nipples, pull my hair, rip off whatever little clothing I’m wearing and grope my nude body, ask me if I think my partner’s going to come back for me. Of course, they’ll already know my limits and respect them while still absolutely terrifying me.

I can’t decide if I like the idea of my partner watching from a distance or my partner having a video of it to watch later. Maybe both?

doctortease:

Somebody has been wearing her big-girl sassy panties lately.

Somebody has been getting a little mouthy about what other people should or shouldn’t do with their time.

Somebody believes she can make manifest her desires in the world with magic.

Somebody has expressed fantasies about being shackled, boxed, plugged, and shipped off to be just one more helpless squirmy pet in a whole collection of girltoys.

Somebody should be very careful what she wishes for.

Yeah uh remember how I said I haven’t been scared lately?

Okay, you win.

Heh.

I haven’t been totally, genuinely scared in quite a while. When it comes to play, I’m really into fear. I’m into that rush of emotion, that checking of trust, the way the elevated heart rate and squirminess of panic feels a whole lot like arousal. It’s why I love knives. It’s why I love the deep and casual invasiveness of medical play. I just really, really like the space of being terrified.

Fear turns me on to an absurd degree.

That being said, nobody better try to amputate me. Just…no. I’m not even into blood.

Just wave the crap around a little and let me feel it on my skin and we’re good.

boston-jason:

You were expecting… what exactly?

Dildos and floggers? Feathers and fur? Hitachi and princess plug?

You said you were tired of the tropes and in desperate need of adrenaline-amplified authenticity.

You said you wanted to hear my voice again, to see the darkness lift my hands again, to feel the ice in my eyes again.

It didn’t take much persuasion to interest me in a bit of existential fear and groveling tears.

Deep breaths, pumpkin, this is not a mindfuck.

It’s playtime.

—boston-jason / in_extremis

cartoon-motion-life:

1900 surgical amputation tool set

nankingdecade:

Two by two, hands of blue.

Um. Where is this from?

Just, uh.

Just wondering…

The first time I ever cried for Sir in a D/s context was when he pushed my face into a plate and wiped food all over my face while I was being a kitty for him. We were dating, right on the cusp of becoming some kind of an official couple, and I react rather strongly to degradation. So, I cursed at him and whimpered and started crying. And then I asked him to do it again.

He says he wants to make me cry like that, but push me harder. Humiliation and degradation aren’t really my favorite things, but mostly because I’ve had some pretty rotten experiences with other people. I want to trust that he will handle the aftercare properly and he won’t trigger anything weird, but I’m scared. He knows it, too, and has been really patient and open and loving about negotiating it.

So I want to be brave when I see him in December and let him push me really hard. In his words, I’ve been “braver and braver” lately and I want to be able to trust him.

Make me scared.

He knows that defiance is just the most honest, most precious manifestation of fear.

This week, I have been committing several small acts of bravery. I am moving past that which I have been anxious about and denied about myself. Tonight, I’m going to take a big step.

Wish me luck.

robotcosmonaut:

Love Me, I’m Trying

Craftsmate had made me dinner and, after serving himself, put my plate on the floor. I got down onto my knees and went to start eating when he interrupted me.

“Not yet,” he said, picking up the roll of duct tape and taping my hands into little fists.

I huffed, pawing my napkin closer before gingerly lowering my face down to pick up a piece of broccoli.

Craftsmate watched for a few minutes with a smirk on his face as I carefully avoided getting food on my face as best as I could. All of a sudden, he reached forward and grabbed my hair.

“That’s not how kitties eat,” he insisted before shoving my face deep into the plate, covering it in food and sauce. “Kitties are messier, like this.” He pushed down a bit longer, shaking my head against the plate before pulling me up.

I stifled a whimper and cursed at him. Getting this vulnerable still scares me sometimes. I’m frightened when things start to get messy, especially when it comes to how much I enjoy it.

My head processes this sort of stuff in a way that figures that if I express outrage my partner will do it again without me having to ask. But this time, I had to.

“Do that again?” I choked out. I hated having to admit I liked it. I was ashamed to admit I wanted it. But, he complied, reaching up and shoving my face into the food once more.

“Good kitty,” he murmured as he practically wiped the dish with my face.

Without another word, I swallowed my pride and started eating.

Ivy

Just another Adult Content site