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sadisticgames:

Where does the desire to be used come from?

If it from a fear of disappointing someone?

Is it from an intense desire to please?

Perhaps it is simply to free you from guilt. 

Are you scared of your own desires?

Do you want someone to simply take over, 

to use you as an object?

Because, as you well know, objects cannot be blamed. 

If you are used for the most perverse things imaginable, 

you can’t be blamed, as you are nothing but an object, 

being used for the perverse pleasure of others…  

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rosycolouredcaptions:

He smiled, the kind of toothy smile that she had once found alluring, but now made her feel sick. He raised his hand to her face again and she flinched, but he simply stroked the stray hair from her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“It makes me so hard when I see how bad you want to get away from me.” He whispered softly.

Filed under: problematic stuff that gets me really wet.

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nankingdecade:

“Shh…Your Daddy isn’t here to save you tonight, sweetheart.”

I have never seen something as sexy

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mistressandherfuckpuppy:

as Pet staring up at me, her eyes begging, moist lips parted, thick muscular thighs splayed, waiting for me to give her another piece of cookie. 

Her new diet is that she can only eat sugar if I feed it to her. It’s the best decision I’ve made in quite a while.

Um, have I mentioned how much I would love being fed? Cough cough.

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lizzy-lemonade:

pastel-whorehouse:

Kitty ears ^-^

“Is this what kitties do,” I asked while pawing at Daddy’s back in bed.

“Yes,” he replied, sleepily.

“What else do little kitties do?” I asked.

He went through a list of kitty activities and kitty traits, with my many interjections, and told me all about how he used to play with his kitties. As he talked, I came around to his front and curled up next his tummy.

“I think you are a little kitty after all,” he said, scratching my head.

Hi this is me expressing kitty envy for people who get to be kitties on the regular right now.

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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

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doctortease:

No matter how you dress yourself up or what airs you put on; no matter how you control your body or hide your past; no matter how icy and aloof and self-possessed you may seem, I know the truth. Where you started. What you were. What you are.

Pillowfucker.

Needy, greedy, desperate little grinder, ever since you were young, maybe since before you can remember. Squirming around trying to figure out what your body wanted: curl up and clench, sweaty forehead and sore knees in the darkness of your room. Never let your hand creep down there, or couldn’t figure out what to do with it if you did. And then you tried shoving the big soft lump down between your legs, and squeezing. And oh.

Did you ever get caught? Not more than once, I bet. Some things you learn to hide quickly. But you’ve always had a hungry body, and you never could quite rein it in. Sneaking off whenever you could manage it, calculating how long it would be until you’d get to try again. Your mind wandered in school and church and family outings. Couldn’t help that. Your pussy kept leading it astray.

This is what I mean when I call you “little girl,” little girl. You haven’t really changed at all. You’re the same wet flushed sullen frantic humping pillowfucker you’ve been your whole life, and all the roles and rules and pretty words you use are just attempts to conceal it.

They don’t work. You’ve been caught a second time, and there’s no playing it off or hasty excuses, not with me. I can see what’s inside of you, little bouncer, little secret keeper, little burning ember. No point in hiding anymore.

Now show me what you can do.

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doctortease:

“It’s a lovely little thing,” he murmurs in your ear as you rest yourself on his thigh, squirming a little. “Warm to the touch, and yielding. Find it for me.”

Shyly at first, then with some enthusiasm, you reach down into the pretty sparkly band of fabric and brush your fingers over yourself: smooth where he shaved you, velvet-soft where you can feel the beginnings of just a little swell.

“Don’t be shy,” he grins, and then both his hands are there, pressing to rock you back against him and pull you up a little bit under his fingertips. He doesn’t go underneath the panties, not quite, but the pressure is perfectly clear. You inhale.

“There. Try it like that. Like Daddy showed you.” You follow his movement, hand on the outside and pressing against your mound, then deeper under to rub the seam against your clit. It’s nothing you haven’t done before, not exactly, but it’s different somehow—like you’re acting as his hands, even as his other pair roams up and down your tingling back.

“A good girl knows how to play with the toys her Daddy got her.” He’s settling into the rhythm of his words, calm and low, his voice rumbling a little through his chest against your back. “You wouldn’t want me to think it’s not being put to good use, would you? I might have to take it away…”

Spurred on, fumbling a little with excitement, you slide your hand underneath again and spread yourself, wet your fingertips. It’s a lot easier than it was a moment ago. His hands move down to rub your thighs, encouraging you to spread a little wider. You feel yourself contract, pulse, hunger, and the sudden heat in your belly makes you lean your other hand on his knee for support.

“There we go,” he says, and the pleased tone in his voice is as effective as a vibrator. You’re rubbing yourself in earnest now, humping his leg and your hand—no, his hand—as your wetness begins to seep downward into the sparkly, lacy, glittery pretties he got to decorate his toy.

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” he whispers. “Beautiful little puzzle, little heat pump, the place I enter to bring you home.” You can’t quite stay quiet at that, all shyness gone now, rocking your throbbing clit like a clumsy teenager flooded with need. “You’re shiny and new every time I touch you, my present. And as long as we both want to play together, I’ll never need any new toys.”

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cabinetofdesire:

Don’t cry, pet. He’s paid for expedited shipping, it won’t take long.

Unf.