I’m Berri ^^ she/her, 21, trans girl, switch! Expect hard kinks & stuff ^^ so like 18+ only & be cool
75 posts
Evil-sweetheart-berri - The Most Evillist Girl Alive ^w^ - Tumblr Blog
need my pretty little captive bound and gagged on the couch next to me
need to stroke its hair and hold it close while we watch snuff flicks together
need to feel it squirm, need to lick the tears off its face
"don't you worry doll, i'll keep you safe for the rest of your life" 🥰
thinking about women who hit on you in egregiously inappropriate ways ....
That Dumb Jock! (F/f, trans, gentle femdom, foot stuff, musk)
“Hey Sarah, I’m here.” The door to the study room swung open, and Hannah lurched through it. “Let’s get this over with.”
Hannah was a classmate of yours. She was a tall, broad-shouldered asshole. The first time you’d had a seminar with her, she’d called you an idiot under her breath when you couldn’t answer a question, and ten minutes later called you a nerd for answering a different question. She was the exact kind of person you’d hoped to avoid at university, so naturally she was your partner for a group project.
Her gym bag sailed through the air, landing on top of your backpack as she walked around the table and pulled out a chair adjacent to you. She let out a sigh as she slumped down into the seat.
“I just finished training, didn’t have time to change, sorry,” she said.
You could see that she hadn’t had time to change. As if the gym bag she’d so elegantly tossed atop your belongings wasn’t blatant enough, she was still in her jiu-jitsu outfit: a dark-blue heavy canvas jacket undone around the waist, matching cotton trousers, and a well-worn pair of Adidas running shoes.
She clearly hadn’t had time to shower either. Her grey sports bra was almost black with sweat, her neckline shone with perspiration, the stray strands of black hair that escaped her ponytail were stuck to her flushed-pink face, and her jacket radiated dampness. It didn’t take long for the study room—barely bigger than a closet—to fill with the milky stink of fresh sweat.
You glared at her, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Can we get started?” she said, her voice low and thick with affected vocal fry. “No offence but I’ve got things I’d rather be doing tonight.”
For all her talk of hurrying up and getting out of here, Hannah was amazing at slowing everything down. By the time she’d finished pulling her notepad from her bag, assembling her mis-matched set of stationery, looking for her other notepad, connecting her tablet to the wifi, testing her pen, sorting through rumpled loose sheets of paper, discarding seven broken pens and finally finding and sharpening a pencil, she was revving up to make you rehash every part of the project and argue about who had agreed to do what.
An hour later, the flow of work had caught up to what it was before Hannah had arrived. It had seemed as if the project would stretch on forever, a vast and trackless waste of surveys and positive self-affect scores, but the pace resumed. You were doing a lot more than your fair share, but at least she’d done the bare minimum and got her stack of surveys completed. Maybe you’d even finish before midnight.
Then she took the jacket off.
The wave of humidity mixing with the heat of the cramped room made your brain feel like cotton wool. She’d cast her jacket to the side, landing on your stuff, tainting it with her sweat.
She wasn’t distracted, oh no of course she wasn’t. She’d returned to her work, or had at least returned to pretending to work while you did the real work, twirling her pencil between calloused fingers—of course she played guitar, why wouldn’t she—as she read and re-read the same page of your copy of the Introduction to Cognition (Pinker and Murray, 2014) textbook, occasionally tapping the end of her pen against her cheek, making the tiniest rasping sound each time as it stuck and unstuck to the drying sweat on her high cheekbones.
You watched indignantly as she reached down to adjust her still-sodden sports bra, the muscles in her forearms dancing under the bruises and grazes of her training session, her bicep and tricep flexing for the briefest of moments, given obscene definition by the glow of the fluorescent lights above. You could feel yourself burning, and though you guzzled water from your bottle it did little to help.
This woman was distraction in human form, her every noise and twitch seemingly designed to pull you out of your work and keep you from returning to it. The loud, too-loud keytaps on her phone going chok, chok-chok in a pattern your brain couldn’t quite anticipate, her snorts of boredom and odd hisses of amusement, the damned fiddling and twiddling with her pencil, the cracks, clicks and cricks of her knuckles, of her wrists, her jaw, God, every joint in her body was apparently ripe to be flexed and popped. You were completely unprepared for her holding her chin in one hand and her forehead in the other and performing a bit of amateur chiropracty with a crunch that sent a shudder through your body.
“Sorry,” she said. You gave her a weak little smile, but she was lying. You knew she was lying.
You knew she wasn’t sorry. Would a sorry woman crinkle every page she turned? Would a sorry woman take her bottle of pastel-green protein drink, shake it like she was miming a sybian, and glug a third of it right in front of you? Sit splay-legged and wipe her sweaty face with her equally-sweaty arm?
…Though, given the temperature of the room and the dampness on your brow, maybe that last one was something you would find yourself doing sooner rather than later.
It didn’t matter either way. You didn’t need to think about her. What you needed was focus. You turned your head away from her and threw yourself back into research methods. It wasn’t long before you made progress.
You cleared your throat and said, “We added a second set of tests, but we’re planning on using T-tests for the results.”
Hannah blinked, looking up from her note-taking and doodles. “Yeah?”
“T-tests assume you’ll only have two conditions, and we’ve got three.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, the research methods guy said that you’ll get false positives for significance if you do that.”
You blinked, surprised that she’d remembered. “We need to do an ANOVA—”
She shook her head, “Nah, better idea, our professor will think we’re geniuses: we use Pairov’s BOFA.”
“What’s BOFA?”
She grinned and made finger-guns at you.
“Fuck you,” you thought. You hated her, you hated yourself, and you hated the very concept of wordplay.
You seethed inside as you worked with her to alter the joint section on research methods. Now you resented her for switching so smoothly to work. She was showing off, she was showing off that she was unflappable and you just weren’t, you could be flapped whenever she fucking well pleased. She was a half-smart jiu-jitsu player with triceps and abs and irony and a big group of friends and that half-pitying, half-teasing look in her eyes and she could flap you at will, just plain take you and flap you wherever and whenever she felt like it.
That look, it was her look that ached the most. It wasn’t the smug smirk of a first-year male engineering student who thinks he’s a genius because he knows C++ and can solve a partial differential equation, or the blank, slightly concerned look of a social butterfly who just knows that you’re no fun at all and they should flutter off. She didn’t look down on you because she was on a higher plane, she looked down at you because you were on the wrong plane. You didn’t get her irony, or you used the wrong kind of irony, always too subtle or too blunt, smart but not smart enough to hide your smarts under a squid-ink cloud of bluster and feigned simple-mindedness, your normal pursuits were passe and cliche while hers were just regular and down-to-earth, your niche interests were dull or cringeworthy but hers were quirky and enriching.
She looked at you like she knew she could take you in a fight, and as much as you would never admit it out loud, you knew she was right.
She swung her feet up onto the table over her own notes and leaned back in her chair. “Wanna pack it in for the night? We’ve done a lot,” she said, shaking her protein drink again.
You pinched the bridge of your nose and inhaled deeply to calm yourself, but it did little more than heighten the stench of sweat, now a thorough mix of yours and hers suffusing the stuffy room. “We’ve barely started. We won’t even have the data entered until the weekend, and then we’ll have three days to finish everything, and the other two are useless and we’ll have to pick up their slack too.”
“You worry too much.”
“If we stop now we’ll just make things harder for ourselves.”
“Sure, fine,” she sighed, taking her feet off the table and brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Hey, I’m finished with research methods, where are you at?”
“I’m trying to fill out the background section in the introduction. It feels thin.”
“Lemme see what you’ve got?”
“Sure,” you said, as she scooted around the table to sit closer to you, leaning over to look at your notes. “Like, the gist of the two main background studies is that they’re an ongoing row between two social cognition researchers who hate each other, and I don’t want to spend three paragraphs writing out their feud.”
“Right,” Hannah said, opening her shake and taking a pull. She went wide-eyed as a drip of it slipped down her chin and landed on her chest. “Aw, damn it,” she muttered, wiping her mouth with her arm and setting down the drink. “You haven’t got any tissue, have you?”
You shook your head, your eyes fixed on the glob of pale-pink liquid just below her collarbone. “I—sorry, I don’t,” you hear yourself say.
“Shame.” She looked you in the eyes, and as if asking to borrow a pencil, she said, “Could you lick it up for me?”
What?
She looked at you expectantly.
You weren’t really sure if you heard her speak. Everything felt fuzzy, and things were in odd places—you didn’t usually feel your heart beating in your throat, and your legs used to have bones in them. Had she really asked that? She was pushing out her chest and leaning towards you, and she was pointing with one finger towards the spot of milkshake slowly making its way down to her dark-grey sports bra. If you didn’t act soon it might end up on her bra, and you’d have to suck it out of the sweaty fabric instead. That would be worse.
She was looking at you and it wasn’t her normal look. It was not her bored look or her haughty look or her weirdly detached look. That was important, you felt. It wasn’t just a joke, You were sure it wasn’t a joke. It was just a normal request.
How long ago had she asked you to do it? It could have been minutes. Or, maybe just seconds. You were keeping her waiting, though, and not doing anything. That was going to look weird and rude, and you weren’t weird and rude. She was weird and rude, not you. It would be much less rude and much less weird to do what she asked.
You leaned forward, moving through the air like a knife through cold treacle, until you could feel the heat radiating from her chest. You could smell the heat, your lips parted and your tongue slipped out—
She moved to the side with a boxer’s grace, and you fell. You tumbled off of your chair, flailing to steady yourself, and ending up on your back on the floor, with Hannah standing over you.
“Oh my God, you were going to do it!” Her lip curled with disgust. “That’s gross, right? I’m covered in sweat, all clammy and shit. I didn’t shower after training, I haven’t showered since last night and I have had a long-ass day lemme tell you. I don’t even have deodorant on, I was gonna pick some up on the way home from training until I remembered I had this thing to do…”
As she spoke her expression shifted, moving quickly from disgust to a kind of awe, and then something that almost seemed like concern. “Are you like, okay? Do you have fainting spells when it’s hot, I mean, it’s warm in here, do you need some—oh. Oh.”
There was that look you couldn’t place again. This time, she wasn’t looking at your face. She was looking between your legs. You didn’t need to look down to see what she was looking at, but you did anyway. Your skirt had flipped up over your leggings, and straining against the fabric was the bulge of your dick, twitching and crying out for touch.
“Oh,” Hannah said again.
She took a step towards you. Her cotton pants rustled softly, stepping between your legs, and then she placed the tip of her well-worn Adidas trainer against the bulge. Your breath caught in your throat, and then she applied the slightest touch of pressure. You moaned.
“Oh wow…” she murmured, her voice hoarse and a faraway look in her eyes. “Do you like it?”
You whined into the back of your hand and twitched your hips up to meet the pressure of her trainer.
“You like being bossed around by a mean, sweaty wrestler, huh?”
Still whining, you nodded cautiously.
“You want a taste.”
You nodded frantically, but it wasn’t a question. She smirked at you and sat down on her chair, leaving the spot where her trainer had been to achel with want. You sat up on your haunches like a dog as she beckoned you forward, and as you rose to meet her she pulled you onto her lap. She pointed to the dab of drink on her collarbone and you pressed your lips to it without a second thought, tasting strawberries, salt and the savoury, tongue-hammerring taste of drying sweat. She sighed with contentment and let you lap at her skin, stroking your hair as you kissed and sucked along her neckline.
“Mhm, wait,” she said, “there’s somewhere you’re better suited to.”
You looked up at her blankly before she grabbed your hair in a bunch, lifted her arm high, and smooshed your face into her armpit. Your surprise melted into obedience, licking away greedily, cheeks tickled by the thin stubble, tasting salt, the smell of her body so thick it was a taste all of its own that drowned out your other senses, utterly drunk on it. She giggled at your attentions, rubbing your face up and down in her armpit, coating your lips, nose and chin with your own spit and her stink, marking you as her territory.
Once she felt satisfied with your efforts, she made you sit back down on the floor. “Legs apart,” she commanded, and you obeyed. Still sitting on her chair, she pressed her Adidas up against your dick for the second time.
Squirming, you stammered out the words, “C-could you maybe, uh, I mean, if you want to you could—”
“Yeah?” She pushed her toe forward and your train of thought derailed.
“Um you could please maybe you could take your trainers off?”
She stopped, her expression not angry but… wary, perhaps. “What, like, do this with my bare feet?”
Your heart hammered in your throat as you nodded frantically, but she shook her head emphatically.
“No way, that’s gay as hell.”
You blink, looking at up at her, down at the trainer pressed against your groin, and back up at her. “But b-but you’re—”
“Look, I’m not a lesbian or anything, I’m straight as a ruler. I like guys, and you’re a girl. This is just fun stuff that friends do, it’s normal. If I’m wearing trainers it’s just friends having a good time, you get me?”
“I understand,” you lied, not really understanding at all, but desperate for her touch all the same. The touch resumed, and you couldn’t hold back a moan.
“Shhh! There’s still people in the library,” she hissed.
“I’m sorry, I can’t stop myself…”
She scowled at you and pulled off her sports bra. While you were transfixed by the sight of her breasts, small but soft, her ribs peppered with bruises from training, she got up and stood over you.
“Open wide,” she ordered, stuffing her sports bra in your mouth before sitting back down. Your head swam with concentrated sweat and musk and she was grinding her shoe down on your dick again, teasing you for your neediness. “That’s better, you’re too horny to speak straight anyway.”
You mumbled incoherently into the gag, grinding your hips up to meet her shoe. This time she moved in tandem with you, stroking down your diminutive length as you pushed your hips forward and running her toe upward as you pulled back.
“Do you like that sweaty, scrunched-up sports bra in your mouth? Can you taste me on it?”
You whined affirmatively, humping faster. She looked down at you with such pure contempt and superiority that it burned deep in your chest, and then she ground her foot down as if putting out a cigarette butt.
“God, you’re pathetic.”
It was too much. You came, your hips spasming up into her foot, fingers clawing against the grey carpet, shivers running through your whole body as you gurgled into the gag. Waves of sensation wracked you with each small spurt, barely more than a dribble, but enough to soak a penny-sized wet spot through your leggings and leave the inside of your underwear a slick, sticky mess.
You don’t know how long you lay there panting for before you heard her voice. “Wow, you’re really sensitive!”
You tried to protest—or agree, you couldn’t really tell—but it was muffled by the gag. She got up and reached down to take it out of your mouth. You swallowed and worked your jaw as she surveyed the drool-caked garment, and then she tossed it aside and sat back down.
“Can you move?”
You twitched a wrist, flexed a leg, nodded your head. Yes, you could move, to your surprise.
“Good, get up here and lick my other armpit.”
The drive and lust that had coursed through your veins a minute ago was gone, your mind was clear now, and her request seemed less like “oh god how h u m i l i a t i n g” and more like plain old embarrassment. As soon as you opened your mouth to protest, a sharp glare convinced you to shut it back up. Instead, you crawled over to her, licked your way up her ribcage, and started licking her other armpit.
Without the haze of want it felt grosser than the previous time, but after marinating in her day-old sweat and musk for a few seconds you felt a warm twinge between your legs. She cooed happily as you worked, petting your hair.
Her hand pushed your head away from her armpit, but she held you close to her chest. “I’ve figured some stuff out. For the group project, that is.”
No words formed in your mind, so you simply gazed up into her eyes and nodded.
“I’ve got a bunch of the surveys completed but I hate data entry. You’re going to do all of my data entry for this project. Also, you’re going to do all my data entry for all my projects from now on, and help me out with whatever other school work I want your help on. You’re going to be my study bitch.”
That was enough to snap you out of your daze. “Y-you’re going to blackmail me!” you cried out, pulling away but not forcefully enough to break her hold. “It won’t work, I don’t care if you tell everyone about this, I’m not just going to do all your work for you!”
She burst out laughing, and stroked your hair. “No, no, oh no, trust me, that’s really not what I want. I’m not going to tell anyone about this if you back out,” she said, her tone almost wounded. “If you don’t want to be my study bitch, I won’t bring this up at all, it’ll be like it never happened.”
Then, leaning down to whisper into your ear, she said, “and it will never happen again.”
As her meaning sank in, she sat up straight and placed her hand under your chin, her thumb pressing against your lips. You parted them ever so slightly to take it into your mouth.
“So? Are you my study bitch or what?”
You closed your lips around her thumb and sucked it, nodding your head submissively.
“Cool!” she said, smiling broadly. She pulled her thumb from your mouth with a *pop* and stood up. “Okay, I’m going to need your top.”
“M-my what?”
She prodded at the v-neck of your cotton top. “This.”
“But why?”
“You got my sports bra all gross,” she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I can’t wear it back to my dorm. You’ll have to wear it instead.”
“But—but you’ve got a jacket!”
“Yeah, and have you felt it? It chafes like hell, I’m not wearing it over bare nipples. I’m not a masochist.”
Before you could respond she reached down to pull your top off. You didn’t resist, and she asked what your cup size is.
“I’m a C, but—”
“Nice, I’ll have that too, I like the support,” she said, unsnapping your bra and removing it as well.
You watched dumbly as she put on your bra and slipped on your top. It pained you how good she made them look.
“Well?” she asked, looking down and to the left. You followed her eyes and saw her discarded sports bra, soggy and sweaty with visible strands of your own drool on it.
Steeling yourself, you reached down and put it on. It felt unpleasant. Cold, clammy, sticky, and squeezing in all the wrong places. A shudder ran through you, and you wanted to take it off.
“Hey, it suits you. Anyway, let’s get out of here.” She packed away her things and you did the same, slow and disoriented, putting your notes in your bag without organizing them. You cringed at every squelch and catch of the sodden fabric hugging your chest.
“See you later, then,” said Hannah, standing by the door with her hand on the bolt.
You grabbed her wrist in a panic crying out “Wait!”
For a split second she was furious, and then almost confused. “What’s up?”
Verging on tears, you said, “I can’t go home like this, please, I can’t be seen like this…”
She rolled her eyes“It’s nearly midnight, just leg it to your dorm and duck inside before anyone can see you.”
“I live off campus! It’s fifty minutes by bus,” you cried.
She paused. A moment later she nodded, and said “You could come back to my dorm, it’s like two minutes walk. Stay the night, leave in the morning.”
“…I thought you said you had plans tonight.”
“No, I said I don’t wanna spend all night here, which I don’t. I’m in the gym at eight AM, and I want some sleep. No sleep, no gains.”
You hesitated. Somehow, this felt more alien and daunting than anything that had come before it this evening. “I guess I could stay over, but…”
“What, is your boyfriend waiting for you at home?” She grinned, her question rhetorical. “Hey, take this.”
She reached into her bag and passed you her jiu-jitsu jacket. Haltingly, you put it on. It was heavy on your shoulders, like wearing a rug, but it covered up everything you wanted covering. You stammered out a thanks.
“Let’s go, I think I’ve got some leftover pizza if you’re hungry. Oh yeah, just so you know I like having my toes sucked while I sleep. You’ll be a good pal and do that for me, right?”
You swallowed. You were sure she could convince you…
“Oh my god! It’s you! I finally found you!”
You look up from the can of mixed vegetables you were just reading about to the source of the voice. Standing in front of you was a strange girl. The first thing that struck you was her eyes. They were dark and there was a hunger behind them. Her hair was black and in a messy bob. It looked like she had cut it herself with some strands being cut in differently length bundles. She was wearing a pair of short shorts and a hoodie that looked about 2 sizes too big. Her lips were cracked from being chewed on.
“Uh? Do I know you?” You were pretty sure you had never met this girl before. You are sure you’d remember someone like this. She was only slightly taller than you but she kept herself perfectly level with you, those eyes staring into yours. It wasn’t like she was looking at you instead looking through you entirely. Like you weren’t even really there. You watched her brow furrow and her lips tighten. She looked confused and hurt by that question. You started to speak, trying to apologize for forgetting her since she really seemed to know who you were, but she spoke first.
“Don’t you recognize me, puppy? I’m your owner.” She said it as if it was the most normal thing in the world. You took a few steps back trying to get away from this strange girl. You felt a chill run up your back and you held up your hands defensively in front of you. Curling up just a bit assuming she was about to do something horrible.
“D-don’t talk to me like that! I don’t know you!” You try to make your voice sound more threatening but it still came out clearly terrified. Your therapist told you the memory fog was just a trauma response. You couldn’t remember much, an occasional short childhood memory, a few other broken bits from university, then just the last few months with your girlfriend. The rest was just not there. Occasionally something would spark a memory. A random sound, a passing smell whose origin was unknown, or just when you were distracted by a monotonous task. Most felt benign, just the kind of memories you assumed everyone had, but a few were different. Flashes of suffocating spaces and fear, a deep primal fear that you were about to have to fight for your life. And even more odd, some of the fragments felt extremely comforting: the warmth of another person, a gentle kiss. The part that kept you up at night is you were sure the fear fragments and the safe comforting ones were from the same time period that was especially buried in inky blackness. You were snapped out of the search in your mind when she grabbed your wrist and dug her nails into it. The stinging brought an uncomfortable nostalgic feeling and grounded you in this moment. She was even closer now, staring into your soul.
“Look at me when I am speaking to you, m̵̢̡̠͈̭̀̈́̀́̀̌̊ơ̶͖̂̿̽͗̀ť̵̹̯̥͠͝ÿ̸͇̯́̅̆̍̅͝l̶̨̡̮̃̔̿͝” The word sent a spark through your skull. Like an electric shock from the base of your neck. You felt a rush of emotions that made your stomach flip and your head feel like it had TV static poured inside. You gagged from the sensory overload and dropped the can that was still in your hand. It felt like a shard of ice was just jammed into the left side of your head into your brain. More memories flashed in your mind.
Climbing into the back of a beat up old car. Your family treated you horribly and you finally ran away.
Being shoved into a barely padded dog cage. Nostalgic for a bed you slept in many times.
A leash tugging on the collar around your throat. It always itched but you never took it off.
And this girl. Her looking down at you while you rested on your knees. Looking up at her with fear and excitement, eager to get the prize you were promised. It was the night you had finally earned your collar. And you remembered her name.
“B-..Becca?” you stammered out on autopilot. Right as the name returned to your mind you spoke it. Your head still felt slow. Like your thoughts had to travel through syrup to get properly processed but the smile that lit up her face felt completely clear.
“Good girl! You do remember! And I bet you remember this too~” She said in a sing-song voice as she pulled something out of her shorts pocket.
Click
You felt a shudder of pleasure run up your spine and scatter like a firework in your head. You felt your body move on its own and you collapsed, hardly feeling the slam of your knees into the hard tile under you. You looked up at her, the whole scene gave you deja vu. You couldn’t remember exactly how many times you had been in this position but it felt so familiar. Trained into your brain like an animal. It was the position you belonged in, her laugh making your thighs squeeze together from the jolt of pleasure. Desperate to please and make her happy. That’s all that mattered to you before you got lost. But she found you now and you are back where you belong. Every motion drilled into you over and over.
“I always carried this with me in case I found my poor runaway puppy” That familiar dark blue collar with a gold tag came out of her hoodie pocket. You recognized it immediately and realized how naked you felt without it. You didn’t need to wait for the command: you gathered up your hair and lifted it up and out of the way. She slipped the collar around your throat, still tightened perfectly for you, like it was a missing part of your body finally returned. A faint click locked it back onto you, where it belonged. Where you belonged.
Becca couldn’t wait. After spending a year looking for you she just happened to stumble across you. Someone had kidnapped her pet and fucked it up. Taught it terrible things that she had worked so hard to pull out of you. The way you stood there like a person and spoke as if you had the authority to make decisions. Wrong wrongwrongwrong. You were just a puppy, her puppy, and you were happiest and healthiest obeying her. She clipped the leash around your neck and pulled you forward. Your face burying itself under her hoodie and in her crotch. You could already feel her twitching arousal under her shorts. She unbuttoned them with one hand and scooped her hand it to pull out her cock. Before your memories started to return you would have said it was too big for what she wanted you to do, but you know you could handle it, you’ve done it before. So without another word or pause you placed your tongue flat against the base of her twitching girlhood and dragged your tongue up. Making sure to taste as much as possible. The faint salty bitter flavor of her sweat. The musty smell at the tip as her cock leaked precum. Droplets coming down the underside of her cock to meet your tongue. You got to the tip and kissed it. A tiny strand of precum connecting your lips to her cock like another leash.
You leaned in and took the cock into your mouth. Lips squeezing tightly just like how she likes. You were trained over and over again to be perfect at this. It’s no wonder she wanted you back so badly. You were the perfect toy for her. Years of training to satisfy her perfectly. You knew she liked when you tilted your head just slightly to the side so your canines brushed across her cock as it slid deeper. Curling your tongue just enough to guide the tip into your throat. You let out a tiny gag but pushed past your instincts. You had been taught to ignore them and slid farther down. Your face met her crotch. Nose buried in her curly soft bush. Her cock throbbing in your throat making you cough and gag. She grabbed the back of your head with both hands and dug her nails in. You could already feel the pain and blossoming bloody crescents forming but it didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was making your owner feel good. So perfect and good, so that she understood how much you loved her.
She started thrusting. Her hands forcibly yanking your head towards her as she pushes in. Each thrust made you choke and gasp. The air being forced down your throat came out in choked burps and you desperately gasped for air to avoid blacking out. Her taste was coating your mouth. Sweaty, earthen, musty swimming together perfectly. A taste that made you nostalgic and calm. Tears streaked your face from the strain to your throat and you were sure that you’d have a sore throat tomorrow. You hadn’t done this in a while, your body slowly unlearning the habits from before and healing repeated injuries.
“Puppy puppy! Fuck puppy I missed you~ thought about you every day and night and put up posters looking for you~ You remembered how we taught you so good, motyl~”
She spoke in a desperate pleading rush as if she was terrified you’d disappear again and leave her balls aching for release. You reached a hand up recognizing the signs of her getting close. The ways her thighs twitched and clenched. The strained gasping for air. You slipped your hand behind her tightening balls and began stroking in gentle circles at her perineum. Just the right amount of pressure and you felt her shove herself in one last time. The force of her crotch connecting tweaked your nose painfully and you could faintly feel a droplet of blood dripping out of your nose and down around your lips still stretched around her thick shaft. You felt the twitches and felt her cum hit the back of your throat. You didn’t swallow, she hated that, overstimulating when she was in the middle of an orgasm, instead you did how you were trained remaining completely still. Letting the thick liquid slowly drip down your throat to your stomach. You could swallow after she had pulled out, that was the rule. She pulled herself free and the last spurt of cum landed on your lips and chin. You immediately licked it up so you could taste her. She was indescribable, but your puppy brain thought it was the best flavor it had ever tasted. You never got sick of it.
“Goodgirl goodgoodgirl so good~ Missed you so much, puppy” she said through her heaving breaths as she came down from her high. She quickly tucked her cock away and looked around. That's when you remembered where you were. In the middle of a canned food aisle at a supermarket. Slipping back into the headspace you had been trained meant nothing else mattered but following orders, but now you could feel your face heating up. Surely people saw. They saw you get face fucked in this store. If not people shopping then the security cameras. Odds are they’d ban you from shopping here again, and you’d be lucky if they didn’t call the cops.
“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER YOU PSYCHO!”
You and Becca turned to look at the sound. Your girlfriend was sprinting. She looked angry. More angry than you had ever seen her. You felt a struggle in your brain. Part of you wanted to get up and apologize, but that part of you that remembered your training knew if you did that you would deeply regret it. You remained on your knees, body paralyzed by indecision. Your girlfriend grabbed your shoulder and tried to pull you away.
“You get the way from her!” your girlfriend screamed again trying to place herself between you and Becca. She gave a quick glance down at you and you hesitantly looked at her.
“Are you okay, ████████ ?” Your brow furrowed in confusion. For a moment you forgot your name. The name your girlfriend called you. But now with more of your memories back it felt wrong. It was the name you had before you met Becca. Before she saved you from your family and trained you. Taught you to be a good pet. Took away the old name and gave you a new one. One she gifted you as a symbol of her ownership and love for you. Looked up again at your girlfriend who was still screaming with Becca who just looked annoyed. You whimpered out a broken apology. She had spent so much time and effort trying to fix you up. To teach you to be a person again, but you couldn’t. It just wasn’t you, it was fake, a thin shell that broke at the slightest pressure. You were lying to yourself, and you realize that fully now. How much more comfortable and easy it was to just listen and obey. To do what you are told and not think. You felt tears streaming down your face and Becca’s hand came to pet your hair.
“It’s okay, motyl~ You are safe now.” Was all she said before her hand reached into her back pocket and whipped something out and jammed it into your girlfriend’s stomach. The loud snapping sound of a taser was the only warning you got about what had just happened. Your girlfriend shuttered and collapsed to the floor gasping as her muscles spasmed out of her control. You felt the tug on your leash.
“Let's go home, puppy”
You followed. The girl laying on the ground tried to call out for you, but you didn’t recognize the name. You didn’t look back.
What Makes D/s Real
“You need to get your windshield wipers replaced.”
“Nah, they’re fine.”
“No. You aren’t listening. You will get your windshield wipers replaced. Order on Amazon by Monday or go buy them before Wednesday. I want new windshield wipers on your car by Wednesday.”
Whoa. This is different. She’s never taken control like this before. Are those heart bubbles flying out of my ears?
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
That night, she had bathed me, collared me, beaten me, dressed me, and done my makeup before we were headed to a party. “My little doll,” she called me. And still, this moment in my car was the most submissive I’d felt all night. In fact, it was the most submissive I’d felt in our relationship so far.
Up to this point, she felt like my girlfriend who topped me, but not my Dominant. But this time, it wasn’t about play. It wasn’t an area where we’d discussed in advance and I’d explicitly given her control. It came out of her desire to protect me. It was the first time she took control because she felt responsible for me—not as part of a scene but in everyday life.
Still, it was just a moment. I wasn’t sure whether she’d remember or follow through. But on Tuesday, she asked if I’d ordered the wipers.
Shit. I’d meant to do it the day before, but Monday got busy, and I forgot. So I hurried up and ordered them.
“Yes, I ordered them.”
“When?”
Shit. “Today.”
“Was that what I said?”
“Well…”
“You had two options: order them online by Monday or buy them in person by Wednesday. You did neither of those things. So now you’re going to cancel that order. You’re going to leave for the auto parts store. You’re going to tell me when you leave to drive there, when you arrive, when you leave, and when you are home. You’re going to buy the wipers. And then you’re going to put your collar on and spend the rest of your night writing lines.”
She remembered. She noticed. She held me accountable. This is real.
All at once, I felt that gut-wrenching feeling of having disappointed her and the warmth of being cared for and kept. I didn’t enjoy the punishment, but I appreciated it. She showed me that she saw me and that my needs mattered. By the end of the night, I had new wipers and 100 lines of, “I will care for my Dominant’s property however she sees fit.” And I meant it.
It’s not formal rules and protocol that make D/s real. It’s not the kneeling or the spanking or the oral service. It’s the everyday moments where Dominants and submissives care for one another through power exchange—when one nurtures through leading and the other nurtures through following. This is when I feel loved in exactly the way I need most.
Considering the recent targeted terminations against blogs run by transfems in the last couple of days (angel-athetos, fungalfaggot, coyote-roadkill, hound-mother, corpse-of-omelas-ageplayer and my previous blog, zebrabyopn3), some close friends and myself worked on a google form where users can make submissions for their terminated blogs. Too many of us have lost our blogs and everything in them, yet there's no existing record of blogs that have been terminated, so we want to change that. If you're not a transfem you can also answer, as we want data about all deleted blogs in general, like: the name of the banned blog, date of termination, and if there was a reason given or warning for the deletion (or not)
The form consists of 8 questions and takes around 3-5 minutes to answer. We'd appreciate sharing this with anyone that has been unfairly terminated, so we can create a record, so those blogs and their names can be remembered
parasitoid waspgirl gf who promises she doesn’t want kids and that you’re safe with her but one night while you’re asleep you just look so soft and so perfect and she can’t help but push her long ovipositor deeeeep inside you, hushing you and holding you tight when you wake up, promising you’re going to be such a good meal for her babies while you cry and protest and squirm in her grip
last night i was possessed by a demon whose sole purpose was making my girlfriend hurt me. like *really* hurt me.
to set the scene: for medical reasons penetration is off the table for me rn, plus we had guests sleeping in the living room right outside our door, so any impact play that made noise was out of the question.
so naturally i decided i needed to tease her in every way possible until she was growling and white knuckling the mattress. and i was mean. i know all of her buttons and i pushed them over and over again, my smug grin getting wider as she grew more and more frustrated, never taking my hand away from her cock.
she’d climb off of me and say “we have to stop, i’m trying to be good, you’re making it so hard to be good” and i’d pull her back over me and make her feel how wet i was, soaking completely through my briefs before she had even touched me.
i’d bite her too hard and latch on and she’d grab me by the throat and growl “watch it, puppy.” i’d fight against her hand and try to bite her again just to make her tighten her grip. at one point she asked “do you want me to make you pass out? because that’s the road you’re on” and i looked her in the eye and whispered yes. she squeezed my throat and watched my eyes go dark and unfocused and only stopped when my hand went limp and i stopped stroking her.
she’d pin my wrists to the bed and squeeze and i’d ask, voice dripping with innocence, “mommy, are you trying not to think about how easy it would be to snap my wrist?” and she’d hiss yessss through gritted teeth.
she’d punch the mattress and i’d whisper in her ear, “wouldn’t it feel so much better to take your frustration out on me? don’t you want to punch me instead, mom?” and the stupid, slutty little moans i made when she started punching my thighs and ribs just pissed her off even more.
i was relentless. i was possessed. i kept saying “hurt me” over and over and over, keeping my hand wrapped firmly around her, until finally she grabbed my jaw and said “baby. we need to stop. i’m going to break, and when i break, i’m going to rape you. is that what you want? do you want to break me?”
i did. i really, really wanted to break her. nothing in the fucking world feels better than holding the self control of someone i trust so completely in my hand and snapping it in half.
so, naturally, the night ended with me trying very hard to act like i wasn’t loving her holding my head still with a vice grip in my hair while she fucked my face until i was crying and choking and struggling to breathe while she came down my throat.
I love when a victim is so broken and conditioned and resigned to their fate that they start helping you. Pushing the gag further into their own mouth, pressing back against your choking hand, limply showing you their wrists where the bindings have come loose. Looking at you with those pleading, desperate eyes, and you can tell they’re hoping, praying, that maybe if they act good and pliant you’ll take it easy on them this time.
And they cling to that hope no matter how many times you ruin them anyways.
can’t just leave this in the tags. you are a genius prev
app where murder dommes can find snuffbait. as soon as they match, the murder domme gets constant access to their phone's location tracking services
affirm your robotgirl as a useful object by using it for target practice!! ^-^
( @wintertraumaposting shooting me <3 )
i think women should feel free to be 400% more predatory at all times. being romantic and whatnot is nice but i think it's actually very good and cool and wonderful when a woman dabbles in a little bit of objectification, maybe some selfish desire. maybe she fucks her victims so hard it makes her neighbors feel like they're doing something wrong. there's only so much pleading and sobbing, mixed in with the sound of furniture squealing with endurance, that they can hear from a few thin walls over before they start to wonder if they're listening in on a crime. if that idea alone gets her off even more, that's her business.
oh, i meant...partners. i meant to say her partners. and i feel completely neutral and normal about all of this, by the way. unrelated: women who are like this can have all of my contact information and also my address just in case they need someone to uh. talk to,
Awww~
You're cute ^.^
Tell you what, I can see that look in your eyes~ and I think you deserve a little treat~
Go ahead and come over here and I'll let you sniff some of my cat-thing cock's intoxicating musk~
ο(=•ω＜=)ρ⌒☆
Just be careful~ Moderation, little thing~ It can be a touch... addictive ;3c
If you stay too long it'll drain every little bit of your mind away, so just a quick sniff!
Wouldn't want to become enthralled by my musk ;3c Just a mindless little musk pet that wants nothing more than to shove its dumb little snout into my crotch and pits while it touches itself to the sensation of having its brain corrupted irreparably! ^.^
That's a mistake only dumb little cuties make, that isn't you, is it?
=◕ω◕=
Cum Preferences Survey
It started out as a joke playing around with the new polls feature on discord, but I have now made a survey about places you like to cum on/in an/or be cummed on/in. Please consider filling it out, it's kinda silly but for real it would be interesting data! I'll make some charts and graphs if I get a good number of results and share them with you all!
Here is the survey
Please reblorb this around for a bigger sample size!
Hey sweetie, can you come in here a sec? ... good girl. I have some exciting news to share with you! yes i do! okay sit... paw... speak... oh who's so good, good girl.
Now, as you know, your 30th is coming up here in a week, and Sarah and I have been talking about it, and we've made a big decision. When you signed over your rights, you said you wanted to be a dog in every conceivable way, and we've been going back and forth on how to interpret that, but we've decided that probably means you only want the life span of a dog too.
Oh, look at that dear, she's shaking! She must be so excited, her eyes are even welling up with joy! Oh I'm so glad sweetie, we were a little worried about that one.
Anyway, even the oldest dogs rarely live to 30, so we thought that your birthday would be an appropriate end point for you. We're gonna have a really nice day on friday, we'll take you to the park, get you your favourite wet food, it's gonna be so lovely. We've already called the vet, and she'll be coming by at 5 to put you down.
I have to say, having you for a pet these last couple years, it's been really meaningful for both of us. We're so glad you were a part of our life, and we'll definitely be getting another after you're gone. Don't worry though, we won't forget you, we've already picked out a nice little spot in the garden, and, you remember Kayla? She's gonna carve a lovely little stone marker for you.
Aw, she's whimpering, she must really be happy about this. It's times like this I almost wish we hadn't got her chords removed. It's okay though sweetie, I know how bad you want this, it's okay. You'll be a puppy to the end, and beyond.
Sweet romantic dom who takes me out stargazing, confused why I can't see any die to the light pollution until they smirk and say
"You really wanna see the stars?" Wrapping their habds around my throat, and as my vision gets blurry and dark (and my girlcock wet) punching me in the head until I start to sob
"How's those stars huh little one?"
handfeeding + CNC. more on this later
No other, no see results, no brain uploading bc that’s not nearly as sexy to me.
app where murder dommes can find snuffbait. as soon as they match, the murder domme gets constant access to their phone's location tracking services
Being made to grind on a boot is both the most degrading and sexiest thing on the entire fucking planet.
“So, like… speaking hypothetically. Just to help me get my head around the whole. Biometric key. Thing. If - if, again, purely hypothetically, I told you to kill… that guy. There, across the street. In the overcoat. You’d do it?”
“Automatically. Like breathing.”
The hacker wets their lips, knowing they shouldn’t ask, unable to resist. “How?”
“Dunno.” The machine tilts her head, studying the stranger in the long coat like a curious dog. The hacker still can’t think of her as an it. They’ve seen the file, the photograph of the woman this instrument was made from. “Snap his neck, let’s say. He wouldn’t feel it much. A little time, while the heart and the lungs turn off. Then lights.”
“Oh.” The hacker pushes a hand through their hair. It comes back damp. “I feel sick.”
“Better watch what you say to me, then. Boss.”
“Stop it,” they say. She’s been doing it since they figured out how to make her stop hunting them. They just wanted to be safe, not... whatever this is. “Stop calling me that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No – no, that’s worse,” desperate now, “please, stop it, can’t you just talk to me like a person?”
“Why? So you can keep kidding yourself about the nature of this relationship? You own me now. You are the finger on the trigger, you are central command. If you want me to speak to you in a certain way, I suggest you exercise your authority and make me.”
Silence.
“Can we… Can you go back to calling me ‘boss’. At least. Sir is… just…”
“Sure. We can do that.”
kidnapping via the trunk is well n good, but I love the peril of the character being seen within the car :^D This was gonna be part of the 31 Days of Kink, but I never got around to it!
I guess Lance can be caught by mafia or s/t idk _(:,D I just wanted to draw “kidnapping” + “car bondage” w/ a sprinkle of “struggle”