😵‍💫🌀hypnos🌀😵‍💫

I’m gonna get a toy maybe 8-10 inches, just big enough so I can bruise my cervix real good and shove it all the way in my puppycunt, then im gonna lay down and put a bullet vibe on my tdick and hold my hands behind my back. I’ll just drool and hump into my mattress until I can’t take it anymore and just come, over and over.

Maybe someone will tie my hands behind my back with some rope or handcuffs, and leave me there, all I can do is slobber and whine from the overstimulation, my my hole leaking and my cock rubbed raw, but I can’t get out I just have to stay a little pathetic stupid puppy until a daddy comes to release me ><

owner scolds puppy for making a mess and forces the cum back inside and plugs puppy with their cock

“aw, poor boy, what’s wrong?”

“such a sleepy baby, huh?”

Ductaping a vibe to her clit on medium and asking her questions. Turning it lower with every correct answer she gives. Turning it up every time she answers wrong.

She’s a smart girl (not for long, but even dummies are good at pattern recognition) and will answer wrong to chase her pleasure.

It starts simple. I make you cum and I tell you to say thank you and you do because that’s easy. That one makes sense. Someone made you feel good, and you express gratitude, that’s just good manners. You don’t even think about it. Thank you. Of course. That felt amazing. Thank you.

But then I have you say it again the next time while my hand is around your throat. Say it. And you do, thank you, a little choked and sputtering, and something about forcing the words out while you can barely breathe makes them feel different in your mouth. Heavier. More real. You said thank you while I was hurting you and you meant it and that’s a new piece of information about yourself that you have to carry around.

Then I start expanding the territory. I want to hear it when you’re wet. Not just when you cum. When you’re wet. The moment you notice that your body is responding to me I want you to stop whatever you’re doing and say thank you. Because that arousal doesn’t happen without me. That drip between your legs is something I built. I put it there through weeks and months of conditioning you to respond to my voice and my hands and my words and the least you can do is acknowledge where it comes from. So every time you feel it. Thank you. In the morning when you wake up thinking about me and you’re already soaked before you’ve opened your eyes. Thank you. In the middle of your workday when something I said three nights ago surfaces in your brain and suddenly your thighs are pressing together under your desk. Thank you. You text it to me like a little status report. Like a prayer you send throughout the day to the person responsible for keeping you this ruined.

But we can push further. I’ll have you thanking me for the things that should horrify you: Thank you for taking your limits away. Say it. Thank you for crossing every line I drew. Thank you for making me need this. Thank you for making it so I can’t cum without your permission. Thank you for showing my friends what I look like when I beg. Thank you for the bruises. Thank you for the photos you keep in a folder I pretend I’ve forgotten about. Thank you for making me say all of this out loud.

Say it after I make you do something new and degrading, and hear the thank you come out before you’ve even processed what just happened to you. Your brain skips straight past the shock and the shame and lands on thank you as your default setting. No matter what I do to you the first thing your body produces in response is a thank you that I’m the one doing it.

I always lie there listening to you sleep, staring at the ceiling, running through all the reasons I should let you rest. I mean, you look so peaceful. So completely unaware of how much I'm aching, how every slow breath you take is a test of my self control.

I fail that test every time.

It's always something small that breaks me. You mumble in your sleep. Shift closer. Your ass presses back against me and my cock twitches and suddenly all those good reasons don't seem very important anymore.

My hand slides between your thighs just to check. Just to see. And you're always so wet. Slick and swollen. I think your body knows what's coming even when your mind is somewhere far away. Your pussy is warm against my fingers. You whimper when I push inside, and your hips rock back into my hand like you're chasing something in your dreams.

That's usually when I stop pretending I was ever going to hold back.

I need to be inside you. Not just my fingers. I need to feel you stretch around my cock while you're still half asleep, still soft and pliant and trusting. I need to spread your thighs and sink into you slow enough to feel every inch.

I know your eyes will flutter open when I bottom out. Still hazy. Still catching up. I'll watch the moment it registers. How full you are. Your lips parting and this shaky little breath escaping as your thighs fall open wider.

I'll start to move before you can say anything. Slow. Deep. Strokes. Watching you try to form words and fail because I'm hitting that spot and your eyes are rolling back and all you can do is take it.

Somewhere between the third thrust and the first moan you'll stop caring that I didn't wait.

There's a hungry circle of four men looking down at you, and the sight of them sends a lazy pulse through your already-wrecked cunt.

"My turn."

"Fuck off, I was next."

"You went last time, asshole."

The argument kicks off like you're not even there, which is its own kind of thrill. They're fighting over your body, and you lie there with your legs still open and cum leaking out of you, soaking it in.

You push up on your elbows. Tilt your head. Put on your dumbest, most confused expression.

"I thought it was his turn?"

You point a lazy finger at the one who just came inside you. He barks out a laugh. The argument erupts.

"See? She wants me again."

"She's a dumb slut, she doesn't know what she wants!"