Corrupted by Him

18+ TO ASK & FOLLOW | 20+ TO DM DNI: Minors, Ageless Blogs, Blank Blogs

About me

I’m an east coast US dom with a passion for giving you smut to rub to. Regarding BKTempted: answered here

Kinks

The Primary: Corruption.

The Others: Stalker, Rape, Brainwashing, Hypno, Dumbification, Edging, Addiction, Orgasm Control, Misogyny, Patriarchy, Blackmail, Degradation, Humiliation, Breeding, Praise, Pet Play

Asks (READ BEFORE SENDING)

Important Note #1: Anon asks will only be answered if your age/age range and pronouns are included in the post. Just include it at the end of your message.

Important Note #2: Don't ask me for tasks. They burn me out.

Other than that, this blog is a place for you to indulge in your fantasies. So if you’re fantasizing, I want to know. Tell me.

DMs

I'm open to kink and non-kink conversations, just make it clear what you’re looking for. As a general rule, I use the stoplight system.

If you're looking for genuine personal advice, come to my DMs as opposed to asks. This is not a sex therapy blog, so I try to keep things kink focused in asks.

Tags & Master List

Master List

Reblog side blog

#answered.by.him - Asks.

#txt.by.him - Text posts.

#tempted.by.him- BKTempted reposts

Hypno audios - My hypno audio series

General Disclaimer

I’m unsure if you’ll ever see this and I know I’m on the younger side of those who usually ask but it said I could ask in your intro post so I’m just following the rules. I’ve been on an endless edging streak for about two years now. I’ve never been able to reach an end and it’s been years. It’s come to the point where being so sensitive all the time has become second nature to me.

Last month I met up with a dom and things were going well but upon hearing about my endless edging he immediately went on a rant about how worthless and useless (his words) I would be in bed since I won’t be able to cum. It hurt my feelings a lot. He told me I should try and force myself to reach an orgasm so that I could be useful and honestly I never met up with him again after that and I didn’t even try to do as he said. But his words still stuck with me.

Yesterday I discovered your blog (I’ve been spam liking a bit) and I discovered there are people out there who could appreciate all I’ve been doing. So thank you for opening that door for me when I genuinely thought there would be no one who could understand.

Been fantasizing about how much of a challenge I would be. How much harder It’d be to make me cum. I even imagined being restrained to a bed with a plethora of toys on and in my pussy and they would be on for hours till I start crying and they would be on until my body could do nothing but break the very rule it set for itself two years ago.

So my question is:

Do you think it really does make me worthless that I probably could never reach a release ever? Because that’s all I’ve even thinking about

Some of the most interesting musical compositions are the ones that sustain tension without resolving it. So this idea that everything ends with an orgasm and then everyone high fives and we're done is one of the most reductive ways to look at sex I can possibly imagine. I can't stress enough how boring that is.

A dom with any creativity would hear, "I've been edging for two years and I can't cum" and their brain would light up. There's a lot you can do with that. The sounds they can pull out of you. The reactions. How your body can respond when it's being touched by someone who isn't trying to make you finish, but is instead fascinated by what happens when you can't. Mapping every shiver and flinch and desperate clench your body makes when it's pushed further into sensations it can never resolve.

Think about what that means for you. The one thing that ends sex, the built in mercy of a man finishing, is gone. I get to fuck you for as long as I want because we’re not building toward anything. I’m not edging and I don’t need to hold back. I’m never going to cum and you’re going to stay pinned underneath me while I thrust into you and watch you spiral.

You’ll cum first. Obviously. Probably within a few minutes because I can barely feel anything unless I’m fucking you rough. And then you’ll cum again. And again. And the third one will feel different because by then you’ll already be trembling and overstimulated, and I’m still fucking you at the same relentless pace I started with.

That’s when the panic sets in. That little flicker behind your eyes when you realize oh. This really could go on forever. And your body keeps cumming because it doesn’t know what else to do with the stimulation. Each one strips away a little more of your ability to think until you’re just lying there shaking and moaning and drooling into the pillow with your eyes vacant and your tongue hanging out. But it’s doesn’t matter to me. I’m still going. Same pace. Same depth. Watching your face get emptier.

Eventually all you’ll have left are your little whimpers and you’ll beg me to take the condom off. You know the only way this ends is if I finish and the only way I finish is skin on skin. So you beg me to cum inside you because it’s the only way to make it stop. The slut who wanted to be safe will beg to be filled with cum because hours of being fucked past your limit turned sweet sticky cum into a mercy you’re desperate for.

And you’re so pretty when you beg for it. So maybe I’ll take it off. Maybe I’ll finally slide into you with nothing between us. And you’ll feel the difference immediately as your wrecked oversensitive pussy clenches so hard around my bare cock and I finally tip over the edge. Maybe I’ll cum so deep inside you and you’ll feel it flood your womb and your whole body will shudder with relief because it’s finally over.

i saw this (https://www.tumblr.com/corruptedbyhim/820303873130594304/nobody-talks-about-the-unglamorous-side-of)

and oh god did it trigger my breeding kink so bad 🫪 and to think that … i can go three rounds a day too this is making me dizzy

+ we have … almost share the same kinks . im js not sure if you’re into titles 🧎🏻‍♀️ like … daddy, sir, n whatnot

They say write what you know, and a lucky few can vouch for the fact that my cock doesn't have an off switch. So if my cum has to go somewhere (and it really, really does), why wouldn't I fuck something purpose built? Something warm and wet that was quite literally designed to take my cum.

That's why you have a cunt.

Stop that. I mean it. You deserve someone who earns it. Someone patient enough to pay attention, smart enough to figure out what you actually need underneath what you say you want, and dedicated enough to find the whole process fascinating rather than tedious. You deserve someone who reads everything you post and connects things you said three months apart and understands you well enough that when he finally reaches out it feels less like a stranger introducing himself and more like someone you already know stepping out from behind the curtain.

I want that for you. So raise the bar. Demand that level of effort. Filter out every lazy, careless, impatient man who wants submission handed to him on a plate. They’re not worth your time. Send them away. All of them.

The middle is where it’s most interesting. Right now. This version of you, the one reading this, who is visibly and measurably different from who you were a month ago and still has so far to go. You’re not so innocent anymore. You can’t claim that. You’ve read too much and thought about it too deeply. But you’re also not gone. You’re not blank. You’re not mindlessly drooling on anything. You’re right here, fully aware, watching yourself change in real time and choosing to keep reading anyway.

I want you to appreciate the tension of being mid-corruption. Still smart enough to see what’s happening. Still articulate enough to describe it. Still self-aware enough to be slightly alarmed by how wet you get when I tell you what you’re becoming. Do you understand how rare and beautiful that is? The you at the beginning couldn’t feel it because you didn’t know it was happening. The you at the end won’t feel it because you won’t remember how to care. You’re the only version of yourself who gets to experience this with full clarity.

Don’t try to to rush past it.

The mindless bliss will come. I promise. One day you’ll be bouncing on my cock with your eyes glazed and your tongue out and a head empty of everything except how good it feels to be full of me. That day is coming and it’s going to be everything you fantasize about. But today you’re something better. Today you’re someone who just caught yourself getting wet reading about your future and you felt a little scared and a little thrilled and kept going. Today you know exactly what I’m doing to you and you have every tool you need to stop it and you’re choosing this paragraph over your own self-preservation.

Slow down. Stop skipping to the ending. You’ll never be this version of yourself again. The one who still has the ability to resist and is choosing not to. The one who can feel the ground shifting under your feet and finds the vertigo erotic. You’re going to miss you when you’re gone. I’m going to miss you too honestly. The finished version will be fun and obedient and perfect and I’ll enjoy every second of it. But it won’t look at me the way you’re looking at me right now. It won’t feel this specific combination of fear and arousal and curiosity and surrender that you’re sitting in at this exact moment.

Just ride me. bounce on my cock. faster. I need it faster. I need to watch my cock disappear inside you every time you drop your hips, slick with you, the head dragging against your walls, stretching you open over and over. slam it down harder. let me hear how sloppy your pussy gets when you're taking this much cock. fuck yourself stupid on this thick cock like the desperate little breeding slut you are. you need it. you need my cum so bad. I want your pussy milking me. I need it.

Grabbing your hips and pulling you down so deep and pumping into you, thick heavy ropes into your womb, my cock pulsing and throbbing inside you with every spurt, filling you, flooding you, cum leaking because there's just too much. it won't stop. you're full of me and I can't stop, and your greedy little cunt won't let go of my cock. every time you shift your hips I can feel my cum in you, coating my cock, warm and sticky and filthy, and I need to go again. I need to keep you full. dripping cum every time you move. Feeling the ghost of my cock inside you day after day.

The fact that you’re here right now is all the evidence either of us needs. You already want this. You’ve been wanting this. Let’s just get that out of the way now so neither of us has to pretend the rest of this post is going to change your mind. Your mind was made up before you started reading. You’re just here because it feels good to hear someone say it out loud.

You already want this. So here are all the reasons why you should let yourself have it.

1. There’s a slutty version of you that you’ve been circling for years. They do things you’ve only read about in the dark and they’ve been waiting patiently inside you for a reason to come out. I’m the reason.

2. You’ve already started. The first time you read one of my posts and you started rubbing you took the first step. When you came to my words you took the second. When you came back the next day looking for more you took the third. You’re already walking in the direction I’m pointing. You already want this.

3. It feels so good to stop resisting. Every time you let yourself sink into one of my posts without overthinking it, every time you stop analyzing why this turns you on and just let it turn you on, you feel that relief. That quiet settling in your chest when you stop fighting something your body already chose. Imagine that feeling, permanently. Imagine waking up every day without the war between what you want and what you think you’re allowed to want. You already want this. Giving in just means you finally get to enjoy it without guilt.

4. Each step feels better than the last. It’s a gentle descent. First you’re reading. Then you’re touching. Then you’re edging to my voice in your head. Then you’re doing things with your body that you used to only think about and every single one of them makes you wetter than the last. You keep waiting for the moment where it stops feeling good but it just keeps getting better. You already want this. You’ve already felt how good the first few steps are. Imagine how good it gets further in.

5. You deserve to be somebody’s project. You’ve spent your whole life being handled by people who couldn’t be bothered to learn the details of you. I will learn every detail. I will figure out exactly what makes you desperate and I will use it on you over and over with the kind of focus that makes you feel like the only person who exists. You’re going to be known so thoroughly that it scares you. And the fear is going to make you wet. And the wetness is going to make you braver. And the bravery is going to take you somewhere you’ve always wanted to go. You already want this. You’ve always wanted someone to want you this specifically.

So how fast can we do this?

I'm thinking something like two minutes.

Maybe three if I'm feeling generous.

Walking through the door, pushing you face down into the couch, shoving your skirt up just far enough and driving straight in. That wet sound of me forcing my cock into you while you're still adjusting to the stretch. Pulling you back onto me while I hold on tight and keep you steady. Hard fast strokes that serve exactly one purpose. My hips slamming against your ass while I use you the way I always do. Me climbing to the peak, and you just barely managing to hold on.

And you love this. That's what makes you so special. You love that I walked through the door and had my cock inside you before you finished your sentence. You love feeling how hard I am, how much I leaked just thinking about you. You love being fucked feral, like you're just a warm little rag doll that has to take it while you get thrown around. Because both of us know that the less I care about your pleasure the wetter you get. Every selfish thrust is doing more for you than an hour of foreplay ever could.

You're whining into the cushion and I'm not even listening because a minute has gone by and I know I'm running out of time. I bury myself as deep as I can and that's when you know I'm cumming. Groaning through every pulse while I hold your hips flush against mine. A few heavy ropes and then the rest leaking out around my cock, but I keep grinding through it, spreading the mess around because I want every last drop inside you.

Pulling out. Breathing hard. Giving your ass a little slap.

Thanks baby. Fuck, I needed that.

That was the first time she went to his confessional. She'd done something cruel to someone who loved her and she couldn't sleep. Usually, she'd have just gone to a bar, but it was seven in the morning and the church was the venue that was open, so she wandered into the box, just needing somewhere to put it all.

She hadn't expected his voice. Low and unhurried and caring in a way that made her say more than she'd planned. She told him what she'd done and he listened without interrupting and when she finished he sat with it for a long time before he asked the question. She gave him her honest answer and he said he appreciated it. He gave her penance and she left.

-----

She went back the following Saturday. She just wanted to hear his voice again in that dark little box where he couldn't see her and she couldn't see him and the only thing between them was a lattice screen and whatever he believed was watching. She hadn't planned on saying anything real. But he asked her what brought her back and she heard herself telling him she'd been having thoughts about someone she couldn't have.

He was quiet. She could hear him breathing on the other side of the screen. He asked if she'd acted on them. She said no. He asked if she intended to. She said she didn't know yet.

He gave her penance. Three Hail Marys. His voice didn't waver.

She recited her prayers. Then she went home and thought about his breathing and the long pause before he answered. She put her hand between her legs and came harder than she had in months. Just to the silence of him deciding how to respond to her.

-----

The third week she told him she'd been touching herself and thinking about a man of God. She said it plainly.

The pause was longer this time.

He asked if she understood the nature of what she was confessing. She said yes, Father. He asked if she understood that this was a serious matter. She said she wasn't bringing it up lightly. That it was the heaviest thing she was carrying. He spoke faster than usual, giving her penance. Five Our Fathers and an act of contrition.

He wanted her out of the box.

-----

She came back every Saturday. She told him everything. She wanted the specific details of her desire to live inside his head all week the way his voice lived inside hers. She wanted him lying in his narrow bed in the rectory at night staring at the ceiling with her words playing back while his body responded to things his faith told him to refuse.

She was never vulgar. She just told the truth. That she thought about his hands when she touched herself. That she wondered what his lips on hers would feel like. That she'd started timing her visits so she could watch him walk from the rectory to the church in his cassock, and the sight of it made her ache in a way she couldn't pray away. She told him she'd tried praying, but it only made things worse because every time she knelt and closed her eyes she thought of him.

He stopped giving her penance. He'd just listen and then there was the silence, and it would stretch endlessly, and then he'd say something quiet like I will pray for you and she could hear in those five words how much trouble he was in.

-----

It finally broke. She came in and knelt and said bless me, Father, for I have sinned, my last confession was one week ago. And then said nothing. She let the silence fill the box. She could hear him breathing. Waiting. She heard him stand up on his side of the confessional. She heard the door open. His footsteps coming around to her side. He opened the door and stood there looking down at her where she knelt.

He was tall. She knew that from watching him for so long. But this close, in the dim light, in his black cassock with the white collar, it was different. His face was drawn and pale and his eyes were dark and his hands were trembling at his sides.

He said you need to stop coming here.

She looked up at him from her knees.

He reached down and took her face in both hands. She could feel his fingers trembling against her jaw. He tilted her head back and looked at her the way you look at something you're about to lose everything for, making sure you'll remember why.

He kissed her slowly. His hands moved into her hair and the sound he made against her mouth was grief.

She stood and pressed her body against his and she could feel him hard beneath the cassock, rigid against her stomach, his whole body shuddering when she pressed into it. He pulled back and his eyes were ruined. Wet and wide and terrified. He said I won't and his hips pressed forward while he said it.

She reached down and gathered the fabric in her fists, pulling it up slowly. The black cloth rising to reveal his pale thighs, the muscles taut and trembling. He watched her hands and did nothing to stop them.

She took him in her hand. His forehead dropped against hers. She stroked him once and he moaned. It came from somewhere behind his faith, behind his vows, behind everything he'd built his life around. All of it was worth less than her hand on his cock. He said God forgive me and she said He's not here right now. Almost tenderly. Giving him permission to set something down that had been crushing him.

He fucked her in the confessional. On her knees, bent over the small wooden bench where she'd knelt to confess to him every Saturday for months. His cassock bunched around his waist. His hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises that would last until she was back again next week.

Every thrust had twenty years of celibacy behind it and the desperation of a man who knows this is the thing that undoes everything. It was a ruthless pace, trying to get it over with, but also like he never wanted it to end. Driving into her hard while his breathing came apart into broken sobs that might have been prayers or might have been her name.

He pressed her face against the wood of the bench and she could smell the polish and the old incense embedded in the grain. She could feel his cock stretching her open in a place built for the forgiveness of sins and she clenched around him so hard he stumbled.

When he came he went completely silent. His whole body locked rigid as she felt him pour inside her, deep heavy throbs, and his hands gripped her hips and held her there while his body emptied itself into her. He stayed inside her for a long time afterward. His forehead pressed against her back. His breathing ragged and damp against her skin. She could feel him softening and his cum leaking out around his cock and dripping down her thighs.

When he pulled out and stepped back she turned and looked at him. His cassock was wrinkled and stained. His collar was crooked. His face was flushed and his eyes were somewhere far away, trying to understand what he'd just become.

She straightened his collar for him while he reconciled with himself. Gently, with both hands. His eyes were closed.

I enjoy your blog. And I absolutely love the idea behind it. I love the way you story tell too.

I do have a corruption kink and I'm very interested in hypnotism. But hypnotism just doesn't work on me, I feel. Like, my brain's too active to be emptied, too aware to have induced thoughts. I've tried many hypno audios and they never worked. In this manner, corruption kink is also something I struggle with because there's always this part of my brain that's always aware and pulling me back to reality. My soul is screaming that I want this, but my brain's just telling me no.

Have you had that sort of experience with a partner? How did you go about it if you have?

I think the mistake you're making is assuming corruption requires your brain to be quiet. That the model is emptiness and trance and listening to a hypnotist while your thoughts dissolve. Sure, that works on some people, but we know your brain is too loud for that. It's too busy running analysis on the process to ever sink into it. That's totally okay. Not everything works for everyone, but there are still ways to get to you, don't worry.

The emptiness model is one approach. The overload model is another. If you can't turn your mind off, well, I'll give it too much to do instead. I'll give you physical rules to follow while I touch you. You're only allowed to breathe in when my hand moves up your body and out when it moves down. Track that. Now I'm talking to you while I do it, asking you questions you have to answer in full sentences while you manage your breathing pattern. Track that too. And keep your eyes on mine. Stay focused. Don't look away. My other hand is doing something between your legs and you're going to look right at me through all of it. So now you're tracking my hand on your skin, the rhythm of your breathing, the questions I'm asking, my eyes, and the pressure building between your thighs. Simultaneously. Your analytical brain wants to process all of it. Let it try.

And for a while it does. You're managing. You're answering my questions, breathing on pattern, holding my gaze, and your brain is working so hard to keep all the plates spinning that it feels almost like a high. You're proving me wrong. You're showing me that your mind can handle this. You're watching yourself succeed at every task and feeling sharp and capable and in control.

Then I change a rule without warning. Or I ask a question that requires you to think for a second too long and your breath falls out of rhythm. Or I press harder between your legs right as you're mid-sentence and your eyes squeeze shut and you lose me. One plate wobbles. Your brain lunges for it. While it's lunging another plate drops. The whole system starts to cascade. Your breathing is wrong and you can't find the pattern and you're trying to answer me but the words aren't forming and your eyes are fluttering open trying to find mine again but I press harder and they roll back and you've lost every single task at once.

Think about what happens when someone in real life gives you a compliment. When they tell you that you’re smart, or capable, or valuable. What actually happens in your head? The answer is obvious. Your brain scrambles to find the catch. You feel that suffocating wave of imposter syndrome manifest. It’s just more expectations laid on your back. What do they really want?

Society has fucked up your sense of self-worth so severely that genuine kindness just registers as manipulation.

That’s why vanilla praise is useless to us. It bounces right off your damaged little ego. If I want to actually reach you, I have to use a backdoor. I have to use language that bypasses all those defenses.

It’s actually incredibly important that I remind you, repeatedly, that you’re a…

worthless, dumb fuckdoll in training.

And when I call you that, I need you to understand what’s actually happening. I’m systematically recalibrating your brain’s perception of positive and negative input.

This is a rescue mission. I’m here to save you.

When I call you worthless, I’m stripping away the exhausting burden of having to be valuable. I’m giving you permission to stop trying so hard. You don't have to achieve anything here.

When I call you dumb I’m reaching into your skull and turning off that frantic, over-anxious voice that analyzes every mistake you make. Self criticizing is beyond you. You’re allowed to be empty.

And when I call you a fuckdoll in training I’m taking all the complicated, messy human emotions society demands of you and reducing you down to a pristine, biological purpose.