A Cruel Gentleman's House of Fun

I see a lot of posts on here of slaves describing themselves as stupid and worthless, and while I understand the appeal of calling people those things; what I crave is an intelligent slave. I want someone who is witty, smart, the envy of those around her. I need someone who can push me to be better at what I do, who can engage me in conversations on a wide variety of topics, but who also wants nothing more than to be gagged, humiliated and used.

I want you to have a rich and full mind that I can explore and then use that mind to torment you. Physically I can hurt you and make you feel shame, but it’s your mind that is ultimately my greatest weapon. To learn the intimate details of the things that you crave deep down, that motivate you, and those that scare you and then pushing you to do things you would never have considered before just at the hope of hearing the words “good girl.“ I want to use your intelligence and creativity to come up with new ways to please me.

Reblog this of you’re ready and willing to use blackmail get what you want from a stranger, or open about wanting to get blackmailed yourself.

Ook nu nog is het rietje een prima manier om een vrouw meer discipline bij te brengen.

Het rietje is ervoor gemaakt en vrouwenbillen zijn ervoor gemaakt.

“Have you eaten?”

“Drive carefully.”

“Good morning, beautiful.”

“What did you have for lunch today?”

“Sleep well.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“Take a sweater, it’s cold out.”

✨🐾Kitten caught in the lights🐾✨ 

I’m covered in bruises. Every inch of me is sore from being grabbed by Husband, boyfriend and others so often this past week. The morning after my epiphany I came downstairs in a blanket. Boyfriend took this opportunity to immediately start fucking my pussy with his hand.

“Stop, I’m sore.” “Well whose fault is that?” “…” “It’s your fault, isn’t it? You dumb whore,” I nod. “Say it,” he says, increasing his pace on my cunt. I’m silent, I close my eyes and shake my head as I try to keep from gasping. “Say it,” I consider saying what I know he wants me to say, then smile in embarrassment. He increases pace and pressure until I’m basically being punched in my pussy. My smile is gone. “Say it,” “It’s my fault because I’m a dumb whore,” I gasp, quietly. “What’s that? I didn’t hear you,” “I’m a dumb whore!” I yell, splayed open for him on the couch, being pummeled. “Good girl,” he says, stopping to pat my head.

Almost every moment I’m alone with them, I’m being used. When I’m out in public, I’m being used. I exist to be used.

Bruises color my body- some large, some small. I know my bruises so well that I can tell who left them. The small, dark, circular ones are from Husband’s fingertips digging into my flesh. The bigger, more purply ones are from boyfriend’s greedy mouth. The shallow, reddish square ones are from Tyler’s bites.

I am a tapestry of abuse, as I should be.

Women are far more compliant when they are bruised and sore. My normally (somewhat) defiant demeanor is quieted with one pinch of my tenderized tits. If I hesitate to obey any order I am given, I’m corrected with a thumb pressed forcefully into a black and blue spot on my upper arm. I’m grateful to be corrected in this way- happy that someone can unearth immediate and absolute obedience in me.

Another benefit of keeping your whore bruised is that they are reminded of their place on a daily basis. If the bruises are exposed, anyone can see them and comment on them. When asked for a reason, a whore either has to quickly lie or fess up. Either way, it’s a constant hassle and reminder of their slutty-ness. Even if the bruises are hidden, they are still tender and easily cause pain doing regular day-to-day activities, keeping dirty thoughts in her cocksucker mind.

I love being bruised.