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can’t stop thinking about having a sub pressed against me. chest to back. my mouth at their neck. one hand warm and flat on their stomach while the other works between their legs slowly. feeling them squirm back into me. trying to get more and not wanting to seem too desperate about it.
giving them more anyway.
two fingers. slow. feeling them open around me. taking my time stretching them. listening to every sound they try to muffle. not letting them muffle it. “let me hear you.” feeling them clench immediately.
curling my fingers. finding that spot. staying right there while my mouth kisses their neck. while my thumb finds their clit. while they grab at my arm and press back harder.
cooing at them while i do it. “look at how wet you are.” feeling them whimper. “you’re soaking my fingers baby. you feel that?” feeling them try to hide their face. not letting them. “no. stay right here with me.”
playing with their nipples while my fingers keep working. feeling them arch back into me. too much everywhere. not enough anywhere.
building them up slow. stretching them a little more. feeling how ready they are. how their whole body is chasing it.
making them cum on my fingers. feeling it. staying right there through all of it. working them through every single wave.
then bringing my fingers to their mouth.
“open.”
watching their face. the way they hesitate for just a second before they do it. tasting themselves. sucking slow. “good girl.” pressing a kiss to their cheek while they do it. “tasting how wet you got for me. tasting what you did.” feeling them whimper around my fingers. pressing my lips to their ear. “so messy. got my whole hand wet and now look at you. cleaning it up like a good girl.”
holding them after. their back still against my chest. hand warm on their stomach again.
Bootblacking is top level kink because it's one of the few I can think of where the nominal sub is treated as a thoughtful, knowledgeable technician from the outset.
Like, a flogging bottom might be praised for their ability to take pain and know their limits, or a rope bunny might be recognised as keeping themselves in good physical shape so they can hold complicated stress positions for longer than a novice, but even the most beginner of beginner bootblacks has learnt a little bit of materials science (Will this type of brush scratch this patent finish?), a little bit of basic chemistry (If these were last polished with a silicone wax, how do I remove that to start to bull them?), a little bit of leatherworking history (Is that natural fibre stitching on those surplused Warsaw Pact boots, will my polish rot it?) and spent time practising techniques on their own boots.
And it's one of the few kinks I can think of where the top is so immediately physically and emotionally vulnerable to the bottom in that way: I put my foot in the hands of a stranger bootblacking at a party, and I trust that they won't damage the boots I was gifted by my long-dead Master when I was 17, that they won't soak the stitching and start the rot of the boots I was wearing when I first fucked the love of my life, I trust that they'll carefully work around and treat the cuts and scuffs in the leather that I picked up wearing these same boots marshalling at a dozen prides and going toe-to-toe with strikebreakers and scabs on twenty years' worth of picket lines. The experienced bootblack can look at my soles and where my boots crease, and see that I have a weak hip, that I'm slightly bowlegged, that I don't drive and that I walk even in the weather where I'd rather not. And I trust that they'll see that worn-out, poor, slightly sad old man and still call me "sir".
the joke among my leather circle is "everyone subs for a bootblack," not necessarily that bootblacking = sub or dom, but rather, we could have the most stone-top, left-pocket-black-flagging, powder-coated-steel-paddle-gripping Sir Dom, and all a bootblack has to do is move their wesco boot with a palm and they obey.
"give me this foot." tugging laces loose with one practiced finger. hefting a heavy-soled engineer up to wrench pebbles loose from in between the lugs. "stay still." taking finger-fulls of huberd's and lathing it meticulously and lavishly over a pair of oil tans - watching my customer curiously eye the lubricated shine with a rising heat behind their cheeks. planting the full weight of their boot on my shoulder and commanding them, gently, to press their weight onto me.
there's something so deeply fulfilling in being a technician, someone who restores leather like a museum archivist, accentuating scratches and blemishes and returning life to those leather pieces so they can go on to keep fucking, kicking, running. i am as much a craftsman as i am a history keeper. my respect is given not just by the titles i refer to you with, but the care i have given to your boots, jackets, and harnesses, and the stories they tell.
Leather, more than anything else, is history. Good leather, well cared for, can last for ages.
Bootblacking, the care of that leather, is also history, to me.
One of my most prized inheritances from my grandfather is his bootblacking kit.
When I open that box, I can imagine my queer Jewish grandfather as a young man in New York, lovingly blacking a boot. About him knowing that the police could come at any minute. The stories he told me of the friends he lost.
I hope, as I use his brushes, that he’s proud of the person I’m becoming.
Subject has always had a fascination with hypnosis. Subject is also incredibly easy to drop, program, and modify. When paired these two traits can sometimes leave Subject exploring situations in which I do not have full control and that could be potentially damaging for Subject.
Within the hypno community (As I'm told) there are certain files that were created without the listener's best interest, and to be rather malicious in how deep they sink their hooks. Just the name can be a trigger so I'll just leave it as the B-files.
Of course Subject in their reckless exploring found these files. Princess was created at first just to "deal" with these files. She started as just a small program to activate if the B-files became a problem.
This at the time was one of my more complicated programs. I wanted a method to debug as it were, something to make it easy to interface with Princess. So I started small. Because Subject has an inability to talk while under trance, I gave Princess a voice by giving her a measure of awareness. When I called for her, Subject's memories would pause, and the program would take over. Princess could access any memory, any thought. She was Subject's psyche given voice.
She confirmed being able to feel the B-files. As Princess told me she was able to put all the triggers into a nice box and seal it away. She told me it was something she could let out and put away whenever I liked.
This was interesting. When I created Princess as a program I gave her pride. Ego. If I wanted something strong enough to protect, it need to feel a little full of itself I reasoned. I hadn't however, given her any programing on how to deal with her...Rival. When Princess found the B-files spreading in her territory she sealed it away in a box like it was nothing.
This is where I think the programing began to evolve. More often I would summon her out not to make sure the B-files were under control, but to talk. To play.
Do you know how much fun it is to tell someone you're going to erase them and they know you could? She was just a program. It would be nothing to set Subject under and unwind all the things that hold her together. I'd threaten that in her ear and watch the panic and excitement blossom behind her eyes.
When Subject returns they have no memory of time passing, of the conversations we had.
Princess earned the nickname Tattletale here. If Subject misbehaved, or stepped out of line, it was an easy matter to find out the severity of the infraction and address it with Subject.
Not just infractions. Memories. Fantasies. Oh you thought you could keep it a secret you have a crush on the new weed girl?
Overtime the programing became more of a person. Subject was thinking of Princess more often, I'm told even having conversations here and there. At times Princess would sometimes comment something about work, or somebody she was dealing with. At the time just a disembodied voice radiating with a more refined voice than their inner monologue has.
I start to brush across limits however. Princess couldn't exert control unless I called her out. She was still just a voice so at times she might fade out and become less effective or quite. If I didn't interact regularly with her, sometimes there would be long start up times, or I'd need to rebuild parts of her programing.
To address this, first I gave her a body. I built a mental image of her using Subject's views of feminine perfection. I siphoned off some of Subject's pride, made Princess' voice carry deeper authority and strength. Then I gave her a throne. Something fit for royalty. I carved it in the back of Subject's mind. Something Subject couldn't ignore, or escape. Like a collar just slightly too tight. Always that pressure for Subject.
From her throne Princess was given more power, more control. I gave her the methods to carve simple tools for her own use. The first I helped her make. A dial that could reduce Subject's mental facilities. Something that, due to Princess' earlier insulation, left her unaffected. This worked fantastically as Princess has a much better idea of what Subject views as "dumb".
Imagine there's an emotionally sadistic woman in your head sitting on a throne. At any point she can reach out, turn a dial, and leave you a babbling idiot. Unable to do anything but smile and giggle. Basic questions going over your head.
On her own Princess later created puppet strings. From her fingers to all the parts of Subject's body that she wanted to control.
Did Subject sass too much? Suddenly their jaw snaps shut as strings yank it close. Next they fall to their knees in pouting supplication. Or Princess will force them to disrobe and put them in deeply vulnerable and humiliating positions. Just for my amusement.
Those secrets she used to come out and share? Subject was now forced to vocalize themselves.
I wanted more. I was curious how much Princess could grow. At this point I added to her code. I gave Princess' desires beyond the ones that had naturally developed. Princess was given need, given lust and desire, given want, all by binding it up with Subject's own. I also gave Princess the same feelings of protection that Subject believes I hold for it.
At this point I've already given Princess deep levels of control with Subject. She had not abused them in any meaningful way. So I gave her more. I gave her the same root commands I have. She can override any of Subject's memories, feelings, or actions. She can force subject to bark or howl, or even let out the cutest "baaas". She can render subject deaf and blind or reduce them to a sobbing mess.
Bodily functions. Emotions. Memory. Subject is fully at the mercy of a creature that watches their every movement, that can watch every thought they have.
Subject rolled their eyes at a joke I told and Princess shocked them like I had used the prod.
Subject tried to hide something embarrassing and could only taste ash until they told the truth.
Subject tried to climb on top of me for play, only to have their body stolen and to wake up used and spent with no memory of how it happened.
Subject told me they would be lonely without Princess.
Subject uses "We love you."
Happy to take any questions. This has been evolving for 2 years so I'm sure I missed a detail.
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Being into degradation and cnc makes it so hard to find blogs that are actually devoted to healthy and consensual experiences and not thinly veiled misogyny, homophobia, or transphobia
So, uh... please reblog this if you’re a cnc or degradation blog that also respects consent, aftercare, and people of all orientations and identities
ADHD at night: I could write a book. I could get my Master’s Degree. I could go to the club and come home with 12 new friends. I could get a job at that club and meet the mother of my children. I could cure every disease and use my wealth to bring world peace.
ADHD during the day: Fold laundry too hard :( Come back next week
"Nothing on this website is illegal. Nothing on this website is unethical. Despite the fact that these videos and photos were created enthusiastically and consensually, I can't process transactions or make money from any media on this website using any standard online payment processing. The only way I can get other people's eyes on my work is to give it away for free. That's the state of the internet and credit card companies right now.
I take my art seriously. I take my collaborators seriously. We deserve a platform for our work. This is an imperfect attempt at filling that gap. It's better than nothing." x
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whats cool about being trans is my parents are totally right. i did kill their beautiful son. im the thing that animates his corpse in an ever more convincing parody of a happy girl. i devoured him from the inside out and now there is nothing left of him and he is dead dead dead and there is only me, with my hollow eyes and dark eyeliner and long hair, and my big smile. my limp, effeminate gestures belie the marionetting of the boy they loved. my fagginess is his death. already his body becomes a fitter home for my parasitism in full; the tits, the hips, the thighs. sorry about your kid. thanks for the biomass <3
We've been talking a lot and she admitted she has this "dark" fantasy. You know it right? Yeah, the one where she's hunted down and raped. Of course, we've already established safe words. I've even worked out some non verbal cues with her in case she can't speak. Don't worry, I've done this kind of thing a lot. She'll be in good hands.
It's going to be a long weekend. I like to do things right, and that means taking my time hollowing her out. You should have something to distract you. Yeah, she won't be able to text between moments either. I find it ruins the energy of the scene. Plus there's no reception up in the cabin I'm taking her to.
Oh no, that was the first mistake I made. Took the girl home, her screaming had the neighbors pounding on my door within the minute. So now I bring them somewhere with a nice view where they can scream till they've lost their pretty voice. I think it lends to the weight of the scene too, knowing the only way up or down is with an off road vehicle.
I'll bring it back Sunday evening. Most of the clothes it wore will be ruined, so I'll leave it in a little blanket bundle on your doorstep.
You'll want to clean it up after. A nice warm bath, a quiet time to cry. Just let it vent those emotions for a few days. You're going to need to change its bandages until it can manage on its own.
I know you're going to feel ashamed, but trust me. It's normal to feel turned on when you see its broken form. Don't feel guilty. Ask it what happened as you touch yourself. Make it describe each depraved thing I did to it. Give in to your needs and take it while its body is still swollen and tender.
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Pulling over into the abandoned warehouse parking lot because you're getting way too bold and fussy on our drive home tonight and you need a reminder to maintain respect for me at all times.
Watching me walk around to your car door and casually pull you out and manhandle you over the hood as reality sets in that you crossed a line and you're going to be punished for it if the sound of my belt being whipped out of my belt loops is any indication.
I love the look of panic that sets in your eyes when you realize you didn't want to be disobedient or disrespectful. You just had a moment of weakness. That'd you rather have been respectful than earned yourself a punishment. That the reality that you've disappointed me is dreadful and you're deeply ashamed you ever conducted yourself in such a manner. But there's no amount of pleading, struggling, or half sorries you can utter that can bypass the fact that your pants and underwear are now around your ankles and your wrists are effortlessly pinned down behind your back with my hand. Only me, you, and the tree frogs chirping through the night will hear the lashes and screams you are about to go through.
It's okay pretty thing, this is going to happen, it's going to hurt like nothing else before, and that's okay. When you disappoint me like this the punishment becomes inevitable. Those are the rules, and I don't let you bend them. When you try to bend them, they only snap back into place and hit you, and eventually you'll learn it's better to obey than to try to bend them. And if you ever forget, well, that's what reminders are for. And with what you're about to feel, you'll redeem yourself of any disappointment I have in you, earn your absolution, and apologize properly before we'll be on our way.
Don't you want to be a good girl and serve out your punishment and demonstrate you can be held accountable? Don't you want to be a good girl and absolve yourself of the shame of disappointing me? Don't you want to be a good girl who has her apology accepted and her transgression forgiven? Don't you want to be a good girl that Daddy is proud of? Then you need to be punished like a good girl, it's the only way to mend things and make it right.
The anticipation for the consequences of your actions is one of the best parts about owning you. You'll start crying before I land a single strike. Knowing there's nothing you can do, that I decide when things have crossed a line and that the coming beating is the discipline you need to learn to obey where that line is. Knowing that even after I'm done with you for tonight's discipline I'm going to be the same consistent, loving Daddy, enforcing the same expectations, showing the same love to you whether you need a correctional spanking or not. Being the role model of dominant consistency you need to be submissive consistently.
Whether we're going home or getting back in the car after that spanking I'm going to open your door for you. I'm going to walk you to our door hand in hand. I'm going to make sure you're buckled in and safe and rest my hand comfortingly on your thigh. I'm going to apply the arnica cream to your bruised butt when we get home so you heal properly. I'm going to keep pressing hard into your bruises for days afterwards and make you repeat back the lesson you learned tonight until the bruises fade because I care about you and I know you don't want you to feel the horrible shame of letting me down. Because I own you. I own all of you. The good and the fussy. And I don't reject a single part of you. I could never. You are my cherished property, and that's why I keep you in line. We both need it that way.
I raise my belt and take aim at the pale, trembling skin of your ass in the cool night air, glowing under the light of the moon. "This is for your own good darling."
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