22 year old transmasc butch dyke dog thing. I'm here to chill and maybe make some cool kinky friends.
I do leatherworking and might post a bit of that on here! I'm also a really big nerd so if anyone wants to talk about star trek, dinosaurs, reptiles or dnd with me that would be nice :3
I am a verse switch but I do tend to lean towards bottoming
Kinks: puppyplay, bondage, leather, knife play, boots, biting, denial, degradation, breeding, impact play, musk, hypnosis and probably a lot more I don't remember at the moment
Boundaries
hard limits: scat, race play
Don't reblog my selfies to feeder/feedee blogs
Terms:
👍: tits, chest, nipples, cunt, tdick, pussy, hole
👎: breasts, boobs, vagina
Titles : Sir, Mommy, puppy, good boy/butch, toy
I can and will block you if can't listen to my limits or if I just don't like your vibes. Please like this post if you've read this far.
Tags
puppy.txt - all my original posts will be tagged with this
puppy.img - any pictures of myself
puppy.mp3 - audios of me
Vent- sometimes i post vents on here because less people that I know irl know follow this blog compared to my main so if you don't want to see me complaining then you should probably block this tag
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I want to classically condition a girl by only letting her cum when there are fingers in her mouth. Vibrator pressed against her, latex fingers stroking her tongue, thumb on the underside of the jaw to hold her face steady as she whimpers and tips over the edge for me.
She won't mind, not initially. Not until the first time I pull my fingers free, click the vibrator off, and ruin her orgasm with whisper light brushes. And again, weeks later, after she had thought the first was a one off cruelty.
Eventually, she'll beg for my fingers in her mouth before I touch any other part of her, she'll suckle at them desperately, unsure how to earn a real orgasm but desperate to try.
The other girl in the basement has more chain, and never talks to you. You tried, of course, when you first woke up shackled to the wall. Screamed at her until you went hoarse. You didn't have enough leash to get anywhere near her, or do anything besides lay down. She went about her day, cycling between calisthenics and reading a stack of books next to her nest of cushions. She was probably in her late thirties, and must have been a fitness nut before this.
The captor, because she never gave you any other name, never interacts with her in front of you. She's younger, and talks absentmindedly, but rarely seems to expect or want an answer.
Once every day, she comes downstairs with cattle prod and hood in hand, and takes you from the claustrophobic basement up the stairs, right turn, five paces, into another windowless room. It has only a treadmill and a chair. You refused, at first, and learned exactly how badly a cattle prod hurt. You swore to never eat meat again after your escape.
The captor demands nothing else of you, and answers no questions. She takes the other girl at different times, for far longer, and she returns with deep bruises, sometimes bloodied. You try to be grateful.
Each day you run, as fast as you can, for however long she makes you. The pace ticks up, day over day, and your heart rate settles into a comfortable spot. What had once left you gasping and pleading to stop, spurred on only by violent threats, is now an easy jog.
You couldn't say how long it had been, the day the routine changed. The captor took the other girl, and then came down again for you. Up the stairs, left turn, ten paces, down two short steps and… a breeze?
The hood comes off, and you're outside. It is late afternoon, and you furiously blink away tears. Your prison sits in a small clearing, a cabin with woods sprawling on every side of it. The air, fresh after so long, is thick with pine and so delightfully green.
The other girl is there too - without restraints. Standing, tight as a whip, staring into the woods.
The captor gestures to the treeline.
"Run. You get a five minute head start."
The words take a moment to register. You're weightless, giddy. You have no bearing, but you loved the woods as a child, and the captor does not seem dressed for the chase at all, in a long dressing gown and slippers. You bolt into the trees, the taste of freedom on your lips.
At a hundred yards, you realize the other girl did not start running with you. She had not been staring at the trees. She was waiting, impatiently. The realization sinks like a stone in your stomach, but you press on. Brush whips at your legs, leaving stinging cuts.
You hear her start. The first sound you've ever heard her make, an awful, baying howling. And then deathly silence, in comparison to your clumsy fleeing.
That's the problem with an exotic pet, you know. It needs live prey.
i'm absolutely ravenous for subby transmascs and butches. i love the idea of a twitchy tdick, a cunt that can't resist getting slick just at the thought of me watching it. the way they would try to thrust their hips when my fingers so gently jerk them off, barely enough to cum from.
watching eagerly. my fingers trace a path down the shaft, back up, peeling back the hood to take the smallest, detail paintbrush and swirling it around the most sensitive tip. hearing desperate pleading behind the gag but hushing you, continuing my work as you thrash, thrash, melt. over and over.
i want to edge you until i see your eyes rolling back. i blow a puff of air across your dick just to see the goosebumps raise on your thighs. your eyes glance at me, wide and helpless, as i raise my hands, another brush posed to torment you. you're pleading with those puppy-dog eyes.
isn't it too bad that i don't care? this pleasure you're feeling- it isn't for you. it's for me to watch your dick twitch and throb. its all for me, your pleasure is mine to command.
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What if you pierced my clit exclusively for the purpose of leashing it. You could pull on the leash to force me to follow you, tug on it just to hear me cry out in pain, or you could attach the leash to something to leave me in a specific spot with no way to escape
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There’s something so hot about the aftermath of being beat when you’re sensitive and in pain and flinching at every touch, and your dom is just over you shushing you and reassuring you that it’s over now, even as they’re reaching between your legs and oh—you really enjoyed that, didn’t you? Enjoyed being scared and hurt, even when you were crying and apologizing and asking them to stop. You must’ve really enjoyed it, to be so turned on, even as they wipe away your tears and swipe their nails over your bruised ass. And then they fuck you about it <3
okayyy not to get all serious on my own joke post but these are actually very important laws, a lot of invasive species of birds actually out compete native species here and so while it may seem cruel, the laws are saving the lives of native birds. not all laws are stupid ^_^
Here is a guide to hitting others. It is not about safe impact locations or how to develop picturesque bruising. It is about how to hit someone, and keep hitting someone, until you're both satisfied. It is how I approach hitting masochists for my own pleasure.
The first thing to note is that...
This is going to Hurt.
That fact cannot be shied away from. Pain, even for masochists, hurts. There is a tolerance to how much someone can take, and ways to engage with that tolerance. You will need to learn how each masochist takes pain, and potentially even teach them how to manage and endure it.
So you've got a paddle and a tied up piece of masochistic meat, or perhaps you're using your hand and it's bent over your knee, or perhaps it's cuffed to a cross and you've got a whip, or perhaps you've got a knife or needles or... well by now I've laboured the point enough.
How do you get the most out of your meat?
Start slow. Hit them slowly and rhythmically, building up in intensity every few hits, and when they tense too much or start struggling to breathe or can't stop themselves from making too much noise, slow down again.
Your aim is to warm up the meat so that it can get used to the pain, and once it's used to the pain you can intensify it. Climb up, drop down, and climb back up again. Vary the strike location, but remember that locations you haven't hit as much will need warming up too. The more skilfully it's done, the more you'll get to hit it.
On the subject of their breathing, tension, and noises, you'll want to pay attention to these as you hit them. As you hit them, their breathing will try to get sharp and shallow. Their muscles will try to contract to harden against the impact, and they'll make noises as reactions to your hits. Encourage them to keep their breathing steady and calm, and they'll take the hits better. Encourage them to relax so that the impact dissipates into their flesh instead of getting caught in their tension and you can hit them harder while hurting them less. Listen for moans of pleasure if they're so inclined, and encourage them to verbalise their pain, intentionally responding to pain verbally will help them endure it. Let them calm themselves between your hits, and they'll feel like they can take it and let you push them harder.
Watch how they react, but be aware that you may need to soothe or goad them. Try different things: Hold your off-hand on their shoulder so that they can brace against you. Praise them for each hit you've delivered. Tell them they can take more for you. Tease them. Rub them while they catch their breath and tell them how happy you are with them for taking it. Be verbal, but don't expect responses unless they enjoy responding. Pay attention to what helps them calm.
Once you've got the hang of these things, you can begin to play with them and challenge them: forbid them from making noise. Blindfold them so that they can't prepare for the pain. Make them watch you hit them so that they can't help but tense up in response, and play with false swings to mess with their minds. You can be cruel, because you know how it works. You know which moving parts can be shifted, and which must stay still.
Consider also what your masochist wants from being hit: some do not want to be overwhelmed, they want to be guided and hit into a meditative place where they can dissolve into the pain: intense but never too much, and then you can hit them until they're bloody and raw. Others want their pain to push right up to the edge of too much and stay there until they break. They want to cry and scream, and your challenge is to see how cathartic you can make it: break them too quickly and they might not find it satisfying, and neither will you.
And afterwards, aftercare, and you can work out what that looks like with your masochist yourselves.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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service tops are like dogs the way they just want to be good and please you but my favoriteee is when they end up whimpering and drooling like a dog too. does it feel that good baby? let’s hear you bark for me then
