"shhh, darling. no more thinking. you don’t need to worry about anything when my cock is this deep inside you."

"feel that ? every thrust is pushing those anxious thoughts out of your head. that’s it… just take it like a good girl."

"you’re clenching so hard, precious angel. your anxious little cunt loves being fucked calm, doesn’t it?"

"cry if you need to. i’m not stopping until the only thing left in that pretty head is how full you feel."

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 know (apologetically)

i know (condescendingly)

its supposed to

you can take more

this is how you learn

good sluts take it

stop complaining

i don't care

i didn't ask

your pleasure is irrelevant

you shouldn't have done *insert mistake*

focus on pleasing me instead

you're not supposed to like it

don't talk back

you look so cute like this

you're mine and i decide what you do

its your punishment for *insert mistake*

shut up

good

you're supposed to be focused on my pleasure

get used to it

you can take it cant you?

you asked for it

beg for it to stop then

you look prettier overstimulated

you'll stop when i tell you to

*gagging them so they're quiet*

your only purpose is to be a fuck toy for me so don't complain

you know you like it

aww but you look so cute like this

stop lying

it cant be that bad if you're still talking

because she lights up when my hand closes around her throat. she breathes out a sigh of relief when my teeth finally break her skin. she melts when the flat of my hand meets her ass. she damn near thanks me when i press her face into the mattress so hard she can barely breathe, when my voice goes low and mean, when i tell her how much of a slut she is for getting off on this.

sex like that isn't a punishment, a consequence, a threat. it's a reward. it's a thank you. it's an i'm proud of you. it's an i love you. she earns the bruises. she earns the marks, the tears, the pain. she earns the way i hold her head down, pressing harder when she gags. she earns the moment my restraint snaps in half and i finally let go of the fear of hurting her. she deserves to feel the intoxicating blend of fear and trust, of pain and pleasure. to have the thoughts forced out of her head. to be broken by the person she knows will put her back together.

What actually satisfies me is telling you to stop breathing and watching you do it.

Just my voice and the fact that you’ll listen. Hold your breath when my cock is inside you. Breathe when I pull out. That’s the rule. It’s simple. Your lungs are on my schedule now.

And I’m edging, so we’re going to be at this a while. Don’t waste the little windows of air between strokes. You’ll learn the rhythm of me pretty quickly. When I push in you hold. When I pull out you gasp. push in, hold. pull out, gasp. Your whole respiratory system synced to how I like to fuck. Eventually you won’t even think about it. Your body will just know.

As you can probably imagine, the part I like most is the holding. When I’m deep in you and I just stay there, and you’re holding your breath because those are the rules and I can feel the effects of your lungs burning through your whole body. Your legs start kicking a little. You’re squirming under me because you’re desperate for air, but I’m in no hurry, so you don’t get any. You’re torturing yourself to please me. I’m not even doing anything. I’m just inside you, still, watching you suffer on my cock because I told you to. And you will. You’ll hold on until I decide to pull back and give you life.

"gosh, this body was made for my hands. you're such a pretty doll for me."

"look at these lewd tits. so soft, but they fit in my grip like they were made to be squeezed and used."

"shhh, just stand still and let me feel what's mine. you're just a little stress toy for me to grab."

"i love how you get all breathless when i grope you. your body knows exactly what it's for."

"that's it, don't pull away. you were made to be handled, to be touched, to be owned."

"feel that ? how hard you make me just from letting me touch you ? you're such a good little slut."