Anya

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Let me use the meanest toy on you. Made of hard rubber instead of soft silicone. Textured with bumps that you, were you being slightly less charitable, might even call spikes. They scratch painfully on the sides of your hole as I shove the toy inexorably deeper inside you.

The toy is blunt and slightly tapered, without a distinct tip. It starts out medium-thick, already at the limit of how much you can comfortably take, and it only gets thicker and thicker until it feels like you're about to rip in half.

I don't let up on the pressure, twisting back and forth to corkscrew it deeper into you as my progress slows. I have one hand on the base of the toy and one hand pushing down on your stomach, making sure you feel every inch.

After stretching you to an unbelievable degree, the taper becomes a blessedly straight shaft for the last two inches. A respite, if you can call it that, before the knot.

The shaft alone was cruel and unforgiving—the knot is plainly torturous. You can't help but clench in resistance to the mere thought of it inside you, even though you know it makes it worse. After fifteen minutes of constant twisting and thrusting inside your strained hole, you're sure that I'll give up. It simply won't fit. Unfortunately for you, I'm a persistent bastard.

I flip you over and line up my knee between your legs. I dig my nails into your hips and pull you towards me, pressing with my full weight on the toy. The obscene knot indents your skin as your hole strains to swallow one, two, and then three more rings of the bumps. Tears are streaming down your face, your body is nearly convulsing, and your world narrows down to become just the pain in your guts and the throbbing of your heartbeat in your ears.

I pull back my knee, and slam it forward into the base of the toy. If your face weren't already buried in a tear-soaked pillow, your scream would have hurt my ears. I'll have to gag you next time. Agony screams through your insides, making you nearly vomit from the sheer intensity of it.

You lose count of how many times my knee pounds the toy into you like a sledgehammer—it must be dozens—before your ruined, aching, bloodied hole finally accepts the knot into it's swollen embrace.

You hardly notice yourself choking and coughing as I use your pathetic whimpering mouth to get myself off, releasing all over your flushed and tear-streaked cheeks.

I want someone to decide everything for me.

What to wear, when to eat, what to do.

Everything.

Dumb girls like me don't need to think.

We can't think.

We just obey.

Dumb girls obey.

Dumb girls serve.

Dumb girls are dumb.

We just need someone to take control.

We exist to please those smarter than us.

Better than us.

my freshman year of college I signed up for fetlife and started talking to this 30 something Dom. he wouldn’t send me a picture of his face or tell me his name because he was a lawyer and couldn’t be exposed. after a week of talking he ordered me an uber to his house at 2 am. i was really scared he was going to be a serial killer but so horny and slutty that i went anyway.

he had a blindfold for me by the door to put on before coming in and asked me to take off my clothes when i came in. he led me to a bed and tied up my wrists and ankles to the bed posts. he just teased me for at least a hour while we talked and i started feeling more comfortable. we did some impact play and he put nipple clamps on me that were sooo mean. then he started playing with my pussy and getting me to the edge. after every edge or just after playing with me for a bit he would slap my pussy and i had to count up to 50. if i forgot the number (which i did several times) id have to start over. finally once i got to 50 he made me cum. after that he fucked my face so hard tears were rolling down my face. at some point he turned around and made me give him a rimjob. he came so deeply down my throat that i was gagging on it. after relaxing for a little bit with him he untied me, handed me my clothes, and ordered an uber for me.

i couldn’t take the blindfold off until i got outside. the sun was coming up when i got out there and i hadn’t even looked at myself before getting in the uber. easily the most awkward uber ride i’ve ever taken. the driver wouldn’t stop staring at me through the rear view mirror. when i got to my dorm i saw that i was covered in bruises all over my chest and thighs with mascara running down my face. i looked completely used and ruined. we met up a couple more times but i never saw him or learned his name.

it builds endurance. sharpens focus. teaches obedience under pressure you want to be better, don’t you ? more trained. more useful this is how you get there

pushing through the aftershocks shaking and soaked and oversensitive but spreading your legs wider because i told you to. because you’re not done just because you came

you’ll cry you’ll beg you’ll say you can’t and i’ll say you can and you will

you needn't take a break. you need to stop whining you need to take it you need to be good

and if your thighs twitch and your brain goes fuzzy and your voice breaks every time you try to speak that just means it’s working

overstimulation is character-building you should thank me, really i’m helping you grow, one orgasm at a time