Restrict These Restless Hands

Hey, I’m Alex — 29, cis male, pansexual, and very into filth, fantasy, and control.

This blog is where I play with power: soft domming, hard domming, and everything in between. You’ll find fantasies, prompts, original works, and reblogs—some short, some long, all soaked in heat.

My kinks (and yours) include:

Praise & degradation

Breeding, pet play, & objectification

Mirror sex, bondage, overstim, edging

Free use & casual ownership

Body worship (especially body hair), scent, & musk

Public play, exhibitionism, and risk

Oral, pain, toys, breath play, and being used like a toy

My writing is often gender-neutral, with ambiguous anatomy so more of you can feel seen, wanted, and wrecked. Trans, cis, non-binary—you’re welcome here.

🆕 Check out my original series "New in Town"—a smutty slice-of-life about moving to a new city and meeting some very interesting mutuals. Want in? Submit yourself to me:

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If you enjoy what I do, you can:

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Commission custom filth

Send asks and anons

Spread the word by reblogging

💌 DMs open — be respectful.

📸 Pics welcome — Whatever makes you feel hot.

📝 Fantasies & kink requests encouraged.

⏰ I'm UK-based and human. Responses might be slow, but they’re always worth it.

But look at you now, swaying under the red lights, drink in hand, eyes half-lidded and lips parted, flushed with heat and haze. I’ve kept you close all night. Kept you high, kept you dizzy. Little sips from my drink. A hand low on your back. Whispered filth in your ear while the bass drowned everything out.

No one really notices when I lead you down the hallway. Just another couple looking for somewhere quiet. You stumble a little, giggle. Don't even ask where we’re going.

The back room’s dark. Not private, not locked. But hidden enough. Just how I like it.

I press you against the wall, hand on your throat, lips brushing your ear. “Dreaming again, baby?” I murmur, watching you shiver. “Can’t really think straight, huh?”

You try to answer but your words are thick. Slurred. Your body’s soft and willing, your pupils blown wide and your thighs already parting as I slide my knee between them.

“You want to be used like this,” I say, slow and sure, like I’m flipping a switch in your head. “You don’t want to say no. You don’t even remember how.”

You nod, eager and open, rutting against my thigh like the desperate little fucktoy I know you are.

“That's right. Dumb little doll in heat. Good for one thing.”

I hike your skirt up and pull your underwear aside, groaning at how wet you are, slick dripping down your thighs like your body knew what was coming. I push into you in one smooth stroke and you gasp, biting back a cry.

“Shhh. You’re fine. You’re made for this.”

You whimpers, back arching, arms limp at your sides while I fuck you against the wall. One hand on your throat, the other gripping your hip, holding you in place as I use you like the filthy, helpless little thing you are.

“You wanted to get knocked up tonight, didn’t you?” I growl into your ear. “Wanted me to stuff you full in some dirty backroom. Let strangers hear you beg for it.”

You moan, loud, high, aching. I fuck you through it, hard and fast, using you until I feel you start to tighten.

“No,” I say, firm. “Dolls don’t cum unless I say so.”

You sob, pitiful and beautiful. I smile.

“Beg for it, slut.”

It had gotten late without us noticing.

The living room was lit in that soft, hazy way it always got when the only source of light was the floor lamp by the couch—warm and golden, more like candlelight than anything else. My D&D prep was spread across the coffee table and onto the rug: open notebooks, loose pages of monster stats, a folder of handouts, one of the players’ minis half-painted and forgotten beside a crumpled snack wrapper.

M was curled up on the floor across from me, oversized hoodie falling off one shoulder, knees pulled to their chest. Their hair was a little messy from lying around, and they had that look they always got when they were watching me work—thoughtful, quiet for a moment, then all smirk.

“What if I just cast Zone of Truth on the NPC?” they asked, reaching lazily for a gummy from the open bag between us. “You’d have to tell me their whole backstory, right?”

I didn’t even look up. “That’s not how it works.”

“But what if it was?”

I shook my head and made another note in the margin of my map. “It’s not like the movies where people can’t lie. They’re not just going to blurt out every embarrassing secret. They just can’t lie about what they’re asked about.”

“You know I’m not gonna stop asking,” they said. Their tone was casual, but the way their eyes lingered on me wasn’t. “You might as well tell me what’s waiting behind the next door. Just a little peek.”

“M,” I said, glancing up at them over the top of my notebook. “Spoilers.”

They grinned, slow and sharp. “I like spoilers.”

They stretched out long across the rug like a cat, one leg sliding toward mine under the table. Their bare foot brushed against my shin.

“Bet I could bribe you for one,” they said, voice dropping a little lower. “You’re looking very... persuadable tonight.”

“Are you flirting with your Dungeon Master?”

“Maybe I’m roleplaying.” Their fingers ghosted across the edge of one of the character sheets. “Maybe I’m just a desperate little rogue trying to seduce her way past a deadly trap.”

I sighed—dramatically—and leaned back on my hands, watching them with a half-smile. “You're gonna get us both killed.”

They propped themselves up on one elbow and looked right at me.

“Or,” they said, “you could let me help.”

Their voice had shifted—still teasing, but quieter now. More breath than sound. It lingered in the air between us like smoke.

My pen is still. The map in front of me suddenly felt very far away.

I let the silence stretch between us.

They didn’t fill it this time.

Just lay there on the rug, still and watching, like they knew something had changed. Like they’d pushed a little too far, or exactly far enough.

I leaned forward slowly, setting my notebook aside.

“You really want to help?” I asked, voice low. “Is that it?”

They nodded, wide-eyed now. Just the smallest shift in posture—like they didn’t quite know whether to smile or kneel.

“Alright,” I said. “You can help.”

I stood up. I walked around the table. M tilted their head to follow me with their eyes, but didn’t move.

“Get up.”

They obeyed instantly, hoodie slipping lower as they rose to their knees. I reached out, tugged the hem over their head, slow and deliberate, baring their soft skin to the lamp’s honey-warm light.

“Bend over the table,” I said. “Hands flat. Stay still.”

Their breath caught, but they didn’t hesitate. They moved like they’d been waiting for it all night, hips pressing against the edge of the wood, cheek turned sideways so they could still glance back at me.

I grabbed my notebook and laid it flat across their shoulder blades.

“Don’t move,” I murmured, flipping it open. “You said you wanted to help me plan.”

Their breath hitched again—barely a sound—but I caught the way their thighs squeezed together.

I picked up my pen, rested it against the page, and tapped it there once.

“Be a good table for me,” I said. “And maybe I’ll let you see what I’ve got planned next.”

They didn’t move. Not even a tremble beneath my notebook.

Good toy.

I kept the pen poised for a second longer, watching them breathe—shoulders rising under the pages, spine curving downward with obedient grace. The soft dip of their lower back made a perfect shelf. I could’ve written a thousand sessions like that.

Instead, I set the pen aside.

I slid my hands down their sides, slow and greedy, until my palms met the curve of their hips. They were warm and pliant, barely breathing now, eyes closed and lips parted like they were afraid they’d ruin it by speaking. Or begging.

“You like being useful, don’t you?” I asked, pressing in behind them, my voice just above a whisper. “Being something I can lean on. Use.”

They nodded quickly, face flushed. “Yes—yes, please…”

“Please what?”

“Please use me.”

I let my zipper fall open.

“Good,” I said. “Stay still.”

One hand kept the notebook balanced across their back, while the other gripped their hip hard enough to make them gasp. I slid into them slow—deliberate. The kind of slow that didn’t ask permission. That told them what they were for.

They whimpered as I filled them, back arching, but they didn’t move. Didn’t dare drop the notebook. Not even as I started to thrust.

“You’re doing so well,” I murmured against their ear, pushing deeper, dragging a broken little sound from their throat. “Just like that. Hold still for me. Let me use you.”

Each thrust pushed them into the table—flesh against wood, page against spine—and they took it beautifully. Needy. Willing. Trying so hard to be good.

I fucked them like I meant it, one hand steadying the notebook, the other digging into their waist, using them exactly the way they’d asked to be used—until I couldn’t hold back anymore. Until I buried myself deep and spilled inside them with a low, satisfied groan.

Their whole body trembled, skin slick with sweat, chest heaving.

But they never dropped the notebook.

I leaned down, kissed the back of their neck.

“Perfect table,” I murmured.

They were still catching their breath when I reached for them again.

“Up,” I murmured, pulling them gently by the arm. “On the table.”

They moved without hesitation, still flushed and panting, eyes hazy with that perfect, used-up look. I swept the notebooks aside to clear the space, and they climbed up, lying back along the hardwood with a soft hiss as their bare skin met the cool surface.

“Hold this,” I said, grabbing the campaign book from the chair beside me.

They blinked up at me—then smiled, dazed and dreamy, as they took it in both hands and raised it above their chest like an offering.

“Don’t drop it,” I warned. “I still need to prep the next encounter.”

I slid back inside them in one smooth thrust.

They gasped, arms tensing to keep the book aloft as I began to fuck them again—deeper this time, sharper, like I was hammering something in place inside them. Their legs wrapped around my waist instinctively, but they kept the book steady, eyes fluttering shut as they moaned.

I grinned down at them. “You like being part of the process, huh?”

A helpless whimper.

“Letting me use your body to get my story straight.”

They nodded, the book dipping an inch—then catching themselves and adjusting, still clinging to it like it was sacred.

I thrust harder. “Gonna hold it for me, even while I fuck you stupid?”

“Yes,” they breathed. “Anything, anything you want.”

I kept one hand braced on the table and reached up with the other, turning a page with a smirk. “Hmm. I think the party’s gonna run into trouble in the next dungeon. Traps. Restraints. Maybe some... creative bindings.”

They whimpered again, the edges of the book trembling slightly in their grip.

I leaned down, lips brushing theirs, hips still moving slow and relentless between their thighs.

“I could write it all down later,” I whispered, “or I could just practice on you.”

Their voice was a breathy, wrecked mess when they answered. “Practice. Please. Fuck, I want you to.”

I kissed them then, hungry, possessive, while my cock worked deeper, hips grinding down like I could mold them into the table itself.

They moaned into my mouth, desperate and beautiful and obedient, their arms beginning to tremble under the weight of the book. I fucked them until their whole body was trembling, thighs slick, face flushed, eyes rolling back as I pulled them closer and held them tight.

And when they came–gasping and writhing, the book finally slipping from their hands – I caught it before it hit the floor.

Now I’ve got you in the back of my truck, pressed up against the worn leather seat, shirt halfway undone, lips bitten red. You’re straddling my lap, thighs spread, sweat clinging to your skin under the hot dusk air.

And you’re trying so hard.

Trying to bounce on my cock just like I told you to. Trying to be good.

But your legs are shaking, muscles trembling under my hands. You keep slowing down, breath hitching with every push down. You look wrecked, already overwhelmed, already fucked out, and I haven’t even taken control yet.

“C’mon, Pet,” I murmur against your cheek, voice low and warm, almost gentle. My hands hold your hips tight, grounding you. “Don’t give up now. You were so eager back at the house, begging for me to fill you up. You don’t get shy now, not when you’ve got my cock in you.”

You whimper, body twitching as I thrust up into you just once, slow and deep, watching the way your face crumples, eyes fluttering shut.

“Shit,” I whisper, dragging my lips along your neck, “you really are built for this, huh? Look how easy you open for me. How good you take it.”

You shudder, hands clinging to my shoulders, breathing hard.

“Too much,” you whisper, head tilting back, “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” I hush you with a kiss to your collarbone, nosing down the open front of your shirt. “You’re mine, aren’t you? My Pet. My good little thing. You just need me to help, don’t you?”

I guide your body, setting the pace for you, making you ride me just the way I like; a slow, aching grind, all drag and stretch. You’re gasping now, breath catching every time you come down on me. And you’re so fucking warm, so tight around me it’s making me dizzy.

“That’s it,” I groan, palming up your chest, groping, worshipping. “Fuck, look at you. Such a good doll. Dressed up so sweet, all dolled up in lace and this little button-up, looking like a damn gift. And you’re all for me.”

You cry out, soft and desperate, face buried in my neck.

I slow the rhythm, hold you still with one hand at the small of your back and the other cupping your jaw, forcing you to look at me.

“Look at me when I cum in you,” I murmur, deep and steady. “I want you to remember exactly how it feels when I fill you. When I claim you.”

And when I finally push deep and spill inside you, you whine like your whole body’s gonna break apart, clenching around me so tight it almost hurts.

But I don’t stop.

I keep you there, straddling my lap, my cock still buried deep, stroking your sweat-damp skin, breathing against your throat.

“You’re mine now,” I whisper, holding you close. “My Pet. My favorite thing. Gonna keep you right here til the stars come out. Let you feel it drip down your thighs. Let you learn what it means to be taken care of.”

You sigh, exhausted and dazed against my shoulder, but I feel the way your hips roll one last time. Needy even after all that.

I glanced down the hall, coming back from a shop, to see boxes outside a door down the hall. Moving out or moving in? I couldn’t tell from this point, and I wasn’t trying to pry, but two shopping bags in combination with a lack of foresight meant getting my keys was a struggle. Just as I managed to get the key in the lock, I saw the new arrival, as I judged them by my lack of acquaintance with them, turn up at the door. 

I’d have been inclined to categorise them as delicate, on account of their figure and standing at just under five foot, if it wasn’t for the rocker-style they’d cultivated. Rips all over their clothes, heavy boots up to their knees and a collection of chains and rings reminded me of some of the people I’d bumped into down at the live music venues down the street. Maybe I had bumped into them? I wouldn’t have minded bumping into someone who looked like that. They had their dark brown hair, down to their lower back usually I’d guess, tied up and tucked into a beanie as they nudged the door open with their boot. They bent down to grab the last of their boxes, holding the door open with their shapely butt as they glanced up, likely having seen me fumbling at my own door. They had deep brown eyes, and I couldn’t look away, all at once admiring their punky style and wanting to pick them up and carry them around like a pet rabbit. 

They smiled, and it was a cool smile. “Hey, neighbour.”

Having finally got the door open, I placed the bags beyond the threshold before smiling in return. “New to the building?”

“Yeah, student accommodation was all full of new students. I’m Basil.”

“Alex,” I went to extend a hand and they came to meet me. They were soft despite the grungy exterior. We exchanged some more pleasantries and they made their way back to their door, before bringing their latest box inside. I’d been weighing up whether to offer any help with the boxes, but it looked like they had it handled. I made a mental note to keep an eye out for them at the venues, and made my way inside. 

It didn’t take long. It was Tuesday when I’d seen them, and by the time Friday rolled around I saw them in the low light of the Amp-phibian, a pub with a decent crowd, good drinks, and low lighting. I’d gotten a decent buzz on, lounging in one of the leather chairs, worn down with love, and I found myself wandering past the smokers area into the spot where they opened up for open mic nights for the students and live, upcoming bands at the end of the week. 

I felt the beat of the music as soon as I stepped in, a fast, ferocious rhythm which had charmed the writhing crowd of the room into a frenzy. I kept to the back of the crowd, but soon found myself sucked into the whirlpool of fans, a roiling sea of excited, sweaty metalheads. 

I stumbled forward, bumping into what turned out to be a familiar face. The eyes were the first thing I recognized, I could still make out that deep brown even in the low light, and there was a wild look to them. I stayed where I was, our bodies pressed close by the crowd and the force of the music pulsed through the floor and up through us. I found my hand had landed on their waist, a hasty and not fully thought through attempt to keep myself upright, but they seemed to be okay with it, moving back and pressing closer into me. I could smell the sweat and fragrance they’d put on before coming out, taste the excitement coming off them, and I could feel something else, more than just the thumping of the music, another feeling emanating from them that it took me a moment to place. 

I leaned down, lips brushing against their ear, “Did you wanna get a drink?”

They nodded, their expression was halfway between intensity and ecstasy, but they still seemed to have the wherewithal to know what I was saying. I led them out by the waist, where I took them to the bar. They surprised me with a drink so sweet it even raised my eyebrows, and we found ourselves looking around for somewhere to sit. The pub had gotten busier since I’d left the main area, and now the only place was one of those large, well-loved leather seats, tucked away in a corner. We both squeezed on, and this quickly evolved into them shifting till they were perched on my knee. 

“So, you come to these things often?” I asked, bouncing them gently on my knee as we talked. I could definitely feel something now, a different kind of vibration than the music. 

“All the time,” they replied slowly, their mind somewhere else. “I just love how the music feels.”

“I bet the toy you’ve got in you really makes it hit the spot.” I saw their eyes widen as I brought it up. They were about to say something, but I bounced them on my knee harder, they let out a small moan in reply, slapping a hand over their mouth. 

“I only wear it sometimes, just to make the night more fun…” I shifted my weight, moving their body so they were straddling my knee, facing me. 

“Go on then, have some fun.” I bounce them again, and I feel them grind against me, stifling another moan. Someone left the door to the music venue open, the hard sounds of rock music banging and thumping through the pub, drowning out the noises of the patrons of the bar. I held their hips in place, rocking them as they tried to keep their moans at bay. I could feel the toy as they rubbed themself into my knee. 

“That’s it, you’re doing so well,” I whisper, my tone low but close enough for them to hear my words rumble through them. I could feel how wet they were, starting to soak through their jeans onto mine. I pulled them closer, letting them press their face into my neck, moaning into my shoulder under the sound of the crowd and the music. I feel their legs clench around my knee, and I help them ride their way right through the climax. 

“That’s it, let it out.”

“Fuck. Fuck…” They slump into me, still twitching as the toy carries on vibrating against them. 

“That was so good, Basil.” I help them turn off the toy, a sigh of relief escaping them as they do. “Was the night fun enough for you?”

Now the toy was off, Basil seemed to regain some more of their senses. “Very fun…” they breathed, smiling as they laughed. “Should we do this again next week?”

If anyone wants to send me anything to help keep me going, it'd be appreciated!

“Come sit,” I said gently, patting the spot between my knees on the couch.

You crawled over, head ducked, a little embarrassed but glowing. I stroked your back while you curled into me, kissing the top of your head. You always melted when I touched you like that. When I called you my sweet thing. My good girl. My pet.

“You want to be spoiled, don’t you?” I murmured, fingers sliding down the curve of your body, resting between your thighs. “You want me to play with you? Make you feel good?”

You nodded into my chest. I could feel the heat radiating from your skin.

“Such a good toy. Letting me touch you like this. Letting me train that body to respond to my voice. My hands. My rules. You like being mine, don’t you?”

You whimpered softly as I rub slow, teasing circles, coaxing slickness or stiffness from your body, my good toy, always so eager once I start.

Working from home means I get to watch you squirm all day; tapping away at your laptop, shifting in your chair, trying to ignore the way I brush your shoulder as I walk past, the casual touches trailing too low, the murmured “good girl” every time you finish a meeting. I see the way you rub your thighs together when you think I’m not watching. 

You’re soaked already. Desperate, but still trying to be good. 

I don’t let you have it. Not just yet. Instead I wait. Let you stew in it. Let the ache build while you’re working hard at your big corporate job. You explain it to me in words far too big for someone who, in just a few short hours, will be nothing but a toy to be used. 

“All done, pretty thing?” I ask as you finish your last email, hands trembling with anticipation, cheeks flushed. You tell me about your day, your words getting shorter and simpler as you slide out of that corporate mindset. I slide a hand around your waist, leading you back to the sofa. “You worked so hard today. Think you’ve earned a reward?” 

“Please,” you nod, more complicated words failing you as you slip into the proper mindset. I look at you as you sit there, falling into a daze, your pupils blown. Your lips are parted, like the words won’t quite come. 

A few drinks later, and you’re so pliable you barely react as I pull you into my lap. You’re such a good doll, your tongue lolls out as I pull up your top, and you can’t even tell you’re drooling over my hands on your chest. “Relax for me,” I tell you as I explore your willing body, “Just let me take care of everything.”

“Thank you,” is all you can say between your whimpering. 

I run a hand up your thigh, lips brushing against your skin. “You’re so soft like this,” I whisper. “All warm and needy. You can’t even sit still, can you?” You don’t respond, you can barely string a sentence together at this point, you’ve settled into that perfect doll mindset so well. 

“You’ve been doing so well today at work, keeping it together, squeezing your thighs together to stay in control during your meetings, squirming, hoping I’d touch you. 

You let out a gasp, accompanied by a desperate moan. Sitting on my lap, I can feel how soaked through you are as you grind against me. “Please…”

I stand, my hands under your thighs as I pick you up and carry you to the bedroom, I can feel your soaked crotch pressed into me as I throw you down to the bed. I’m not gentle, you’re a sturdy toy, you can take it. I take my time stripping you down, letting my hands linger on your more sensitive areas, revelling in the sounds you make when I do. 

“What are you?”

“I… I’m just a toy…” The words are quiet, a final surrender as you fully accept your place. 

When I finally drop to my knees at the end of the bed, spreading your legs apart, your slick and swollen, I can see where you’ve soaked your thighs and your panting evolves into a frantic whining as I cover you with my mouth. I can taste your desperation, your anticipation, the salty, sweet bliss that is only enhanced by your half-muffled cries into the pillow, and the way your hips rut into my mouth. 

You’ve lost your words, you’re a dumb toy, you don’t need them. When I pull myself up, gripping your thighs and pushing them back to expose your holes, sticky and gaping. 

“You ready for more?” I rasp, lining myself up, teasing you with the head of my cock. “Want me to use you like the good, dumb toy you are?”

You nod, frantic, stammering unintelligibly, and that’s all the affirmative I need. I sink into you slowly, stretching you open, savouring every inch. You’re so wet it’s obscene. Your hips arching, lips parting in a desperate gasp. I lean down, pressing your legs further back as I drive myself deeper and deeper with every thrust. 

“You’re taking me so well, such a good fucking toy,” I hiss. “So wet, so ready to be filled.”

When I finally cum, I push in deep and stay there, grinding down as I fill you, holding you tight while your whole body trembles beneath me.

You’re flushed and spent and fucked-out, blinking up at me like you’re still trying to remember how to breathe.

Heat clings to your skin, your shirt damp, breath still uneven from the climb. When I step closer, you don’t move away, you lean in.

“Too hot?” I murmur.

You nod. I glance back toward the trail. Empty. Quiet. Just wind through the trees.

“Good,” I say softly.

My hand finds your waist, pulling you closer, slow at first, then firmer when you don’t resist. Your breath catches when I press you back against the rough bark, your body already giving you away. The quick, ragged moan you let out sends a throb right through me. 

“You’ve been like this all walk,” I murmur, close to your ear. “Distracted.”

A pause. My grip tightens slightly. A hand slides up your damp chest, the other hooks its fingers around your shorts. I lick my lips, I can already taste you, how ready you are to give up control.