Transjester Puppydoll

Sometimes I get a little too attached to the victims I stumble across. With her there was this connection between us the moment I started cutting the buttons off her blouse. There was something about the way she held her breath, how she kept so still as my blade ruined that little number she got for your anniversary.  

How do you feel, I wonder, knowing she wanted this? Once she learned I was a predator, she became a teasing flirt around me. At every opportunity she’d find an excuse to brush past my body, or draw my attention to some soft, vulnerable part of herself. More than once she would make a show of stretching around me, tilting her head back to show the long length of her throat.

My hands fit so much better around it than yours could. 

She helped me plan most of it. She found a time she’d be alone at her job, then made sure she was the only one on the schedule. She left the backdoor unlocked, showed me how to avoid the cameras and which ones were fake. She even gave me the code to the employee bathroom.

She thought it would be the one time. Just for the experience. Just so she could understand what it felt like. Please don’t blame her for this. She just wanted to learn what it was like to be used. 

I have the texts. I could show you how excited she was. How eager. How desperate. 

She thought she was safe, so she let her guard down enough she never considered I might not let her go when I was finished. They’ll find the office a wreck in the morning. Buttons, shreds of her uniform, blood. How upset are you that there’s no security footage to obsessively watch? You’ll never hear the guttural moan in her throat, not the way I did. You’ll never know how beautiful she is when she gives up and stops struggling.You’ll never see how perfect she becomes when the light leaves her eyes and she goes limp.

I thought she’d spent all the fight in her, but there was one last desperate struggle when she finally realized I was taking her to my car. Not leaving her to clean up like we’d discussed. She got a couple good hits in, almost bloodied my nose, but I could tell it was for show. Weak little attempts so when she bragged to her friends about this later she could say she fought back. 

She’s happier this way. She resisted at first, but she’s fitting into her new life with remarkable ease. We sit together for every meal, she has her own spot chained to the floor next to me, with every morsel fed to her by hand, bite by bite. She’s learned all her basic commands and never hesitates to follow through.  I don’t ask her complicated questions, and she’s given no choices to worry herself over. Sit. Stay. Paw. Play dead.

I’m going to keep your girlfriend. You don’t mind, right?

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at first she left the meals and cutlery in the room then left you to eat. then she started staying to watch you eat. you didn't want to give her whatever kind of sick satisfaction she'd get from it, but you need to eat. so you put up with it

then she started sitting closer and closer to you while you ate. then she started holding the plate in her lap while you ate from it. it all happened so slowly, so gradually, that you didn't even really notice how strange it was until she started petting your hair while you ate. you tried not to eat for a few days after that. but you need to eat. so you cave. and she keeps petting your hair

one day she ties your wrists behind your back before she brings your meal. when she comes in with the food, she sits in a chair directly in front of you. you think about how much you hate her. you think about how much you hate that you're so used to being close to her. she picks up some of the food and cups it in one palm. then she extends the hand towards you

you stare at the food in her hands. your mouth starts to water. you understand, somewhere deep in you, that if you do this, you will be crossing a line. something in you will snap in a way that can't be fixed. you hate her. you don't want to give her whatever kind of sick satisfaction she'll get from it

your intense sobs has calmed down to quiet hiccups and hitched breaths, and you haven’t yet registered the grip on your thigh. your face is so warm against their neck, your quiet little whimpers are driving them insane and they need to hear them get louder. it happens all within a few seconds, they’re pulling your face off of their shoulder and pinning you face first into the couch. you’re not sure what to do, but you’re scared. you ask them what they’re doing, your voice cracks and gets all high pitched and they swear that they could cum just from that.

“it’s okay, baby. just let me take care of you.”

they force your legs apart and put their own on top of yours, relaxing their body weight on top of you so that you’re trapped under them for as long as they need you to be. they yank down your bottoms in one swift motion and rub you through your panties. and just as they wanted, your cries get louder. each time a new sob racks through you, they lose more of their self-control and the need to see you ruined all because of them grows stronger.

A needy sub will listen more readily, hanging on your every word in the hopes one of them will give them a path to release. A needy sub will likewise be much more responsive to touch, arching themselves back into your hands at every opportunity, learning how sensitive denial can make them. And, to their own great shame, a needy sub will more readily violate their own soft limits in the hopes of pleasing you. A needy sub is an easy one to train, especially once you’ve addicted them to your touch and attention. 

Some might even find themselves enjoying this heightened state of arousal more than the alternative. They grow to love the extra sensitivity it brings, or maybe they just enjoy how laser focused their minds become on my pleasure, my enjoyment.

You would think this is the perfect kink for me, but it never really clicked like others have.

I’ll spend the time learning their bodies, finding every sensitive spot it has to offer. I’ll allow them the joys of release frequently, watching them spend themselves across my hands or toys. I’ll make sure they’re covered in little love marks they’ll catch constantly in the mirror. Each one a reminder of a night of pleasure they still can’t get out of their head.

Once they’re addicted, I’ll spend the days, the weeks, teasing them day and night to build them to their highest point. I’ll learn every one of their tells so I can pull away at the last moment. Keeping them wound, keeping them aching. Denied everything but my touch.

I’ll teach them to beg.  I’ll teach them to lean on that burning core of heat in their bellies, to distance themselves from all the shame they might have had about vocalizing their desires. Until they openly plead with tears in their eyes to finally be granted permission. 

I let them.

“You’re doing so well for me, I’m so proud of you baby.  That’s it, cum for me. You’ve been so good for so long, sweet thing. There we go…” They shake, muscles spasming down their thighs and legs. Hands find my hair, or some other purchase, just needing something to anchor them in reality. They empty themselves out for me, finally getting to bask in the glow of something they’d worked so hard to reach. Something they’d earned.

It never takes long for them to realize that I haven’t stopped, even with the slick feeling of their satisfaction clinging to my fingers, I’ll keep going. I don’t care that they’ve cum, that their hyper sensitive body is twitching at every touch. I don’t stop just because they’re arching away from my touches, instinctively trying to escape the stimulation that’s overwhelming their thoughts.

They started the evening begging for what I now heap upon them in excess. More pleasure than their body and mind can handle. What were once cries of joy, shift into choked sobs and powerless whines. Tears pour openly from their eyes. Desperately they gasp for air, trying to fill their lungs so they can beg anew, trying to find some new combination of words that will finally make me stop. While I just keep pushing them. Past what they enjoy. Past what their body can handle. 

I’ll offer them an out, eventually. I’ll tell them it will stop if they promise to never cum again. Or maybe I’ll make them beg for the very toys that terrify them, savoring the way they struggle to think past the overstimulation. So desperate they’ll agree to anything just to make it stop.

I’ve always been a sadist at heart.

(If you would like to support my writing and help me relocate to a safer place I've included my cash app below or you can DM for my paypal)