you can call me Sir

27M, Pleasure Dom, Master. Minors, do not interact

[actuallyquitehorny]

Howdy y'all, I'm Tea

I'm 27, a photographer, a bartender, and above all, a horny Dom with an extensive kink list (found below). I'm also a leftist and a feminist doomed to be a man with a degradation kink. Everything on this blog is fantasy, and should only be taken in the context of such.

Minors, do not interact with this blog. You will be blocked.

My kinks include, but are not limited to: degradation, overstim, bimbofication, dumbification, corruption, edging, denial, marking, master/slave, hucows, rough play and begging.

Not a fan of scat, race play, force feeding, family stuff or political play. I'm also a full time Dom (sorry femdoms, mad respect tho).

My DMs are open if you're a needy slut looking to be made sluttier, and my asks are open if you want some public humiliation. See you all soon ;)

[actuallyquitehorny]

Change for me.

Change how you dress so it appeals more to my eye. Change how you walk so it shows off your curves more. Change how you talk so you're always submitting to me. Change your career so you have more time to be slutty. Change your kinks so you can be more filthy for me. Change your lips so they're fuller, thicker, better for cock. Change your ass so it sways more, shakes more, is more. Change your tits so they drag the floor while you crawl. Change your body with tattoos and piercings for me. Change your brain so you can never stop needing cock.

Change yourself so you're better for me without me ever needing to ask.

Change for me.

[actuallyquitehorny]

Don't ever forget: you're worth most as a sex object

[actuallyquitehorny]

Oh, you want to cum? You NEED to cum? Then how about you get down on your knees, put your hands together, and pray to Me

[actuallyquitehorny]

We don't use alarm clocks. Instead, you wrap your mouth around my cock and take me down your throat when I need to get up for work

[actuallyquitehorny]

My favorite version of you is tied up, denied and grinding against whatever your greedy cunt can find

[actuallyquitehorny]

My favorite thing about you is just how badly you want to please, so willing to make changes so that others are happy.

You say it's easy. It's no big deal to make these minor adjustments — these are just compromised, little changes so that everyone is happy. It's fine as long as I would do the same for you.

But I want more. I'm not making compromises, I'm changing you, altering your brain chemistry and your body till you're my perfect, mindless bimbo.

It all starts with a small, innocuous request:

"hey, do you mind wearing this today? I thought it would look nice on you, I just wanted to see it."

Always willing to please, you comply.

"good girl."

And that's the hook. Now you know you've done well, now you have that dopamine rush to the brain, that little giddy feeling that tickles the back of your brain. It's the praise.

We do that for a couple more days. The outfits start pretty tame — tops that aren't too showy, bottoms that are accentuating by not vulgar.

Every day I ask you wear something different. Every day you grant my wish. And every day, you get the response you're looking for:

"good girl."

After the first week, I push my luck. You can tell that I think I'm making a big request.

"Do you mind wearing this around the house?"

I'm holding up a collar. Nothing too frilly, just a black leather collar, a metal ring at its center.

You've worn chokers before, this is no different, right? After all, it's nice to please your partner.

And so you agree. Everyday when you get home, you put on the collar.

"good girl."

We fall into a routine. I set out your clothes each day — I stop asking — and you wear the collar at all hours in the house.

After a couple of months, you realize that the clothes you've been wearing recently have gotten a bit more showy, maybe even... Slutty. But that's what I set out for you, so it should alright, right?

And then one morning you get up to start your day and realize there are different clothes set out. No low-cut tops, no tight-fitting sweaters, no skirts that reveal more than you're used to. Just an underwear set, cow print. Well, that and your collar.

"no clothes today."

It's not a request, it's not even really a demand. Just a statement of fact. And because you're so willing to please, you accept it.

"good girl."

and then suddenly that's normal too. Anytime you're at home, you're not in clothes — good girls only wear clothes when they have to. Good girls undress and show off when they're at home. And you want to be a good girl, right?

Do you know what else good girls do? They start their day masturbating. They open their eyes, and before they do anything else they reach down and play with their cunt until they're bucking their hips and moaning for more. And the best part? Good girls don't cum unless they're told to.

"good girl."

And just like that, you're already a worthless slut, only ever doing as you're told, always naked and collared, always wet and dripping for the next opportunity to cum. But we're not done yet, are we? Cause you're not my perfect, mindless bimbo.

Good girls don't think, they do as they're told. Good girls don't speak, they kneel down and they serve their master. Good girls get piercings and use slutty toys and take pills to make their tits into udders, and then they take pictures and videos to send to their master. Good girls don't work or have goals or really try at much at all — they make themselves better for their master, and they spend every thought trying to please him.

You wouldn't even recognize yourself anymore, though, I don't think current you would mind much. Your days are spent in a constant cycle of service and pleasure. You do good, you feel good. My perfect, desperate little toy.

Good girl.

[actuallyquitehorny]

I don't want you obsessed with me, I want you addicted. I want you to go into withdrawal when you haven't had my cock in enough time, a headache and the shakes — you just have to get your fix.

It doesn't matter how high you hold your head, how in control you pretend to be, there's a need in your cunt that starts to burn after long enough that eventually fills up your whole body. Your mind starts to slip, you literally can't stop yourself from touching your greedy holes. And the longer you try and deny it, the worse it gets. Eventually, all roads lead back to you kneeling in front of me, making yourself an object for my pleasure, begging, crying, praying for cock. Because your body literally needs it to live.

Not any dick will do. No, you tried that before, debased yourself in front of friends and family all because you thought that as long as your body got *some* cock, you could go another little while without having to show the world who you really were. But after riding on the edge for hours, needing an orgasm so bad you cried, and slutting yourself out to friends and neighbors alike you realized the truth. Your orgasms, and your body for that matter, belong to me. Your body didn't just *want* a dick, it NEEDED my dick.

It's not your fault, it's simply what you are. My slut. My whore. My toy. My needy little pornstar. The addiction is just your body's way of proving to you the truth. This is what you are.

Now how about you kneel for me?

Good girl.

[actuallyquitehorny]

Every time you manage to stay denied for a month, your partner gets you a new modification.

The first ones were simple, just celebratory nipple piercings, ones that he had said would look good on you — but then neither of you wanted to stop there. The longer you went denied an orgasm, the more modifications you could get, and the more you edged for it, the more extreme the change.

It was just soooooo easy. For the next few months, things moved slowly. You'd edge yourself once every few days, just whenever the urge hit you. The frustration was difficult to deal with, but you could see the reward at the end of the tunnel. After your second month of staying denied you had managed to bring yourself to the edge 12 times, something you had never done before you in your life — but according to your partner, that number could be higher. For this month, your reward was a tattoo, a small one on your left hip: twelve tally marks.

You don't try any harder for month three. The tattoos and piercings are nice, and that's really what you wanted out of the deal, so why try any harder to edge more? The issue is, you just find yourself needing it more. Where before you would edge yourself once every couple of days, now you're getting a session at least once a day, sometimes twice. By the end of the month, you've got a hip covered in 54 tallies, and an appointment for lip filler in the next week.

And now in month four, your morning and nightly sessions are longer, bringing you to the edge three or four times each. You find your partner's hands on you more often, squeezing you, teasing you, reminding you of how greedy you are for any kind of stimulation. You spend more time with a cock in one of your holes now than you ever did before, but since you don't get to cum, it feels more like you're being used for his pleasure. It's fine though, because if you bring yourself to the edge while being used, that's another tally. At the end of month four, you added 226 tallies to your hips, a collection that is quickly moving to the space on your leg, and you made your first breast augmentation appointment — you've always wanted them a little bigger, right?

You can feel the effects of last month's greed now, in month five. Your body is different, better suited for being used by your partner, and you're almost always rubbing when you have a free moment. It's harder to focus at work, it's difficult to spend time with friends or family — any time you're out you have to find somewhere to sneak off to and edge yourself at least once, sometimes more, just to keep yourself from doing it in full view of everyone around. It's almost like an instinct now to follow that urge anytime it arises.

And so at the end of month five, after you've added nearly 300 tallies and gotten a new set of implants for your rapidly growing tits, your partner makes you an offer: just move in. You already spend every waking hour at his apartment, already spend most nights there too. If you live with him, he can pay the bills, you won't even need a job. It only takes one more shift at work where you spend more time rubbing your cunt than you do working for you to agree.

So you pack up your apartment and move into his. For the first few weeks it's easy to distract yourself; you're unpacking, merging your two separate lives, learning where everything is. You even manage to focus enough to edge yourself less, and for a moment you think maybe you'll have less tallies this month — but then, the boredom sets in. You don't work anymore, the apartment is unpacked and cleaned. What's a girl to do?

You try to manage it. Edge in the morning and at night, spend the rest of the day reading, or cleaning, or making art. But there really is just so much time in a day. You allow yourself an afternoon session, and then another one after lunch. Pretty soon all of those bleed into each other, and your spending all this new free time on making yourself in an edge whore.

You just can't stop edging yourself, you need the heat in your cunt. With no work hours you spend all your free time rubbing yourself into a stupid mess, waiting for your partner to get home so you can serve him too. Maybe if you serve him well, he'll change you again. Maybe, if you do a good enough job, he'll let you cum-

And then you realize, you don't want to cum. And he's not just your partner anymore. You want to edge. You want to live in denial. You want to be the perfect slut for your Masters needs.

Suddenly it was just sooooo easy to be Masters denied, edging bimbo- the hornier you get, the more you edge. The more you edge, the more Master changes you. The more Master changes you, the hornier you get. New tits, new lips, a thicker ass, all bought and paid for by your unyielding denial, by your constant rubbing, and by your brains leaking away in your constant bliss. Pretty soon your Master gets you on a hormone regimen so that your libido is even higher, and in a couple short weeks, your tits, already massive from all the alterations, grow even larger with the weight of milk.

Somewhere along the way, you stop caring about the prize. The changes are nice, but they're not for you, they're for your Master. The edging is what you get out of it. You spend your days rubbing and humping and groping, milking your tits and constantly chasing your almost-orgasms. Your hips and legs are covered in tally marks, all the way down to your ankles.

Your don't need to cum, you need to edge.

You don't need to think, you need to serve.

You don't need to speak, you need to suck.

You don't need fuck, you need to be used.

And you're nearly the perfect slut for Him already, right? Just a couple more changes.

The best part? It hasn't even been a full year. I wonder what Master will do when you finally hit twelve months?

[actuallyquitehorny]

Your writings are lovely, thank you.

Thanks! That college degree has to come in handy somewhere, right?

[actuallyquitehorny]

I don't want to fuck you, I just want to use you to masturbate. I'll put you in chasity so not even you can touch your cunt, then fuck your tits and mouth morning and night so your always a sloppy fucking mess. Have you crawl across the ground just for the opportunity to suck me off. Then after months, when you're so used to being used in other ways, when you haven't cum in so long you've almost forgotten the feeling, so long you've desperately found other ways to feel pleasure when you're used — then I'll take off that chasity belt and fuck till you're a quivering, messy puddle, till you've cum so many times that you're begging not to cum again, till you think you might just pass out from exertion and that being fucked liked this might have some kind of permanent effect. And then we'll start that cycle all over again 😘

[actuallyquitehorny]

Some Doms don't care if you like being used. They get off on you being lifeless, a toy to be fucked, a set of holes to cum into whenever they please — not me though. I don't just want you to want it, I want you to need it.

I want someone intelligent, high minded, independent and strong, and then I want them to turn into the most depraved, willing little cock whore there can possibly be. For you, the outside world is the show. The real thing is when you get to show your Master just how nasty you're willing to be so you get the chance to make him cum. You'll come home, close the door, and immediately become your true slut self. Your tits, swollen and full, are out and swinging. Your pussy is dripping, your ass quakes around the plug you've worn all day, and the clothes you wore to work slip away to reveal all the nasty words and tally marks written on your body, each and every one you worked to earn.

Our dynamic isn't one where you're passive and used. It's one where you worship and are rewarded as a result. You degrade yourself, call yourself names, beg for the chance to touch, to see Cock. You start your mornings with edging, suck dick before you leave for work, and get home to a daily milking. You go to sleep by repeating mantras in your head. You dream of all the things you want other hands and other dicks to do to you.

I don't tell you that you're a set of holes, but that's what you consider yourself. I don't tell you that your body is mine, but you'd give it to me in a second. I don't tell you that you owe me orgasms, or that my pleasure comes first, or that you're my slave — but you tell yourself those things every day.

Your body is for your Master. Your mind is for your Master. You live to cum. Your life is for Cock.

[actuallyquitehorny]

God you're such a fucking bimbo, you just want to be changed again, don't you?

Permanently, irrevocably, a slut of my own preferences. I want you to have a big enough ass that it's hard for you to sit down? Well you'll just stand up more often — easier for me to see it that way. I want you to get so much lip filler that they look less like a mouth and more like a pussy? It's better that way, now men will know they can fuck that hole too.

And you fucking love it, don't you? Just a stupid, cock-warming, change slut. Well you know what? How about we move past aesthetics.

Next time I change you, I won't just make your lips bigger, I'll make them as sensitive as a pussy. While we're at it, let's do the same thing to your tits.

After that, maybe I'll have the doctors put you on medication to make you produce milk. I think it'll be fun to watch that bimbo brain try to wrap around some kind of milking schedule — but who are we kidding, you'll probably forget and just leak like a faucet everywhere you go. With your tits as sensitive as your pussy, I'm sure each little let down will be like having a micro-orgasm over, and over, and over...

Instead of using a sharpie against your skin, lets just get you some tattoos. That way people always know where to put their cum, which of your holes to piss in, and all the words that should refer to you in their mind — gutterslut, bimbo slave, fuck doll, baby mill.

I think the last thing I'll do, at least for now, is make it so that you're always ovulating. I don't want you to just be horny, I want your internal instincts to constantly be screaming at you:

Get pregnant get pregnant get pregnant get pregnant

Until you just let in one day and start pumping out babies. At least then you'll have contributed to society in the way you were meant to, hmm?

[actuallyquitehorny]

Hypnotized but for months at a time instead of minutes or hours.

You meet a guy at a bar who seems harmless enough, he tells you about his work in hypnotism — knowing where this is going, you bet him he can't do it to you. You think this will be a fun way to have a one night stand, that you'll probably get some suggestions to do something funny or sexy, and then move on to-

But the next time you wake up it's to the sound of your own voice crying out in mindless pleasure. Your body's hot, you're covered in sweat, your legs are spread apart, ankles high in the air, and your fingers are deep in your pussy. The trembles of your most recent orgasm still ripple through your abdomen and limbs, but past that you can feel something else, an ache in your nipples that makes you want to grope your own tits and a convulsing in your stomach that you've only ever felt after one too many orgasms — both are more intense than you've ever felt in your life. You look around to take in your environment but before you can, you take note of your body. Everything is the same, down to the color on your nails. But your hair is about two inches longer. What the hell-

And then the next time you're conscious, your wrists and ankles are bound. You're on your knees. There's a ball gag- no, a cock gag in your mouth. There's something heavy and cold on your sternum, and something similar around your waist. Your chest feels like you may have some kind of weight strapped to it, and in front of you, in a room of white walls and hard wood floors, is a boot — but the thing you notice before any of that is the fire in your cunt.

The horniest you've ever been washes over your body, starting in your pussy and then out to your toes. Your eyes water, you'd moan but for the gag down your throat. You can't get your hands down past your chest, and you can't situate your legs in a way so you can use your feet to get off. The boot though is right there, you just have to-

You fall to the ground, your mass slamming against the hardwood. Your chest feels heavier than usual, that cold feeling around your waist turns into pain. A moment of clarity passes over you as your squirm and writhe closer to the boot, closer to relief — there's a chain around your waist, another around your chest, both intertwining along your back and bound together between your tits by a heavy lock. Your tits though...

Something in the back of your head twinges, makes you cringe, and corrects you. Your *udders* are bigger, by a surprising margin. Before you could hold one in each hand, they were manageable, fun. These are both the size of bowling balls, and you'd be surprised if they didn't weigh the same too. As you inch closer to the boot, dragging your new found weights, you find a new sensation in your chest — pressure. With each heave, each breath, you feel pressure radiating from your sloshing chest. The veins in your titflesh have become more pronounced, your nipples wider and much, much longer. If it weren't for the heat in your cunt, you'd knead into your chest for the feeling of wanting there.

You're so close, inches away from relief, when alarm bells finally start going off in your head. Where are you? How did you get here?

That doesn't matter, you need to cum.

How long have I been like this? How did I get like this?

That doesn't matter, you need to cum.

Is anyone looking for me?

That doesn't matter, you NEED to CUM.

You wrap yourself around the boot. You manage to right your body despite the unbound mass of your chest. You push your cunt into the toe of the dusty shoe, only to hear a clink.

The chains around your waist. They're not just a harness. They're a chasity belt.

You can't scream, but something old and deep rises from your chest, past the cock gag in your throat. No matter how much you thrust into the toe, you can't feel anything. The fire in your cunt burns a little hotter. And then the black takes you.

The next time you wake up, you're on your hands and knees. The fire is still there, but it's spread to your chest now too. You can feel bindings around your calves and wrists, keeping you low. You can also feel the weight of your udders pulling against your chest even as they graze the dirt of the ground below, sending little twists of need down your spine. The dirt near your nipples and knees is damp, though near your hands and feet, if feels dry. The cow must leaking.

The cow?

That doesn't matter, you need to cum.

There is no boot this time, hell you can't even see, there's something covering your eyes.

But before long, while the bucking in your hips is still within your control, you hear a rattling, then a clanking, then one big boom. Door shut, the scraping of boots on loose earth, a click and then the whir of machinery. Something heavy dragging along the ground near your left.

And then, like handling an animal, rough hands grab a heap of your left teat and stuff it into something tight like a suction cup. Then the right. They don't even do you the service of standing you up right, they just pull your udders to either side.

That doesn't matter, you need to cum.

Another click, then bliss.

The pressure in your chest evaporates, pump by pump, the left, then the right, then back again. You can't help but arch your back, a moan escapes your lips, your tongue lolls between your stupid cow lips.

I shouldn't be enjoying this. I need to leave.

That doesn't matter. You need to cum.

But the fire in your cunt and udders doesn't get any better, in fact, it gets worse. Where before it was a constant burning, it rolls onto you, into you, in waves, crashing against your mind again and again.

I need to cum I need to cum I need to cum

The sucking against your teats is torture. The pressure gone, now the pumps just suck on titflesh alone, each pull pushing you right up against the edge, but never beyond it.

i NEED to CUM i NEED to CUM i NEED to CUM i NEED to CUM

And then a click. The sucking stops but the need doesn't. Your limbs are shaking, you can feel your cunt dripping between your legs. The pumps come off your udders, and the cover off your eyes.

The hypnotist stands in front of you, a grin stretched along his lips.

"you've got a choice."

While you look up at him, still on all fours, still rubbing your legs together in the hopes of any release, he throws a single key to ground. Then without a word, unzips his pants, take off his belt, and pulls out a hard cock.

Your tongue lolls. Your teats brush the ground below you, sending a twist of desperation up your spine. Your empty cunt drips against your leg.

You need to cum.

You push the key away and take his cock down your practiced throat. A click, more whirring, and something pushes into your cunt without you looking.

Finally, with a great moan from your chest, you cum.

But your cunt still burns with want. You feel empty despite being filled. Your chest is already sloshing with pressure again. And the cock down your throat feels soooooo good. The heat didn't leave you. And it never will.

You need to cum again.

[actuallyquitehorny]

Good sluts don't wait to be told what to do, they anticipate the needs of their Masters.

Repeat mantras every morning and night while you massage your tits — it'll keep your head nice and empty, ready to be filled with whatever your next Master wants it to be.

Keep yourself plugged and edging all day so you can be fuck by whoever, whenever.

Go to sleep with a cock in your mouth, even if it's just a toy, so you're always ready to be used.

Slut yourself out on the internet so you have plenty of practice being porn for men.

Get desperate and needy in comment sections so that everyone knows how badly you need to be fucked.

Degrade yourself at work and at home so you're always in the right mindset.

Dress like the whore you are so the world knows what you are.

Sluts do what they're told. Good sluts do it before they're told to.

[actuallyquitehorny]

Taking requests for being turned into a desperate, mindless fuck cow. Applicants must beg

[actuallyquitehorny]

Make your cows earn a milking just like you would a slut an orgasm. Have you been a good cow today? Do you think you deserve for your udders to be milked? Oh I know baby, there's so much pressure — but maybe you need that pressure to remind you of how to act right. Did you serve a stranger with your body today? Did you do your daily edging to keep yourself ready for me? Your udders are meant to be for other enjoyment, did you keep them on display, swaying and sloshing, swollen and turgid?

Oh I know the pressure must be so distracting, and it doesn't help that you're leaking from... well, you're leaking from a couple different places. You're getting it all over the floor, a good cow would know to clean up after herself. Maybe instead of a milking I'll just put your clamps on while you lick up your mess.

And you know, you've been talking about how much you wanted to grow your milky udders. Your teats already rub across the carpet when your walk on all floors, but you said you wanted them to drag behind you with the weight. Maybe if we don't milk you for a little longer, your tits will grow to try and compensate for the over production.

Oh you, really, really need a milking, huh? Then how about you show me how much you deserve it? Here I'll put your clamps on to help with the leaking, and then you show me how good of a cow you can be- what do you mean how? Every part of you is for my pleasure, get creative. If you want to feel any kind of release at all, you'll show me you deserve it.