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Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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we're not kids anymore.
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@avyn-519
avyn (he/she). 20. queer + t4t.
occasionally a rabbit, sometimes a mutt. will bite. are you gonna be a good dog and bite back?
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i use this blog to compile stuff i can jerk off to 2am. feel free to contribute by sending me hot asks (threats of bodily harm).
can we talk about "I'm so proud of you" as a manipulation tactic. you pushed past your boundaries and did something you weren't comfortable with? that's amazing princess I'm so proud of you. you set aside your misgivings and let me use you in a way that made you nervous? you were so good for me baby I'm so proud of you. you faced your embarrassment head-on and did something that humiliated you? you were so brave sweetheart I'm so proud of you. good job. do it again
everyone needs to stop having sex youre supposed to jerk off to your concepts face down in your dark bedroom
I want to train you like a dog.
You'll be given commands in a language you don't understand. Through my motions, how I push your butt to the ground, how I gesture and correct, you'll start to learn each. Sit and heel will come quickly enough. They're the first I work on with new animals. Sit. Watch me. You're a smart thing so I expect you to pick this up quickly. Over time you'll naturally begin to focus solely on me, on my hands, even as you idle and rest you'll be alert to my smallest demand.
How long will it take you to realize I've given you a new name? Some dogs never quite put it together. You'll learn to listen to for that foreign twist of my tongue and internalize it. That sound, that's you now. More importantly, that's how I call for you.
The more complicated commands will take weeks to perfect. Days to even learn what I want when I bark that new word at you. Like a dog you'll sit and puzzle over the meaning, playing over the word and the movements I give until it finally clicks.
You'll be so proud when you figure it out that shame wont touch you. You used to be a person after all. Don't you remember how hard you would think about little things like how to manage your life? Now all that drive is refocused on the singular goal of pleasing me.
You exist on my schedule. You'll wake with me, sleep with me. You'll be given access to your water from a bowl on the ground and brought outside to sniff and empty your bladder. You'll find endless joys in the toys I give you and the treats I let you earn.
When I correct you it will be immediate, pointed, and quickly forgiven. Nips to your scruff, the invasion of your personal space, even forcing you to feel small as I pull your face into mine and growl the word you've learned means "No." If you show even a hint of food aggression you'll be eating each piece of your kibble from the small of my hand until I'm satisfied you know nothing belongs to you.
You'll exist without contemplation of yourself. You'll exist for the joys of my praise, my fingernails scratching through your coat, the small treats I feed you.
My sweet puppy, look how far you've come.
"Paw."
While I love the reactions and responses to this post, there have been a few misconceptions that I would like to address
You're not a person anymore.
You're an expensive pet.
Maybe you were a person once. Maybe even one that was filled with complicated thoughts and big dreams. Now you're a dog.
Just a dog.
Not even of any particular pedigree.
You're an animal that will be spoken over and shushed when it tries to speak. Do you think I care what a dog might have to add to a conversation? Do you think I will allow something I own to bark for attention? Instead I'll let you have your little growls when we wrestle with your toys. You'll learn the importance of play sneezes. You'll neutralize stressful situations with a shake down your spine. Day by day your complicated thoughts will dissolve into the simple feelings an animal is allowed.
You'll get your medicine each morning placed on the back of your tongue before I hold your mouth shut. You'll never know what you're taking, and I wont even think to tell you. When you get sick I'll take you to a stranger who will place you on a cold table for examination. You'll understand nothing but my warm hand soothing down your spine, telling you it's alright.
You're a dog that exists to be taken care of. You're a dog that learns tricks just to entertain me.
How long will that treatment take to produce results? Do you think you'll remember the last words you speak or the last time you stood on two feet? How long before you go quiet, focused only on the sound of my voice or the slow contemplation of the world immediately around you? How long will it take for your mind to slow down?
How long before you search out the sunspots in the house to doze quietly for the afternoon?
Not with cruelty, but with tender care and casual disregard I'll cut away the parts of you that let you believe you were a person. How long before a closed door will bar your movement? How long before you forget the proper way to brush out your coat or teeth?
No more goals.
No more deadlines.
No more self.
daddy who coos and gasps in awe “oh look at you kiddo” watching my eyes roll back and my back arch as he makes me cum on his cock for the first time
need to chain 2 submissive mutts together and make them play. tell them to makeout with eachother and hump each other until theyre both so desperate, all covered in slobber and cum. ill give both a cute little knotted strap so they can beg each other to mount them and watch them try to sit on each others cocks
woof
What if I kidnapped you and raped you daily but treated you like a scared caged animal the whole time. Constantly offering you affection and gentle coos to try to encourage you to not be scared of me, even as I nightly hold your trembling body underneath me hard enough you can't wiggle away from me as I use you to get off. And every time after I cradle your face and smile so warmly as I lick away your tears
we were not born to text we were put on this earth to smoke blunts and jerk eachother off in massive fields of soft grass on a breezy sunny day
nothing a cigarette and a blunt and some vodka and calling my senate and researching moral ocd and destroying all of my interpersonal relationships and acting on the urges and jacking off and killing myself cant fix
Sam getting spoiled by her werewolf girlfriend!!!!
Full drawing on my bsky
numbing gel or cream can be a denied boy's most valuable asset during training. if the urge to cum gets too be too much for him, he can simply rub a little lidocaine gel on his cock and the choice will be made for him. he shouldn't be able to feel a thing, much less cum.
it can also be very useful when you're using his holes. if you want to use your cum-dump but don't want him to be pushed to an orgasm, rub numbing gel on his cunt while you use his asshole, or simply use his numbed cunt. be sure to remind him throughout that his holes are there for your pleasure, not his. remind him while you use him that he is serving his purpose, which of course is to spread his legs and offer you the holes between them. his pleasure is not necessary for him to serve his purpose, and orgasm is especially unnecessary. keeping him denied is a great way to ensure that he is always eager to have you use the fleshlights he carries between his thighs.
this is such a lovely idea because lidocaine, when applied for long enough and/or chronically, does give you permanent nerve damage. maybe not complete loss of sensation, but certainly numbing. soon enough, you won't even need the gel to keep your fucktoy denied and eager.
you've conditioned his cunt into getting wet and dripping for you every time he spreads his legs, so you can watch as he humps your thigh in a desperate, futile bid to get some stimulation on his denied cock as he leaks a puddle on the floor. you can watch his eyes well up with frustrated tears when you give him permission to cum (so generous!) but no matter how furiously he paws at his cock, he can't seem to get there. he only gets to feel something when you're buried in his cunt, slamming into his cervix, or when you're deep in his ass, further than the gel can reach.
you offer to help him come from his cock. he's too trusting---even with his training, he's still reluctant to give up on his pleasure. no matter. you bind his thighs apart in a futomomo, watching his chest rise as his breath hitches. secured like this, he can't see the paddle, but he can certainly hear it as it whistles towards his cock, a little slick already from the splay of his thighs. he wails when it hits, muscles straining against the bounds. you haven't hit him lightly, giving him enough pain to break through the numbed nerves of his cock. another strike, another choked sob. again. again. the paddle makes an obscene, wet sound against his cunt, which is leaking despite his obvious pain. his little cock swells and darkens to an angry-looking red.
you pause in your flurry of blows to direct his shaking hands to his cock. "look at how big you are right now," you coo. he sniffles and gasps at the light ghost of his fingers over it. it's sensitive again. "this feels good, you and your cunt need this. it doesn't hurt." he glares at you with betrayed, watery eyes.
it does hurt. but it also doesn't matter. this is for him, because you take good care of your toys. before long, his strength is gone and he's reduced to shaking through your relentless blows to his cock. only then do you stop. he cries a little when you mouth over his cock with your tongue. he's hot and swollen in your mouth, a vague coppery undertone to the taste of skin and sweat. even the slightest suction has him crying out. he comes when you lightly bite his cock, a shuddering, drawn out thing.
"all better now, huh? all your cock needed was a little beating to come. it's okay, we can do this again. i know you can't help yourself." he can't respond through his gasping breaths, but that's alright. you know what he needs, and this little reward is good for his training too.
you have to let the little bunny hump you and tire itself out before using it
Strapped down, operating table cold under your back, antiseptic acrid in your nose. The person above you snaps on latex gloves. They want this to be a clean operation, after all.
"I'll be taking your other kidney today."
Nothing in response but the sound of your ragged breathing in the cold air. You could scream, if you wanted. But your Doctor doesn't like it when you make noise anymore, so you suppress the panic at the back of your throat.
Harsh fingers prod at your arm, pressing down, finding your vein. A dull prick, before numbness spreads throughout your body. Your Doctor is merciful enough to remove some of your pain, even though you don't deserve it. They leave you conscious, though. Awake. Head propped up so you can watch Them work.
Their words cut through the drugs, warped. "You won't die right away, don't worry. I'll give you a few rounds of dialysis. You'll live long enough to recover some, so we'll be able to arrange another session. Your last one. Won't you like that?"
Even if you could respond, you wouldn't be able to muster the strength to say no. Your Doctor doesn't let you say no. You drool helplessly through your mask instead. The beeping of the heart monitor picks up though, and your Doctor takes this as acknowledgement enough.
They run Their gloved fingers over your stomach, so knotted with scar tissue that the skin is barely visible. "Last time," They say admonishingly, "you passed out too early. Be a stronger patient this time. Remember when I took your pancreas, and you stayed conscious long enough to see me suture you up? If not for the anaesthesia wearing off, you could've made it all the way through.
"I've trained you better since then though, haven't I. You do better with the pain now. You're a good patient, so hold on for me." Your Doctor pauses, unwrapping a scalpel and setting it on Their tray. "I shouldn't have taken your tongue so early. I liked when you tried to scream."
The corners of Their lips stretch into something akin to a smile. "That's why I'm terminating you soon, in case you were wondering. All these wordless grunts and cries..." They finish wiping your skin clean and mark where They're going to make the first incision. "It's grotesque. Really, I shouldn't have expected anything better."
They steady the blade, then press down. White hot pain explodes across your vision, a crest of cold metal splitting your flesh. You can't prevent the gutteral moan that's wrenched from your throat. Your Doctor sneers. "Exactly." Another cut. Another. Another. Another. "You're nothing but meat."
forcing your stiff hand to hold the lagenbeck, heedless of the way you flinch from the gape of your abdomen and the chill rush of oxidizing air against your insides. with the other hand, I force you to feel your pulse on the grotesque surface of your kidney. it's tacky with drying blood, but you can feel the warm thrum of fluid through it, animal and alive. your hand shakes and I half-heartedly admonish you; you're just meat and chemicals and drool, and I haven't yet managed to get a drug cocktail that counteracts the effect of adrenaline and blood loss. your poor performance is to be expected.
your mask can't filter out the scent of cauterizing flesh. your brain dumps more and more endorphin into your vessels at every beep of the bovie before it sizzles against your pulsing blood. I'm not being that careful to stop the bleed - it's not like I'm going to have that much use from you after this last operation. but I can't have you dying from sepsis until I say so.
I explain to you as you drool, insensate through the pain, that your nerves potentiate pain signals. constant activation can kill them, which is why you get a little anesthetic. but maybe for the last operation, you won't. you've really gotten a little too good at tolerating the pain. I grasp a nerve bundle close to your stomach with a debakey and pull gently. a gurgling scream, an aborted thrash. I'm reassured that I can still hurt you in any way I'd like. it really is more fun to break a toy than it is to play with it! or maybe this is play.
grinning at your choked-off gasp when i pull the 3-0 chromic a little too tight during closure, watching your skin bunch together and crease between the stitch. it'll turn into another ropey scar that you'll have to pick the suture out of.
when it's over, I push .1 of fent and sponge you down. you always get to sleep in the bed after a surgery, rather than the pallet on the floor. you're too numb to cry, but you do shake. I hold you through it. this is good and necessary for you, I tell you. you were broken long before you were mine. I'm freeing you from each dysfunctional, fleshy shackle. you really ought to thank me. that is, if you could talk.
