I'm a queer woman exploring the sexier side of life. I have a passion for Kink, dragons, reading and cooking. I have an Owner, my Queen, but I can chat and play as I see fit. Feel free to interact! Message to chat casually, ask me questions, comment, ect.
I have a few of dark kinks that might get showcased here and will update as needed: Cnc, hypnosis, degredation,
My hard limits are: scat, piss, puke, blood, ass to mouth, feet in any orifice, insults to appearance, Unhygienic tasks, spit on hair/face, DVP, feederism, cow/pig comments
I welcome teasing or degrading asks within my limits, don't send me pictures without asking, uhhmmmm ..... arf! Welcome to my page!
pussy from the back i am so weak. all higher thought processes abandon me. the biological imperative completely takes over. its just fuck that hole. its just fuck that. fill that. she wants it. look at her. she needs it. she's offering. she's begging. take it. fill her up and fuck her and cum in her and keep fucking going until she's done. do it before somebody else does. do it until it takes. make her yours. look at her. she wants to be yours. she's so vulnerable. make her yours. make her.
bangs my scepter on the floor. princess wants to be taken to the torture chambers and abused
my liege, as captain of the royal guard i cannot imprison you. but i can ask my women at arms to bring one of the racks from the dungeon to your chambers and i can um. guard your door personally this night. your highness
i am sworn to follow your every command, and to protect you in all things by my life or by my death. and because the words of my oath are in that order, i will hurt you, if you order me to as my lady. even if it is a hasty whisper, if you say it with the charge of a royal command i will steel myself, and bite back the tenderness i have for you from having protected you your whole life long, and with a silent prayer for forgiveness i will do what you say. tear your clothes, beat you, rape you like a spoil of war. i am only doing my duty. i am only following your command, princess. don't listen to the way i'm breathing. don't look me in the eye. don't ask why, for the fist time you've ever seen, the hands of the crown's first sword are shaking. please don't ask me how long i have wanted this.
long, long into the night, you whimper beneath me and say "enough, knight. stop now." and as my fingers close tighter around your small shoulders, i *spit* in your face. it's warm, wet & unexpected. hot tears rush to your eyes. i grunt in your ear and you've never heard me so angry. "little. whore."
I think the hottest part of "free use" type stuff to me isn't really the CNC aspects of it so much as the objectification aspects of it, and towards that, I think a particular dynamic within it that I really enjoy is the "interrupting someone talking in order to use their mouth". The idea that the subject's mouth is more valuable for gratification than it is for communication. It's demeaning in a way I really enjoy. The specific moment of it. I like the nonchalance you can work into it. Casual, not even special. Simply an expressed preference. A choice of priority. One need over another. Anyway I haven't fingered someone's mouth while rambling about kink to them in like a month and it's beginning to get to me.
"Bad end" kink is really hot. I talk a lot about signifiers vs substance in kink, and I think bad end is another one of the weird examples. I tend to see bad ends not as a single kink but as a set is ideas associated primarily by their aesthetics.
The idea of this being an ending. A bad ending. You could have won, you could have escaped, you could have gotten out of here. But you didn't, you lost. You put on the collar and lost the ability to say no. You stared into my eyes a little too long and lost the last of your INT. You froze at the wrong moment and lost the most important fight. And now destiny is broken and you can't save anyone anymore, so you're just going to be my toy forever and ever now, okay?
It's fun. The idea of forever. The idea of endings. Don't you want to not have to fight anymore? Don't your want permission to just let go? Isn't loss seductive? I like the dialogue between what you're supposed to do, what you're obligated to do, what you're compelled to do, and what you want to do, what feels good, what you desire. It's interesting.
This is a distillation of my thoughts on my own Stone Sexuality as a keep-the-pants-on Transfeminine Stone Butch.
All essays that I've read on Stone Sexuality come from the perspective of cisgendered or transmasculine lesbians. Each of these individuals ascribed their Stone to something uniquely emotional or physical in their lives. There was nothing so simple as,
"If I had a dick this wouldn't be an issue," but that idea remains a contributing factor throughout.
I do have a dick, so what's the issue?
The first is sensation. Since transitioning, I find that my body is awash in heightened sensation; traditional erogenous zones (genitals, nipples, hips, lips, ears) especially. However, when a partner is introduced my skin itself becomes the Stone. Sensations that were previously pleasurable become dulled or even painful. This leads to a certain touch-me-not that is almost completely divorced from body dysphoria, which is usually the given cause for such a reaction.
This sensational experience leads to the unusual scenario where an unfeeling (on paper) strap is preferred to my own dick.
This is not a bad thing.
While I don't take pleasure in being touched I do take great pleasure in touching and perceiving. Sight, taste, smell, and the tips of my fingers come to the fore.
This is the magic of Stone4Stone sex in my experience. Bringing together a person who only wants to touch and a person who only wants to be touched creates a space free of worry and discomfort. It removes the latent concern that I am somehow failing in providing my partner with something that they need or want; either by denying them outright or being an unconvincing fake.
The use of fingers and specialized tools also brings me a feeling of safety and comfort. Being equipped precisely for a femme's pleasure brings me a feeling of security. Which allows me to more thoroughly enjoy the acts of touching, hearing, and tasting.
The other factor at play is emotion. This comes primarily in two flavors, dysphoria and satisfaction.
As a Transgender Woman I experience body dysphoria and, more specifically, genital dysphoria. My penis and I are not on speaking terms.
For most women this seems to result in a relationship with the prostate. I never had the urge, despite recognizing the fact that I should have the urge and repeatedly opening a dialogue. It never really worked out, which led to feelings of confusion, further dysphoria, and some amount of despair. After all, if every part of me felt dull or painful or foreign, how was I supposed to cum? Should I not, after all, crave orgasm? Isn't that the purpose to this whole business?
My answer is that I'm not, I don't, and it isn't.
Even before transitioning my own orgasm was a tertiary concern compared to my satisfaction at a job well done.
Multiple shaking, moaning, hair gripping orgasms from my partner are enough to keep me walking on clouds for a week. In that space my erogenous zones could not matter less. My feelings of pleasure are her feelings of pleasure. My orgasm is her orgasm. Everything that I need to feel is in her convulsing muscles and dopey smile. All stress is removed from me and replaced with the feeling of a tool properly used by the hands of a master craftsman.
I did what I came to do and I did it well. That's what I crave. That's my Stone.
you’re ruining me, i’m shaking, barely coherent, and you have the audacity to say “i know, baby, it’s a lot, huh?” all sweet and condescending like yeah??? obviously??? but are you stopping? no :( you just keep going, all soft and sweet, acting like you feel bad while actively making it worse. it’s sick and i need more of it immediately.
I hope that, if you are a kinky leftist, you recognize that politics cannot be removed from kink. Recognize how (trans)misogyny, ableism, racism, anti-blackness, and the like intersect with kink. Recognize how your kink isn't isolated from your own implicit biases. Recognize how the lack of sex positivity in our society relates to how the system disenfranchises whole communities. Only in doing this, will kink become – and remain – a safe place for minorities.
Remember Seraphine Rott, the cute knight who gets raped by the sexy forest goddess in Off The Beaten Path? Whelp, she's been abducted by a nest of Mermaids in a magical fairy pond, and they're going to lay eggs in her, and their brood queen is gonna fertilize said-eggs!
Click under the cut for being gagged with magic water, tit and pussy groping, the tiniest mermaid getting fondled by the bigger ones, threats of oviposition and breeding, and underwater bondage!
Word count is about 900!
Seraphine shook her head, eyes wide, and the merqueen ignored her in favor of groping her tight, firm tits while the other mermaids sighed and stared and crowded closer. The second biggest one, a blue-eyed creature with ivory white skin and green tendrils and tail, grabbed a smaller maid and pulled her close. Seraphine couldn’t keep her eyes off them: as the merqueen caressed her ribs and waist and thighs, the smaller maid–a beautiful, petite thing with ink-black skin and eyes, and tendrils and tail all in a vivid, burning pink–squirmed and gasped with pleasure as her sister-wife rubbed the breeding hood at the front of her tail. Gently, she coaxed the hood open as the pink maid humped into the touch, and Seraphine felt fingers trail through the hair between her own thighs.
She tried to resist looking down but failed, and stared helplessly at the merqueen’s groping hand as she tried to lift herself away. All she accomplished was gagging on the magical water as the dwarfsmithed chains held fast. The merqueen continued playing with her bush, looking more amused than aroused, and Seraphine felt her cheeks reddening at the silent judgement. “Can you even feel me through all of this?” She sneered, and slid her hand further down between her legs. “Fluffy. Like a bird or bear.” With that, she took her hand away, but stayed close. Seraphine looked up to find the other maids drifting off to crowd around the green one and her squirming, pink-tailed victim instead. Alone with the leering merqueen, Seraphine didn’t give up on trying to yell and threaten, but it was no use: she couldn’t speak underwater.
Still sneering, the merqueen grabbed her waist with both hands and leaned forward. The motion pressed her huge, barely-covered tits against Seraphine’s as she tried to claim her mouth in a kiss. Thrashing violently, Seraphine turned her head away, and made unexpected eye contact with the pink maid, still cradled in the arms of the green one. In the time Seraphine had been distracted, her hood had fully opened and the green one had coaxed out her ovipositor; if she had been in the open air, Seraphine’s mouth would have gone dry. The captivating, wholly alien appendage was about four inches long and looked to be over an inch wide, with an oval opening whose mouth curved like a pink-trimmed crescent moon. The shaft was black and shot through with lightning bolts of unnatural pink, which the green maid was teasing and caressing with her ghostly pale fingertips.
One hand released her waist to grab a fistful of her hair, making her wince as her scalp burned. “Are you familiar with how my people breed?” The merqueen asked, and dragged Seraphine’s head around to meet her gleaming, amused eyes. Lips that were marbled in grey and orange and white finally claimed hers, swallowing her water-logged scream of fury, and a long, cool tongue lapped greedily at hers. She felt a hood, bigger and thicker than the pink maid’s, rub briefly against her mons before abruptly pulling back, and she vainly kicked her legs.
The pink maid was the smallest of the entire nest, in both width and length, and Seraphine vaguely recalled that that automatically made her the bottom of the nest’s hierarchy. The other, larger maids were starting to join in on teasing her: two of them, one purple-tendriled and the other with unmatched eyes of blue and black, were playing with her tiny tits, taking turns slapping and pinching them. “Eons ago, we had menfolk. The Water Men. They had legs, like yours!” Another maid pinned the pink maid’s arms behind her back, and Seraphine watched their tendrils weave together like grasping fingers. When she felt the merqueen’s hand slide between her legs, she jumped, and the merqueen’s gaze grew hungrier as she watched her tits jiggle in the water.
That long tongue once again traced those marbled lips, and the merqueen fondled her messy bush a few times before continuing. “When they vanished, Tara, Goddess Green, granted us new life, so that we could continue making merchilder without the Water Men.” Between her spread thighs, she felt two of the merqueen’s fingers rub directly over her flushed, quivering pussy, just as the green maid teased a finger into the pink one’s hole.
Curvy, pink-scaled hips bucked and wriggled as the green maid ran her finger round and round the soft, vulnerable opening; the merqueen spread Seraphine’s lips apart, exposing her cunt to the cool water more directly. Now her fingertips were dancing over her inner lips, and Seraphine’s hips bounced just like the squirming, submissive maid’s. A few of the maids not groping the pink one turned to watch her instead, and she could see their hoods starting to peel back. Again, she choked on the water in her throat as the merqueen’s fingers forced their way inside her pussy, too hard and too deep. Over her pillowy shoulder, Seraphine could see the green maid adding another finger to her sister-wife’s hole. The pink maid whined in discomfort and her tail squirmed in the water, and the merqueen roughly spread her own fingers, forcing Seraphine’s pussy to stretch.
“I have no womb,” the merqueen said, and her free hand cupped one of Seraphine’s bare breasts. “Brood Queens used to nurture the fertilized eggs of the rest of the nest. But now, I must fertilize the eggs my wives lay, and they must be nurtured in the wombs of other creatures.” Still thrusting her fingers in and out, hard enough to make Seraphine’s pussy ache and throb, she rubbed her hood against one trembling inner thigh. To her horror, Seraphine could feel the merqueen’s genital hood peeling back to expose her cock.
girls with social anxiety activate my predator instincts. i'm not usually very dominant but put a shy girl who's secretly a freak in front of me and you are NOT getting her back in one piece
