dm me your tits

male/mid 20s. cunts may address me as Sir do not cum to my blog without permission

[bitchbr33der]

so tumblr disabled my dm's.

if you're a slut who needs to tell me about your stupid wet cunt, dm me at @remake-fordm where i can see your messages.

[spankedquail]

A Wife's Oral Training

The first time I was spanked for lackluster oral sex, I was genuinely shocked.

I knew my husband was strict. By that point I already understood that he followed through on his rules, that he expected obedience, attentiveness, good manners, all of it. But I think some naive little part of me assumed sex would somehow exist outside that structure. That if I was at least trying, that would be enough.

Well...it wasn’t.

The problem wasn’t that I refused him. It wasn’t that I was openly disobedient. It was subtler than that, and honestly more embarrassing. I was being lazy, distracted, performing instead of serving. I was treating his pleasure like an obligation instead of giving him my full attention.

Of course, Mr. Quail noticed immediately.

He stopped me very calmly, took my chin in his hand, and asked:

“Are you trying to please me right now?”

I remember blushing instantly because I knew the truthful answer was no. Not really. I was in my own head. I was rushing. I was waiting for him to finish instead of focusing on him properly.

That was the first lesson: compliance is not the same thing as submission.

I was already naked, as I usually am when I’m giving oral. Bare from head to toe, on my knees in front of him, thinking I was doing what I was supposed to do. But, kneeling isn’t enough if my mind is somewhere else. Opening my mouth isn’t enough if I’m not truly attending to him. Being physically available is not the same as being pleasurable and useful.

He stood up, walked to the dresser, and picked up the leather strap.

That was when my stomach dropped. I honestly thought I was getting maybe two or three swats and a lecture. Instead, he pointed to the bed and told me to bend over.

I remember standing there beside the mattress, face hot, eyes down, still half-convinced this was going to be mostly symbolic. He told me to put both hands flat on the sheets, spread my feet slightly, arch my back, and hold still.

Then came the rules.

No reaching back. No twisting away. No closing my legs. No clenching. No interrupting him while he corrected me.

If I broke position badly enough, the count would restart. That made the whole room feel different.

The strap itself was folded leather, thick and heavy in his hand. I remember the soft creak of it as he adjusted his grip. I remember how quiet he was. That is always the thing that gets to me with him: he doesn't need to raise his voice to make me feel small. His calm is much worse than any yelling could be.

The first stroke shocked me more than hurt me at first — a deep, flat burst of heat across both cheeks that made my whole body jump forward against the mattress. Before I could even recover, his hand settled firmly between my shoulder blades.

“Hold still.”

His voice stayed perfectly even.

The next strokes came slowly, spaced far enough apart that I had time to feel each one fully bloom before the next landed. By the fourth, I was breathing hard. By the sixth, my thighs were trembling. The leather hurt in layers: first the impact, then the heat, then the spreading throb that seemed to settle deeper every second.

And he kept talking to me while he strapped me.

Not loudly. Not angrily. Just very matter-of-fact.

“If you’re on your knees for me, you'd better focus.” “Lazy service is disrespectful.” “You will use your mouth attentively.” “You are not down there to wait me out. You are down there to please me.”

That last one made me cry harder than the strap, because he was right. I had been waiting him out.

I had been physically in my place, but not mentally in my place. And my place, when I’m on my knees before him, is not passive. It is not bored. It is not half-present. My place is attentive, eager, and focused on his pleasure.

At one point, I instinctively tightened when the strap came down low across the underside of my cheeks. I didn’t even mean to. My body just braced.

He stopped immediately.

“No.”

Just that single word.

Then his hand was on me, firm and unhurried, pressing and shaking my cheeks loose until the tension went out of them.

“Clenching is defiance.”

I was crying by then, mortified and sore, trying to breathe properly while he corrected my body calmly.

“If you tense against correction, you are resisting me. Stay soft. This is your last warning. Next time you clench, we start over.”

That was another lesson I never forgot.

It wasn’t just about taking the strap. It was about how I took it. He wanted me open. Yielded. Not armored against him. Not secretly fighting him with my muscles while pretending to obey with the rest of me.

I had to physically force myself back into position: feet spread, back arched, cheeks loose, hands flat on the bed. He waited until I was properly arranged before continuing.

By the end I was openly crying into the sheets. Not pretty tears. Real ones. My face was wet, my nose was running a little, my backside felt hot and tight and impossibly tender, and I was trying desperately to stay still because I knew he would not accept flailing or dramatics.

Finally, the strap stopped.

I thought it was over.

Instead, he laid the leather lightly across my lower back and said:

“Now tell me what you learned.”

I was still shaking too hard to answer properly at first.

He waited a few seconds and then added, very calmly:

“If the lesson hasn’t sunk in yet, we can continue.”

That terrified me far more effectively than yelling would have. I forced myself to answer between breaths.

“I need to pay attention to you properly.” “I need to focus on pleasing you.” “I shouldn’t lazily service you.” “My mouth is for your pleasure. I will use it attentively.”

Each sentence had to be repeated clearly until he was satisfied with my tone. If I mumbled, he made me start again. He wanted to hear that I understood, not that I was simply trying to get through it.

Only then was I allowed to stand. But I still wasn’t forgiven yet.

He sent me to the corner afterward, still naked, bare ass burning, hands clasped behind my neck while he sat in the chair and read quietly. That corner time did something to me. The strapping hurt, obviously, but standing there afterward with my skin throbbing and my face wet gave the lesson time to sink in.

Every few minutes the heat would settle deeper and make me wince. I could still feel the shape of the strap across me. I could feel where I had clenched and where he had shaken me loose. I could feel the humiliation of being corrected not for refusing him, but for failing to serve him with the care he deserved. Underneath the humiliation was something else: relief.

That is hard to explain to people who don’t live this way. But being taken in hand like that — truly taken in hand — does something to me. It cuts through the excuses and the noise. It reminds me that I am not floating around in our relationship deciding moment by moment how much effort I feel like giving. I am his. His submissive. His girl. When I serve him, I must serve him properly.

Eventually he looked up from his book and said:

“Come demonstrate what you learned.”

I went back to him, still sore, still sniffling a little, and knelt between his legs again.

This time everything felt different.

I wasn’t thinking about myself. I wasn’t waiting for it to end. I was watching him. Listening to him. Paying attention to the smallest changes in his body: his breathing, the tension in his thighs, the way his hand moved into my hair when I did something right. I focused on pressure, tongue movement, eye contact, rhythm. I focused on making him feel worshipped.

And when he finally stroked my cheek and said:

“Much better.”

It affected me more deeply than the strapping itself. I realized he wasn’t just teaching me oral technique. He was teaching me attentiveness. He was teaching me that my place beneath him is active, not passive. That submission is not simply being available to be used. It is applying myself to his pleasure with discipline and care. It is listening with my whole body. It is learning him.

And no, that was definitely not the last time.

Once Mr. Quail realized how responsive I was to that kind of training, he became very exacting about it. The standards didn’t stay fixed either. As I became more experienced, more capable, more familiar with his body and preferences, the expectations rose with me.

He trained me deliberately.

If I did something especially well, he reinforced it immediately. A hand in my hair. A quiet:

“Good girl. Just like that.”

Sometimes he would let me feel how much I’d affected him physically — the change in his breathing, the way his thighs tensed, the way he pulled me closer when I was using my mouth exactly the way he liked. Positive reinforcement absolutely worked on me. I became hungry for those little moments of approval.

But if my focus drifted, if I rushed, if I got lazy or sloppy or stopped paying close attention to his reactions, correction came just as quickly.

And his corrections hurt.

Not playful little swats. Real strappings that left me sore for days. The kind that made sitting carefully necessary. The kind that reduced me to hiccuping tears because I knew I had disappointed him.

The humiliating part was that he was always specific.

Not:

“You’re bad.”

But:

“You stopped paying attention.” “You got lazy.” “You’re capable of better than that.”

That got under my skin much more deeply.

Over time, the training became increasingly exact. He would have me try different pacing, different pressure, different ways of using my tongue and throat. He taught me to pay attention to the entire experience of servicing him, not just mechanically getting him off. He wanted to feel desired, worshipped, carefully attended to.

For a while, during that period of training, he kept the strap physically in his hand while I serviced him. That affected me enormously.

Just seeing it there while I knelt between his legs — folded leather hanging loosely from his fingers — kept me intensely focused. I knew exactly what it meant. If my effort slipped, if my attention wandered, if I became careless, the correction would happen immediately.

And because he always followed through, the threat never felt abstract.

Sometimes he would tap the strap lightly against his thigh while watching me. Sometimes he would rest it across my shoulder or the back of my neck, not striking, just reminding. Sometimes he would pause me, lift my chin, and ask:

“Are you paying attention?”

And I learned to answer with my eyes before I answered with my mouth.

It created an intense state of concentration in me. I became hyper-aware of every reaction in his body: his breathing, his stomach tightening, his hand in my hair, whether he was relaxing into me or becoming impatient.

I learned quickly that attentiveness itself was erotic to him. Feeling carefully observed and skillfully pleased by his wife mattered deeply.

And honestly, it changed me. Eventually the standards stopped feeling external. I internalized them. The strap is rarely needed for that now because the training worked. These days, if I’m on my knees for him, he has my full attention almost automatically. I know what he likes. I know what it means when his breathing changes. I know when to slow down, when to use more pressure, when to stay exactly where I am.

Over time I began to love it.

There is something incredibly intimate about learning another person’s body so thoroughly. About knowing exactly how to make your husband tense, soften, groan quietly, grip your hair harder. About feeling him afterward, relaxed and pleased, and knowing you did that.

I’ll also admit something a little uncharitable: I sometimes pity men whose wives or girlfriends treat oral like an occasional treat, or a bargaining chip, or something to be gotten through with a few half-hearted motions before using their hands to hurry things along. That is so far from how I understand it now.

In our marriage, oral worship is not a cute bonus or a reluctant favor. It is symbolically important. It is one of the clearest physical expressions of my place relative to him: me on my knees, focused upward; him receiving my full attention, patience, and devotion.

There is something profoundly intimate about it. It is not just “giving head.” It is lips, tongue, throat, breath, eye contact, effort, and submission all organized around his pleasure. His cock becomes the center of my attention in a way that is almost ritualistic. I am not trying to rush him to an orgasm so I can be finished. I am trying to make him feel adored, served, and sexually honored by his wife.

There is something very powerful about elevating his cock that way — treating it as something worthy of care, patience, and reverence. Not because he is fragile or needs his ego stroked, but because in our dynamic, his pleasure matters. His satisfaction matters. His body matters. And when I am kneeling there, giving him my mouth properly, I am acknowledging all of that without needing to make a speech.

It has changed how I think about service completely.

A lazy blowjob feels almost insulting to me now. Not just technically bad, but spiritually wrong for the kind of marriage we have. If I am going to kneel for him, I want to kneel all the way. I want him to feel the difference between being casually serviced and being truly worshipped.

There was a funny moment once around “Steak and Blowjob Day,” which I believe is the day after Valentine’s Day. One of Mr. Quail’s friends, Doug, mentioned it to him in that joking-but-not-really-joking way men sometimes do. Something like, “Well, tomorrow’s my day. Finally getting a blowjob out of the wife.”

Mr. Quail smiled in the expected male way — amused, indulgent, not making a scene — but later he told me what he’d actually been thinking.

How sad.

Not cruelly sad, exactly. Just… sad.

Because in our house, there is no special holiday required for my husband to be pleasured by his wife. Hardly a day goes by that he isn’t touched, kissed, licked, sucked, or otherwise attended to. He doesn’t need a calendar gimmick or a once-a-year bargain. He doesn’t need to hope I’ll be in the mood, or negotiate for what should already belong to him.

Later, when he was telling me about it, he smiled and said:

“I really am lucky compared to some of these guys.”

And I loved hearing that.

Not because I want Doug to be unhappy, or because I think every marriage needs to look like ours. But because I want my husband to feel the contrast. I want him to know that he is not one of those men quietly hoping his wife remembers to desire him twice a year.

He did joke — privately, obviously — that Amy sounded like she could use a proper wife boot camp. A few weeks of long and hard spankings, clear rules, early bedtimes, calorie tracking, daily service, and learning that “not tonight” is not a personality. It was partly a joke, but I understood what he meant. From our perspective, a lot of what people call “normal marriage” looks like neglect dressed up as independence.

And yes, I know that sounds severe to some women.

But I do think it’s part of my responsibility as his wife not to let myself become sexually unavailable, physically careless, or indifferent to his appetite. I don’t think a man should be expected to stay endlessly faithful and devoted to a woman who refuses to care for herself, refuses to care for him, and treats his desire like an inconvenience. In our marriage, that would be a serious failure on my part.

He leads. He provides structure. He protects the marriage, plans for our future, keeps himself fit, disciplined, and desirable. And I owe him the same seriousness in return — my body cared for, my attitude softened, my mouth willing, my attention on him.

That is part of why oral worship matters so much to me. It is not just a sex act. It is a daily refusal to become that cold, withholding, half-hearted wife who makes her husband wait for a joke holiday to receive what should be freely and lovingly given.

I want Mr. Quail to know, in his bones, that he is desired here. Not occasionally. Not reluctantly. Not as a treat.

Giving him oral doesn’t feel like “performing sex” to me anymore. It feels like slipping into one of the deepest forms of service between us.

But I still feel a little jolt of anxiety if I ever catch my mind drifting.

Because somewhere in the back of my body, I remember very clearly what happened the first time he decided to teach me better.

And I’m grateful he did.

[devotionaltraining]

Devotional Training: For the wife to measure up.

[zorro11-deactivated20140331]

[builtforhispleasure]

It started slowly — he stopped saying “our bed” and start saying “my bed.”

“Why don’t you go wait for me in my bed?”

“Are you ready to curl up in my bed with me?”

Then he began to tell me the reasons why he liked having me in his bed. He loved having me right there for him to grope and grab whenever he wanted to feel my body. He loved how warm I made his bed for him. He loved pushing my head down in the morning to start his day with a blowjob. Always reminding me that my presence in his bed was all about his pleasure and convenience.

He started having me ask permission before I got into his bed at night — “Sir, please may I get in your bed with you?” He always said yes, until the night he didn’t. He didn’t sleep well the night before, he told me, and he had an early start, so he needed to make sure he got a better night of sleep. He needed his bed to himself tonight.

I stammered and shuffled, not sure where that left me. The spare bedroom? The couch? The floor?

He left me there, confused, and I heard him moving things around in his closet before walking back over holding a large dog bed. “You can sleep in your bed tonight, sweetie. Right next to mine. This way, if I need your mouth, you’re not too far away.”

He set it up next to his side of the bed and watched as I curled up in it then draped a blanket over me. “What do you say?”

I blushed, eyes prickling with humiliated tears, and thanked him.

He let me sleep in his bed for the next few weeks, but then he had a short business trip — just a few nights out of town. Generally he liked to bring me along with him when he traveled but it just didn’t work this time. As we talked through any things that I needed to take care of in the house while he was gone, he said, almost as an afterthought, “Oh, and don’t sleep in my bed when I’m not here. I like you being next to me in bed, but it doesn’t make sense for you to sleep on my bed when I’m not there to enjoy you. I made my bed so it’s ready for me when I get home, and I set your bed up for you for while I’m away.”

Every night he was away, he’d give me my bedtime and tell me to send him a picture of me before I fall asleep, and I dutifully did — curled up in my bed, where he wanted me and where I belonged.

[devotionaltraining]

Devotional Training: Never get in His bed without permission.

[r-o-c-h-a-78]

[littlebunni18-deactivated201809]

🐰

[eveadams01]

“If you find yourself grinding on something, are you squeezing your thighs together, or wiggling in your seat while driving. Whatever tiny movement you’re doing that causes any pleasure… stop it. And email me instantly. Pull the car over, stop the trolley and pull out your phone. Email me with the heading ‘I AM BEING SELFISH’ then explain exactly what you did and I want a full apology and explanation why you shouldn’t do it.”

“Sometimes I don’t notice I’m doing it Sir”

“You need to be conscious of it. It’s ok to feel desperate, to ache and drip and crave touch or some kind of stimulation. But it’s wrong to indulge in it. Sexual pleasure is for me to experience and you to give. You will instantly stop that movement. Open your legs as wide as possible ensure nothing is touching you. Even if you have to go to the bathroom and strip off and sit with your legs wide on the toilet. You will stop that sensation. Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir”

“Good. Now although you cannot feel that kind of pleasure you can think about it. I want you to think about it. I want you to think about everything you do that makes me feel it. How you lick me, imagine being a man and being licked. Believe me it’s quite lovely. Imagine being able to orgasm many times a day, each time in a different way. Imagine that release and relief I feel every time I cum. That pleasure that shoots through my hard cock. That you get to enjoy tasting, or cleaning up or carrying around inside you. Every time you get the need to touch yourself I want you to think about me. Spread your legs, breath through those selfish wants and think about how it is for a man to enjoy touching himself at any moment. On any whim. Then apologise to me for wanting something that isn’t yours to have. Because if I find that you are sneaking ways to stimulate your arousal I WILL put you in chastity. With a wide, thick, uncomfortable belt that will stop any and all sensations.”

“I understand Sir”

“Good girl, ”

[devotionaltraining]

Devotional Training.

[bitchbr33der]

my bitch has started to really imprint on its collar. it’s a comfort, i think, not just sexually but emotionally as well. it keeps the cunt grounded and reminded of its place — submissive, obedient, serving me.

recently i’ve noticed my slave has started to play with its collar tags when it’s aroused, sometimes without even realizing what it’s doing. it pulls on the ring while playing with its tags in the same way it might play with its clit. it’s cute, to know how badly it needs this. and it inspired a new rule.

i was sitting on the couch last night and called it over. it knelt obediently on the floor between my legs, naked, collared, ready to serve.

“play with yourself.”

immediately the bitch put a hand between its legs. i grabbed its wrist with one hand and slapped it hard in the face with the other.

“that’s not going to be how this is done anymore, bitch. apologize.”

it blinked back surprised tears. i had slapped it hard. keeping its eyes trained to the floor, it sniffled, “i-i’m sorry, sir.”

i smirked. always keep a cunt on its toes trying to please you — prevents them from getting complacent. i leaned back and pulled my hardening cock out of my pants.

“who does your cunt belong to?”

“you, sir.”

“that’s right. and who decides when it gets touched?”

“you, sir.”

“so why did you try to pleasure yourself without my permission?”

my slave’s eyes widened, but it kept its place where it was, kneeling, head bent submissively towards the floor.

“i’m sorry, sir,” it said again. “you told me to play with myself and i thought—“

i grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled it forward onto my cock. it obediently set to pleasuring me with its mouth.

“i’ve been far too lenient with you for a long time now. i’ve been trusting you to touch my property, to know how to treat my property better than i do. do you think that’s your place?”

“no, sir,” it tried to say around my cock. the words turned to wet gurgles in its throat, but it didn’t stop sucking.

“no, indeed. i own your body, and i am the only one who gets to touch it. i’ve bought you a belt. going forwards, you are to be locked in it whenever i am not pleasuring myself or entertaining myself with your body. is that understood?”

“yes sir,” it gurgled.

“if i want you touching my property, i will unlock you and tell you exactly how you are to do so. until then, i think you have a new erogenous zone to play with, hmm?”

it made a noise, possibly of questioning; possibly it was just gagging. i took this as an invitation to continue.

“don’t act stupid, whore. i’ve seen you playing with your collar like the insatiable little slut you are.”

i put a hand on the back of its head and started thrusting rhythmically into its throat as i spoke.

“you like your collar played with, don’t you? really reminds you of your place. that you belong to me. that this is the only pleasure you deserve.”

i was getting close. i held its head down on my cock. it gagged obediently.

“going forwards, your collar tag is your new clit. if i tell you to play with yourself, i expect to hear it jingling. and i expect you to moan and put on a show and thank me for the pleasure i’ve allowed you.”

it nodded into my groin as i groaned and released myself into its throat. after a long moment, i let go of its head and it pulled back to catch its breath.

“thank you for your cum, sir,” it whimpered, setting to cleaning up my cock with its tongue.

i pulled it off my cock and slapped it again. “grateful for anything else, whore?”

“a-and thank you for — my new rules.”

“that’s more like it. finish cleaning me up and then we’ll get the belt on you. and i expect you to play with yourself until you’re finished.”

whimpering, it nodded and brought a hand up to its collar. i relaxed into its tongue as the faint sound of jingling hit my ears.

[mnspanking]

This is a quick hairbrush spanking I gave my girlfriend for swearing at me let her know that later tonight your going to bawling over my knees butt naked

[sadisticdepravity]

Visit Original Link

Because that last clip was so popular, and a cockteasing piece of rapemeat asked me for more…Here’s another. The choking sound is my belt around her throat.  A disclaimer, she did, in fact, consent. 

[toythrob]

Once I‘m in control of your orgasms, I can always find a reason to keep you denied even longer.

Are your panties already soaking wet at the thought of being denied? If it turns you on so much, you clearly need to be denied. Your pussy wouldn’t be this wet if you didn’t want to have your orgasms taken away, would it?

But if you stayed completely dry…well then I guess you‘re not really desperate enough and don’t need to cum today.

[soppynstuffed]

I love the transition period of becoming an anal slut.

It started with a little edging “no cumming tonight but of course you can cum tomorrow.” Then it becomes “if you’re a good girl you can cum next week.”

A few weeks later it’s “you’ve been so good during edging sessions this week, let me finger your ass while you cum tonight.”

Next week “If I can fuck your tight ass once this week, I’ll let you cum, if you aren’t ready for that then I guess you aren’t ready to cum.” eventually the desperation forces you to give in.

Then the rule changes to “I’ll only allow you to cum if I’m fucking your ass. Fucking your ass will be a special occasion, it will be for your pleasure, you can cum any way you want to, but I will be balls deep in your hole when you do.”

From there it isn’t so hard to progress to the next stage. “I’m tired of using your pussy, it’s boring and loose. Maybe if we stop using it, you’ll become a virgin again. From now on I’m just going to use your ass. We can edge you with your clit until you learn how to cum from your ass.”

The final step “Let’s tie these hands up. Your clit is dirty, it makes your other hole wet and gross, so you aren’t allowed to touch it anymore. You’ll cum from anal this time. Oh you don’t think you can? That’s not my problem. You’ll learn to edge and cum only with your ass. I don’t care how long it takes, you’ll spend hours every night with something in your ass until you learn how to edge it.”

[drippygirly]

We purchased a fucking machine recently, what a rollercoaster that's been...

I'm used as a test dummy basically. He likes seeing how long I can take getting pounded at full speed, watching me struggle to take my largest dildo painfully slow, stretched into mortifying positions which getting fucked, and also leaving me to get my holes wrecked while he's busy in the other room.

This happens at minimum once a week and it's never planned, he just calls me in for a hole inspection that leads to a session. He thinks my pussy feels better sloppy and I actually hate that. I loved having a really tight pussy for years, now it's a joke. It's embarrassing when zero stretching is required for average size toys, they literally just slip right in. Sometimes I'll still ask if we can let it tighten back up a little but he's never given in.

"This is how I love your sloppy cunt to be. Get used to it."

And as for my asshole... It's not what it once was. Fingers would be a struggle before, now my starting point is a big fat dildo. He loves making my asshole gape open unable to close. I think it's gross, personally. I never had interest in anal. It's his favorite though so now I'm an anal queen by his choice. He says I was made for it, that my asshole is always greedy for more but I beg to differ when I'm fighting back tears and begging him to stop during extreme gaping sessions. His new mini obsession is pumping my ass full of cum, real or fake, and watching me fart it all out. It's not really a turn on for him, he just laughs in amusement and watches me hate it.

[edging-foxy-bimbo]

Sir fixed a gel dildo to the wall underneath His desk.

"Get in there, and start riding it with your ass, pet."

I obediently kneeled, stuffed the toy into my tight hole and started moving my hips like a bitch in heat, moaning qiuetly.

"That's it. Nice and deep. Keep fucking it and i have a treat for you" He said, unzipping His jeans. "You will not stop sucking this Cock until I let you, understand? I want to see how many times you will make me come in next 3 hours".

"Do not touch your cunt, or I will put a clamp on your clit, slut. This cunt is mine not yours."

[toythrob]

No, sweetie. You don’t need to cum…you just want to cum.

But you‘ll learn the difference soon enough. Keep edging for me.

[myeroticrelease]

[urgirlcallsmesir]

stop rubbing your pussy slut, if you can’t cum from just dick then you arent horny enough

[usernamekira]

[talldark5]

When you haven't been doing your homework, exams and tests are going to be that much harder

[theblackomen-deactivated2020012]

[vaginalchastity]

How every pussy in the world should be, without exception.

[eveadams01]

“Yes there are thinner ones on the market but the point of it is to remind you that it’s there. That your unable to touch yourself. So a wide uncomfortable one is the way to go”

“Is it really necessary?”

“Is it…… you know it is. You lived a life of sin before me. With your slutty behaviour and your wanton ways”

“I hate it when you say I was slutty.”

“You agreed that you used to…… ‘masturbate’ daily. I love you baby but you were a slut. Touching yourself for nothing but pleasure, uncontrollably orgasming every day. It pains me to think about. But with this. And a little sacrifice you can redeem yourself. You did say you wanted this”

“I do. Well I want you to respect me”

“I do. I respect your willingness to be good. To be better. To be pure. To wear the belt. I want you to respect yourself.”

“I understand. But now we are married… what about sex? I mean it’s my responsibility to make sure my husband is satisfied isn’t it? You said that it was my role now”

“Yes. Yes that’s right. Don’t worry. There is a hole in the back.”

“The back?”

“Yes over your sphincter.”

“My….. what? My ass?”

“Language. Yes. I have bought some plugs to help you open for me. I know I know you’re going to balk at the idea but it’s the way forward and I’m not going to argue about it. Your job is to keep me sexually satisfied and until I can be reassured that your slutty ways have been rectified this is how we will have sex. Ok?”

“Ok. I’m sorry. You’re right. What’s the little ball thing for?”

“That slides inside your pussy. Let’s get it in and lock you up”

“Ok. But what does it do?”

“It’s for me. Without access to your pussy you may find that your sex drive rises at first. Making you crazy with arousal. But over time it may dip. You may lose interest in sex without any stimulation. This egg is remote activated. I can turn it on and it will vibrate turning you on, making you want sex. So basically I can turn you on when ever I am horny. I will leave it on until you are aroused enough to make love to me either with your mouth or with sex.”

“Oh. That’s clever.”

“Yes. But don’t worry. I will turn it off before you reach an orgasm. I promised you I would help you beat these sinful wanton ways and I mean it. No matter how horny you get. No matter how much you beg. I am dedicated to helping you be better. A wifes duty is to prove sexual pleasure not demand it herself.”

“I understand. I want to be a good wife.”

“Not a slut?”

“Oh please I hate that”

“You hate being thought of as a whorish slut who masturbates for her own selfish pleasure?”

“Yes of course please stop saying it.”

“It’s important to talk about. The more you hate it the more you’ll want to be good. I am just helping you to stop being a slut.”

“I find it hard to hear, it’s embarrassing and I want to be a good wife. Please. Help me be a good wife”

“I will. Let’s begin the stretching of your new pleasure hole. My fingers first. I want to be the first thing inside you. Then the plug. And soon we will be enjoying a full and satisfying sex life as I orgasm inside you over and over every day. Me satisfied. And you my chaste good good girl”

[possessive-daddy]

Put on your belt, girls. Like your ancestors did and lived happily.

[painsl]

Need

[yourmasternextdoor]

Don’t just lock her up with a collar, but her in chastity and let her feel that she’s just your toy and under your control 🖤✨

[kamadeva1987]

[mister-patriarchy]

It does a girl no good to be lenient when it comes to discipline.

When she misbehaves it is your responsibility as a Man to correct her quickly, thoroughly, and mercilessly.

Spare the rod, spoil the slave girl.

[nicole003]

Which gag would you have me wear at work tomorrow?

1) Ball Gag

2) Bit Gag

3) Ring Gag

4) Penis Gag

5) Penis Ball Gag

Voting ended onJul 16

If you were my boss and I had been chatting too much, distracting my co-workers and not performing well which gag would you have me wear as punishment for the rest of the work day?

Hey guys, so I'm working from home this week and doing literally the most boring data entry tasks for my manager. So I thought tomorrow I'd, you know, spice up my day a little and get some of my gags out to wear while I work.

Each vote adds 1 minute to how long I have to wear it for.

Each reblog adds 3 minutes to all of them.

Each like or comment adds 1 minute to choices 1-3 only.