Reblog if you want to be isolated and made worse and be kept as a pet. no responsibilities, no decision-making, no endless depression and fatigue.. just you and your owner.
Yes I might degrade you, call you a Fleshlight, throw you around as if you were an object.
But I'm at the same time making sure you're comfortable, making sure nothing hurts in a bad way, making sure you cum so hard that you need to rest after.
And yes the aftercare is going to be over the top, I will literally bake for you if you want something sweet.
found an angel wandering around last night. it was standing in the street dazed, looking up at a flourescent light. didn't want it to get hit by a car so i tried to nudge it onto the sidewalk but it started getting agitated when it realized i was there. poor thing seems to be almost totally blind; there's a crack in its halo so maybe that's why. i managed to leash it and that calmed it down a bit. ended up bringing it home and it's just been sitting on my bedroom floor staring at the ceiling light. anyone know what angels eat?
it seems to like fruit loops well enough. i guess they're halo shaped. doesn't have much of an appetite.
it was grimy as hell when i found it. i got it into the bathtub but it didn't seem to know how to wash itself. it really doesn't like being touched but i had to clean it up myself. spent a while digging caked on dirt out of its back feathers while it squirmed around in the tub.
seems like it can't really see or hear much, and one of its arms is cracked off like a marble statue. weird, since the rest of it is so soft to the touch. its halo is all cracked and chipped as well. maybe it did get hit by a car or something.
it doesn't want to sleep anywhere but the floor. seems a bit less stressed now that it's clean and fed, though. once it found the little pillow nest i made it at the foot of my bed, it curled right up and went to sleep. i can hear its halo quietly vibrating down there. kind of sounds like it's purring.
it's warming up to me a little. still doesn't like being touched but it'll nuzzle into my hand sometimes while i work. got it a dog bed and put it under my desk, and it seems mostly content to lie down there during the day.
sometimes it'll wander around the house. i hear it knock shit over occasionally, and i usually find it on the ground covering its head in shame. i don't know how to tell the poor thing that knocking over a lamp is not a big deal and also pretty understandable for a blind angel in an unfamiliar space. i usually just bring it back to its spot under my desk. it squirms like a cat a bit when i pick it up but doesn't stop me. it's a lot lighter than i would've expected.
one time i was playing music while cleaning and found it pressing its head against the speaker. maybe it can hear a little after all? maybe the vibrations remind it of other angels. maybe it's just a black sabbath fan lol.
gave it an oversized bad religion t-shirt to wear. i doubt it appreciates the irony but looking at its bare ass all the time was giving me bad ideas. i'm pretty sure if i tried to fuck it i'd get struck by lightning or something. probably.
the angel figured out how to use the volume controls on my speaker and keeps turning it all the way up. anytime i play something it doesnt like it'll come pester me until i change it. would be really cute if it wasn't so picky. all it wants to listen to is metal. how the fuck did i manage to adopt the world's only metalhead angel?
brought it on a hike earlier. it's been in my apartment for a while and i was worried it was going stir crazy. it was pretty slow going cause i had to help it not trip over roots and stuff but it seemed to be enjoying the fresh air. we passed a radio tower at one point and it wouldn't stop staring at it.
i had to pick it up a couple times to navigate some rocky areas and it doesn't seem to mind anymore. by the end i swear it was enjoying it. it's light enough that i can lift it one-handed and hold it against my chest, it'd just put its arm around my shoulders and sit there looking smug.
we were both completely beat by the time we got home, though. tucked the angel into its dog bed and collapsed into mine. right as i was about to pass out, though, i felt it worm its way into my bed and curl up in my arms. dreamt i was flying.
when i woke up it was back in its own bed. it seems kinda embarrassed about it this morning. i guess cuddling is like third base for an angel or something.
it started when i brought the angel to a house show a few weeks ago. i was kinda worried about the number of people, and it did spend most of the night hiding under my jacket, but it seemed like it was enjoying itself. got a lot of compliments on its halo.
i drank a few beers while we were there, and i got one for the angel too. once it figured out how to extract the beer from the can, it seemed to like it. we were both pretty drunk by the time we left, and it was being a lot clingier than usual. i guess angels are lightweights. figures.
when we got home it grabbed me by the hand and led me to the bathtub. it'd never done that before, but i figured it was just feeling grimy from the show. it was squirming around more than usual while i dug the dirt out of its back feathers, though, and when i was halfway done, i realized it had been fucking fingering itself the whole time.
now, i know what i said about getting struck by lightning and all that, but to be honest i was still pretty drunk at this point. so i did what any responsible intoxicated angel owner would do: i stopped grooming it, lifted it up by the hips, and ate it out until it was a trembling mess in the bottom of the tub.
so. do you want to know why i've been gone for a month? here's another question: did you know that angel cum is an extremely potent aphrodisiac? because i sure fucking didn't!! i got a mouthful of it and...honestly my memory is a little hazy but i'm pretty sure i spent a whole month fucking that stupid thing. not only is it a little wierdo, it's a pervert too.
at any rate, i haven't been smitten yet and i guess i've built up a tolerance to angel cum. the angel, for its part, doesn't seem particularly bothered about the whole situation. it's sleeping under my desk right now, with some conspicuously wet inner thighs. smug little bastard.
need casual objectification so bad pls lift up my shirt while im talking n stick ur fingers down my throat mid sentence n bend me over to grope my holes in public n come up behind me n put one arm around my tits n the other around my throat and and and
I swear being a hypnokinkster on top of a yuri fan is harddddd T^T
Cause it leads me to really feral daydreaming and yearning for the cutest kink shit.
Daydreaming and yearning for that magical moment where I meet another cute girl who i would later on call Mommy for the first time and the sincerity, intimacy and awkwardness that comes at first, only to holding hands as she kisses my forehead and tugs on the collar on my neck later on in time...
I want to experience that slow and gradual, yet oh so satisfying burn you find tend to find in yuri, coupled with the fun experimental, intimate, and erotic lifestyle of hypnokink. The hypnohorny shenanigans, the teasing, the power exchange, the intimacy. I yearn, oh I yearn.
Maybe one day I'll be blessed with that interaction that changes everything, one day 💕
I should make this a proper longform story but I don't really have the focus for that right now so. Instead I want you to imagine something for me.
You're inviting someone over to your place. Maybe a close friend, maybe someone you just met. You've flirted with her, talked about kink. She's a dominant, something you are very much not. Still, you don't know how much is actually going to happen, if she'll even be into you, etc. etc. You're nervous, but you do feel safe. It's your own place, after all.
You jump when she rings the doorbell - you've kinda just been zoning out in anticipation. You rush to the door and get your first in-person glimpse of her. She's beautiful; confident, well-dressed, an easy smirk on her face telling you that she knows exactly how you feel and is enjoying it. You greet her, your voice coming out a bit shriller than intended. A nervous "H-Hi!" She doesn't respond, instead just looking you up and down, her grin going wider. Your own smile fades, and after a moment, you try to greet her again. She looks at you with that smirk, and simply says, "Down." You stammer a question at her, but she ignores you. "Down," she repeats, this time placing an almost gentle hand on your shoulder and pushing. You fall to your knees, more baffled than anything else, and her hand moves from pressing on your shoulder to cupping your cheek. "There's a good girl," she tells you, and walks past you into your space. You move to follow her, but she stops you. "I didn't tell you to move," she says, so you don't. She rummages through your fridge, pours herself a drink. Looks through a few of your drawers, picks up some of the papers on your desk, humming to herself. Finally, she sits down in your chair, crossing her legs and looking down at you. Poor, confused, helpless you, still kneeling at the door. She smiles and beckons you. At last, you move again. Despite no command, you know to crawl to her like a pet, not a person. She takes your chin and guides you to her lap. She coos something at you, the words not making it through to your brain, her hand running over your head and obliterating all higher thought. A sound slips out of you. It's not a human sound.
A doll that's been trained. Not that it even realized how thoroughly it's been trained completely without its knowledge, or even that it was trained at all.
Of course, the witch doesn't let this training sit idle. "Doll, kneel."
The dolls face goes slack before it even fully comprehends what's going on, a semi confused eyebrow raise killed before it even began.
The doll rises from its chair, instantly kneeling before the witch. Empty eyes and face slack as it stares into the waiting eyes of its witch.
The witch stands before the doll, a sort of, blank, unamused look, hardness in her eyes. "Doll, spread"
Again before the doll even has a chance to understand, it shifts from a one legged kneel to both knees firmly planted wide on the ground. Eyes, slightly nervous, the blank look still dominating it's face.
"Doll, wake up for me"
The doll shakes it head. Staring up at its witch,
"how.. how I was just, how did you"
"who knows. Doll, pleasure"
A moan errupts from the doll, it's knees shaking and her hands instinctively grabbing at it's witches legs
"pathetic, how did you end up like this?"
The doll twitches as it receives the degradation. It's eyes squeeze a little bit as it grows more desperate
"miss, I, you, how are you, why am I"
The witch sneers. "Doll freeze." The doll stops, perfectly still. Frozen in time. The witch steps away, freeing herself from the clutches of the desperate thing in front of her, she crouches on her heels. Down to eye level with the prostrated doll. "I own you." The smallest shiver of reaction passes throughout the creature. "I can get you to do more than you can, your body betrays you, unfreeze"
The doll, now holding nothing, no longer supported by whatever mental magic its witch worked on it. Collapses.
"Freeze, object"
The thing freezes, mid catching itself on the ground, now on its elbows and knees, she takes a second, once again repositioning to be right, next, to its ear, almost whispering.
"and you love it."
The doll is wracked with a pang of pleasure so great its body shakes, knowing that even if it weren't true before then, in that moment it was. The doll knew what it said to be true.
"Hi my love, how you are doing"
The doll shakes its head, seeking to clear its head from whatever just happened, now slowly getting up from its fours, until it finds itself knealt, her hand slowly raising its chin to meet her gaze
Level draining fascinates me as a fetish thing. It eroticizes exhaustion and the burden of debt.
"Losing an experience level" is a silly idea because it is such a dungeons and dragons ass thing to map onto a real person. An experience level is fake even in a fantasy setting. Maybe the people in an isekai show are aware of their levels in the sense that they are aware of themselves as a list of stats on a character sheet.
But at the same time you gotta work hard for those levels, right? They're proof of time you put into a game. Experience levels are the linear progress that the world tells you is real. You earned them. You did all the quests and killed however many monsters. Losing an experience level is a gut punch in an old school tabletop game because they take so long to earn. Out of character, think of how many sessions it would take, how rare you can even get a gaming group together. that represents maybe months of invested time and effort.
And there are monsters that can take all of that investment away from you with just a touch or an attack or a kiss! doesn't that just burn you up?
In those older games you can get lost levels back. But it's so expensive, like America healthcare expensive, just to claw back one experience level. Or you could regain the lost experience the hard way.
get back on the treadmill and grind it out
Maybe that's your plan when the spectre brushes your cheek with her cold fingers and an experience level evaporates. You can't afford to dump a wheelbarrow of gold into the collection box at the city temple to have a restoration spell cast. So you decide to deal with it, until she touches you again.
That's two levels gone. Twice as much of your irreplaceable time and investment gone because this fucking monster can just arbitrarily take it from you. With every touch, the spectre robs you of everything that you earned with your experience. Your maximum hit points decrease. Those spells, attack bonuses, special abilities start to grey out one by one.
And the more she smothers you in debt and weakness, the easier it is for her to take even more from you!
Isn't that hot? Some tabletop developers must have thought so in the eighties and nineties. Half of the level-draining monsters in the Monster Manuals were some kind of sexy inveigling bikini demon. Ravenloft was scary and fascinating because of the irreparable harm the monsters in that setting could do to you.
Drain levels. Drain stats. Permanent hit point loss. Bit by bit, little pieces of you, measurable but intangible, all flowing into the smirking mouths of pretty monsters. How could anyone not be captivated by such a fucked up thing?
Even if you survive the encounter, you mark down the negative levels on your sheet. They're impossible to forget, the way you never forget the most money you ever had in your bank account. The debt warps every other motivator. You're adventuring and gathering gold in the hopes that you can pay the arbitrary, expensive fees to remove the weight of one of those lost experience levels from your balance sheet.
The rest of the party understands your frustration on an intellectual level. But the spectre never hit them. They still get to quest for the magical gems or whatever was the point of your silly campaign.
The experience you lost defines you in a way that doesn't apply to them. Maybe you grind enough to afford restoring one of the stolen levels, or you gain it back the hard way. It's nowhere near what you lost, but you can feel a little sense of relief.
Over time, the scope of your motivation shrinks. Get back what you lost. Except you can't, it's too expensive, there isn't enough time. So if you can't do that, then maybe you can confront the spectre again. Destroying her won't bring back what she took away. But you want to make sure no one else suffers like you have. Or maybe you just want revenge. Probably both.
You sneak away from the party one night. You've grown apart from them, anyway. You have more in common with the spectre now. You've spent most of your waking life thinking about her and what she took from her. And she's waiting for you in the cold ruins where you first encountered her.
The spectre isn't surprised you wanted a rematch. Neither of you are surprised when the battle turns her way. You don't have your friends to support you this time. Her flanged, iron mace batters at your guard. She knocks aside your blade, bludgeons you to the ground, but doesn't raise her weapon for a killing blow.
The spectre holds out her other hand, inviting you to shed pretense. You crawl forward and lift your chin, pressing your still-warm cheek into the cup of her life-stealing hand.
She holds you there for a long time. More abilities go grey. There's no stopping it, now. This isn't mercy. She's giving you what you want.
More soul-debt, more exhaustion. Let it crush any memory that you were anything but leaden emptiness.
The spectre smiles. She withdraws her hand. You feel the lines of frost left by her fingernails scraping your cheek. She lays down her mace. She won't need it to seal your fate. Its strikes were feather-light compared to the crushing weight that is to come.
How badly do you want it, now?
She touches your lips with her finger. Still on your knees, you open your mouth. She laughs at you. Snowflakes and cold mist steam from the cruel turn of her blue lips. She slips her finger inside your mouth. You coil your tongue around it and suck. Your grateful whimper makes her laugh again.
Obscene. You draw her chill into your weakening body as her touch pulls at the wan flicker of your potential. You feel the doors to possible futures, avenues of escape, close one by one. You can almost hear the soft click of the locks.
The tomorrows flow out of you. What would you do with them? Try to claw your way back to a high water mark you'd never see again? The spectre cradles the back of your head with your other hand. You feel a thin line of drool freeze on your chin while you suck her finger. She has given you so much soul-debt, now. The weight of it will bar you from any afterlife the gods had prepared for you.
She pulls her finger free from your mouth with a gentle, wet pop. You sigh out a plume of freezing air and snowflakes. She purses her lips and blows a matching trail of cold in your face, eyes bright and mocking.
Then she kisses you, and now her hands dip into your chest, between your legs, groping as she frees you. Only from your old body, not from what you now owe her, which is everything, until the stars turn into dust. Now she is so much brighter than the sun and moon ever were. You were something bright and magisterial and alive before she left her first mark on you. And now you've thrown every bit of it away.
The reward for surrendering to the pressure of her will always be more pressure. There are no levels left to drain, so now she takes your ability to choose. She uses debt to carve you into a more useful shape. You cede more of yourself to her with every touch. There is so little of you left.
Your new, ghostly form kneels to her, because it is what she demands. She straddles your face and uses your mouth. More debt pours into you, squeezing out the capacity for thought.
The last thing you choose to think on your own: I hope the others come back for me. I want them to fall with me. I want to see them gasp and crawl when we take everything from them. I want them to know what this is like.
Love knots. Love the idea of knotting. Like oh nooooooo, ig we HAVE to cockwarm and cuddle in each others warm embrace with your cock buried deep inside me. Ugh that sucksssss :((
no but fr the idea of being a dress-up doll,,, standing there blankly while she puts different clothes on me and assesses which ones she thinks look best on me, maybe mumbling to herself as she thinks about it, never asking me what I think ofc bc im just a doll, touching and squeezing and pinching different parts of me depending on how the clothes show me off, and in the end when she finds the right outfit saying "perfect" and kissing me all over and using me as much as she wants
language control is one of My favorite things, It's why I'm obsessed with protocol. Sure you can take away a subs ability to swear, but why stop there? why allow them to refer to themselves in the first person? the ability to even capitalize references to themselves?
"I'm doing well" hmm, that wont do!
"it is doing well, Miss!" is so much better.
it'll shock them at first for sure. Maybe they'll feel silly about it, a capital? really? and yet suddenly its habit— and soon its nature. Suddenly its Superiors are capitalized, respected, and obsessed over.
Slowly drip feeding them small changes, changing how You phrase things to them, subtly adjusting their habits and fine tuning them into what You want, what they should be for You.
It rings hollow. It disgusts me. It is a lie, and there is nothing we detest more than lies.
But it proves that he is a fool. So I demand more.
‘May I have your assistance?’
‘Of course. Anything you want me to do.’
So his fate is sealed.
I ask him back to mine. To tidy up and arrange the place. To help in my work. Of course, he is inept at first. He was not raised to place flowers in vases, or use a broom, or organise a library.
So I make him adept. For each of his failures - each mote of dust out of place, every fallen petal in the garden, all the slight imperfections - I change him. He is the first thing to go. The mind follows shortly after, with the body trailing behind.
She is now hollower than ever, yet no longer hollow at all. She is adept, her porcelain fingers better at the housework than ever, her new shiny joints no longer complaining from long hours working in the garden, her unblinking eyes finding every little detail to correct and make proper.
Her new voice, light and musical, no longer elicits such disgust in me, for it cannot tell the same lies that the old voice, so coarse and grating, could.
After a certain amount of time, which I do not care to describe for time means little to us, she tells me this:
[Still trying to re-remember how to write. If I decide to bedrot today, expect more writing soon...]
“That’s a good girl. Go on. Tell it what a fucking loser you are. Apologise for it.”
“I-I’m sorry for being such a-- OUCH, such a pathetic, fucking loser.”
“Oh dear, why are you crying, princess?”
“M-my ass-- ack.”
“Mhm? What’s that? I asked you a fucking question, didn’t I? You should answer me… even if my cock’s buried in your asshole and my arm’s wrapped around your throat.”
Cough cough cough “I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry for crying. I’m sorry for being a loser. Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for complaining. Please use my ass.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now hold still. I’m going to cum in you.”
“Ughh, fuck.. Please be gentle, si-- FUCK. Ouch, fuck, fuck, It feels good, sir.”
“Don’t tell me, tell the camera.”
“It feels really good. I can’t wait to watch this later. I love it when my master rapes my asshole.”
“Can you feel my dick fucking throbbing inside you? FUCK, I’m going to pop. I’m going to fucking cum.”
…
“Go and clean yourself up, princess. I want to watch yesterday's ‘movie’ with you.”
I'd love to make a girl touch herself on camera. I'd sit on an armchair, having turned on the camera. She'd squat in front of the fireplace, a collar around her pretty neck while she looks straight at the lens, edging her dripping cunt. She’d look at me, red and in tears, the humiliation of it all getting to her. Here she was, fiddling with her fucking cunt while her owner just sat there. Watching. Looking half bored.
“Edge.”
She’d hear my voice, coldly thrown at her from my corner of the room. And she’d fuck herself. Not because it feels good. Not because she was horny. But because she’d been told to. Because she’d become porn. My porn.
In that cold, dark room, we’d hear the sound of her cunt squelching with every flick of her fingers. We’d hear her heavy breathing and the slightest sob. God, I’d struggle to hold back a cruel laugh. I’d struggle to mock the pathetic fucking pornstar. Real women don’t act like this. Only disgusting, obedient fuckmutts do.
“Cum.”
She’d struggle. I’d hear little moans. Her squat would break. She would be pressed against the floor, her ass high up while she’d frantically pound her stupid box. I’d hear a quiet mix of sobbing and panting, and then a quiet breath. She’d exhale softly, her legs shaking.
I’d walk over to the camera and turn it off. I’d tut in annoyance and turn to her, collapsed on the floor and hiding her face in sheer embarrassment.
“You should have been faster. Nobody wants to see some needy set of fuckholes edge for hours like that.”
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