a snail with fangs

a snail with fangs. it/its, 23. this is a kink blog. please have some vague indication of your age in your bio or pinned post before you talk with or follow me. thanks.

[misscaptor]

hii! i'm 18 nd my gf is 19. we're kind of new to the d/s stuff, having fantasized for a long time. i'm here to ask what your recommendations are with aftercare and safe words. also, i would like to know if it's preferable to use safe words or for the domme to do their best to notice when the sub is is genuine, unmanageable distress? your blog has been a really good source for my gf and i to learn about captor/owner dynamics and we are so thankful for your logistics tags ♡ your writing is also so good, has helped me with my english lol, and we love reading your stuff and sending it to each other. i wish you & your captive all the best, hopefully you guys get to figure out your 24/7 soon! lots of love from a noob d/s lesbian couple all the way from korea!!

safewords!!! 100% use safewords!!! In my specific situation we don’t really do many cnc/rape scenes so River can say “no” or “stop” and I’ll stop, but we also use the traffic light system as a backup. They’ll say “red” or “yellow” if needed, but they don’t do this too often to be honest. Their most common phrase to tell me to stop is “I need a minute”, which tells me to pause whatever I’m doing, then they follow it up with what they need (ok I’m good actually keep going, stop and hold me, I’m done for real, I want the harness off, etc). Even in a cnc/rape scene, if they said “I need a minute” or “just a minute” I’d stop immediately. Safewords don’t always have to be in code. Sometimes a particular phrase you only use when you’re being serious will work.

I think it’s also good for the domme to have safewords available!!! If the submissive goes “Ooooh pleeease, hit me harder” and the domme just isn’t comfortable doing that, it’s nice to have the option to reply with “yellow, I don’t want to hit you anymore” and just carry on with the scene. In a lot of scenes if the domme says “no more of this” it’s an opening for the sub to beg for more. If the domme can safeword, she’s protecting herself from being goaded into something by a sub who doesn’t mean to be pushing her limits. I’m 100% on team safeword.

Aftercare is more complicated. I think it’s important to talk about what you like in aftercare. River and I need pretty different stuff. I need to be told after a scene that River liked all the stuff I did. I need a clear and concise Yelp review of the scene. I need them to tell me what went well and let me know that I didn’t push them too far. I need to know that they felt good. It’s incredibly vulnerable to admit, as a domme, that I need reassurance after the fact. I’m lucky to have a submissive who only had to be told what I needed once and now does it every time.

River likes to be held. I think most people do, but them especially. We lay there and talk sometimes, or I talk at them, depending on the day, but the talking isn’t as important to them, I think. We usually don’t take off their collar, harness, or extra cuffs immediately after the scene so that becomes part of the aftercare- helping them remove the extra cuffs or their play collar or whatever else I’ve put them in. Getting comfortable. We’ve only showered together after sex a few times but we both really like that. I hold them. I play with their hair. I tell them they did a good job. If I’ve injured them I clean them up. If I marked them we admire the marks. I tell them I love them. Over and over and over I tell them I love them.

it’s also odd, though, aftercare in a more constant dynamic like ours. In general I pair most of our rougher moments with softer ones even if we’re not “in a scene”. If I choose to suddenly yank them by their hair to get their attention or to make them say something (agree with me, apologize for doing something silly, etc) I’ll kiss them after and tell them they’re being good. If they spend a few hours casually gagged, I make sure they also spend a similar amount of time curled up next to me getting pet. I call them my bitch and later remind them that they’re also my darling. I think it’s sometimes a bit of a rollercoaster for them, but I also think it’s important that our relationship isn’t too rough. I like the rough moments as reminders between lots and lots of sweet moments. “I adore you” as a near-constant with, in between, moments of “you are mine, you are not a person, you are owned like an animal” forming an undercurrent. I have them captive because I love them, so I treat them as such.

[christclown]

You think that the zip ties are coming off after the scene, but I know that you really need the bondage to relax. I move you, shower you, cuddle you and stroke your head as you go to sleep. You don't need to be able to move for yourself at all.

[snail-with-fangs]

look. autonomy over one's self is probably the highest value i have. and i know you can't live someone's life for them & let them build up themselves instead of trying to fix everything for them. the abduction fantasy, then, is just codependency thought to its logical conclusion.

but, man, sometimes, sometimes? i do wonder if i couldn't do it better

[ace-trainer-alice]

There's a fairly deep eroticism to be found in "if [it] wanted to leave [it] would leave". Social control mechanisms, ignoring obvious physical barriers, the forceful implication of consent. I of course especially just like the social control of it. Sitting it in my lap and touching it while it makes noises singing of discomfort and insisting that it could get up and leave if it wanted to. Very good.

[masochism101]

they r saying the cure to depression is having ur face rubbed lovingly before ur hit like really rlly hard

[trainwreck-of-thoughts]

No Regrets

Her nails are drawing blood before she realizes something's wrong.

There's this old memory, back from when we'd only done a few scenes. Me in the kitchen, joking it was a good thing I was the one in charge of drinks, because it let me make sure she wouldn't slip something in mine. She laughed about it, then. Cried about it, later.

She backs off, and I rise to fill the space, half-sitting half-lying underneath her now. She's staring right through the red on her fingertips. I know what she's thinking about.

The belt traces a line of fire across my ass. I bite into the pillow, expecting the second hit to hurt more, but it doesn't. The third hit, when it finally comes, is barely a love tap. She safewords before there's a fourth, and I swallow a sigh and scrape myself together.

Once I had a dream that should have been a nightmare, the most awful things flashing before my eyes, except I wasn't feeling scared. I woke up bored, a bit confused. A weird sensation, when you know what emotion you're supposed to feel but then it doesn't come at all.

"I just don't see why you'd want such a thing," she says. For a moment I want to scream at her, tell her that -she- clearly wants it, that I've seen the porn she reads, that I don't understand why this is so fucking difficult for her when it's with a real person. I bite my tongue instead.

Her eyes flash to the cuts in my skin. To my face, too knowing, too smug. To the drink, which, now that she thinks about it, perhaps tasted a little bit off?

Vodka. Lime. Sugar. Ice. More vodka than usual, both to help the process along and to cover up the taste. A scoop of white powder dissolves in her drink. I enter the room, hand her the glass. She takes a blissfully ignorant sip.

I speak. "Dopamine and glutamate agonists. Inhibitors for oxytocin, cortisol, GABA. All the ingredients are available online, if you know where to look."

She hasn't studied neurochem, doesn't know what it all means, but she knows what she's feeling. I spell it out anyway. I've always been a show-off.

"The joint effects? Reduced empathy, impulse control, and stress. Increased spontaneity and detachment. Think of it as an antidote to guilt."

She understands right away. She's always known my jokes were never really jokes, just thought it was easier to pretend otherwise. I've never been shy about what I want from her, and now I went and took it without even asking first. Indignation, unimpeded, explodes out from her brain.

And she hits me about it.

Open palm, full force, no warning. My cheek explodes with pain and I cry out in surprise and I love every moment of it.

"I can't go and leave marks where anyone would see," she said, back in another life.

When I open my eyes again, she's frozen in the middle of a follow-up swing. Her words are slow, intended for herself, not me. Morals on the mic, lacking chemical backup for the first time in her life.

"...I shouldn't. This stuff won't last forever. When it wears off..."

Does she realize the bent her thoughts have taken? It's such a practical concern. Can't torture poor me if she'll feel bad about it later, no matter how much she wants it now. Do good people think like that?

"I covered that," I say. "The formula's on the dinner table. Bottle in the kitchen has enough for the first few weeks, dose lasts a day, ingredients cost less than you'd expect. You could stay on it forever, if you'd like. I designed this so it's hard to build a tolerance for."

In the time she takes to process this, I rattle off the last things she should know.

"In my backpack there's handcuffs, chains, a knife, some other things as well. I typed up my own thoughts on how you could best keep me, if that's what you opt for. Made it easy for you; not a soul knows where I was going this night."

I like to think she's impressed by how much I planned this out, but her expression is too messy to tell. I bring my face close, neck muscles straining, and sign my own death warrant.

"I did this to you, Harriet. Don't you want to make me rue it?"

And she does.

[misscaptor]

can’t remember who now but one of you suggested second skin to tape my captive’s mouth shut. It works really really well!!!! It’s a little uncanny (since it’s like… clear…. And skin like….) so I covered its mouth with a bit of duct tape. So perfect!!!! Right now it’s on the bus next to me with its mouth taped shut under a mask.

[trainwreck-of-thoughts]

Plausible Deniability

CW: cnc that's a bit weird about the c part, emotional sadism, rape kink metacommentary

"It's not exactly rape if you're enjoying it." I point out.

"Just because I'm asking for it doesn't mean I would enjoy it."

Not the answer I was expecting. The usual response I get is one of mildly frustrated pushback, pouty faces, muttered accusations of I-know-but-you're-supposed-to-play-along. I have a reputation, and that reputation invites a crowd I don't care for.

See, people say 'rape' and mean 'sex we pretend I am not into', because they've got hangups about being into sex. Of course we all have hangups - I just don't want to indulge those particular ones. It always feels like I'm expected to read someone's mind and then play dumb about what I see there.

She continues. "I know myself. Know I'd hate it in the moment. Just thinking about it makes my stomach seize up. Talking about it, too. And yet I want it. Simple as that."

"You can want it. Doesn't mean you can consent to it."

It's bait. But I want to know her own justification, in her own words.

"People get tattoos, run ultramarathons until their bodies give out, take molly and struggle their way through suicide Tuesday. This isn't any different. I get to make my future self suffer if I want to."

I nod, pretend to think for a moment. Then I speak.

"Six months. One month. And then three months."

A moment to build anticipation before I explain.

"Six months for me to work my way into your life. Calls. Hangouts. Heart-to-hearts. One month for me to strike, if I feel like it then. No restrictions beyond that. Maybe I'll get you at midnight on the first day. Maybe I'll wait a bit. Maybe I'll tell you I changed my mind, that I just want to be friends, and then I slip something in your drink two days before the deadline."

Words are so fucking limited a medium. I desperately want to describe the face she makes at that. I settle for committing it to memory. Outwardly, I just keep talking.

"And then, three months where I won't do anything. Won't allow anything. Time for you to think about what happened. I suggest spending some of it far away from me."

I watch her think. Stare hard enough at the cave wall, and maybe you'll figure out what's casting the shadows. I'm not acting the way she expected. But I'm not acting the way she feared, either.

Eventually, she decides that she understands me. Her voice is softer than it was a moment ago. Reverent.

"...you're giving me time. To make sure this isn't a whim. To process everything. You... obviously you're okay with me being hurt. But you don't want me to be hurt more than necessary."

Something inside of me shifts.

I don't quite know how it shows itself. I've tried to understand, though - have asked a few people to describe how I look like this. Sudden and terrifying, one got stuck on. A more poetically inclined soul said it was like I swapped out the soul behind my eyes.

"Do I?"

How would she describe it, I wonder?

"Maybe I just want to build trust before I violate it. Maybe I want to watch you, month after month, as you grow ever more comfortable around me. Maybe I want to see you try and forget what I'm going to do to you. Maybe I just want time to make sure it hurts as much as possible."

She doesn't flinch, but I watch her pupils dilate, her hands clench. There's a gap between being composed and being calm, and I fight the urge to stick a knife in there and pry it all the way open. I do twist it, just a bit.

"Or maybe I just want to make it seem like I care. Play the part of the ethical sadist because that's a type of person you need to be real. You're a good person. If you think I am too, if you think everything I did was with your well-being in mind, then I'm safe. You won't do a thing to hurt me. Won't think I deserve that."

There's a moment, uncertain and delicious, where I wonder if she'll turn and run, but no one ever does. I soften my expression in a flash, keep quiet but smile in a way that implies a thousand reassurances. Did you have fun? Are you okay? The scary dom act really got to you, didn't it? I hope it wasn't too much?

She relaxes a bit, and that's when I go in for the kill.

"God. You really are so eager to assume the best of someone willing to rape you."

I savor the way she shivers at that. Whatever my other reasons, everything I said, I said so I could see this.

It's going to be a fun six months.

[yapperdyke]

re: safeword post i know a girl who did a CNC scene with a pre-negotiated safeword

and, being a very literal person, operated on the assumption that that was the only safeword, that the others were taken off the table for deliberate horny reasons (it was a CNC scene after all)

the sub, on the other hand, thought that traffic light was still in use. and at one point tried to red.

...and was met with her top saying "oh, shut up" and fucking her harder.

girl i know described seeing the fear in this sub's eyes over the next several seconds before she remembered there was a negotiated safeword and used it as... a bit of a guilty pleasure

sometimes aftercare is talking out your feelings and forgiving your domme for raping you on accident and also enjoying it

this is so fucking hot holy shit

[misscaptor]

I just wanted to say that thanks to you, my fiancé and I have discovered that captor/captive is a HUGE fantasy for us and I'm gonna be installing an anchor point for him in my room when he moves in a few months from now 😊

YAYAYYAYyaYAYAY!!!! Its such a good fantasy. The domme is forced into a semi-caretaking role in exchange for the captive's absolute loss of freedom. Its delicious.

Some advice, for fun: Most of my anchor points are semi-exposed beams (hashtag my weird apartment) and large furniture items in areas where I'd be supervising it anyway (like by my desk). Ankle chain is better than wrist cuff or collar chain. You can step on it suddenly and make it stumble (without choking it or hurting its neck) and the chain wont clink against stuff when it does chores (like a wrist cuff would).

All my bdsm cuffs, collars, and harnesses are custom made to have locking closures. I buy packs of keyed alike padlocks, in a different color each time I realize I need more, so I don't have to keep track of a million little keys everywhere.

Bondage tape is SO fucking good for the fantasy. So fucking good. Bondage tape around the whole head as a blindfold. Taping wrists together. tape around the mouth. The fantasy of duct taping a victim and throwing them in your trunk is alive, well, and not so uncomfortable thanks to the blessing that is bondage tape. Its not GREAT at holding mouths shut, but maybe yours wont be as chatty as mine. :P

[miscling]

'should' is an dominant-side escalation word meaning 'start resisting harder'

[snail-with-fangs]

"breathe in." even sat in my lap, held and softly stroked, it can't keep its eyes off the gun in my right hand. it knows it's not real—whatever happens, it'll walk out of the room on its own, bruised and hurt and happy—but still. that is limited comfort after it saw the video of me trying it out on myself earlier this week. a surprisingly quiet snap followed by half a minute of nonstop cursing. it can still see the bruise on my thigh. but still. does it really know if it's not real? it is a very nondescript chunk of metal, dark gray and bulky. it doesn't say "just for fun" anywhere on there. the plastic sheeting on the floor is just for ambience, right? it's not like it can ask me, any answer either wouldn't reassure or just tear away false safety and make everything so much worse in an instant. "—and breathe out" my voice, from behind, grounds it again for a moment. it relaxes into the breath, for a moment, before the gun moves for the first time since they sat down together. it still points away from it, now more directly at the floor in front of the couch, cold and covered in transparent plastic. "you should really get down there". my almost-smiling stage whisper is a contrast against its spiking adrenaline. i give it an almost dainty kiss on the neck. it feels like it's falling. "—and breathe in again". for a third time it snaps itself out of the panic, gulps, and obeys.

[snail-with-fangs]

"breathe in." even sat in my lap, held and softly stroked, it can't keep its eyes off the gun in my right hand. it knows it's not real—whatever happens, it'll walk out of the room on its own, bruised and hurt and happy—but still. that is limited comfort after it saw the video of me trying it out on myself earlier this week. a surprisingly quiet snap followed by half a minute of nonstop cursing. it can still see the bruise on my thigh. but still. does it really know if it's not real? it is a very nondescript chunk of metal, dark gray and bulky. it doesn't say "just for fun" anywhere on there. the plastic sheeting on the floor is just for ambience, right? it's not like it can ask me, any answer either wouldn't reassure or just tear away false safety and make everything so much worse in an instant. "—and breathe out" my voice, from behind, grounds it again for a moment. it relaxes into the breath, for a moment, before the gun moves for the first time since they sat down together. it still points away from it, now more directly at the floor in front of the couch, cold and covered in transparent plastic. "you should really get down there". my almost-smiling stage whisper is a contrast against its spiking adrenaline. i give it an almost dainty kiss on the neck. it feels like it's falling. "—and breathe in again". for a third time it snaps itself out of the panic, gulps, and obeys.

[sado-fiend]

Catch & release. Five miles & a busted lip ago it seemed like a fun idea.

You're reasonably fit, and outdoorsy, and every dominant friend you've ever had has tried to give you a bunny themed nickname. Put enough kinky friends in a room and the idea almost suggests itself.

Stumble, try to recover, and plant face first into sweet, cold dirt. Your body gasps for air, cyclically, without your consent, and you try to step out & above it. Strategize. Think over the nauseous, rapid thump of your heart in your chest.

The first time they caught you, it was just a blow job and a five minute head start. Hours ago. Round 3, or maybe 4, someone had the idea to spank you. You didn't want to spoil the fun, just a little sadism towards the end. Round 8, they had graduated to taking turns slapping you, two people pinning you by pulled arms against a tree. The bark abrasions on your back were still raw in Round 10 when they had the idea to cut fresh switches from the spring branches.

Cold wind rakes across your back. In the distance, stomping through the brush, laughs and chatter. Someone spots you, they think. A cheer goes up.

"Run rabbit! We're not done having fun!"

The sun is going down. You need to get up.

[snail-with-fangs]

the auditory processing issues domme at its third "sorry, what?" while you're desperately trying to safeword

[puppydoggaming]

as the Auditory Processing Issues sub it’s gotta be so annoying when i have to make the various women who are mean to me sexually repeat themselves when they whisper something dirty to me because i just straight up cannot hear them

[snail-with-fangs]

the auditory processing issues domme at its third "sorry, what?" while you're desperately trying to safeword

[snail-with-fangs]

"real" healing magic is complicated, not only in technical but also semantic ways (after all, what counts as "healthy"?). there are still niche applications for it—more on that later—but for most physical injuries, standard practice now is based on an entirely different approach. first, the witch prepares a relatively simple stasis spell generally meant to keep injuries from getting worse. aside from some incense (in a pinch, heating up some star-anise also does the job) this only involves the drawing of a ritual pattern on the subject before casting, preferably with surgical marker. the trick lies in the "springiness" of the stasis spell: when it can't prevent or undo one injury sustained after casting, the accumulated energy from that effort will need to find somewhere else to go. in lay terms, the spell only ensures that the sum of injury stays the same. an equilibrium, one that can be shifted. so, when the witch then carefully, methodically hurts its subject and cuts new wounds with her ritual dagger, the old ones must close up, turning into mere bruises which then also fade within moments, the lingering ache first overwhelmed by the new pain—and then, completely gone, before one notices. at the end, when the only injuries remaining are the new ones, still glowing with energy, all it needs is a simple scrub spell to cancel out both magic-inflicted wounds and the stasis spell at once, leaving a body mended. for obvious reasons, in a professional setting, all that is done under general anesthesia. unfortunately i just seem to have misplaced that specific page in my spellbook. it's a routine procedure, so i'm sure you'll be fine. physically at least. let's begin?

[snail-with-fangs]

right, that other use for healing magic. ultimately, it's not meaningfully different from transformation. the body knows which shape it wants to be, and all "real" healing magic does is feeling out where that shape is and returning the body to it. things get a little finicky there—even for an experienced witch it's difficult to feel out the difference between a body that remembers having a kidney without a puncture in it and a body that has always longed for the dexterity of an additional finger per hand. not that there's anything wrong with the latter, but it's probably not where you want your energy expenditure to go in an emergency. it also goes both ways. when we feel a shape, we necessarily feel our perception of it. filtered by our own notions of what our subject is, or ought to be. which is where we get to the more niche applications. a subject's body is normally not very receptive to external suggestions on what it ought to be like. a basic property of every thing imbued with life and a will. but if you loosen enough bricks—a psychological trauma here, a mortal wound and rapid blood loss there, maybe a crushing guilt that can't be extinguished—the whole building of subconscious self-image becomes unstable. if so inclined, the witch will then find it easy to convince the body it always was barely a half-meter tall and had whiskers and whatnot. even when told it really is supposed to be this half-corporeal, bound familiar the body does what a threatened animal does: it adapts. the mind? saved from certain oblivion, now permanently stuck in a body that hasn't felt this perfectly homely as long as it can remember, eternally grateful and obliged to its savior-owner? it lags behind its body's transformation by a couple days at most.

[snail-with-fangs]

it is, of course, a misperception that familiars do not have "free will", whatever that is supposed to mean. they think like you and i do. their happiness and their grief is just as real as ours. i think their state of mind is easy to describe with just two feelings: the comfort of truly, for once, belonging, and a overwhelming fear of ever going back—a fear so intense that thinking of oneself in terms like "person" already becomes a threat. even the idea of not having thought like that before or a potential future where one thinks like a person again become frightening. they are not mindlessly obedient—no matter how they feel about their moment of creation, whether a witch's last-ditch attempt at saving a life, lovers entering into an unbreakable if unequal bond on their own terms and time, or what amounts to a targeted assassination-capture of an unwilling subject—in the end, their material circumstances are the same now, and so are their outlooks on the practical aspects of life with their witch.