#be-thoughts

[butch-enforcer]

You lie on your back, chest heaving as you fight the restraints holding your limbs spread wide across the bed's surface.

Earlier, I'd chosen a pair of padded cuffs you'd eagerly allowed me to padlock shut around your wrists and ankles, unaware that you'd spend the rest of the evening straining against them, wishing you'd put up a fight.

The restraints were the kind that wouldn't leave any visible marks of my ownership. We'd agreed, early on in our dynamic, that I'd only mark your buttocks, inner thighs and lower back.

What a pity.

Your legs tremble as I press the vibrating head of the wand firmly against your swollen clit.

"Please," you gasp, torn between pulling away and grinding against the toy. "Please let me cum."

I chuckle at your desperation as I pull the vibrator away, your spread thighs raising off the mattress in a futile attempt of your hips to chase the pleasurable sensation. "No, darling." You let out a frustrated moan. "Please, it's been-" "No." I press the wand back against your dripping cunt. You whine loudly. "Not yet."

With one hand firmly holding the toy in place, I kneel beside your writhing body. My free hand roams slowly up your torso towards your breasts. I pinch one of your nipples hard, twisting in between my fingers.

"How many times have I edged you, love?" You try to pull away from the sharp pain, but the restraints hold you in place, unable to escape my wandering fingers. "I don't know, Master." You whimper, the edge nearing once more.

"Master please-" I release your nipple from my grasp. "You've been edging me all evening-"

"No." I yank the wand away once more as a pitiful sob escapes you.

"I don't think I've edged you enough." I meet your glazed, desperate eyes and smile. "You aren't crying yet."

[butch-enforcer]

While pain is an effective tool to teach obedience, there’s nothing better than having a femme or butch perform a specific set of rituals to set the scene. Repetition is key.

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, legs slightly parted to give you a better sight of the strap hiding underneath my boxers.

You’re leaning against the doorframe, your eyes meeting the bulge in my underwear with a hungry gaze.

I watch you undress yourself in silence.

One of my hands, the non-dominant one, holds your collar. You’ve chosen it yourself.

It’s thick and heavy in a way that reminds you that, once padlocked around your neck, only our safe-word will stop my wrath.

I would have preferred something more strict and uncomfortable, but I couldn’t say “no” as you begged on your knees with watery eyes to choose the collar yourself.

You take your time undressing yourself, neatly folding each garment you’ve removed.

There’s no need to rush. You should take all the time you need to prepare for what’s to come.

Besides, it’s endearing to watch your own submissive slowly transition from a free woman to a pet, ready to be used and tormented for my own pleasure.

Once completely bare, you sink to your knees and crawl towards me.

Good girl. Pets don’t walk, they crawl.

I part my legs a little further apart, allowing you to kneel in between them. You have a staring contest with my crotch, probably trying to anticipate which hole of yours will be stretched open by my length.

You lower your head. “Master, may I please be collared by you?” You ask in the polite tone I slowly whipped int you over time.

“Come here, pet.” I reply.

You lean in just enough to allow me to wrap the collar around your neck and I padlock it shut a little too tight.

I’d trail my fingers across your jaw, forcing you to raise your head and meet my gaze, checking in with you. A brief nod of approval, anticipates my fingers, now sliding underneath your collar to grasp it. “Good girl.”

My other hand frees the strap from my boxers. I chuckle as you gasp softly. “Kiss it, show the strap some love.”