This blog is 18+ only! Minors DNI, you will be blocked!
My name is Kay, she/her, 33 years old and a sub.
Consent is mandatory, irl as well as online. All of my posts involve informed consent, anything else is an actual crime and will not be tolerated.
Don't use honorifics (nicknames or petnames) with me without my consent, either use my name or nothing at all.
This blog contains some of the following topics/kinks/tw: CNC, dubious consent, intoxication, somno, impact play, gaslighting, throatfucking, painal, kidnapping, breeding, milking and unprotected sex. You have been warned!
Please remember that all sex (bdsm AND vanilla) should be safe, sane and consentual. So be safe out there!
I feel like more disabled doms should talk about dominance and service as a way to come to terms with taking care of ourselves.
I was trained my entire life as a disabled child and now a disabled woman to always make myself and my disability smaller. I needed to take up less space, downplay my symptoms, go without the rest I need, and I most definitely learned to never complain or demand attention, never to be too exhausted for too long, or else I’d get on people’s nerves.
Having a service pup has been such a game changer though. So many submissives DESPERATELY WANT to make our lives easier as dominants, to care for us, to be useful in a really tangible way. So… I let my submissive do it. I let him be my service dog.
My service pup reminds me to rest when I need it and offers to get up and get things for me so I don’t use my sore legs. My service pup reminds me to drink water multiple times a day because he knows I get dizzy when I don’t. My service pup reminds me to take up space and demand respect from those around me and threatens to bite those who won’t give it. My service dog is strong and I know he’s being serious when he says he’d carry me in his arms up every set of stairs in every building that doesn’t have an elevator.
If you’re a disabled dom and your service submissive acts as a disability aid I’d love to hear more of you talk about it!! And if you’re a disabled dom and you’ve been scared to let someone in to such a vulnerable part of you, I really recommend asking a sub you trust to learn some tasks for you :p
There’s something a little pathetic about being so grateful for touch that you cry. Tears welling in your eyes and a whine catching in your throat while you keep repeating “oh thank you thank you so much thank you.” Garbled words spilling from your throat because he has to know, he has to know, that you’re so deeply thankful for each moment that you’re allowed to touch.
Sometimes he’ll tell you that you can only get pleasure while holding your breath. So you force yourself to hold it for as long as your body lets you because you’re so desperate to rub. So desperate to feel the toy pressed against you even for a few short seconds. Body panicking for air but wanting pleasure more. Getting light headed, trying to whine without letting go of your breath, and edging within seconds because that’s what he’s trained you to do. Every second of lost air is a second of pleasure he’s allowed you to have and you can’t help but be grateful.
Other times he’ll make you train your throat. For every two minutes you manage to fuck your throat, a minute of pleasure is earned. So you earn it, you choke, your eyes water and you try desperately not to vomit. You can feel how wet you are with each shift of your thighs, how eager you are to touch. You only get to touch for a few minutes, throat sore, pussy aching and head completely empty of thoughts, but those short minutes are just filled with overwhelming gratitude. So thankful even when he tells you that you can’t edge, not yet, you just need to ache.
You’ve come to understand that obedience is better than pleasure. Even when that obedience makes you a crying, pathetic thing. Even when it means taking your breath away. Even when it makes your throat sore. Because that pleasure is earned, it’s gifted, and it’s not yours. And you’re so thankful for it.
Denied sluts don’t get to just experience pleasure, no strings attached. Our pleasure isn’t for us, it should never be free or without complications.
Make it hard for me. Shock me at the beginning of each edging session, and shock me again during each edge. With enough consistency, I’ll associate the shock collar with sexual pleasure.
That also means it will be harder for me to edge without being shocked. I’ll beg you to hurt me because I genuinely need it to feel pleasure.
Once you’ve conditioned me this way, your favorite thing to do will be to shock me but deny me any edges. I’ll be expecting an edge with each shock, of course. The frustration would be so strong and I’ll beg and beg and beg, turning into nothing more than a truly denied mess.
There was a pleasant ache to the start of his days, now. It had been a good idea to institute the new rule. Before, he had often awakened with an erection of his own accord; but now, he always woke in his plaything’s mouth.
He kept his eyes closed for a long moment, savoring the warmth and the fervency of her tongue. She was allowed to put the pillow between her legs as soon as she crawled onto his bed from her mat on the floor. She just wasn’t allowed to start moving her hips against it. Not until he looked at her.
The sound of her oral attentions was perhaps a little exaggerated. He knew she found it humiliating, the noises her mouth made when she was working him; he also knew that she got a little louder when she was trying to wake him up. He let the corners of his mouth curl in a faint smile, still feigning something like sleep. She noticed. The frustrated moan from the vicinity of his waist gave him a satisfying thrill.
At long last, he opened one eye and looked down to where her dark hair gleamed in the morning light. She made eye contact and somehow, despite already being fully engaged in urgent fellatio, managed to blush. She averted her gaze, as was only proper for a mastered little thing. But she also began to hump, now that she had tacit permission, that pretty round ass jiggling deliciously with every movement.
He reached down to stroke her head fondly. “How long has it been now,” he mused, his voice thick with sleep, “since we made you an oral-only girl?”
She whimpered. They both knew had been twenty-six days of denial; she was probably tracking it down to the minute. She’d agreed to no penetration, no orgasms, and not even an edge until—this was the important part—the end of the month.
The end of the month.
The arrangement had been incredibly effective for her conditioning. She had once been overly cautious with her mouth, prone to hesitation and second-guessing herself. None of that hindered her now. She serviced him with a focus and will that verged on the frantic; it was adorable how much motivation these precious minutes of pillow-friction instilled in her.
He tugged playfully at her hair and enjoyed her answering whine. “Mmm. Maybe not long enough. I think this arrangement is only improving as it goes on, don’t you agree?” The low breathiness in his voice made her clench with longing. “I have to admit… I thought I’d miss your other holes. But why would I ever go back to them when this one gets better every day?”
She nearly sobbed at that. But she didn’t pause; in fact, she redoubled her efforts. She took him to the hilt three times for every buck of her hips now. His body responded, and he felt himself start to tighten in anticipation.
“I’m going to let you finish me soon,” he said, with a groan under his words. “Switch to your hands, please. You may have the time until I finish to express your gratitude.”
She lifted her head, gasping; her fingers had wrapped around his throbbing length before her lips had left his crown. “Thank you thank you thank you thankyou,” she panted, her fingers tight and blurring with well-trained quickness. “I’m s-so grateful that you let me give you pleasure, but—”
“Now,” he grunted, pushing himself up off the bed, and she bent herself instantly to take him back down her throat as he came.
He finished with a growl that was faintly animal, but the sounds she made as she tasted him were feral. She nearly choked herself on him, but never let up, as her thighs squeezed hard against the pillow with each shot she swallowed.
It took him time to come back to himself. When he did, she still had her lips sealed tight around him. She never seemed ready to let go at first. As if she were clinging to him, hanging on until the brief respite at the eye of her storm of desire.
“What a wonderful toy you’ve become,” he said, heaving a sigh of bliss, “I think it’s for the best that we never said which month.”
She shuddered. There were tears at the corners of her eyes. He touched one with his finger, brought it to his lips, and savored the taste of her nearly perfect need.
(this is a switch up from the usual and shared from a dom’s pov with full writing credits to @doctortease for this story which has genuinely made me very wet lol)
Give me strict protocols. Tell me I can’t wear clothing around you, that I can’t speak without permission, I can’t meet your gaze. Tell me I must wait for you, kneeling at the door when you come home. Make me ask for permission to eat, drink, sleep. Because there’s some really good reasons why I benefit from strict protocols.
They allow me to be completely selfless and function under a structure you don’t need to manage much.
Protocols keep you at the front of my mind, they prioritize my respect for you over anything else.
They allow me to serve you without being commanded. They remove monotonous decisions from your plate.
Protocols rewire my brain into a series of steps that push me lower and lower.
They keep me in a submissive headspace even when I’m feeling down, or less horny.
Protocols remind me of my inferiority, but in a way that feels secure and safe.
They make behaviors that feel strange at first into behaviors that fill me with lust and pride to complete.
Protocols help reinforce that your control over me is total and final.
They show me that the only rights I deserve are the ones you gift me.
I’ve begged for over a week. Begged for the slightest bit of pleasure. I know better than to ask for permission to cum.
“Sit back, hands above your head.”
I almost cried. I couldn’t believe it was happening. I spread my legs eagerly, but without permission, which results in a hard slap to the side of my ass. I snap them shut before my panties are peeled off all too slowly.
My knees are pulled up and pushed apart, a familiar weight settling between them. My wrists are gathered in one hand and held above my head. My jaw held in a tight grasp, I look up into calm, authoritative eyes.
“Be grateful I’m giving you what you asked for.”
I nod, my mouth suddenly dry but I am incredibly grateful. And hopeful. “Thank you.”
“Good. You won’t move.”
“I won’t mo—”
The slap comes like a shock, sudden and sharp between my thighs. My clit throbs at the sudden impact, and that incessant heat in my stomach all week begins to pool. I don’t even make a noise the first time. Too stunned, breath caught in my throat.
“Not even a gasp?”
A tongue glides across my lower lip, tasting the fear on my skin. All too gentle fingers glide up the inside of one thigh, then the other. Teasing my leaking hole, one finger pushes in infuriatingly slow. Just enough to remind me how empty and needy I’ve been, then it’s gone again. My eyes roll back at the suggestion of pleasure I’ve been denied for far too long.
Slap.
Another one. The scream is taken from my lungs in a kiss. My arms threaten to come down in a protective reflex but I fight the instinct, wanting to be good. My silenced scream is met with a laugh as I feel tears fall down my cheeks.
“You’re pretty when you cry.” Two fingers now, stretching me open at an angle that ignores my swollen clit entirely.
Slap.
“Isn’t it nice, getting what you want?”
Slap.
(writing credits go to @praise-mia for bringing to life my prompt of cunt slapping x denial)
i need to fuck some stupid fucking thing's throat until its gagging and choking and trying to push me off but it can't, not when i have it trapped against the wall like this. not until I'm done. not until I've gotten my fill.
