[unwillingrose]

hi <3 it's rose. transmasc, but I like this handle too much to change it. I'm a bit of a slut for many things, and this is my blog for some of them.

I post about specific fantasies and interests in humiliation, breeding, masochism, denial, and exposure kinks. Other themes may emerge, per the tags. All original posts under xoxorose tag.

I do have asks open most of the time. I'll block ageless/minor blogs.

[k4ty-cat]

You can't even cry in front of girls to get what you want anymore they just get hard and rub themselves against your tear-covered face

[tragicwaif]

hurt him till he pees his pants: sex motto

[girlsadist]

Voyeurism as an act of sexual sadism save me

[girlsadist]

I just want to watch him get absolutely beaten and I want him to be aware i'm there and not helping him

[sado-fiend]

The other girl in the basement has more chain, and never talks to you. You tried, of course, when you first woke up shackled to the wall. Screamed at her until you went hoarse. You didn't have enough leash to get anywhere near her, or do anything besides lay down. She went about her day, cycling between calisthenics and reading a stack of books next to her nest of cushions. She was probably in her late thirties, and must have been a fitness nut before this.

The captor, because she never gave you any other name, never interacts with her in front of you. She's younger, and talks absentmindedly, but rarely seems to expect or want an answer.

Once every day, she comes downstairs with cattle prod and hood in hand, and takes you from the claustrophobic basement up the stairs, right turn, five paces, into another windowless room. It has only a treadmill and a chair. You refused, at first, and learned exactly how badly a cattle prod hurt. You swore to never eat meat again after your escape.

The captor demands nothing else of you, and answers no questions. She takes the other girl at different times, for far longer, and she returns with deep bruises, sometimes bloodied. You try to be grateful.

Each day you run, as fast as you can, for however long she makes you. The pace ticks up, day over day, and your heart rate settles into a comfortable spot. What had once left you gasping and pleading to stop, spurred on only by violent threats, is now an easy jog.

You couldn't say how long it had been, the day the routine changed. The captor took the other girl, and then came down again for you. Up the stairs, left turn, ten paces, down two short steps and…  a breeze? 

The hood comes off, and you're outside. It is late afternoon, and you furiously blink away tears. Your prison sits in a small clearing, a cabin with woods sprawling on every side of it. The air, fresh after so long, is thick with pine and so delightfully green.

The other girl is there too - without restraints. Standing, tight as a whip, staring into the woods.

The captor gestures to the treeline.

"Run. You get a five minute head start."

The words take a moment to register. You're weightless, giddy. You have no bearing, but you loved the woods as a child, and the captor does not seem dressed for the chase at all, in a long dressing gown and slippers. You bolt into the trees, the taste of freedom on your lips.

At a hundred yards, you realize the other girl did not start running with you. She had not been staring at the trees. She was waiting, impatiently. The realization sinks like a stone in your stomach, but you press on. Brush whips at your legs, leaving stinging cuts.

You hear her start. The first sound you've ever heard her make, an awful, baying howling. And then deathly silence, in comparison to your clumsy fleeing.

That's the problem with an exotic pet, you know. It needs live prey.

[trainwreck-of-thoughts]

I like resistance play because once you buy in, there's just no way out.

Resistance is rejecting my terms, on my terms. It's disobedience on command. It's refusing to do what I tell you when I tell you to refuse. Resistance becomes something you do because you're told, and then it becomes something you can do because you're told, and then it becomes something you cannot do at all. And all the while you're already trapped, because you accepted a dilemma that I control the terms of.

[trainwreck-of-thoughts]

This post has been living in my brain for nearly two years now.

[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.

[kurtwagnermorelikekurtwagnerd]

sickens me to my stomach. how dare this guy get to live my dream.

[acutelathos]

Some clarifications and an update

[biglawbear]

This person has more emotional intelligence and healthier skills in navigating relationships than most people

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

Stay out of the notes of this one guys.

[ace-trainer-alice]

Sorry I got heart pupils after watching you trip and scrape your knee in public and then you didn't feel comfortable with me putting the bandaid on you nor did you trust the bandaids I provided. That response did in fact make it worse, yeah.

[ace-trainer-alice]

Ok so like a few years ago, I got really into giving good compliments as a sadism thing. If your observational skills are good enough and you're half decent at writing and delivery, you can cause someone to shed tears, to struggle to even parse what you're saying and repeat it back over and over, and force them to engage with differences between negative aspects of their identity and reality. Most people just aren't very good at giving compliments, so a lot of people have a really low tolerance for it. I mean in large part I just really like making cute girls cry. But also this is probably not what you mean by having a praise kink?

[haveyoubeenabadgirl]

Admitting you need discipline is humiliating.

The process of being disciplined is uncomfortable.

The knowledge that someone cares enough to discipline you is worth it all and more.

[feralratbitesu]

forced kissing between two unwilling people by a third person is always hot no matter what. u two kiss now. like toys.

[spreadableshareables]

take me out on dates or just to the grocery store with a bigggggg dildo in my pussy. one that's not outwardly visible but is so big that I can't bend over, can barely sit in it. you have to tie it in me because my pussy would just push it out otherwise. I can't think, I'm almost-painfully full, I'm walking kind of weird, and you're just laughing at me the whole time we're out. I'd be on the verge of tears every time we got home after that.

[circeswhore]

Renaming is hot. I shouldn’t have to justify myself here. It just is. Being told by someone that you should refer to yourself by a new name is hot. Someone holding the keystone to your identity and changing it to their desires is really really hot

[spreadableshareables]

please

[softpuppyboyhours]

Does anyone else. Like. Wish they had a cock solely so that it could be locked up and teased and never let out and mocked for being tiny and pathetic and for how it gets so hard so easily and is so leaky and oops you came in your pants from all the teasing now wear those cum stained pants like a good boy so everyone knows how dirty and slutty and horny you are and mmfhgdhndmmfdhh

[softandsnarky]

I just love the idea of preventative maintenance. A firm spanking in the morning just to set the tone for the day. Clamp my nipples after lunch to keep me focused. A good hard fuck up the ass and a plug to keep me stretched before we go out for the evening so I remember who I belong to.

It's the little things.

[cruelwhim]

Part of why I like making you drink out of a bowl on the floor is that it’s incredibly humiliating. The other reason is that I like pushing your head down into the bowl with my foot to watch you make a mess and struggle to breathe till I let you up again. Poor helpless puppy.