I Need To Get More Into Hypnosis It’s Such A Hot Concept Whhwiwjwije Ruff Ruff

"Position."

You drop to your knees before the word's even finished leaving my lips. Hands behind your back. Eyes down. Back straight. Knees spread just enough to show you know your place—obedient, eager, owned. The shift in your posture is immediate, seamless, practiced to the point of perfection, like your body has memorized what I expect and delivers it without a second thought.

I watch you settle. The way your breathing evens out. The way your muscles go soft under the command, tension draining from you like you've slipped into something familiar and safe. It's not just habit. It's instinct. Something deeper. Something trained and nurtured over time, until this pose became less of a performance and more of a truth—your truth.

I smile.

Good pup.

"Did you miss this?" I ask quietly, stepping close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating off me.

"Yes, Mommy," you breathe, voice small and steady.

"How much?"

"So much it hurts."

I circle you slowly, savoring the moment, the leash already in my hand. You hear the soft jingle of the clip brushing my thigh and your ears twitch, metaphorically—or maybe not, depending on thenight. There are nights when the line between roles blurs so thoroughly that you are my puppy, not just acting the part. And tonight, I can already see you slipping—willingly, blissfully—into that headspace. You're deep in it now. Open. Vulnerable in the most beautiful way.

"You want all those things, don't you?" I ask as I circle behind you.

"Yes, Mommy," you whisper, voice already dripping with need. "Please..."

My fingers trail along your jaw, then down your throat. I feel the hum of your submission just under the skin, that subtle shiver of awareness that always blooms when I touch you like this—delicate, but laced with ownership. My touch dips lower, across your chest, pausing just long enough to remind you who it belongs to. Who you belong to.

"You're beautiful," I murmur, crouching beside you, lowering myself just enough that you feel my breath near your ear. My hand cups your chin, lifting your face just enough that I can see the shine in your eyes, wide and waiting. "And so eager to be used."

"Please use me, Mommy," you say, not even trying to hide the desperation in your voice now. "I need it. I need to be yours."

Your breath stutters. You nod. Not because you're unsure, but because words would only get in the way. That small, breathy movement is enough—it tells me everything.

Good puppy.

Hope glows behind your gaze. That look—the one that says you'd crawl through fire just to be toldyou pleased me. That look that melts into desperation and loyalty and love, all tangled together in the way you look up at me like I'm the center of your world.

"Say it again," I whisper.

"I'm yours."

"Louder."

"I'm yours, Mommy. Only yours."

I reach for your collar, the one you wear only for me. The soft leather is warm from your skin, shaped perfectly to your throat. The leash clicks into place with a satisfying snap, and I tug—not harsh, just firm. A reminder. A claim. A connection.

"You've needed this, haven't you?" I ask.

You nod, a quiet moan escaping as the leash pulls your neck gently. "So badly... I ache for it."

"You ache for me," I correct, voice firm. "Don't forget the difference."

"Yes, Mommy. I ache for you."

You shuffle forward on your knees with no hesitation, your body already slipping into movement like it's muscle memory.

"You're not just my sub now," I say, running the leash through my fingers as I walk, my voice steady, calm, with just enough edge to make your breath hitch again. "You're mine in every sense. My pretty little pet. My sweet, obedient creature."

"Yours," you say under your breath, like a mantra. "Always."

You whine softly at that—high, breathy. It makes my chest tighten. That sound is everything: need, gratitude, devotion. It hits me deep, because I know exactly what it means coming from you.

"Now," I say, voice warm but commanding, a tone you know to obey without pause, "be my good puppy and follow Mommy."

"Yes, Mommy."

You drop fully to all fours. Palms flat. Knees padded. Back arched just right. You follow behind me, crawling in sync with the gentle tugs of the leash, each pull a wordless direction you understand without needing speech.

"You're doing so well," I say softly, glancing back as you crawl. "So proud of my perfect pet."

Hard sour candy is so good holy shit I love sour like if sour candy was a person I’d be on my knees and sucking anything they wanted me to is that weird

Hearing choke it instead of stroke it was such a funny mishearing

“Like grab the cock until it can’t breathe?”

“No stroke it”

😭😭😭 like-

thoughts on bimbos?

I'm under the impression they don't have many.

reblog if you’re okay with people being horny in your dms

Looking longingly at my fireplace and the poker next to it.

You know, speaking of re-branding...

Ever have a silly mental breakdown and realize oh my gosh I’ve fumbled so many people it’s not even funny! Like it’s so silly I wanna squeeze a bottle of whipped cream in my mouth and cope until it’s 3 am and I’m writing a tumblr post you know?

Just a silly little rant don’t take it too seriously I’ll be fine soon do feel free and give the hugs though maybe some kisses and like smothering in asks the silly things for the silly rant you know?~

Meeee!!!

spam liking/reblogging my posts will have me scrolling through yours and wondering what disgusting, dirty, unholy thoughts could be swimming through your mind.

I just need this bouncing back and forth in my head before I make any decisions

Just a stupid girl

Your thoughts don’t matter. Not now. Not when you‘re with me. And you are always with me. You belong to me. Your mind is soft, baby. Empty. Just how I like it. You were never meant to think—thinking is for people with purpose. You? Your purpose is to be used. You are existing to be fucked dumb. My pretty little thing with a pretty little brain that melts so easily when I talk like this. You don’t need opinions. You don’t need ideas. You just need to listen. Obey. Feel. Your head isn’t for thinking. It’s for holding still. It’s for taking what I give you. Your mouth, your throat, your brain—none of it was built for anything but this. You know that, right? Deep down? You were made to be dumb. Made to be owned. Thinking only gets in the way. And look at you now. Already slipping. Already soaking. Because you like being told what you are. You like not having to think. Let it go, baby. Let it all go. No thoughts. No resistance. Just my voice. Just this. Good girl. That’s better. That’s perfect.