knitrope

[knitrope]

the weird radfem insistence that women do not have fetishes and kinks is kind of hilarious when you examine it. it has the same absurdity as “women do not poop” but the undercurrent of old school extremely scary misogyny seen in rhetoric like “women are inherently sexless creatures and do not enjoy or need it”

[knitrope]

you wear a collar because you're theirs.

I wear a collar so it's easier to get at if Bunny or Monster need to be reminded who'se in charge 😘

[knitrope]

Augh < horny as shit

Please I'm *just* trying to do packer research, not get off. IDK if its dysphoria being weird or, like, really weird phantom limb stuff for a body part I just don't have, but like. I can feel the fucking dick my *god*.

Jacky I wish you were here, you'd love fucking with me like this 🥺

[knitrope]

For the love of god, praise and reassure your Dom after sex. I cannot tell you the amount of times I’ve told a Dom they did a good job after sex and they’re like “???? Why are you saying that???” It’s INSANE. Aftercare goes both ways! Praise! Your! Dom! Tell them the specific things you liked! Tell them how hot they were! Tell them that you appreciate them taking control! It goes such a long way, trust me.

[knitrope]

Your demon husband was home late. Why he was late didn't matter, as long he was home. Well, there was one thing..

You struggled to move aside from speaking.

“Darling, you’re doing it again.”

His deep, familiar voice replied.

"Doing what, dear?"

Anyone who knew him well might've guessed he was smiling. You, who knew him better than anyone else, were certain that he was not only grinning in the shadows, but that he was doing this on purpose to tease you.

“You know exactly what. The sleep-paralysis thing. I’d be frowning at you, arms crossed and all, if I could actually do more than talk.”

Icarus chuckled in amusement, and slowly walked closer to your bed. He left his hat and coat at the door, revealing his horns and wings.

"Forgive me, dear. I can't control myself when you're like this. All vulnerable and unable to move, just for me."

“Yeah, I know you do, love. But not tonight. Just come to bed.”

Icarus sighed, and slowly sat down on the bed right next to you. His wings cast a large shadow, but you could hear his breathing.

"Are you sure you want me to stay? You know I tend to get... clingy. I know you're.. too tired for that tonight, Angel."

“Mmm, yes, I know, honey. So clingy, you married me. Come cuddle me, you know I can barely sleep without you.”

Icarus chuckled softly, moving to wrap his arms around you. You could feel the heat radiating from him, like lying in the sun, and his fiery-hot breath on your neck.

"That's true, my love. I suppose I can stay with you tonight. Though, I do hope you like waking up with a clingy demon glued to you."

“Mhm. And if you let up your little sleep-paralysis thing, you can wake up to your clingy wife sitting oh-so pretty in your lap, love.”

He hummed at the mention of that, and smirked upon your words. He let up the sleep paralysis, allowing you to move your limbs once more. He wrapped his arms around your waist, and pulled you closer to him.

"Careful my love. If you keep up your teasing, I may just have to keep you pinned to this bed all night. "

You rolled both of you over so you could lay your head on your husband's chest with your legs between his, smirking as your halo softly illuminated the room with a violet glow.

“Oh, sweetie, I don’t tease. That was a promise.”

Your husband huffed in amusement, and pulled you closer to his body. He moved his hand to your hair, and ran his hand through the soft waves.

"Mmm... you know I can't resist you when you're like this, love. You're practically asking me to pin you down to the bed and use you until the sun rises. "

You moved your husband's hand from your head to the downy feathers where your wings meet your back, before caressing the base of his horns.

“Oh, but you are a tempting demon, aren’t you, sweetheart? See, I know you, darling. I know you like me pinned and helpless just as much as you like curling your fingers into my scapular feathers while I’m in your lap and bracing myself with your horns. And wouldn’t that be a 

lovely way to wake up, me whining and squirming, speared pretty on your cock for you?”

Icarus shivered in excitement at your words, and he pulled you closer to his body. He tightened his grip on your waist, and held you flush against his chest.

"You little minx... you enjoy teasing me, don't you? Hearing my voice moan in your ears and feeling me claim you in all the ways possible? You know how badly you drive me insane with desire, don't you, my beloved? How much I want to claim you entirely?"

“Ah ah, you still have yet to claim me in that one last way, though.” You whispered, your voice tender, spreading your wings to wrap over your heads, putting you and your husband in your own little bubble. “Let yourself spill into me, love. You know I’d let you.”

He inhaled sharply at the mention of what you were implying, and he moved to pin you down to the bed, flipping you both over. He hovered above you, staring into your soul with his beautiful, bright red eys.

"Mmm... you know I want this just as badly as you do. But... I'm concerned I may snap. I want you to be absolutely sure you want this, Angel."

You smiled gently at his care, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to lay his head on your chest, speaking softly into his ear. “I’ve been asking for the century we’ve been married, Icarus. I’d gladly beg you for it, if that’s what it takes for you to understand how much I want it.”

Icarus hid his face into your chest, and pulled in a deep breath. He inhaled your sent, and took a moment to collect his thoughts. You could hear his trembling breathing despite his obvious attempt to hide it.

"You... you know how much I want to. I want to desperately, oh so desperately. The things I would do to mark you as mine are borderline sinful, my Angel. But I- " he stopped, and took in a shaky breath.

"... I need to hear you say it again. Say you want it." He had always worried about being with you, that you would be hurt by his status as Fallen. You had never cared.

“Please, love. Please fill me with you. With your warmth and your love. Please, you know how much I want it, how much I need it to be you to give it to me. Please, please be the one to hold my hair back when the morning sickness comes.”

You smiled warm and heaven-bright, even as your voice cracked. Silver angel’s tears rolled down your cheeks, and you both knew they were not from pain, but joy, from love, from want.

“Please be the one to preen my wings when I can’t reach them anymore. Please be the one to wrap your arms and wings around me with your head on my shoulder as you cradle my swollen stomach. Please plan out a nursery for our child with me. Please, dearest, give me that most permanent mark of all, the one I’d only accept from you.”

Icarus pulled your body tightly against his own. He was trembling, and his hand moved to caress your stomach.

"You... I... Of course my love. I'll make sure you're comfortable during your pregnancy. I'll preen your feathers to make sure they're in perfect shape. And we'll build our child the most extravagant nursery the both of us can imagine. But- " He leaned in, to your ear.

"Are you sure you want my child? An angel bearing a demon's child will cause quite the stir, Angel."

“Oh, darling. Our wedding caused a stir, but I still said yes when you proposed. I’m sure I’d never want anyone’s but yours, love. I know who it is I love, and it’s you, and nothing else in heaven nor hell will ever matter more to me than you and our family.”

He inhaled deeply, trying to control himself and his desire towards you. He knew you were sure, and was trying to hold himself back from completely ravishing you right then.

"You know I love you as well, my darling. I've been ready from the moment after our marriage to have a family with you. But I'm concerned I might be too rough... I don't want to hurt you, Angel."

He gently moved his hand between your legs to palm at your pussy. You whined, bucking your hips into your husband's touch as your wings flared out over the edges of the bed, smiling as he unfurled his own to match yours unconsciously.

“Please, sweetheart. You’ve never been too rough with me, and you know rough is how I like it.”

You kissed your neck, whining and squirming at his touch. You had always been quite sensitive there, sure it was a side effect of your heavenly nature.

“Please, love,” you pleaded.

He moaned at the touch of your cold lips to his warm skin, the sound coming out as a low, sinful sound. He had always been sensitive to your touch as well, and his hand moved to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to his body.

"Stars, you don't know what you do to me when you whine like that. And you're so sensitive... You'll be the end of me, my Angel."

He leaned down to your ear, and whispered in a needy, desperate voice, "Beg me, my love."

You wrapped your thighs around his waist, your back arching at his touch as you looked into his luminous red eyes, your hands tangled in his hair.*

“Please, baby, please! I need you so bad, love. Wanna feel you fill me hot like hellfire. Wanna be bred to carry your child, honey, please!”

You were so desperate for your husband, to be bred by him, your shining silver tears came back. Crying so sweetly for him, to feel him inside me as he gave you what you were begging for.

Icarus let out an almost animalistic moan when you wrapped your limbs around him, and he nearly collapsed on top of you. He was practically trembling from the overwhelming need for you, for his mate, desperate to fill you with his child.

"Stars, I love your body so much. You're so... perfect. So beautiful. You'd look so pretty full of my child. And the way you sound when you beg for me, it's almost sinful, Angel."

He leaned in once more, and whispered in an almost dark tone, "I'm going to wreck you, my darling."

You sighed as he slid into you, your grip moving from his hair to the base of his horns. Your whines and moans of pleasure slipping out past any self control at his rough pace.

“I- I’m already ruined from anyone but you.” I gasped. “Wrecked just for you, your angel, your Angel. Always yours.” You always became sappy when your husband touched you like this.

Icarus groaned as you grabbed onto his horns, and his pace became rougher, needier. You had never felt a need to be claimed by him in this way as badly as now, feeling the need echoing through your sweet moans of pleasure.

"You are all mine, my precious pet. All mine to claim and wreck. All mine to breed, Angel."

He whispered those last words with a possessive tone, leaning down to bury his face in your neck. His sharp canines scraped tenderly over your flesh, not yet biting down but leaving the promise of marking you.

I keened at your words, pressing my throat against your teeth, silently begging for the mark.

“Yours.” You whispered between moans, repeating it like a prayer. “Always and forever yours.”

As his pace grew more brutal, more desperate, you knew Icarus were reaching his peak, and you whined gleefully, knowing what that meant for you. He let out another deep groan, his body trembling at your words. He pulled away from your neck, leaving a trail of hot, desperate kisses down your skin until he reached your shoulder.

"I'm going to mark you, my love. I'm going to claim you as mine, forever. I'm going to fill you with my child, and everyone will know who you belong to, sweetheart."

His pace became downright brutal, and all you could focus on was him claiming you, making you his for eternity. Your husband's sweet, possessive words went right to your heart as you spilled over into your own climax with a cry, babbling as he used you to chase his own pleasure.

“Please, darling, please. Wanna be yours. Wanna be a mama, please. Wanna be your sweet angel, your good girl, please.”

You felt a sharp pain in your shoulder when he bit down, leaving a mark on your flesh that was sure to be there for awhile. The pain was dulled by how deep he was buried inside you, filling you with his fire-hot cum, that promised to breed you as he groaned, his own climax reached as he claimed you in both mark and seed.

"Mine... I-I love you so much, Angel. You'll look so perfect with my child on your hip, showing everyone who you belong to."

You wrapped you wings around him as he stilled inside you, both of you smiling, tired, and love-drunk.

"With your child on my hip, darling. Everyone will know you're my mate and the proud father of my kids. That you have my heart, Icarus, and will share it with no one else."

You were always so posessive of your husband late at night, often after he had laid claim to you himself. You yawned, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and tucking his head into the crook of your neck.

"Mm. Love you, dear. From the peaks of heaven to the depths of hell. Love you so much." You yawned again, closing your eyes and nuzzling your cheek against the top of his head. "G'night darlin'."

He hummed in agreement with your claiming words, his breathing still heavy as he slowly came down from his high and leaned in against your body. He pulled you close to his own, and sighed heavily, his arms and wings wrapping tightly around you to keep you flush to him. Despite his dominant tendencies, he was adorably clingy after sex, always wanting to hold you as close and possible to him.

"Good night, my Angel. I love you too," He whispered softly, nuzzling his head into your shoulder.

[knitrope]

ya gotta stop caring what people think and start being extremely weird. but never cruel. i think that might save you

[knitrope]

you are 16. you are talking with a gay man in his 50s or 60s, a friend, huge and gentle with a scarf and short fluffy curls of gray hair, who has directed you in two plays staged in your mid-size artsy town. (he has not yet asked you to be in his production of The Laramie Project which will change your life. this conversation will also change your life.)

he is talking about theatre. he is talking about theatre when he was younger. he says, "of course, it was AIDS then." in the pause, you ask him. clumsy and quiet and 16 and "straight," you ask him. what was it like.

he takes a moment in which his face is not like a person's face. "there was a time," he says, "i'm not sure how long, years. when i went to a funeral every weekend." he tells you about two funerals in a day, and choosing between friends when you couldn't make it to both. he does not look at you, he looks at them. his wet grey gaze is so clear that you start to see ghosts. it will be years before you understand why it feels like your grief too. why the ghosts call you family.

[knitrope]

actually. if a priest wants to keep his vows, he should just wear a chastity cage. simple.

[knitrope]

it disturbs me that a significant number of people think that the issue with sexual violence, gendered violence, and misogyny is sexual desire rather than dehumanization, so they are relentlessly suspicious of others' (and their own) desires while simultaneously never at all interrogating others' (and their own) dehumanizing beliefs about other people, both within and outside of sexual contexts

[knitrope]

whenever people are like "it's basically IMPOSSIBLE to know if the porn you are watching is sex trafficking or not!!!" like. is it. because i feel like it's pretty easy to find independent sex workers and pay them directly. and like yeah i guess maybe there's still a possibility but there's also the possibility that the quinoa you bought was picked by victims of labor trafficking and that chair in your living room was made by prison labor and the toy you bought for your niece was made in a sweat shop. i think you are actually much more able to find sex workers who make and post their own content who will personally talk to you if you are really that concerned about them being forced to do it than you think. is it really IMPOSSIBLE or do you just not know that much about porn & think that makes you more pure and objective instead of ignorant

[knitrope]

ok i've been called a sex freak tranny too i get where you're coming from but like also please be more careful with extremely vague posts about Problematic Kinks

no. people's openness about what two consenting adults can do in private has no bearing on how likely they are to be child abusers or close ranks about child abusers & thinking there is some correlation is a sign that your stance on sexual abuse is mediated more by disgust reaction and aesthetic associations than by structural analysis. there is a pretty hard and obvious line between not condemming consensual sex acts between adults and being a pedophile and thinking that it's some sort of spectrum or slippery slope there imo speaks poorly to your conceptualization of why SA is a bad thing.

people love to say that X or Y kink Normalizes Abuse, but, like, actually think about communities where sexual abuse is 'normalized' in society. is the problem with the catholic church that it's too pro-kink? is the problem with US professional gymnastics that it's too pro-kink? is the problem with the amish that they're too pro-kink? was the problem with the british entertainment industry in the 1970s that it was too pro-kink? is the problem with the prison system that it's too pro-kink? &c. &c. &c.

sexual abuse doesn't happen because people are degenerate perverts and everyone is too accepting of that, sexual abuse happens because society is full of institutions that give adults structural power over children and men structural power over women. giving credence to the former, even in the form of thinking you have to be "super careful" about perverts, is a straightforwardly reactionary position.

[knitrope]

"A society that separates its lore masters from its horny posters will have its headcanons written by prudes and its erotic fanfic by fools."

[knitrope]

After celebrating New Year's alone in a new town, you resolved to get more involved with the small town's community. But no community center, rec center, or library left you quite short on options. So, despite your reservations, you started attending sermons at the local church.

With the advent of a newcomer, the women of the church took to you quickly, pulling you into their circle with an almost alarming energy. The pastor, Father Lionel Marshalls, checked in on you every Sunday, making sure you were comfortable, making sure you knew he was always available to talk to if you needed anything, even outside of confessional. Both the parish and Father Marshalls recommended you supplements to boost your health, and with the weather, you took their recommendations gratefully. You'd hate to miss a sermon because you were ill, after all.

Your fifth Sunday at the church, the 31st of January, was when the Valentine's Sermon was first mentioned to you. Father Marshalls announced that, in two weeks' time, the church would be holding it's thirtieth Valentine's Day sermon since the church's founding in 1827.

"As is tradition, the Lord has guided me in chosing my inviolable helper, whom the rest of the parish will lend their aid to in preparation for this sacrosanct event. I hope you all will continue to guide our lovely newcomer in her new role."

Such an important role, bestowed upon you? You could hardley be deserving of it, surely there was a mistake? Voicing your concerns to Father Marshalls, he quieted every one.

"Oh, nonsense! The Lord has declared to me that you will be best fit for the role this year, and I couldn't agree more. You are young and healthy, you take good care of yourself, and you help our community as best you can. I have witnessed your growth under the Lord's guidance, and see no reason why He wouldn't choose you. Rest assured, dear, we'll make sure you're well and ready for the sermon. And the sermon itself requires very little from you in terms of performance, I'll walk you through personally what you'll need to do when the time comes. So don't you worry that sweet, pretty head of yours, lamb, we've got everything under control for you."

The next week's sermon went as normal, though one of the older women, Mrs Sophia Redmond, took you afterwards to make sure you had appropriate clothing for the upcoming event. Come Thursday night, you still had very little idea what this special sermon actually entailed, but you woke up every morning since then warm with anticipation for Sunday.

Sunday arrives, and you meet Mrs Redmond and Father Marshalls on the church steps at 8:30 exactly. Your dress is loose, calf-length, and a soft ivory, and your hair is braided down the middle exactly as instructed. Mrs Redmond ensures the pulpit is proper and prepared as you follow Father Marshalls into the confessional hall. There, Father Marshalls hands you a pair of short, soft woolen scarves, and instructs you to wait.

At 9 o'clock, you hear the parish find their seats in the pews.

At 9:15, the younger children of the parish are brought downstairs to the sunday school.

At 9:20, Mrs Redmond comes to fetch you to the nave. In front of the whole of the parish, you kneel in front of the pulpit to await your next instruction.

"Rise, lamb," Father Marshalls beckons you to kneel next to the basin of holy water used for baptisms. Father Marshalls takes the scarves from your obediently waiting hands, using one to blind your eyes, and the other to bind your wrists in front of you, and you feel the longer train of the scarf binding your wrists hit your stomach even as Father Marshalls holds them above your head to display them to the onlookers before he takes the end in hand as well, allowing your hands to fall and rest once more on your thighs.

"See how the lamb, obedient to the selection of God, shall be blessed this day for her gentleness and deference." You feel your wrists be tugged by the scarf binding them, as well as Father Marshalls' warmth as he stoops behind you for better access.

His voice fills your ears as he speaks once more to the witnesses, "With this water, you shall be cleansed for the Lord our God. As it washes away sin and impurity, let His grace and light fill you in their place," His hands are warm as they anoint your body with holy water, placing blessings on your wrists, your crown, your lips and neck. His fingers are light as they massage the water into the skin of your breasts, your stomach, and your thighs through your dress. As he permits you to drop your wrists, a few drops of holy water fall onto your crucifix pendant, and he kisses it away.

"Father-" you begin, but he soothes you softly and you quiet. He then leads you to the bench in front of the podium on the pulpit. He sits you on one end, and his hand guides you. When you are straddling the bench with your back pressed against it and your head turned to face the pews, he addresses the assembly again.

"See now as, through the guidance of God, I bless His acquiescent, fertile, virgin lamb as the vessel for the rebirth of our Lord." As he spoke, Father Marshalls hiked the skirt of your dress up to reveal your bare cunt, before caressing your thigh to keep you calm and obedient.

Unprepared, you keened as Father Marshalls entered you. He started slowly, leaving you panting as he stretched your virgin hole. As soon as he hit your cervix, however, his whole demeanor changed. His hands wrapped around your waist as you cried out in a mix of pain and vibrant pleasure at his voracity. Quickly, that vibrance soured with overwhelm as your whines echoed through the nave.

"Shh, it's alright, lamb," Father Marshalls soothed, "you're doing a wonderful job already. Just relax and welcome the Lord into you through me." And that gentle praise juxtaposed with his rough pace was all it took, before you were cumming on the pastor's cock as he bred you in front of the congregation. As you shook apart around him, Father Marshalls continued to ravish your body, fucking you through your orgasm and into overstimulation.

"Look at you, pretty lamb. So easy for me, you take me so well." Your pastor's praise as he fucked you so harshly through your overstimulation brought you right back around to ecstasy. As your tight little cunnie pulsed a second orgasm around Father Marshalls, he sped up before his hips stuttered in you.

"Such a good girl for your God," he stroked your stomach as he flooded it with heat. "Now, we just need to be sure this takes, darling. Be a good mama and keep your legs spread. The other men have to take their turn with you now, or God won't be able to bless your womb properly, and we wouldn't want that for you. We need you nice and full, alright?"

Oh, by the saints! "Father Marshalls, please may I make a request?" You beg softly. If you're to behave like they want and carry the Lord's child, you want it to be easy for you to listen.

"As long as it does not impede your duty, you may ask, lamb."

"Please please please won't you stay with me, Father? I want it to stay easy to do my duty for God. Please?" And so, with your head in your Pastor's lap, Father Marshalls caresses and soothes you while the rest of the parish breeds your bound and blindfolded body. You can't wait for your stomach to swell with child, or for the next special sermon in hopes that you can be Father Marshalls' precious, easy, breeding lamb once again.

[knitrope]

it bugs me how many lesbians have issues with trans women. like, we're supposed to love women. what's next, you gonna start hating short people too? fuck off.

[knitrope]

Yes, I know how pretty I look on my knees for you <3

[knitrope]

Your new church has a Valentine's Day special service ❤️❤️❤️

The parish inform you that, as the newest member of the church, it's only fair that you be the one selected for the very special role of the preist's assistant with the sermon, and help prepare you for it, down to the clothes you ought to wear. 🤗🤗🤗

The pastor blesses your body to be a holy vessel in front of the Lord and the whole parish! 😳😳😳

Proper writing for this idea later this evening! Enjoy the sneak-peak, and happy easter if you celebrate!

[knitrope]

the art of being cut open, dissected with surgical precision, bony fingers clutching a scalpel, wide pupils fixed on your insides, warmth pooling in your stomach