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theprettynosferatu · 1 month

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Oh, some... very pleasant reading!

Dommed Through Discord

“Master,” I type carefully, still blinking sleep out of my eyes. I woke up only a few minutes ago and I still feel groggy. The blankets wrapped around me from how I turned and tossed in my sleep. Around me, my room is nice and warm. Familiar and safe and happy. My laptop is propped up on the other side of the bed, just close enough to see and use.

It’s probably a bad habit to go straight from sleep to staring at the screen. In fact, I know for sure it is. A few months ago, I’d probably have never imagined that I would be doing this.

Then again, a few months ago I hadn’t met him yet. A little shiver runs down my spine and I close my eyes. I can’t exactly remember the dreams I was having but I know they got me all hot and bothered. Waking up to a wet pussy isn’t something I used to do either, but I have gotten used to it in the last few weeks.

After all, I’m not allowed to touch myself without permission.

The thought brings blood rushing to my face. Even now, I can’t believe that I agreed to it. I’ve done a bunch of things in the last few weeks that I never thought I would. All for the sake of a man whose face I’ve never seen.

Even as I think that, I know I’m lying. It’s not just for his sake, but mine as well. I love this. I love what he has made me into. My body tingles every time I think of him, and the first thing I do every morning is check to see if he’s online.

We talk through Discord, emails, and sometimes Steam as well. It’s a long-distance relationship and our hours don’t always match but that only makes the time we do have together all the more precious.

I am still blinking sleep from my eyes. My long, dark hair is all in a mess. I toss and turn a lot in my sleep, and I know I am going to have an annoying time fixing it later.

But for now, that doesn’t matter. I stare at the screen, waiting for his reply eagerly. I can see that he’s online, but sometimes he likes to make me wait. A subtle reminder of the power difference between us. He’s in charge, the master, the owner. And I am the pet and the toy, the desperate girl not even allowed to touch herself without permission.

God, I want to touch myself right now. My pussy is throbbing, lingering half memories of my dreams glitter in my mind like shards of silver. Slowly, one of my hands moves under the blanket, pressing against the outside of my panties. I take a deep breath, shuddering at the touch. Fuck!

I should stop. I know I’m not allowed. If master finds out, I’ll be punished again. But it’s hard, and gradually, the silence grows. I start to wonder if he’s not at his computer. But then why is his status set to green?

Then, suddenly, he replies.

“Hey, May.”

May. That’s my name. That’s why I introduced myself to him by the first time we met. But it’s not usually what he calls me. Is he teasing me? Playing with me? I don’t know and for a moment I’m thrown.

But only for a moment.

“Master,” I write back, typing eagerly. “How are you today? Did you sleep well?”

Stupid question, but I can’t think of anything else. My pussy is still throbbing and with extreme effort, I draw my hand away from my wet panties. I’m wearing nothing else, the blankets wrapped around my pale skin. I am breathing a little bit faster, anticipation and eagerness twist within me.

“Well enough,” he replies. “Did you want anything in particular?”

He knows. He has to know. How could he not with a question like that? He always seems to know exactly when I am desperate like this. I delay my response for a few seconds, feeling the blood rushing to my face. A few weeks ago, I’d not even need permission to do this. I’d have laughed at the very thought!

But now I am lying in bed, about to ask my boyfriend for permission to touch my own pussy. Like he owns me. Like I am just a toy to him.

But the thing is, that’s exactly how we both like it. The air catches in my lungs and I close my eyes, savouring the feeling of helplessness and submission before I start to type.

“Master, I’m horny.”

A few seconds pass and he doesn’t respond. My pulse races, and I can feel myself growing ever more desperate. What is he going to say? Will he deny me? He has before. He loves to do it just to show me that he is in charge.

“My little slut,” the words come back. “We played the day before yesterday. Don’t tell me that you want to go again?”

I close my eyes again, loosing a soft moan. May is my name, but between the two of us, I’m his little slut. It’s demeaning and humiliating and I love it.

“Please sir,” I type back. “I’m so horny. I know we played recently, but I’m so wet right now.”

Silence follows again and I feel as if something important is hanging in the balance. My pussy throbs and the possibility of another day of slowly growing arousal fills me with dread. I wanna touch myself so much! It’s not fair that I have to ask permission!

But the fact that it’s not fair is why he has me do it. We both know that he’s in charge. That he is the master and I am the little slut who can’t keep her legs closed.

God, I love this man.

“Are you still in bed, May?”

He knows my schedule well. I nod even though he can’t see it and answer.

“Yes sir. I just woke up.”

“Wasted no time, did you?” I can almost hear his chuckle. Satisfied but not cruel. I was always into BDSM, into giving up control, but it was he who pushed me further and further. Who showed me just how much control I could really surrender.

“Please sir,” I try again, typing with one hand. My other brushes lightly against the material of my panties. The gentle touch makes me shiver.

“Why don’t you ask properly?” His reply comes back. Again, I can almost hear his teasing tone. He likes to tease, does my master. He likes to make me squirm and right now, I am squirming like hell. I know what he wants, and I know that I’ll do it. But I can feel my face heating up as I begin to type out the request in the approved manner.

“Please master, can your little pet slut spread her legs and play with her soaking pusy for you sir?”

My clit throbs as I type, a small moan plays through my throat. I feel hot, my skin tingling as I close my eyes. Fuck, how can he make me feel this way when we aren’t even in the same country?

But he does. He always has. Even if we’re not together, I can still feel his presence. I am still under his control. Still his little toy and every bit his little plaything and I love it.

“Kick off your blankets,” he writes back to me. “And wriggle out of your little panties. But don’t take them off totally. Leave them around your ankle like a slut.”

I do as I am told, my heart beating faster, the cold air pressed against my skin as I peel back the layers of my bedclothes. I make a soft sound, half yearning and half moan. Flushes of heat flash through me. One hand cups my left breast, teasing myself there. My thumb and forefinger gently work my nipple until it’s good and hard.

My back arches, my eyes close. God, it feels so good. My other hand moves to the waistband of my panties, gradually pulling them lower. The elastic clings to me a little as I draw them down my legs. My pussy is wet, and as my arm brushes against it, a little shudder runs through my whole body.

I leave my panties hanging around one ankle, my legs are spread, I’m lying on the bed totally exposed, my back propped up by a pillow just so. My pussy throbs with tightness, and my throat is dry.

“Are you lying in bed naked, my little slut?” My master writes again. “Are your legs open? Is your pussy begging for you to touch it? To stroke it?”

“Yes,” I write back. My heart thundering in my chest. “Oh god yes sir. Please master, please let me touch myself. Please let your little slut play with her pussy like a good toy.”

He takes longer to reply this time. I wonder if he is hard? I hope he is. I can imagine him stroking himself as he reads my words, realises how desperate I am. It’s not the first time I’ve broken down and begged like this. Sometimes he gives me relief.

Sometimes he doesn’t.

I wonder what he will do this time.

“Play with your nipples for me, May.” he writes back after a few moments.

He knows that my nipples are sensitive. Pausing only to write a quick ‘’yes sir’’ I begin to rub and tease them. My long, slender fingers pick at my nipples, caressing them and stroking them and rubbing them. Before long, my body is responding. I am moaning slightly, and shivers of coiling anticipation run through my body. My pussy pulses, my deft strokes are erotic and tender. My eyes flutter, and the feelings rise through me.

I know I am getting wetter and wetter and I still haven’t closed my legs. I’m not allowed to when we play. That was one of the first rules. He told me that if I wanted to be his little slut then I would act like a little slut, and a slut should never close her legs when she’s performing for her master.

I moan, my voice ragged and desperate. Aching need throbs through me. My pussy is hot and tight, tingles of desire and want sweep up my body. It wants to be touched, it wants to be stroked and teased and entered.

Fuck, I want to cum!

“Are you teasing your breasts, May?” master asks. “Have you touched your pussy? I hope not. You know I’ll have to punish you if you do.”

“No sir,” I manage to type with one hand. “But I want to! I want to so much! Please sir! Please, please, please!”

“I’ll think about it,” I can almost hear his chuckle again. Light, not cruel but firm.

“Good,” master says. “Now, I want you to imagine that I am there with you. That it’s me stroking your chest, teasing your nipples. Making you squirm and moan. Can you imagine that?”

“Yes,” I breathe, half gasping in ecstasy. I realise a moment later that he isn’t actually here, so I need to type it out.

“Yes sir, I can imagine it, sir.”

“I’d be so hard for you, my little slut,” he writes back. “Can you imagine it? Can you imagine what it would feel like if I tied your hands behind your back and fucked you then and there?”

I can imagine it all too well. My legs flex, anticipating what it would feel like to have him between them. His cock burying itself inside of me, thrusting and fucking me as my spine arches and my cries gradually turn into a chaotic sound of ecstasy.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” I moan. My nipples feel so good. So sensitive. Little darts of pleasure snap and worm their way down my spine. My mouth is dry, I can barely remember to keep looking at the screen.”

“Or maybe I’d put your collar on you,” Master writes. “Nice and tight just how you like it. Dress you in your black stockings and fuck you against the window. You’d love that wouldn’t you, May? You always love to put on a show, my little slut.”

My desperate murmuring grows ever more desperate. My pussy is throbbing for attention, a needy heat shooting through my body as I gasp and moan and wriggle on the bed like a mad thing. My nipples feel so good, but my pussy would feel better.

But I am not allowed to touch it yet. I’m a good slave. A good slut who does what she’s told. I’ve been naughty a few times and Master is inventive with his punishments.

“Or maybe we could get your little toy,” Master continues “The vibrator that you love so much. I can dial it up and down on my phone, keep you on edge all day. Just leave you on the bed for hours and hours and hours with your legs spread. Wouldn’t you love that?”

Yes! I want to scream, my body shuddering with heat and want. I love it! I want it all!

But right now, I just want to cum!

“Master,” I write desperately. “Please can I touch my pussy, sir?”

A pause.

“You didn’t ask permission properly, my little slut. I should punish you for that. But later. First, you can ask me properly.”

My hips are grinding back and forth now, my fingers work my breasts and nipples, I’m moaning and gasping openly like the slut that he taught me to be.

“Please sir,” I write. “Please can your slutty slave touch herself, master?”

“More humiliating.”

“Please! Please let me masturbate sir! I want to cum!”

“More humiliating.”

My face is burning, my chest is tight. I know he knows what he is doing to me. He’s loving it.

“Please master, can your slutty slave girlfriend fuck herself with her fingers while fantasising about what it will be like when you finally take her for yourself? Can she cum like a whore with her legs spread, moaning your name?”

My heart hammers. Humiliation washes through me but I adore it so. My pussy is pounding, it’s as if electricity is coursing through every cell in my body.

“You can touch yourself, May. But you’re not allowed to cum. Not yet.”

I don’t know what he’s planning but right now, I don’t need to. As soon as I have permission, one of my hands flies to my pussy. I bite my lower lip, my fingers working myself down there. Instantly, the pleasure intensifies, reaching a whole new level. I begin to squeak and moan. My lower lips are already soaked, tingles become waves of sparking pleasure as I twist back and forth in place.

“Oh fuck, master,” I write as soon as I am able. “Oh fuck, it feels so good sir. It feels so good.”

“Do not cum,” my master writes, and I realise with an odd feeling that he isn’t done with me yet. “May, you do not have permission to cum but nor are you allowed to stop. You can slow down, but you have to keep going.”

That’s unfair! I feel the realisation stabbing through me, even as my eager fingers begin to slow, it feels so good. Waves of heat and tightness throbbing through my pussy. How can I resist this?

“You’ll just have to have control, my pet.” My master seems like he read my mind. “I’m sure it won’t be too hard. By the way, while you’re doing that I want you to imagine what it would be like to be fucked by me. What it will be like.”

Oh fuck. How am I supposed to resist cumming while doing that? One hand is desperately kneading my chest, flicking and rubbing and stroking my nipple. My fingers probe and pinch, mixing pain with pleasure. The other is between my legs, my body rocking. Heat flushing through me. I am fucking myself with my fingers now, grinding against my hand. My clit burns and throbs, it feels so good.

I imagine his cock inside of me again. Thrusting, penetrating, filling me up. I begin to grind against the air, matching each of his imaginary thrusts. The air catches in my throat, heat builds between my legs. I am squealing now, static leaping between my nerves.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” I shudder. “Master Ethan! M-master!”

He can’t hear me, but he seems to know what’s happening. I hope he knows how desperate and wet I am. I imagine wrapping my arms around him as fucks me, as he makes me his now and forever.

I am so close! The tide of pleasure threatens to carry me away. I look desperately to the laptop.

“Master, I’m gonna cum!”

“No.”

“Please!”

“Absolutely not, my slut. I told you you weren’t allowed to cum.”

“Then can I stop?”

I imagine the little smile on his face.

“You can’t do that either.”

“Master!”

It’s only a single word, desperately typed, but I hope it can convey my desperation. My whole body feels tight, my muscles are stinging, I’m holding them so tensely. I know I am gonna cum if I keep going, I can feel the orgasm building and building and every part of me is screaming to surrender to it. To let it take me. But I fight it, holding myself back, resisting with everything.

But I am not allowed to stop playing with myself and gradually, my squirming becomes more and more frantic. My gasping breaths are quick and furious. How long has it been? I need to ask again!

“Master please!”

“May, are you disobeying me? You’re not allowed to cum. Now just think how long I could hold you like this, in that state. You’ve surrendered to me and given me everything. You got on your knees and promised to be my little slut, remember? Did you think that would be easy?”

“Please! Please! Pleasepleasepleaseplease!”

I’m reduced to just writing the word ‘’please’’ over and over as my body rocks. I don’t have enough energy to think of anything else to say.

“I suppose I could be convinced,” Master says. “But you have to offer me something. What do you have to trade, May?”

I shake my head. There are tears in my eyes. It feels so good, it’s taking all of my strength of will not to give in and cum. My body is shuddering, shivering and burning all at the same time. I gasp for air, trying to force myself to think.

“I won’t wear underwear, sir!” I write. “I’ll go without it all day and wear a short skirt!”

I can already imagine the humiliation that will come from that. A whole day of knowing that I am only one wrong move away from exposing myself to strangers. I know I’ll be mortified later, but for now, I don’t care. I just wanna cum.

“Not enough.”

“Sir!”

“It’s a start, May, but I am going to need more. How much longer can you hold back again?”

Not much longer, I think. It feels so amazing. My whole body is lighting up. Twisting and gasping and moaning in bed, my legs are still spread, but my pussy is soaking, my fingers sliding in and out of myself more quickly now than ever. I’m so close, I’m so close!

“I’ll wear my vibrator too!” I write, grasping for the first thing I can think of. “I’ll keep it in all day! The one that you can control! You can torture me with it all day! Just let me cum now!”

A shiver snaps through my body, I give a long moan. Feeling as if I am about to break down, but I manage to wrestle myself back. Just about. I know I won’t make it much longer.

My master still hasn’t replied. Is he holding back? Does he want more? What else can I even offer him?

“I’ll make you a video, sir!” I gasp. “When I get home from work, I’ll make a video of me undressing and you can see the kind of soaking mess I’ve become after so many hours with the vibe! And I’ll play with myself! Do whatever you want! Just….just please let me cum now!”

I am spiking, the climax rising. My moment approaching, my fists curl, and I know I am about to cum whether I want to or not.

“All right then, May,” my master writes. “Cum for me you little slut.”

I do, I cum like I never have before. My nerves scream, the world seems to fade and all I am left with is an ocean of pleasure that fills every inch of me. I am moaning his name, my master’s name, like it’s some magical incantation. My body is wracked with convulsions, the strength of my orgasm streams my breath away. I cum with my legs spread like I should, gasping his name until the end.

And then it’s over and I am lying in my bed. The laptop open in front of me, and my master’s latest message.

“Enjoy yourself, did you?”

“Yes sir,” I type shakily. “It was amazing. Thank you, sir. Thank you so much. I love you.”

“I love you too, May,” he writes back. “You little humiliation-loving slut.”

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theprettynosferatu · 1 month

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I mean, it can’t hurt, right? Just… as an experiment. Yes, an experiment! I have been practicing a lot lately, after all. If someone had told me how hard it is to actually edge, to reach that perfect point and just… stop, I’m not sure I would have started doing it. But I AM getting better at it! If he could see me it would be sooo… but I’ll have another session soon, and I want to be able to tell him that I’m doing it, I’m following the program, that I’m doing well in therapy for once, that unlike all those other hacks he made me better…

I’m tired, and I know it’s harder for me to hold back when I’m tired… but at the same time I have to be able to control myself. That’s what he said. It’s all about impulse control or something… and if I fail and go over? No, I can’t be too hard on myself. But at the same time he would be disappointed. I don’t want to imagine that. Not that he ever tells me he is disappointed, but I can tell. I could almost imagine him looking so sad the few times I accidentally came… I need to make him proud. I need to train more. Sure, I have to work tomorrow but one edge, just the one…

Fuck, I love social media. It’s like… the algorithm knows how to push me deeper and deeper… and I feel less alone, knowing there are so many people gooning and edging and encouraging one another. To think I was ashamed of the stuff I liked before! Like, admitting that watching a girl being spanked turned me on would get me red like a tomato. Now… a spanking does nothing for me. I need more, and the screen delivers. It’s so fucking good to see so many good girls, drooling and edging like me and writing on their skins what willing fuckholes they are… The words come to me and I’m muttering them… cunt… useless toy… living cumrag… I’m not sure I can stop myself from mumbling anymore. I watch them smile before getting their stupid mouths fucked by a huge cock, shutting them up and turning them into the useful dolls they are…

Jesus! That was close. I didn’t expect to hit the edge so quickly! My pussy must be more sensitive lately. Makes sense. Two weeks without cumming is a long time… but he looked so proud of me last session… no way I can throw that away for a moment of relief. I’m in control. Not my body. Me.

Okay, I did it. Time to get some much needed rest.

Fuck…

Turning in bed. My cunt is soaked and it’s insistent, demanding. I have to work tomorrow. I can’t… I put my pillow between my legs. I don’t know why I feel like it will calm my pussy down a bit. I’m making no sense. Fuck, thinking that made me wetter. I’m making no sense. I’m dumb. I’m stupid. I’m just a horny bitch in heat…

My hips move on their own. I’m not entirely awake, not entirely asleep. I’m almost… not there. Like I’m just watching my needy body hump the pillow, like I’m merely a passenger and my stupid, horny body is taking over…

No. No. I’m in control. I won’t cum. I won’t…

That was too close. Much too close. But I did it. I stopped right at the edge. I didn’t cum.

I was a good girl.

Good girls edge. That’s not something the therapist said. At least I don't think so. I saw it online. But he explained edging to me, so he must want me to be a good girl for him, right? No, that’s silly. He’s a professional. He’s teaching me control. I want to learn from him. I want to be a good girl for him. I want him to…

It’s two in the morning already. Time slipped by like… like it was soaked by my pussy juices. I like that image. My needy cunt is so permanently wet even time gets slick. I might be going crazy. I need to snap back to reality. I need to focus. Tomorrow I have to work, and I’m already going to be running on like, five hours of sleep.

Well, I’m going to be fucked tomorrow either way, right? Not much difference between five hours of sleep and four. And I do have a few audios saved…

One more edge. That’ll be all.

God, I love how audios make me feel. As soon as I put the headphones on and that low, barely audible pulsing sound comes on, I can feel a tingle snake all over my skin. And her voice… It’s so soft, so gentle, so caring… and so desperate at the same time. I don’t know how many times I’ve listened to her, but it always makes me feel… like she’s holding me. Guiding me. Telling me what I am. What I could be. What I should be.

I know I’m saying the words out loud. I couldn’t stop myself from doing it even if I wanted to anymore. The girl in the audio and me, we are one and the same. I can’t tell where the audio ends and my mind begins. Her words are my words. The only part of me that remains is the watchful eye that’s always alert now, always ready to pounce and stop me from going over the edge.

Edging makes me better. Edging makes me sluttier. Edging makes me prettier. Edging makes me more obedient. Edging makes me a slave to my cunt. Edging makes me better. Edging makes me sluttier…

I can feel him railing me in his office. I can taste his cum on my tongue. I can see the pleasure in his eyes, the way it gives me purpose…

Shit! That fantasy almost got me. I can’t be the only one that thinks about their therapist that way, right? No, no judgment. No shame. That’s what he says, so surely he wouldn’t begrudge me a little kinky fantasy starring him…

I wonder if I should tell him. Fuck, that would be amazing. To look into his eyes and tell him every detail that my mind conjured up, how I want him to take over my mind, to tell me what to think, what to wear… who to be.

Twenty past four in the morning. Four-twenty. I should sleep, but come on. Timing’s too good. One joint, one more edge, and that will be it. Weed always makes edging better, anyway. I feel so… happy. I don’t have another word for it. Bubbly. Happy. Slutty. Maybe I should make someone else happy like me…

I should probably buy like, a mask or something, just to be safe. But I don’t have one now and I want them to see all of me… I want every inch of my body to be porn, to make someone happy… It doesn’t matter who. I need to be useful. I go on the website.

I blame the lack of sleep and the weed. I’m not dumb. I’m… it’s just… good girls are porn. Fuck, that feels good to say. I log on and…

There it is. Of course, first try. A stiff cock. I can’t see the owner’s face, and I don’t care to. I vaguely remember a time when I would have felt disgusted. Now I can’t think at all. Mu pussy clenches in anticipation, and my hand rubs it softly, insistently. We share the moment in perfect peace, masturbating as one, both mindless and entranced by our own bodies…

Suddenly, the fear comes. I want to be useful. I want… I need to make that cock cum. That’s my purpose. That’s all I want to be. But what if I can’t? How can I know exactly what kind of slut this cock wants to cum to? What if I’m not… good enough?

Then, the man starts typing and the fear melts away, replaced by a warm blanket of peace. He tells me what to do. Suddenly, I don’t need to try anymore. I don’t need to think. I don’t need to worry. I don’t need to be anything but an extension of that wonderful cock. I don’t think I even read the words in any meaningful way. They bypass my brain and go straight to my body, and obedience is instantaneous.

I’m on all fours, stretching my buttcheeks apart, struggling to look at the screen. I want to see it. I want to feel worthy.

I barely catch myself. Seeing it tense up, hearing his moan, seeing his cock shoot cum for me, just for me… it almost makes me break my edge. I feel… proud. I feel perfect, as if I’ve found the exact corner of the universe that exists just for me to occupy, that wonderful purpose… He ends the video chat quickly. Maybe he’s embarrassed. It only shows me the dangers of cumming. Cumming brings bad thoughts. But edging…

Dawn arrives. I’ve been… away. I’ve become whoever, whatever the person on the other side of the screen needs me to be. I’m fuzzy. I know I’ve called someone daddy and begged him to sneak into my room at night… I know one woman made me spank myself with my hairbrush until I cried, and she came to my tears. I think I danced for a group of older men, but I can’t be sure. Maybe I… fell asleep at some point? I don’t know. Nothing feels real. I don’t feel real. I feel like a beautiful fiction.

The alarm goes off. I should shower. Have a coffee. Go to work. Be a person.

Sure, I’ll do all those things. I just need one more edge to start the day…

Just one more…

I know I’ll have an amazing therapy session in two days.

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

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theprettynosferatu · 1 month

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PSA

Well, I didn't want to write this but the situation, I feel, needs to be addressed.

It's quite obvious that I've been less active lately. Truth is, I shot myself in my dumb foot by taking on additional work at the same time I've put myself in something of a caretaker position regarding an elderly family member. This was a very bad, very not good, very stupid thing to do.

Good news is that the additional work is not an open ended thing: it will end in July. I'll do my best to keep creating content until then, but please forgive me if it's a slower process. I simply made it so I have very little free time and energy.

After July, hopefully in can go back to a more active schedule.

Regarding the Spanish language short novel: oh, it's done. The only reason I haven't posted it on patreon is that it was commissioned as a surprise gift for someone and I'd hate to spoil the surprise! It should go up in April.

Seeing the patreon numbers drop is scary, but understandable and I don't begrudge anyone leaving. I only hope after July I can get more people on board by proving I can make good, consistent content, which I feel I've done for years now. So, rough times ahead, but hardly an ending to this here blog!

As for the people that have been supporting me through this, in any way: thank you so, so much. I suspect you aren't aware of how many times you've saved my cute butt, and I'm incredibly grateful.

I wish I could make more kinky fun stuff, but I'm afraid right now I'm delivering all I can. But rest assured, as soon as the extra work is done, the kink shall increase!

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theprettynosferatu · 1 month

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A brand new story, "One More", is available for patrons!

You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu !

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theprettynosferatu · 1 month

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theprettynosferatu · 1 month

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Oh, you miss me? My apologies. The day job is being quite hard and leaving little time to indulge...

But you? Ah, you're a different case entirely. You see, you don't really have a choice, do you?

I'm sure somewhere in that perverted mess you call a brain you have an inlking of an idea that you are in control. You can stop any time. It's just harmless fun. You know what? Lie to yourself all you want. I know better, and deep down so do you.

Let's not bullshit one another, you and I. You're far too gone now. There's no way back for you. You've edged and recited mantras and trained your brain to love worse and worse stuff, more degrading, stronger... darker.

In fact, what part of yourself haven't you perverted yet? Your gender? Your sexuality? Your free will? You have rubbed thinking about betraying all of them, mentally crossed line after line and now you can't get off to anything else. You need it so badly...

You don't want sex. Not really. You need to be used. Taken. Forced to go further and further, to those places you yearn for and are too scared to explore. You need to be worse.

But what you need most of all is permission. Permission to be as sick and fucked up as you truly want to be. A voice to choose for you so you can pretend you aren't a completely broken fuckdoll.

After all, if someone chooses for you it's not your fault, is it?

We both know that's the game you play with yourself. And that's why you are here now.

You have my permission to go deeper. You have my permission to fall and fall and keep going until morality is nothing but a distant memory. You have my permission to let go of delusions of independence, of strength.

But we can agree that you like your permissions more when they are commands, don't you?

Fine.

Be a good doll and fall.

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theprettynosferatu · 1 month

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I want you to think for a minute. Don't worry, it won't hurt.

How much of your fantasies, desires, behaviors were molded by porn?

You can call it fanfiction or erotica or smut or whatever you prefer. It's porn.

Porn warped your mind. Made you so broken and wonderful and absolutely fucked up. Don't you love it?

And now everything is porn, one way or another. Look at Instagram. Look at tik tok. Porn is spreading its tentacles everywhere, mindfucking the world. Marvelous.

And more and more being porn is the new norm. How many influencers, celebrities, regular people have an OF? And no one bats an eye anymore.

So what's stopping you?

You don't have to do it publicly. You don't even have to tell anyone. But deep down, don't you feel it would be so hot to know people are getting off to you? That you are making cocks hard and cunts wet with your image, your words, your thoughts?

Everything about you can be made porn. Your fantasies and fears, your shameful desires and your most valued memories. Even your beliefs, your deeply held values. Every inch of your soul and body can be porn!

Even if it's for one person you trust. Even if no one else will ever see it. And always safely.

It will feel so amazing to KNOW you are reducing yourself to jerkoff material, leaving behind everything else and existing just to be porn, even if only for a little while. Nothing will feel better than the knowledge you made someone cum, and thus fulfilled your purpose.

Porn made you. So it's time to give back to it.

So edge and repeat:

I want to be porn.

Good toy!

Didn't that feel so good? So right?

So I ask again:

What's stopping you?

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theprettynosferatu · 1 month

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theprettynosferatu · 1 month

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theprettynosferatu · 2 months

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Can real life chill the fuck out so I can make more porn?

Thanks.

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theprettynosferatu · 2 months

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“I hate you so much”, she said. “I fucking despise you. You are the worst kind of person to ever blight this world and if I could, I would stomp you like the roach you are”. Her words were most certainly strong; however, they were somewhat undermined by her smile, by the sensual, almost dance-like movements of her body as she removed her top.

“I am well aware”, he said, reclining on the sofa.

“You have no idea. You fucking ruined my life, you piece of shit” she said before biting her lips in a perfect picture of lust.

“And yet here you are. Again”

“You know damn well why I’m here, you monster”

He did. That was part of the charm of the whole affair.

Her hatred for him had been long held, and nurtured lovingly for nearly a decade. In college, she took an instant dislike for his jokes and remarks, which she felt, rightly, to be sexist and dumb. As they matured politically, they found themselves staring at each other from opposite ends of the spectrum. As they entered professional life, her intelligence and skill propelled her well above him, a sin he could never overlook. It was an animosity as strong as true love, as enduring as the sun. And yet she looked at him with the tender eyes of a willing lover as she went to her knees.

It was true. She hated him. But she hated herself more. Or, more precisely, she hated how much her body adored him, how deeply it needed him. His… Every inch of her skin tingled in anticipation, and she realized how seductively she moved even despite her hardest efforts to stop it. It wasn’t her, she tried to remind herself. It was that damn… thing. Her breath came in short, panting bursts. Her eyes fixed on the bulge in his pants. She desperately wanted to blame some sort of mind control, of hypnosis, of strange, sci-fi implant in her brain for how pathetic she was being, and how delicious her pussy felt, eager with anticipation. Sadly, she knew better. She knew what would happen the second she saw his cock. Hell, she could almost smell it and it made her drool. And there was no magic behind it, no esoteric mystery driving her actions.

It was chemistry. She knew it as well as he did. She knew exactly how he had turned her into… this. She knew why her body loved it. She knew it wasn’t love. She realized, consciously, she was simply… fiending. Addicted. A victim of chemical dependency and his fucked up expolitation of her situation.

He always loved this part. When her eyes retained some defiance, her absolute hatred of him was on full display, her disgust with her own actions hidden behind a teasing smile, a bite of her lips. Her body was performing because it had learned exactly what he liked, how to get the drug it needed from him quickly… and the woman behind that body was trapped between her need and her true feelings. It was a delicious mix, especially because they both knew he could destroy her with a simple act, and there was nothing she could do about it. He could tell she was almost shaking, resisting the urge to rip off his pants- an urge he had trained her to resist simply by denying her what she craved most when she gave into it.

Cum. His cum.

She couldn’t help but blame herself. She had done the research, seeking to understand addiction in order to help people, analyzing how the brain reacted to different patterns of rewards and even chemicals… only for him to use all that and turn it against her. And she knew in one second all of it wouldn’t matter to her one bit.

He smiled. She was beautiful, no doubt about it- her jet-black hair, her big, dark eyes, her generous figure… but that wasn’t what attracted him the most. No, it was the way her brain shut off completely as soon as she saw the object of her obsession. That split second when she tried to fight it, when she hated herself for failing, and then…

It only took a single look, and her brain was flooded. Cock. His cock. His beautiful, perfect, delicious cock… Her mouth watered, her body started shaking as the last of her self-control gave way to the animalistic, primal need to…

Perfect. So perfect. The taste. The way she could feel the blood flowing through its veins. It’s strong, conquering hardness. Why would she ever fight against this? Why would she ever think of anything but feeling it in her mouth, taking it deep inside her throat, licking it adoringly? It grew and grew in her mind, pushing everything else away. Her job. Her dignity. Her family. Those things seemed so trivial, so miniscule next to the sensation this cock gave her, as if it made every inch of her skin as sensitive as her clit, her mind a raging inferno and yet perfectly calm: it made sense to worship. It made sense to love this cock. It was just… her place.

Every now and then she fought back. “I hate you”, she would say before moaning and taking him in her mouth, using her tongue to pry moans of pleasure from him, which in turn made her shiver. His pleasure was her pleasure, because his pleasure was a herald of the reward to come. “I hate you so much”, spoken with the loving tenderness of a schoolgirl declaring her love to her first crush.

For a moment she thought of her husband, her daughter. She hated the way this cock made her feel. Hated that she loved it so much more than her family. Hated them for not letting her live in constant worship of the big, perfect cock. Hated herself for thinking it. Hated how good it felt to think about it. Hated how her pussy soaked her panties without it being touched.

“I hate you so much…” she didn’t mean it. Not anymore, not at that moment. But she knew he loved to hear her say it. Loved the power his cock had over her. And she needed to make him cum. Needed to taste it. Needed to swallow it. “You ruined me… you made me into a cock-addicted whore… your whore…”

He was close. She could feel it. Her entire body tensed up, ready to give in completely. “I hate that I love you…”

It happened. Her mind went blank as she swallowed every drop, convulsing in an orgasm that was more than just an orgasm: it was the fulfillment of her purpose, it was heaven and an embrace and complete, perfect peace. It was happiness. It was true love.

He watched her smile on the ground. This made it all worth it: the experiments, injecting himself to make his cum the most addictive substance on Earth… the most powerful of drugs. She was in complete ecstasy. Sure, it would last maybe an hour and she’d go back to hating him. But that wouldn’t last long. Sooner rather than later her body would need him again. She would shake. She would be unable to think of anything else.

Yes, she would hate him. But addiction was stronger than hate.

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