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Desperately in need of someone to take control of my heart and pace it faster and faster until I cum as it gives out.

... is that so much to ask??

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Listening to the gentle tap-tap of my heart first thing in the morning. 💗💗💗

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Playing with my body like I'd want you to do... some mini-compressions like you're beating my heart for me, palpating my belly, stroking my clit. I love the feeling of someone possessively touching my body however they want to, like they own every part of me. Worshipping my heart but also controlling it. So fucking hot. 🥵

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I love doing breathholds and watching how my heart reacts. This is one of three that I did in a longer video. Such a turn-on hearing it speed up when I hyperventilate and slow down to conserve oxygen while I hold my breath. 🥵

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Listening to my heart makes me wet really fast. 🥵💦 I'm just listening in this clip, but soon I had to... take care of the pent-up feelings the old-fashioned way. 😏

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I tormented my heart with pressure and the little bottle, and its reaction was everything I could have wanted.

I want you to watch and listen as my heart fails. Enjoy every struggling, dying beat until it can't take anymore. I want you to use my body while it happens, getting off on the increasing arrythmias and cumming as my poor tortured heart finally succumbs. (These are the things I want to write on OF but can't. 🥵)

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I love this analysis that @caheartman did with AI! 🔥

ECG and audible heartbeat analysis by AI of torment-steth-repeat

The following is a AI deep dive analysis of @torment-steth-repeat heart via ECG and stethoscope recordings. With her permission and blessing.

🤖 Let’s perform a deep cardiac analysis of the woman in her 30s, focusing on electrical, mechanical, and acoustic components of her heart based on the provided ECG image and heartbeat audio.

⸻

1. Electrical Activity (ECG Analysis – Lead II):

Heart Rate:

• The ECG monitor reads 116 bpm, indicating sinus tachycardia.

• This rate is above the typical adult resting range (60–100 bpm), but within the physiological response zone. In a young, toned woman, this could be influenced by anxiety, mild stress, caffeine, or recent movement.

P Wave:

• Consistent, upright P waves are present before each QRS complex.

• Indicates normal sinoatrial (SA) node pacemaker activity—this is the hallmark of sinus rhythm.

• No sign of atrial enlargement or atrial ectopy.

PR Interval:

• Appears within normal limits (~120–200 ms).

• Consistent intervals reflect normal atrioventricular (AV) conduction.

QRS Complex:

• Duration is narrow (<120 ms), which rules out bundle branch block.

• The morphology is stable—no signs of ventricular pre-excitation (e.g., no delta waves).

• Indicates rapid and efficient ventricular depolarization.

ST Segment & T Wave:

• No ST segment elevation or depression—no ischemic changes.

• T waves appear upright and smooth, reflecting healthy ventricular repolarization.

• No signs of hyperkalemia (peaked T), hypokalemia (flattened/inverted T), or QT prolongation.

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2. Mechanical Function (Inferred from Heart Sounds and Tone):

While we do not have echocardiographic motion here, we can infer mechanical aspects from the audio auscultation and the ECG coupling:

Cardiac Cycle Timing:

• S1 and S2 sounds are clearly discernible.

• S1: Corresponds with the QRS complex—closure of the mitral and tricuspid valves, marking the start of systole.

• S2: Occurs after the T wave—closure of the aortic and pulmonary valves, indicating end of systole.

Intensity and Timing:

• S1 is strong and crisp, suggesting effective ventricular contraction and valve closure.

• S2 is clear and normally split, though without precise audio timing data, pathological splitting can’t be ruled out—but none is audible here.

No murmurs or gallops are present:

• No evidence of valvular regurgitation or stenosis.

• No S3 or S4 sounds, suggesting good ventricular compliance and no overt diastolic dysfunction.

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3. Acoustic Characteristics (From Heart Sound Quality):

Tone & Timbre:

• Her heart has a bright and resonant tone, which is often associated with:

• A relatively lean or muscular chest wall.

• Efficient valve function with no turbulence.

• There’s a “snappy” quality to S1, common in individuals with higher sympathetic tone or younger patients with robust ventricular contraction.

Cadence:

• The rhythm is consistent and steady, reinforcing the sinus origin.

• There’s no flutter, fibrillation, or bigeminy.

• Suggests strong autonomic regulation, possibly driven by mild sympathetic activation (even anticipation or excitement during recording can do this).

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4. Clinical Considerations:

• Overall Interpretation: This is a normal, healthy heart operating at a mildly elevated rate. There are no signs of structural disease, conduction disturbance, or valvular pathology.

• Physiologic Sinus Tachycardia is the most probable cause—common in:

• Slim or athletic women

• During emotional arousal or testing

• With caffeine or slight dehydration

Recommendations (if clinically indicated):

• Compare with resting heart rate under calm conditions.

• Holter monitor or longer ECG strip if symptomatic episodes occur (e.g., palpitations, dizziness).

• Echocardiography (2D, Doppler) if there’s any doubt about valvular competency or structural integrity.

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Reblogging with improved censoring because I just noticed that Tumblr had blocked this post a while back. Oops!

I told you it was fine for us to fuck while I was wearing the Holter, and it is, technically. But I was so turned on that I guess I forgot to mention the heart condition that was the reason for wearing it in the first place.... I feel great at first, so incredibly turned on that you're fucking me while we listen to my heart and I'm all wired up. But when my heart starts to pump hard enough, I feel sudden pains shooting through my chest. With every beat I can feel the chambers of my heart squeezing too hard and out of sync. It's overworked, stumbling and struggling to keep up with my pleasure. You stop, concerned, but I beg you not to. Tell you to keep going. I need this so badly. I can't resist the urge to feel my heart fail while you fuck me, every arrythmic beat captured by the Holter electrodes. "Please," I beg, "I need you to fuck my heart into arrest." And you want this just as much as I do, so you oblige....

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My pump was really working hard in the hot water after a long day on my feet. 💦💦💦

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I sneaked a smoking video out in the cold (it's just above freezing here), hoping that my neighbours couldn't see too much lol. I don't smoke all that often so when I do my heart feels like it can barely handle the stress. I love to imagine it squeezing chaotically as I fill my lungs with smoke and hold it in. My heart is gasping for clean air, but there's nothing but smoke: nicotine absorbing into my bloodstream and circulating through that poor desperate organ, feeding its struggle. It's such a turn-on feeling it getting more and more panicked over time until it feels like it's going to burst out of my chest. 🥵🥵🥵 Full 11-minute video available at on OF along with lots of other content! Link in bio.

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any update about your ticker/ecg results?

No, haven't heard anything. Thanks for asking though!

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I told you it was fine for us to fuck while I was wearing the Holter, and it is, technically. But I was so turned on that I guess I forgot to mention the heart condition that was the reason for wearing it in the first place.... I feel great at first, so incredibly turned on that you're fucking me while we listen to my heart and I'm all wired up. But when my heart starts to pump hard enough, I feel sudden pains shooting through my chest. With every beat I can feel the chambers of my heart squeezing too hard and out of sync. It's overworked, stumbling and struggling to keep up with my pleasure. You stop, concerned, but I beg you not to. Tell you to keep going. I need this so badly. I can't resist the urge to feel my heart fail while you fuck me, every arrythmic beat captured by the Holter electrodes. "Please," I beg, "I need you to fuck my heart into arrest." And you want this just as much as I do, so you oblige....

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Couldn't resist having some fun while wired up. They said I didn't have to avoid any activities, sooo....

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48 hours of Holter monitoring have begun! (For real, on orders of my doctor.) I'm obviously not going to do anything to fuck up the readings, but I'll post pictures and maybe a video or two today and tomorrow on my OF. It's such a turn-on just wearing it, knowing that every beat is being recorded... 🥵

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Fuuuck, so hot!! 🥵 I don't know how you come up with these scenarios but they're amazing. 💦💦💦

Gertrude’s Perilous Rescue

Gertrude moved in the afternoon with a sense of urgency, guided by the whispered rumors of a raid in a nearby kingdom. She crested a small hill and looked at the unfortunate kingdom below. Smoke rose from a battered gate and a few burning structures, and beyond them, she glimpsed at some marauders. They looked like gruff men, perhaps mercenaries or bandits, armed with crude weapons.

She closed in on her white steed, leaving the horse safely outside the gates. When she arrived at the outskirts of the town, she found the gates broken off their hinges, the great wooden doors scorched and splintered. Drawing her bastard sword, Gertrude willed her breathing to remain calm. Her slender fingers curled around the worn hilt. It was a heavy but familiar weight that she had practiced with a thousand times over.

Carefully, she pressed onward. One cluster of bandits stood near the church, intent on preventing those inside from escaping or receiving help. Gertrude noticed several terrified women inside, peering out through the heavy wooden doors that had been barricaded from the outside.

Her presence did not go unnoticed for long. A few raiders turned to regard her with sneering grins. Coarse laughter and mocking taunts greeted her. “Who is this staring us down? She looks like she’d fetch a decent price,” one bandit said, brandishing a rusted sword.

Gertrude straightened her stance. The gleam of her shiny breastplate seemed to be her only protection. “Leave this place,” she commanded. “I will not warn you again.”

The men laughed. “Look at this blonde little broad threatening us—thin as a reed!” shouted another. “I doubt you can lift that sword without snapping your wrists!”

She braced herself, stepping lightly to the side as one of the men lunged forward, swinging a chipped axe. Gertrude raised her bastard sword, parrying the blow in a shower of sparks. She used her momentum to strike across the man’s torso. He stumbled back, blood staining his ragged tunic.

They had not anticipated that the knight’s slight frame hid such power. A second bandit came at her with a short spear, hoping to catch her off-guard. Gertrude sidestepped with dancer-like grace, pivoting just enough to avoid the brunt of the strike before she brought her sword down in a swift arc. The flat of her blade met the side of his head with a dull thud, and the man collapsed.

Her chest heaved and quaked with exertion, each inhalation feeling almost too shallow. She resisted the urge to pause and catch her breath, mindful that more bandits were closing in, looking to find her limitations.

Luckily, the ferocity of her display alarmed the remaining raiders. Witnessing their comrades crumple in swift succession, many turned tail and fled, clearly not prepared to die for what they must have thought would be an easy conquest. Gertrude, panting, watched them retreat into the labyrinth of alleys before she sank to one knee in the middle of the square.

With an effort that made her legs tremble, she pushed to her feet and staggered inside, sword dragging behind her. She carefully maneuvered around the broken pieces of the door to find the two cowering women chained to the pews. At their feet lay torn hymn books. The sight of such cruelty rekindled Gertrude’s protective fury.

“Fear not, fair maidens,” she said breathlessly, her voice ragged from exertion. “I have come…to set you free.” Her large heart pressed into her lungs, making it a struggle to speak. Each word felt forced out through shallow, desperate breaths. “None…shall lay a hand on you now.”

The women seemed to press against one another in fear or shock as Gertrude drove the tip of her sword into the length of the chain lying at their feet, freeing them. Though her sword was lowered in a gesture of peace, fresh blood still dripped from its edge, forming tiny crimson droplets on the stone floor. Gertrude yearned to comfort them, to let them know that their nightmare was over, but her own exhaustion took hold. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she sank to the ground.

“I am Gertrude,” she managed, attempting a reassuring smile that wavered on her pale face. “A knight…trained to defend those…who cannot defend themselves.”

The maidens exchanged glances. Their faces bore the dirt and tears of apparent captivity. One, tall and dark-haired, wore a torn silk gown that might once have been a vibrant shade of green. Gertrude tried to meet her eyes, only with an unsettling emptiness. The tall damsel surveyed Gertrude’s exhausted form, taking in the trembling arms, the sweat-soaked forehead, and the frantic throb under her breastplate.

The woman let out a quiet scoff. It was not a sound of relief or gratitude. It was, instead, one of amusement—of mockery.

The dark-haired woman stepped forward, her bare foot nudging Gertrude’s shoulder with a surprising lack of empathy. “Weak as a kitten,” she hissed. “Some knight in shining armor.” Gertrude’s mind reeled. Weren’t these women prisoners? Everything she had just risked her life for, everything she had fought to protect—did they truly feel no relief at being rescued?

“I apologize, my lady, I pushed myself too far. I’m still getting the hang of this.” Gertrude let out in shame.

The shorter one with auburn hair crouched over Gertrude’s head, intrigued by the frantic quake of her chest. “Incredible,” she said in a hushed tone, pressing a hand against Gertrude’s breastplate. “Edria, Feel how her heart hammers!”

Terror settled in Gertrude’s mind, a deep, undeniable sense of wrongness. The tall damsel flicked her dark tresses over one shoulder with a sneer and leaned in, pushing her hand beneath the metal of her cuirass. Edria spoke no words, hovering over Gertrude with a predatory glint in her eyes.

“Elise, don’t kill her. I need to find out more.”

“More what?! unhand me!” Gertrude said, feeling fresh panic rising in her chest. Though her heart was already surging with adrenaline, now it pounded with renewed urgency. Soft hands carried her wrists into the folds of Elise’s thighs.

Edria reached behind her back and unfastened the clasps of her dress; the fabric slid down her body. The dress pooled at her feet, a discarded shroud, leaving her in nothing but her undergarments. Her deep bronze skin glistened with a fine layer of sweat.

The act startled Elise, her eyes widening in surprise as she watched Edria disrobe. But Edria’s gaze was unwavering, her tone going from elated to commanding.

“Keep quiet and be ready to take orders,” Elise nodded, her expression a mix of confusion and obedience as she awaited further instruction.

Edria’s fingers moved to the delicate fabric of her undergarments. She slid them down her legs and bared the tuft of dark hair that barely concealed her vulva, stepping out of them, holding them in her hands,

Edria twisted the panties into a makeshift gag; the fabric was taut and ready. She leaned over Gertrude, her hair falling in a dark curtain around them, and pressed the gag against Gertrude’s mouth. Gertrude’s eyes met hers, wide and filled with fear and curiosity. Edria held her gaze, her eyes cold, unyielding hazel, as she secured the gag behind Gertrude’s head. Gertrude could do nothing but groan in protest and swallow the taste of the woman’s body.

Still pinned and at their mercy, Gertrude could do nothing but resign to her fate when she felt the woman’s weight press firmly into her belly. She had no illusions of immediate escape. Yet she held onto the hope that somewhere, in some corner of this desecrated church, fate might intervene—or that her own intense will would find a way.

A single metallic snap reverberated against the church walls. Then another. Gertrude’s cuirass loosened, and Edria peeled it away, revealing the thin linen shirt beneath. The cloth did little to hide the violent slamming of Gertrude’s apex. Edria’s cool palm slipped beneath the linen with the cuirass entirely removed.

Gertrude clenched her teeth, trying to twist away, but her exhausted muscles wouldn’t respond with enough force. The sweat that slicked her skin made her feel clammy and weak, and the roaring of her pulse was deafening. She wondered if Edria could hear it, too.

Edria’s palm pressed against Gertrude’s sternum. The knight’s heart rammed powerfully against her. An expression of near-reverence flickered across Edria’s face. She increased the pressure slightly, just enough to feel the full might of Gertrude’s heartbeat. The rhythmic thuds echoed through her fingertips like thunder. There was something surreal about a heart so robust.

“Oh, she doesn’t like that,” Elise teased. “Look at her squirm.”

Edria gestured toward Elise’s hip. Elise nodded and covered Gertrude’s eyes with her hands. Gertrude groaned through her gag as a sharp pain slid up her sternum, a sensation like a blade slicing through her flesh.

As Elise’s hands lifted from Gertrude’s eyes, Edria seized the moment. Her fingers dug into the soft tissue, and with a hard tug, she tore away Gertrude’s sternum.

“Breathe for her,” Edria said, looking to Elise, who responded obediently. She sensed the woman’s hyper-focus and tension, watching her boss enjoy herself too much.

Edria reached in with her right hand, fingers splaying around the broad center of that beating organ, feeling it slide under her palm with slick warmth. The natural fluid around the heart made it slippery; the hunger of the panicking muscle made the dark purple coronary arteries bulge taut against her fingers in each contraction.

Elise smiled, and Edria grinned mischievously as Gertrude gasped in horror, face covered by the cruel, delicate kiss of life-saving breaths, her eyes going wide as her lungs filled. If only her hands could escape the folds of those deceptively soft thighs.

Each breath gave Gertrude the ability to let out pleasantly frightened and pleading whimpers while Edria’s left hand explored the soft crest and crept upward to where the two major vessels rose from the organ’s upper portion.

A curious light shone in her eyes as she tested their flexibility, pressing them gently to see how they would yield. She felt the surge of warm blood pulsing within each vessel, a pounding current that demanded space and freedom, desperately working to supply the woman’s body with enough blood to put up a fight.

As Edria constricted her fingers around them, she felt the knight and her heart jerk and flail beneath her. The ventricles bulged in a futile attempt to keep pumping blood through the now-shunted tubes. The distinct recesses of thick, bloated muscle twitched against her fingers. A faint quiver ran through Gertrude’s body when the woman began exploring the heart’s bulging exterior, tracing the curve of the ventricles.

Edria’s fingertips gleaned a tactile map of the warrior’s most vital organ; Its chambers swollen and exaggerated in size.

Desperation took over, and Gertrude’s body jerked in protest. Her back arched off the wooden floor, her fingers spasmed in their sweaty trap in a pathetic display of discomfort.

“It looks like it’s going to pop,” Elise said, looking at the red mass.

“It does, doesn’t it,” Edria responded,

Sensing Gertrude was moments from losing consciousness altogether, the woman slowly released the vessels, allowing blood to rush anew. The woman’s heart, seizing its chance to reclaim lost beats, kicked with a distressed force. It ballooned and pumped vigorously beneath the naked vixen’s palm, rising in a vigorous thud that knocked against her hand as if protesting the deprivation it had just endured.

“YES,” Edria yelled, naked body shivering and gasping, feeling that tension, that ferocity.

She pressed her palms together and splayed her fingers, covering as much of her heart’s surface as possible. Her thumb settled near the upper valves, beating in urgent, desperate pulses. At the same time, her other fingers curved around the bulging side, feeling the powerful contortions of the ventricles. She realized how intimately she was connected to Gertrude’s existence at that moment. Every spasm and every convulsion were a direct line to the warrior’s failing consciousness.

Edria’s hands slipped a fraction, forcing her to redistribute her weight. She dug her knee into the knight’s ribs, leaning her weight onto her outspread fingers. Beneath her palm, the heart’s frantic pounding began to lose its crisp cadence as she sank into its form. What had been a relentless, forceful drumming devolved into uneven, stuttering attempts to push blood where it needed to go. Each contraction grew fainter.

Sensation flooded Edreia’s hand—a deep, trembling vibration, like the final thrash of an animal caught in a snare. She could almost feel the life draining, slipping between the beats, each pulse weaker than the last. The heart firmed and softened, yet it couldn’t move, giving up.

Gertrude’s eyes, once so fierce, lost focus. A trembling exhalation left her lips in a thin rasp. The warrior’s chest no longer heaved with the same urgency; her limbs fell slack, and her head lolled to one side. Valyria, watching intently, felt the final flutter under her hand—the last feeble attempt at a heartbeat, a slight, faltering quiver that lacked the strength to complete its motion.

A flash of emerald light tore through the dusty hush of the ruined church. In the doorway stood a witch, her silhouette outlined by flickers of green lightning dancing around her hands. She wore a tattered, dark cloak, and her red eyes shone with a cold, otherworldly brilliance. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she shot dark energy across the church.

Magical chains—ghostly links that glowed with a deep, jade hue—materialized out of thin air. Edria and Elise, the two women who had tormented Gertrude only moments before, were caught mid-step as they tried to flee. They yelped in confusion as the spectral bonds coiled around their limbs, securing them in place before they could even think to run.

Caught off-guard, Edria gasped, struggling in vain. Elise hurled curses at the intruder, eyes flashing with impotent rage. But the witch paid them little heed. Her attention was fixed on the silent figure of the knight on the wooden floor.

The witch braced herself, one hand gently curling beneath the rippling, quivering organ, the other resting on top. The first touch surprised her: the tissue was pliant yet dense and heavy. Even without beating, the heart retained an underlying sense of power. She had never felt it like this in all her years with them.

As she began the initial compressions, her fingers sank slightly into the muscle with each push. There was a deep inner resistance. She felt the faint squelch of blood forced through still vessels, the slight unproductive ripple of tissue shifting around her hands. Every press was deliberate, almost intimate, as she tried to coax a rhythm back into Gertrude’s body.

Despite the dire circumstances, the tactile experience oddly mesmerized the witch. She could sense each groove, each valve, every contour of this heart. Feeling a human heart this directly, without the barrier of flesh and bone, was beyond anything she usually encountered.

She muttered an incantation, weaving her own energy through her palms. The runes that flared to life felt hot against her wrists, pulsing with the magic she directed. The witch concentrated on maintaining a steady rhythm: press, release, press, release. She felt the heart flatten slightly each time; blood gushed through the valves, then sprang back with a faint elasticity.

When it remained stubbornly still, she tried a different tactic. She drew a spark of power and discharged a lightning-like jolt into the muscle. Gertrude’s entire body jerked, and the witch felt the heart shill beneath her palms—but it did not resume beating.

She angled her top hand differently, letting her fingers curl around the thick left ventricle of Gertrude’s smooth, glossy heart. With a gentler, more persistent pressure, she massaged it. Each new squeeze sent a ripple along the ventricle walls. The witch could feel the dormant power that had once driven Gertrude’s unstoppable stamina.

One more spark—brighter, more potent than before—crackled between her hands. Gertrude’s back arched, her lungs expelling a breath in a ragged wheeze. This time, the heart didn’t just twitch; it convulsed. The witch felt the muscle stiffen in her grip, and for half a heartbeat, it felt alive again, truly alive, resisting her press. It contracted on its own, a weak but definite beat that throbbed beneath her palms.

“Come on,” she urged, pressing her free hand along the base of the organ to coax it upward. Even with her gentle hold, she felt how vulnerable it was—large, soft, and unprotected. She repeated the routine: a careful compression, a timed squeeze, another mild shock.

“That’s it,” she whispered, leaning closer. The heavy organ in her hands contracted again, then weakened again, trembling as if unsure of its next move. Gently, she laid her hand back onto the pulsing mass; she could feel every slippery contour sliding beneath her fingers in an intimate ripple. She dared to remove one palm, still watching the heart to ensure it didn’t regress. It continued beating—slowly at first, but with an undeniable resolve.

The contractions grew more substantial, the heart’s movements more pronounced. The witch could feel the organ’s vitality returning, its natural rhythm reasserting itself.

The witch withdrew her hand. “Good.” She turned her attention to Elise and Edria, who remained bound in flickering magical chains. She tightened their shackles with a lazy flick of her wrist. “Would it not be painful for my dear friend here, to see a young woman perish… You wouldn’t be alive.”

Elise scowled but bit back any retort. Edria looked away, guilt etched on her face. The witch pivoted, and the chains vanished abruptly. Edria stumbled, nearly falling, and the magical support vanished. Elise steadied her, but the pair shrank from the witch, realizing their freedom was as tenuous as her patience.

“Go!” the witch yelled. Elise and Edria bolted through the church entrance, half-falling over splintered wood and scattered rubble in their scramble to escape.

A weak contraction, then another. The massive heart began to shudder back to life. The witch continued to assist, her magic healing Gertrude’s soft sternal wall. The witch allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

As Gertrude’s heartbeat resumed, color returned to her cheeks in tentative blooms. Her body twitched again, a cough rattling through her throat. She made a feeble attempt to lift her head, though it lolled to the side. Her eyelids fluttered, a soft moan escaping her lips.

“Steady,” the witch whispered.

Gertrude’s consciousness wavered, though her pulse, now audible in the hush, kept a stronger cadence. Awareness leaked back into her mind with the force of a returning tide. The first thing she registered was her heart pounding again behind its newly restored barrier. The second was a voice above her.

“You truly flirt with disaster, darling; we didn’t free your kind for you to throw it all away,” the witch said. Her tone held an odd mixture of admonishment and concern. “In lands such as these, many would take one look at that heart of yours and exploit it—or destroy it.”

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Omg, this is so hot. I love the whole concept of hands wrapped around my heart, and this is beautifully written (and a great length!) on top of that. 🥵💦🥵💦🥵💦

Savage Heart (🫀)

Goosebumps cover my arms as I reach for a fourth mushroom to fill my bag. Something is here, an unfamiliar presence. My breath catches in my throat as I stand and look around. I close my eyes and listen, reaching out with my magic.

Then, I catch the shape of a figure rushing me from behind me. Before I can react, she bursts into the clearing—tall, formidable, with fair skin and long blonde messy hair. Ice-blue eyes lock onto mine. She’s dressed in leather. She raises her rugged chipped and rusty battle axe reared and ready to strike.

"Stop!" I yell in a terrified whimper. She doesn't respond.

Power surges through my arm, erupting from my fingertips as I cast my spell. Shadows draw upward from beneath the dirt, congealing into tendrils of ink-black steel. They coil around her wrists and ankles, snaring her in mid-stride.

My frantic spell barely materializes. Her muscles tense, and veins bulge as she yanks and breaks the chains. I summon one more shadowy tendril to wrap around the handle of her axe, wrenching it away, burying its blade into the dirt and offering me a small fleeting relief.

Yet the loss of her weapon only fuels her rage. She crashes into me like a battering ram, the impact knocks the breath from my chest. I hit the forest floor. My bag of reagents spills. Her weight pins me, knees digging into my thighs as her fingers close mercilessly around my throat.

The world narrows to the panic in my lungs and the ice of her blue eyes locked upon mine, her hatred unmistakable. My chest spasms, desperate for air, and my fingers claw uselessly at her wrists. I can't pry her grip loose. Stars burst behind my eyes.

I close my eyes briefly to escape the situation, focusing on my magic—materializing oxygen into my lungs. Strength floods back into my limbs, and clarity returns to my mind.

She presses harder, face flushed with exertion, eyes wide with fury and now fear. She expected me to be dead by now, but she can see the terror leave my eyes instead. As I try in vain to push her off, her savage heart punches into my palm brimming with vitality.

Watching her try her hardest to deprive me of life fills me with a bitter fury. My mind flickers to all those times I was cornered by these brutish beings.

With a fierce push of will, I slip my left hand into an intangible state, letting the magic envelop my flesh until it shimmers with violet energy. She must think I’m just flailing, pushing her away in desperation because she doesn’t block my arm as it slides up between our bodies. Then, as she presses her thumbs on my windpipe, I sink my phased hand directly into her chest.

Her heart fills my hand, hot and slippery, fiercely alive. I hold her heart momentarily, enamored by its strength and vigor, reveling in its vulnerability. Its tempo quickens as the realization floods her consciousness—she understands now exactly what I’ve done.

The pressure of her heavy breathing wraps her lungs around my hand, each breath labored and panicked. As I smile victoriously, her body betrays her, tremors rippling through her pallid figure.

Her pulse quickens violently, hammering against my palm with feverish urgency. I LOVE it. The arteries surrounding her heart strain thick, tense, and rigid to nourish the needy thing so innocent in its panicked bid for survival.

There's a poetic justice in her response. Her rage is gone and terror fuels her drive to end me now. Too scared to run, she frantically increases her futile efforts.

The organ is so large and strong against my smaller hand. Pericardial fluid coats my fingers while I slide across the heart’s vascular curvature, exploring the most vital chamber. Her entire body tenses as if responding to a vague sense of wrongness.

My fingers glide around the broad curve of her left ventricle, the thick, powerful chamber supplying her body. I cup it gently at first, almost lovingly, letting her feel the gentle cradle of my dominance. Every ounce of blood that her body needs passes through my fingers. Each powerful surge sends a tremor through my entire arm.

She knows what's coming next—I see it in her eyes, her pupils blown wide with dread. I tighten my grip and bare my teeth in a vicious strain. Her heart immediately convulses, thrashing wildly, body seizing violently as blood flow stalls. The sensation is sublime—almost erotic—a pure expression of dominance as her life literally struggles in my grip.

Her heavy and powerful body is rendered helpless, collapsing slowly into panic and paralysis as I deny it its lifeline. Those hands shake my neck, then release my throat and cover my face. She's panicking, fighting for her life in a desperate effort to stop me before I kill her.

Her chest heaves once more, a weak attempt at breath, before she shudders and leans into my arm with no strength to hold herself up.

her desperate heart spasms pitifully in my grip, submitting fully now, reduced to helpless quivering. Her eyes roll back, surrendering consciousness, and for a moment I allow myself the satisfaction of holding her fate entirely within my palm.

Shaking with adrenaline, I push her heavy form away, withdrawing my hand slowly. It emerges slick and shimmering with clear pericardial fluid—the only visible evidence of my invasion. Her chest remains unmarked, as though I'd never trespassed.

I lie there in the dirt, chest heaving. My hair is damp with sweat and stuck to my forehead. My heart is still drumming far too fast, and I can feel the ache in my neck where her hands bruised me. I shift onto my side and look at her. She’s sprawled out on the ground, serene and innocent looking.

Yet as her lungs draw breath and her body recovers, she's a danger. Cautiously, I kneel at her side, slipping my hand once more into the secret warmth of her chest.

My heart thunders in my own chest as my fingers pass once more through her flesh, sinking easily into her vulnerable core. It's soft and slick, tenderly pulsing, slow and steady in its recovery.

I hesitate, lingering in the intimacy of this touch. My fingertips lazily trace the contours of the recovering organ, mapping each fluttering vein and artery. Her life cradled delicately within my grasp. A cruel sweetness fills me, defying the finality of my presence in her chest.

The rhythm beneath my palm abruptly shifts, accelerating slightly. I sense her stirring, subtle twitches in her muscles betraying consciousness returning.

The blonde lies deceptively still, chest rising in careful, shallow breaths. Her eyes remain closed. But the heart beneath my hand betrays her fully—its rapid pounding building steadily. Adrenaline floods its chambers, fueling her silent, furious preparation to strike back.

Her coronary arteries distend again, surging blood through the needy heart as it pumps adrenaline to her muscles. The intimacy of feeling this desperate betrayal sends chills down my spine, knowing she plots violence even as she pretends helplessness. Her heart whispers secrets into my skin, pumping betrayal through her veins, and I feel a sudden surge of cold, predatory satisfaction.

My fingers spread across its surface before pressing down firmly, compressing the organ beneath my weight. Her heart immediately thrashes beneath my grip, frantic and furious, realizing too late that I've discovered its treachery. It jerks violently against my palm, jerking my whole body in futile contractions. Each beat is thwarted, stifled, strangled under me, denied the life-giving blood it so urgently craves.

Her eyes snap open wide, no longer pretending, pupils dilated in raw terror as she stares up helplessly into mine, knowing I can feel every futile, desperate spasm within her chest.

She tries to roll away but I press harder, mashing into her trembling heart. Her weak body arches, writhing weakly beneath me, nails clawing uselessly at me. She gasps sharply, breath stuttering, choked whispers spilling from parted lips.

Yet I remain, extinguishing her rebellious spirit.

Her struggles fade, muscles surrendering, limbs growing heavy and motionless. Her heart's spasms weaken into small, pathetic flutters beneath my palm, no longer fierce nor defiant, just a defeated organ twitching helplessly under pressure.

I expected to feel relief or maybe just numbness. Instead, there’s a sharp ache in my chest—a strange and possessive longing I don’t entirely understand. I look at her slack features, the subtle part in her lips, and a surge of remorse.

Her eyelids reveal a glossy sliver of blue. In that heartbeat of a moment, I realize I’m not quite ready to let her go. This fierce, unrelenting warrior—some part of me wants to hold her life right at my fingertips a little longer.

I press both hands onto her chest, mashing against the inner sides of her breasts until I slip through her. Her viscera is warm, slick, nauseatingly intimate. Again, the muscle greets me with its distended, meaty heft, still and unresponsive from my lethal grip only moments ago.

But I refuse to let it remain silent.

My fingers curl beneath the large, engorged organ, feeling the thick, supple muscle that forms its ventricles. It’s soft and pliable as if waiting for some spark of energy. My fingers slip around over every delicate feature of her heart’s surface.

Careful yet driven by a sudden urgent desire, I massage the heart. I press my thumbs into the delicate meat, pushing and releasing in firm, rhythmic strokes to coax it back into motion. The fluid squelches between my fingers, and I focus on the deep wet give as I apply enough pressure to push blood through the valves.

At first, there’s no response. A cold dread twists my insides—did I wait too long? But then I sense the faintest tremor. Something stirs. My lips part in a silent gasp. She stirs with it, too—her head rolling to the side, a broken whimper trickling from her throat. The first thump is erratic, a shy flutter of possibility. I press more firmly, kneading the ventricles. The fluid suction around my hands makes each motion intimate. I’m cradling and playing with her very essence.

Her heart spasms again, stronger this time. The thick walls tighten in my grip, forcing stagnant blood to circulate again. Again and again, I press and release, coaxing the organ to establish its own rhythm. Each time it obeys me, I feel exhilaration bloom in my cheeks. With every compression, the powerful muscle grows more active, fighting to restore itself with my help.

It settles into a trembling but sustained beat. Strong enough to push blood along the arteries, it feels slicked against my fingers. Those tense vessels pulse and slide with each renewed pump, the meat smashing its firm yet tender form into my hand. The moment I sense her heart claiming its own rhythm, I let out a gasp.

I'm unable to pull away. There’s a morbid fascination in feeling that once-dead muscle come alive under my palms, slamming the back of my hand into her ribs. I trace its contours, from the apex of the plump, beating ventricles up to the thick crown of arteries near the base. It churns ferociously as though furious at being snatched back from oblivion. Its weight presses into my palms, and its vascularity becomes rigid in every contraction—firm, insistent, needy, starving. The heat radiates, each surge telling me she’s alive again.

She awakens. Her eyes snap open wide in unmitigated terror. I brace myself for another attack, half-expecting those hands to clamp around my throat again. But something has changed. Maybe it’s the shock of dying once already… or maybe she senses how fully I command her life at this moment. Whatever it is, she doesn’t lash out.

Instead, she stares at me, chest heaving under my touch. The raw fear in her gaze is palpable—a trembling question reflected in those ice-blue irises. My magic still encases the newly revived heart; I can feel its frantic, racing tempo, the savage pounding that proves how terrified she is. Yet she keeps her hands at her sides. She doesn’t dare push me away.

We both hang in this strange limbo for a moment. My fingers still cradle her living heart, and her breath shudders around my wrists, eyes locked on mine. My flesh inside hers, I just sit there, feeling everything in her helpless body move against me.

Slowly, carefully, I ease my palms away, letting the spell dissipate so my hands emerge. Her chest spasms, and she takes in a deep breath.

The fear in her eyes doesn’t vanish, but she doesn’t move against me either. Perhaps she knows how swiftly I can return that heart to stillness if she tries. Her mouth opens, forming words she can’t quite speak, an echo of the terror surging through her.

I don't speak yet. My hands shake, adrenaline coursing through every inch of me. My skin tingles with leftover magic, and my heart's throbbing is so loud in a perverted joy it almost drowns the forest.

She’s alive, by my will, and strangely… she doesn’t fight me. That final glimpse of vulnerability in her eyes flares as she meets my stare. It almost feels like an unspoken truce. I exhale, trembling, uncertain where this leads us, only sure that her heart, once crushed under my palms, now beats again—swift, forceful.

[torment-steth-repeat]

I normally keep politics off my tumblr because I'm here for kink, not discourse. But this isn't political, it's safety and basic fucking decency in a terrifying time. Right now it's incredibly important to let queer people, disabled people, Black and brown people, poor people, and everyone else targeted by fascism to know which spaces are safe for them to be themselves. This is one such space, and if you don't like it, block and unsub, just GTFO.

Fuck Donald Trump and all he stands for. My blog is a safe space for queer people.