Bd/sm Edging - Blog Posts

Everyone who talks with me here gets a "Good Morning" text daily, also a lot of nice talks (depends on the other person too).

So many people asked me why I am so kind!

Why can't a man be sweet to you, kind to you, be the person attached to you, clingy to you?

We are kissing passionately, feeling each other's breath in our mouths, then I cup my hands over your pussy, feeling the warmth of it. You gasp for air with the sudden surge of pleasure. I couldn't resist any more, I inserted my hand into your panties in one quick move. I concentrate on your breath and our kissing to know how much pleasure you are going to feel when that first touch of my bare fingers on your clit.

I can say I have mastered this art 🥰❤️

Waiting to see if my puppy has earned what she’s begging for

In the privacy of our dimly lit bedroom, the air is thick with tension — charged, electric. You kneel before me, naked, your body trembling with anticipation and the faintest trace of fear. Your skin glows in the soft amber light, marked with faint bruises and scratches from nights like this — reminders of what you crave. Your nipples are hard, pebbled from the cool air and the memory of my touch, begging for attention. Your thighs press together, instinctively trying to hide the slick heat between them.

I walk slowly around you, letting my presence wrap around you like a leash. My fingers trail along your jawline, slow and deliberate, before tightening around it. I tilt your chin up until your eyes meet mine — wide, obedient, burning with want.

“You know who you belong to,” I say, my voice low and sharp like a blade drawn in silence.

Then — a slap. Sharp and sudden. Your cheek turns pink as your lips part in surprise. I don’t give you time to process. I spit into your open mouth, watching the way your breath stutters as it lands on your tongue. “Swallow it,” I command. You do, eyes never leaving mine, and my cock twitches at the sight.

My hands find your breasts, greedy and rough. I squeeze, pinch, then slap them — once, twice — watching the skin ripple and redden under my touch. You gasp, a broken sound that echoes in the stillness. I drink it in.

I move behind you, pushing your shoulders down until your chest presses into the sheets and your ass rises for me — a perfect offering. I grip each cheek, spreading you wide. You whimper, helpless and displayed. I slap your ass, the sound loud and delicious, the skin blooming red beneath my hand. Then another, harder. You yelp, your hips jerking.

Between your legs, you’re soaked — your arousal dripping, glistening, betraying your need. I run two fingers over your slit, slow and teasing, then deliver a sharp slap to your pussy. You cry out — not in protest, but in aching need.

“Please,” you whisper, breath shaky, voice wrecked with desire.

“Please, what?” I ask, dragging my nails lightly along the inside of your thighs. “Beg properly.”

“Please, Master… fuck me. Use me. I need it.”

That’s better.

I grab your hair and yank your head back as I line up behind you. My cock slides between your slick folds, not entering, just torturing — making you feel every inch without the release. “You’re my fucktoy. My cumdump. My perfect little hole,” I growl into your ear. “And you’re going to thank me for every second of it.”

Then I thrust into you hard, and your body jolts. You scream into the mattress as I fill you, your walls clenching tight around me like your body already knows who it belongs to. I start moving — slow at first, then harder, faster — using you with the kind of control that only years of trust and training allow.

Each slap of skin against skin, each moan torn from your throat, pushes me deeper into that feral part of myself that only you get to see. I slap your ass again, the flesh bouncing beautifully, my fingers leaving marks like a brand.

Then I stop.

You whimper in frustration. I flip you over, your chest heaving, sweat slicking your skin. I spread your legs wide, exposing your swollen pussy, already red from use. I deliver a slap right to your clit, and your whole body twitches. “Good girl,” I murmur, leaning in close. “So sensitive… so ready.”

I thrust into you again, deeper now, finding that spot that makes your eyes roll back. I watch your expression as you fall apart — every gasp, every tremor, every frantic grasp for the sheets as I fuck you toward the edge.

You’re close. I can feel it — the desperate clench of your pussy, the trembling of your thighs.

“Don’t come,” I warn, my voice a growl.

You try — gods, you try — but I keep hitting that spot, each thrust deliberate, punishing. You cry out, overwhelmed.

Then I give you permission.

“Now. Come for me.”

You shatter — your whole body convulsing around me, the orgasm tearing through you like fire. Your pussy milks my cock, pulling me with you. I thrust once, twice more — then explode inside you, hot and deep, claiming you the only way I know how.

I stay buried in you for a moment, letting our bodies twitch and settle. Then I pull out, slowly, watching as my cum drips from your used hole — a perfect, messy, filthy sight.

I grab your chin again, forcing you to look at me. “Mine,” I say, voice dark, final.

You nod, dazed and satisfied. “Yours,” you whisper, eyes full of devotion.

I kiss you hard — tongues tangled, breaths shared — then guide you back to your knees. “Clean me up,” I command, cock still wet and twitching.

You obey, worshipfully, your tongue moving slowly, lovingly, licking me clean. It’s not just submission — it’s reverence.

When you’re done, I pull you into my arms. “Good girl,” I whisper against your ear, kissing your hair.

But the night is young.

There will be more.

More fucking.

More claiming.

More you.

I’ll stand over you, one hand in your hair, the other trailing down your throat to remind you who owns every inch of this perfect, begging body.

I won’t be gentle. Not when you’re presenting yourself like the obedient little offering you are.

You don’t just want me to do my thing.

You want to be undone by it.

Used, worshiped, ruined—and rebuilt as mine.

And that’s exactly what you’ll get.

Gravity got you there.

Now I’ll keep you there.

Gravity did her thing. Now I just need you to do yours.

My Property – Part 2: Good Pets Obey”

The door shuts behind me with a satisfying click.

And there she is. Right where she belongs.

On her knees. Naked. Waiting.

The light from the hallway cuts across her bare skin, highlighting the way her back curves just slightly as she presents herself to me—shoulders pulled back, thighs parted wide, her collar locked tight around her neck. Her eyes stay lowered, exactly as trained, but the words come without hesitation:

“Thank you, Sir… for owning me.”

My lips curl into a slow smile. She doesn’t even look up for praise—she’s too deep in her place. Not a partner. Not a lover. Not even a person in this moment. Just my slave. My possession. My obedient, wet little pet.

I say nothing.

I make her wait.

I walk slowly around her like a predator circling a caged thing. I see the way she breathes—shallow, needy, already trembling. Her thighs are slick and glistening. Her nipples are tight. Her body is practically begging me to touch her. To use her. To take.

I stop behind her. Let the silence stretch like a leash around her throat. Then:

“Crawl to me.”

She moves instantly—on hands and knees, crawling across the hardwood floor like the obedient bitch she is. Her ass sways naturally, submissively. It’s not performance—it’s instinct now. Her mouth opens slightly, like she’s hoping I’ll spit in it again. Like a pet begging for scraps.

I grip her chin hard and lift her face. Her eyes stay down.

“Look at me.”

She obeys.

“Do you exist for anything other than my use?”

“No, Sir.”

“Are you a woman?”

“No, Sir.”

“What are you?”

“Your property. Your slave. Your pet. I’m whatever you say I am.”

Good.

I shove two fingers between her legs and feel just how soaked she is—hot and dripping and pulsing around nothing.

“You’re disgusting,” I growl. “Dripping like a needy bitch just because I walked in the door.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispers. “I’m disgusting. I’m yours.”

I pull my fingers out, hold them to her lips. She opens eagerly. I feed her her own slick like it’s dinner. She sucks hungrily, moaning, her tongue swirling as she cleans my fingers like the obedient little thing she is.

“Get in position. Hands on the floor. Knees spread. Face the mirror.”

She scrambles to obey. She knows the rules. I watch her crawl to the full-length mirror I installed for this very reason—so she can watch herself be used.

She settles on all fours, her collar shining, her pussy exposed and twitching.

I unzip my pants slowly and step behind her, my cock already hard, thick with anticipation.

“You’ve got one job in this house,” I say as I slap her ass hard. “And that’s to be used.”

Another slap. Then another. I grab a fistful of her hair and yank her head up to the mirror.

“Look at yourself. Look at what you are.”

She stares, whimpering.

“My little fuckpet. My cumdrunk slave. You live for this.”

“Yes, Sir. Please use me. Please… don’t stop.”

I push inside her in one deep, brutal thrust. She screams—but it’s the kind of scream I love: relief mixed with pain, like her body’s finally back where it belongs.

“Shut up and take it.”

I fuck her like she’s a toy. Like she has no thoughts, no agency, no purpose except to milk my cock and moan for my pleasure. I wrap her leash around my hand and use it to control her rhythm—yanking when I want her deeper, tightening when I want her to moan louder.

“You’re not even human to me anymore,” I snarl. “You’re a fucking object. A hole with a heartbeat. You understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” she gasps. “Use me. Break me. I’m yours.”

Her cunt squeezes around me like she’s already close. But she knows better.

“You do not cum unless I command it.”

“Yes, Sir. Please—please let me.”

I don’t answer. I just keep going. Relentless. Cruel. Filling her completely, pushing her further than most would survive. She screams into the floor, hands clawing at the wood.

I pull out just before I explode, shove her flat to the ground, and straddle her face.

“Mouth open.”

She obeys instantly, tongue out, lips parted, hungry.

I stroke myself, spit dripping down onto her tongue as I groan. My cock pulses, and I unload deep into her mouth—thick, hot ropes that she swallows without hesitation, her eyes locked on mine the entire time.

“Good. Fucking. Pet.”

She swallows again, then whispers: “Thank you, Sir.”

I look down at her—naked, wrecked, face messy and dripping with sweat and spit and my cum.

I snap a photo. Then two.

“You’re mine. And tomorrow, we’re going to show them what a real slave looks like.”

On my knees for you Sir. Thank you so much for owning me.