#🦴 Quinn posting | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dexsuka · 3 months ago

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“This is for your own good,” which, couldn’t feel farther from the truth. Owner slots the padlock shut, and clips it into place. The cage feels cold, metallic and foreign against my knot. “Doctor’s orders. Since we haven’t found a prescription for you, this’ll have to work,”

I basically keel at that - at least, I think I do. Everything is fuzzy and hot and the only thing I can make out is the heat between my legs. Molten and throbbing, drooling steadily down my thighs and spacing out gaps where my cognitive skills should be. It’s unbearable. Torching, sweat-slick heat. Filling all my empty spaces and pulsing under my skin. I can feel the vibration of my voice in my throat.

“Hey.” He snaps, flicking the lock. “Down, boy. Don’t bark at me.”

I can feel a pressure swelling behind my ribs, and the low rumbling of a growl rolls between my teeth. My stomach flexes and instinctively my hips jerk up. The cage clinks against itself. There’s a tension between my eyes, blurring my peripherals. Makes it hard to think - or, think about anything other than the ache in my knot.

“You knew this was coming, and you know I haven’t been able to track it,” Owner jabs two fingers between my brows, planting them firmly into my forehead. “So when you felt your rut symptoms, what do you do?”

My molars grind hard enough to squeak. It doesn’t take that for an answer. “You tell me. Maybe that way I could’ve gotten a head start and gotten you prescribed something,” he’s reaching for something now, fitting his hands into his pockets. “But no. I get no warning, no notice, not jackshit.”

It takes him a minute of aimless fingering before he finds it. A key; Looped neatly through a chain. “-So you can imagine my surprise when I come home to my mutt humping at my furniture, halfway into a heat,”

There’s a lobster claw at the very end, and owner clips it open with ease. It drapes the key over its neck, and it clicks into place, dangling over his throat. He swallows, and his adam’s apple throbs against the cool metal of it. His neck is perfectly fit for the curve of my mouth. Could plant my canines into the slope of his shoulder and we’d practically fall into place. Somehow, I feel warmer. Everything is fuzzy.

“You did this to yourself.” And with that, he pushes himself to his feet. I really whine at that, no doubt about it. I can’t help it. It hurts - goddamnit, it burns. I’m sweating just about everywhere, and I can feel the thrum of my heart in my ears. My pulse flickers in my throat, my eyes, my stomach. My senses filled near to tipping.

I’m taking him in all at once. The sight of him, my key around his neck. The flush of his skin, the damp of his hair. The sound of it. It’s panting, ever slightly. Breathing just slightly offset. The smell of him, the musk and sweat and faint electric thrill. —Er, that’s not right. He smells giddy, practically vibrating out of his skin. He’s sweating just about as much as I am and his heart is bartering against his chest. He’s getting off on this. It’s getting off on my pain.

The world has a way of flipping right on its axis, and folding in on me. That heat, swelling, and pressure reach a boiling point. I’m not aware of anything, but there’s the rumbling of my voice on my tongue, and like I’m loaded on a spring - I toss a fist.

I’m not fully conscious of it but I can feel the air against my knuckles. The rapid draft as I pull back my hand and swing at his face. Its fallen back against our dresser, stumbling to balance itself as I clock its jaw leftward. He’s quick to take me up, though, and reels back far enough to land a hit on my unguarded gut. Owner jabs me in the kidney, sending my nerves into temporary shock as the pain tentacles out through my chest to what’s left of my brain. While I’m stunned, he slips out from between me and the dresser, and grabs me by the back of my scalp.

Hes gonna bash my head in. He’s gonna pull me back by my cranium and send my forehead crashing into the dresser. With what little resolve I have, I rear my head and bite. My teeth bury into his arm and its hand spasms, flexes, then momentarily lets go. Enough for me to push him back by the chest and send him backward into our bed. (Or, his bed. Something something “beds are for people.”)

He’s bleeding bad now, staining the sheets. There’s a steady dribble of blood from his nose, drooling onto his lip and down his bruising jaw. The bite mark isn’t pretty either. But lord almighty if it didn’t send my knot pulsing tenfold. That heat is rising again, somewhere southward. Leaking down between my legs and pathetically beading from the head of my cage. I grapple onto its shoulders and hold it into the mattress. He could overpower me if he wanted. Could sit right up and knock me to the ground. But owner knows his pup.

“Gotta..” My breath comes in short, shallow pants. My hips move at their own accord, tactlessly rubbing and humping at owner’s boxers. I risk moving a paw to shove at his waistband, trying pitifully to claw it off. I’m whining intelligently. “Need-to.. need itt. Need to knot,”

He mumbles something at that, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he squeaked when I finally tore his boxers off enough to cop a good look of his hole. Except, it’s wet. He’s practically drenched through his pants. And its dick - oh shit. There’s a heady string of pre from the entrance of his hole, up to the hard tip of his cock.

I’m drooling, I just can’t help myself. I completely forget to hold owner down, and strangely, he doesn’t fight me back. Big puppy eyes flick up at him, staring up through my lashes. “Daddy’s hard - haaha. This got you hard?”

It turns away at that, face burning. Nose and cheeks distinguishably pink. “Fuck off.”

I pout, lifting his legs by the back of his knees and nosing into his thigh. “Owner can’t say that..”

“Oh, right,” A scoff, and a roll of the eyes. “Fuck off, puppy,”

I make a noise at that - content, probably. The heat stirs steadily in my loins, an uproar that’s begun to crank my gears into a full-stop. My temples sting and my vision is in double. I can’t distinguish the thumping of my heart from my tail. All I know is that I need to pop my knot into something tight and warm, and there’s the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen hard and leaking underneath me.

Owner’s so pliable like this. Spread out, leaking and drooling. Easy to pump full. Easy to knot and knock up and breed and fill with pups. Oh, fuck. My head fills with white noise, and my head throws back. I’m humping at him without any set pace, rubbing and thrusting my cock against his hole. Prevented only by the thick layer of metal over my dick. The steel slides easily with how wet he is, and often misses his hole entirely. I’m basically forcing my dick against him, and when it slips, it pushes right up against his hard cock. He gasps at that, and squirms like prey. Writhing and grabbing at me. Nails sinking into my arms, my shoulders, my nape. But all I can do is whine and wag as my caged dick tries futilely to penetrate him.

“Pup - ahh fuckfuck fuck - down get down-“ Owner grasps at control in the ways he knows how to, but his eyes are rolling back. All it’s getting is cold metal against its dick and hole, pumping rapidly between his legs, sliding up and down without any rhyme or rhythm. I’m a mess, and he’s succumbing to the same state.

I can’t help it, it’s instinct. It’s in my dna, and daddy feels so good. Warm and wet and I need to be inside, I just need it. Need to see the look on his face when I pump him full. Need to know it’s mine. Need to get rid of this goddamn heat. Hes mouthing something at me, something like a plead. Something like a stop, a no, a whine and a beg. But im too far gone.

“Fuck! Pup I’m gonna- owner’s gonna —!” Is either all he could grit out between his teeth or all I could get through my head, as owner spasms and tenses. His legs lock over my hips, every muscle tightened. He stills for the good stretch of a second, practically sobbing, then goes lax against the sheets. Dropping into the mattress, limp and boneless, his head practically lolled back. Dripping, twitching, and made a mess of my cage.

It’s panting, as evidenced by the rapid rise and fall of its chest. I whine and try to rub myself against his spent cock, - if I could’ve gotten hard to begin with, I still would be. - but he twitches back to life, and immediately flinches away. Oversensitive and frankly pissed.

“You - fucking mutt ..—“ he starts, but before he can drone on at me, I’m pressing him back into the mattress. Droplets of blood land on his chest, and I’m reminded that I’m still bleeding out my nose. His eyes go big at that, scanning my face like he’s assessing the damage. Not out of concern, but something more akin to pride. He did that to me. My blood drools down his cleavage, southbound his body and stops short at his pelvis in a pretty red line. He’s flushed pink.

By the grace of god, he’s stunned long enough to pin him further into the sheets. I slot myself deeper between his legs and grind against his hole. He gasps and twitches, his hips jerking away from it. But contrary to popular belief, stunting my knot wouldn’t make it go away. It wouldn’t curb my rut symptoms at all - if anything, it heightened them. And as long as that key was strung around his throat, it wasn’t gonna hear the end of it. :3

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dexsuka · 3 months ago

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I don’t really tap into the whole “dog/owner” thing too often cause it’s gay as hell. I’m a casual guy and labels like that set things into stone, makes them feel serious. I guess it wouldn’t be too bad though. I’m a bit of a shit dog, a mutt if you will. Can’t help myself, was never trained right. It’s not my fault if I bite or yap or bark, never learned any better. It’s also not my fault if I’m a bit weird with owner at first. I’m still adjusting, after all.

getting good eyefuls of him when I can. While it’s lounging about, hunched over its computer, or got his phone inches from his face. I like watching him go about his life. It familiarizes me with him; his mannerisms, the way he holds himself and how he maneuvers the world. Simple things like that help the whole settling in process, at least from an animalistic point of view. Watching him in more vulnerable moments helps, too. But it’s not my fault.

Owner doesn’t exactly know.. but he doesn’t need to. Pup just can’t help but peer the corner while it’s changing, maybe even making mental notes of where he puts things so I can fetch his worn clothes out of the hamper. Familiarizing myself with his scent, course. Nothing weird about that. Creeping into the bathroom while he showers, watching his reflection in the mirror from the doorframe. Quietly sliding the shower door open to get a peek while he cleans himself up. Pup can’t really explain that one, it’s getting harder and harder to justify my owner stare-time.

it’s particularly difficult to justify getting hard over it. Watching owner do simple tasks, reaching over to grab something or having to bend over to fetch something low, and suddenly I’ve never wanted anything more than to grab and have him right then. Staring while it manspreads across the couch and biting on the urge to perch between his thighs and mouth at the bulge in its pants. Even just coming up behind him and having to try so hard not to rub myself against his ass - even then I don’t always succeed.. just needing to grab at him anytime, anywhere. To familiarize myself. And I couldn’t be blamed if I did. Pup’s never been trained!

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dexsuka · 3 months ago

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My oral fixation has extended outside of just kink and it’s debilitating. Sure, enough gum and chewed-up straws gets me through half the day, sometimes part-way through the noon if I’m lucky, but it’s not sustainable.

Oral cravings hit me the hardest. Brushing my teeth helps, so does dunking myself in water. I feel clean for a moment, and then I need something between my teeth again. It makes me feel feral. I’ve ground my molars so tightly wound I’m basically waiting for one of them to pop right out. I feel rabid and it makes me feel. Bad.

I’ll be sitting with my guy friend - anonymity’s sake, I’ll just call him that. Guy. - doing fuck-all. Usually sitting on his bed while he’s at his desk. Parallel play or something like that. I’ll be half-cross the room from it, watching it hunch over the computer screen, and all I can think about is how empty my mouth feels. How good the space between his neck and shoulder would feel on my canines. Not in a weird way, I don’t like dudes. I don’t wanna leave hickies on this guy. I just need to get a mouthful of him, get a proper feel for the layers of his skin and really feel the tear of it. The veins snapping the same way you pull the veins out of a fish. The flesh giving way like lean beef. Or a chop. Fuck I’d kill a good plate of chops. Not a big rib guy myself but bones on teeth is delightful.

It’s getting to a point. I find myself biting into my arms just because I need to feel it. I need something on my tongue and something in my mouth and something against my teeth. I’m insatiable. I guess they don’t call it a fixation for nothing though

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dexsuka · 3 months ago

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Been tipping my paws into new territory lately - blatant lie. "tipping" and I'm already hurdled over where weird starts and predatory begins. Forever l've been filling this weird gap in between a victim complex and the persecutor but I fear it's been coming to a head, and I don't like it. I really, really don't like it. I've become more and more prone to violent intrusive thoughts - though I guess they're less intrusive once I start entertaining them and fall more into fantasies. I'm having violent fantasies. That's even worse out loud.

And I really don't like that. it starts intrusive, swear it, they really do. I'll walk past a wall or a pole or anything that can hold its own and immediately my senses are assaulted with the overbearing vision of how a cranium would bear against that. It's nothing crazy evil, nothing sadistic or serial killer-y, I'm not that kind of guy. Just, blunt force, that's it, it ends there. I'm not like that, because I really, really don't like it.

Heaven’s sake, I’m a pretty standup guy. I get volunteer hours, I’ve got a stacked resume, I go to church on sundays and I keep pressed button ups in my closet. I’m an active, upstanding member of society. I’m a good guy. I don’t know why this is happening

It’s really bad with this one guy - and what’s worse, I don’t know why. You’d think I’d wanna hurt a guy that I hate but I try not to hate people at all, and I barely dislike it. Sure he’s a bit odd. Maybe off-putting. But it’s charming in the ways it knows how to be, and I don’t hate having him around sometimes. I don’t know why my knuckles itch when I’m around him or why I feel it. “It” being the urge. The swell of it, the pent-up wind and toss of it. I feel like a pendulum held still, waiting to swing into motion. It’s been so hard. It’s so fucking hard and I really, really don’t like it at all

Any advice?

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