#sensory play

[unapologetic-boy-kisser]

Imagine being at a bdsm club, or a kink party, and finding a room full of people in complete darkness. Stepping into the black room, immediately getting groped as someone pulls you in and starts kissing on your neck. Another person reaches out to stroke your face in the dark, going by outline as their mouth traces a path to your straining cock. Moving further into the mass of writhing bodies, you kiss at least 5 people before you get too focused by someone pressing their fingers inside you to do anything but whine.

All your senses would be on fire, not being able to see anything makes your body so much more sensitive, you're dripping as someone that could be anyone bends you over an unknown piece of furniture and slips their unprotected cock in your wet hole. Your moans blend in with a symphony that echoes within the close walls, several pairs of hands pinching you nipples and pulling your hair and guiding their cock past your lips. You'd lose track of how many people would cum inside you, completely free use in the darkness.

[xochimillilili]

Kinktober day 14: Wax/ Candle play

Need to tie up my sweet pet in their soft little puppy bed, have them gagged and naked, a vibrator whirring softly between their legs. Have them staring up at me with those sweet pretty puppy eyes all wide and fuzzy brained, so cute, so innocent. Kissing their forehead once before pulling back, carefully lighting the candle just out of sight, and trailing my free hand around their body softly. Seeing them relax and melt into me even more, get them so eased up and calm that I can clearly see the flinch and small squirm and the way their eyes widen at the touch of heat as they feel the first drop of wax fall onto their skin

Come on sweetheart, let me paint your skin all pretty tonight once more. You know pup, this wax color really does suit you... it looks gorgeous against your soft skin, really makes those marks from your earlier belt spanking just pop all pretty~

[bktempted]

Last train. The bass from the party still thumps dimly in your ears as you stand on the near deserted platform. It's late, much later than you intended, and the chill night air prickles against your skin, a stark contrast to the sweaty crush of bodies you just left. Your ride ditched you, and now, this train is your only option.

You check the schedule again on your phone, screen glaringly bright in the dim station. Yep, the last one. The one the old station attendant just warned you about.

"You sure about this one, miss?" he'd asked, polishing the already gleaming ticket counter. "Got a bit of a... reputation, that last train. Folks say strange things happen on it." He lowered his voice. "Especially for a lone women. Heard whispers... probably just talk, mind you, but..."

You'd waved him off with a smile, buying your ticket. "It's my only way home. Besides," you added, a spark of something reckless igniting within you, "I’m sure I can handle it."

He just shook his head, muttering about foolish youth. But he didn't know the half of it. You had heard the rumors. Vague, dark whispers online, late night forum threads, stories dismissed as urban legends. A train where rules didn't apply, where inhibitions vanished, where... things happened. Things you usually only read about in the anonymous corners of the internet.

Most days, you'd dismiss it too. But tonight... tonight was different. The party, the drinks, the lingering buzz of adrenaline — it all combined into a heady cocktail of boredom and curiosity. A dangerous little voice in the back of your mind whispered, what if it's true?

The distant rumble grows louder, headlights cutting through the darkness. The train slides into the station, brakes hissing. It looks ordinary enough, maybe a bit older, a bit more worn than the usual commuter carriages. The doors slide open with a pneumatic sigh.

You hesitate for only a second. This is it. The point of no return. Turn back, call an expensive cab, wait an hour in the cold? Or step aboard?

A thrill, sharp and illicit, courses through you. You want to know. You want to see if the rumors hold a grain of truth. With a deep breath, you step over the threshold.

The doors hiss shut behind you, the sound unnervingly final. The carriage isn't empty. Far from it. But as your eyes adjust to the low, flickering light, you notice it. Only men. Seated, standing, leaning against the poles – a dozen or so, maybe more. And they're all looking at you.

No one speaks. The air is thick with unspoken tension. It's not overtly threatening, not yet, but it's undeniably... predatory. Eyes trace the lines of your body, lingering. You feel stripped bare, even fully clothed. Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the rhythmic clatter of the train wheels on the tracks.

You expected something, but the reality of being the sole woman, the focus of so many intense, male gazes, is overwhelming. You grip the cold metal pole near the door. You told yourself you wanted this, wanted to tempt fate. Well, here it is.

———

The silence stretches, broken only by the steady clack-clack-clack of the wheels on the tracks. It’s a hypnotic metronome, pulling you deeper into the strange reality of this carriage. Their eyes are still on you, a collective weight you can feel pressing against your skin. There’s no conversation, no pretense of normalcy. It’s raw, stripped down to the base awareness of male and female, predator and… well, you’re not entirely sure you’re prey. Not when you walked into this willingly, a dangerous curiosity burning brighter than any fear.

Your breath hitches as one man detaches himself from the group near the connecting door. He’s tall, dressed in dark clothes, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He doesn’t hurry, his deliberate steps echoing slightly in the tense quiet. He stops a few feet away, simply watching you. Waiting.

You meet his gaze, heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. This is it. The moment the fantasy becomes real. You chose this. You wanted to know what happened on the midnight train. You lick your lips, a nervous gesture that feels amplified, almost performative, in this charged space.

His eyes track the movement, a flicker of something dark — hunger — crossing his features. He takes another step, closing the distance. He reaches out, not fast, not threateningly, but with undeniable intent. His fingers brush against the side of your neck, tracing the line of your jaw. You don't pull away. You can’t. You won't. This is the price of admission.

His thumb sweeps across your lower lip, and you gasp softly. The sound seems deafening. Another man moves closer then, from your other side. You feel the heat of his body before he even touches you. A hand settles on your waist, firm and possessive. Your breath stops in your throat. It’s happening.

Slowly, inevitably, others begin to close in. Not rushing, but surrounding you, a tightening circle of male presence. Hands ghost over your arms, your back, your hips. Each touch stripping away layers of inhibition you didn't even realize you still possessed. The air grows thick with the scent of cologne and sweat.

Someone tugs gently at the hem of your top, fingers brushing against the bare skin of your stomach. You shiver, arching slightly into the touch. Another hand slides into your hair, tilting your head back. You find yourself looking up into a pair of intense, dark eyes. He doesn't speak, just searches your face, as if gauging your reaction. He sees the flush rising on your cheeks, the slight parting of your lips, the way your breathing has quickened.

A low murmur ripples through the men, a collective understanding passing between them. The energy shifts, sharpens. The initial tension breaks, replaced by a palpable wave of lust. His mouth descends towards yours. Just before contact, you hear the train horn blow, long and low, a mournful sound swallowed by the night. But the train doesn't slow. It barrels onward, faster now, it seems, deeper into the darkness.

His kiss is demanding. It’s not gentle, not tentative. It’s a claim. And you meet it with equal force. The fear is melting away, consumed by a burgeoning heat pooling low in your belly. This is overwhelming, terrifying, and utterly, intoxicatingly exciting.

More hands are on you now, bolder, more intimate. Sliding under your clothes, exploring curves, eliciting gasps and moans that you barely recognize as your own. You feel yourself being pressed back against the cool metal wall of the carriage, the vibrations of the train mingling with the tremors caused by exploring fingers.

Eyes closed, you give yourself over to the sensations. The scrape of stubble against your cheek, the heat of breath on your neck, the surprising tenderness of one hand cupping your face while another explores more boldly. It's a dizzying kaleidoscope of touch and pressure. You're surrounded, engulfed, the center of a vortex of attention you secretly craved.

Someone lifts you effortlessly, setting you onto one of the worn vinyl seats. Clothes are being pushed aside, buttons undone, zippers lowered. Your own hands become bolder, reaching out, touching firm chests, strong arms. You're no longer just receiving; you're participating, driven by a desperate, rising need. The warnings, the rumors — they didn't prepare you for the sheer intensity of this, the complete surrender of control, the raw, primal energy filling the carriage.

The clatter of the train is the only constant, a driving beat beneath the sounds of heavy breathing, rustling clothes, and your own increasingly vocal pleasure. There's no turning back. The train speeds on, taking you further and further into the night, and deeper into the fantasy you dared to chase.

———

Things are getting rougher now, teeth clashing, tongues demanding entry. It’s a raw claiming, and you meet it head on, a groan vibrating in your chest. Hands are tangled in your hair, holding you steady as another man’s mouth finds the sensitive curve of your neck, sucking a mark onto your skin that you know will bloom dark tomorrow – a souvenir. You gasp, arching into the dual assault on your senses.

Your top is gone now, pulled away impatiently, followed swiftly by your bra. Cool air hits your bare skin for only a moment before warm hands cup your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples with exquisite pressure. You cry out, the sound swallowed immediately by a kiss. Fingers pinch and pull, sending bolts of pure pleasure straight down to your core, where a frantic heat is building, demanding attention.

You feel hands at the waistband of your jeans, the button popping open, the zipper sliding down with agonizing slowness. Rough denim scrapes against your thighs as they’re pushed down your legs, taking your panties with them. Kicks send them somewhere into the dimly lit carriage. You’re completely exposed now, laid bare on the worn seat, the slightly sticky vinyl presssing against your back.

A hand slides between your legs, fingers finding you slick and ready. You gasp, hips bucking instinctively off the seat. He groans, a low, appreciative sound, as his fingers dip inside you, stretching you, learning your shape. Another man kneels on the floor before you, his face buried between your thighs. His tongue flicks out, tasting you, tracing patterns that make you writhe. The combination is electric – both invasion and worship all at once.

You reach out blindly, hands finding hard muscle, belt buckles, the straining fabric of trousers. You want to touch them, feel them, return some measure of this overwhelming sensory input. Your fingers fumble with a button fly, freeing hot, hard flesh. The man whose cock you now hold groans your name, or maybe it’s just a guttural sound of need, pushing himself into your hand.

The man kissing you pulls back slightly, lips swollen, eyes dark with feral hunger. He looks down at the other man pleasuring you with his mouth, then back to your face, a possessive glint in his eyes. More hands are on you, stroking your legs, your stomach, your arms. You feel utterly consumed, adrift on a sea of sensation. Every nerve ending is on fire, overloaded.

The man kneeling before you increases his tempo, his tongue relentless, driving you higher and higher. Your moans become louder, less inhibited. You hear the rustle of more clothing, the low murmurs of the men watching, waiting. The air is thick with the scent of arousal, yours and theirs.

Just as you feel the first ripples of climax building from the insistent pressure between your legs, the man above you positions himself. You feel the blunt head of his cock press against your entrance, nudging past the fingers still buried inside you. He pauses, letting you feel his size, his heat. You meet his gaze, a silent question asked and answered. You nod, almost imperceptibly, lifting your hips to meet him.

He thrusts forward, filling you completely. A sharp cry escapes you, a mixture of pain and overwhelming pleasure. He’s thick, stretching you wide. He stays still for a moment, buried deep inside, letting you adjust, letting the men surrounding you watch. The man at your thighs hasn’t stopped, his tongue now working in rhythm with the pulsing pressure inside you.

Then, the first man begins to move. Slow, deep thrusts that rock your whole body. The rhythmic clack-clack-clack of the train wheels re-emerges, a primal beat driving you both. Another man takes one of your hands, bringing your fingers to his mouth, sucking on them gently. Someone else strokes your hair back from your sweat-damp forehead.

It’s too much, yet not nearly enough. Every touch, every thrust, every lick sends shockwaves through you. The climax that was building before surges back, stronger this time, fueled by the friction inside and the relentless attention above and below. Your vision blurs. The faces around you become indistinct shapes in the flickering light. All that exists is the pounding within you, the slick slide of flesh on flesh, the hot mouths, the grasping hands, and the relentless, driving motion of the train carrying you deeper into the debauchery you craved.

You cry out again as the orgasm hits, intense and shattering, arching your back off the seat, your body convulsing around the man buried deep inside you. But it's far from over. Even as the waves of pleasure begin to recede, you feel him continue to thrust, and you see another man positioning himself, ready to take his place, or maybe even join him. The train shows no signs of stopping. And neither do they.

[kayleeofcamelot]

Kiss?

Steddie NSFW thread for @domeddieweek

Late submission for Soft Dom Eddie

Including: praise, sensation play, teasing, edging, blowjob & aftercare

Divider by @strangergraphics

"Eddie, please," Steve's voice sounds positively wrecked and they're barely fifteen minutes into their scene.

Pearly precum dribbles from his cock. When Eddie uses the sharp edge of his fingernail to gather it up, the hard length twitches.

He withdraws his hand and replaces it with the soft feather he used before. Lightly running it along Steve's shaft, down his balls and over his left thigh before circling back. It's more of a teasing tickle than actual stimulation, but Steve tries to buck his hips anyway, seeking any friction he can get.

Eddie flicks his tongue as a warning, chastising Steve for wiggling around. With a strong grip, he pushes Steve back to the bed, who moans wantonly when his ass hits the mattress just right. Eddie smirks, fully aware of what spurred on the strong reaction. He listens to the faint buzz coming from the vibrating buttplug, nearly drowned out by Steve's sweet sounds and pleas. It must have hit a good spot when Eddie manhandled him.

He keeps pressure on Steve's hips to keep him in place, exchanging the feather for his fingernails again to run them along Steve's thighs and sides and over his lower abdomen.

The chains from the wrist cuffs rattle when Steve tries to shy away from the light sting. He's whipping his head around so much, Eddie is afraid his blindfold will slip.

"Stop that, baby", he reprimands again and brings a hand up to grab Steve's chin.

"Please, give me more. Wanna come."

It's cute how Steve thinks, even after multiple months together, that begging will get him anywhere.

He pinches Steve's nipple as small punishment, making the Sub yelp, more by surprise than pain.

"You get to come when I say so," Eddie growls and Steve nods along dumbly. Without eye contact it's hard to tell how far under Steve is, so Eddie runs soothing circles across his pec, asking Steve to give him a colour.

"Green."

"Thank you baby. I'm so proud of you using your words."

Eddie leans in and lightly brushes his lips against Steve's. When he pulls back, Steve whines low in this throat. It's one of Eddie's favourite sounds he can coax from the Sub. He basks in the feeling of fondness and love for a moment and then continues where he left off.

With precision, Eddie tickles the feather around the sensitive head of Steve's cock, pleased with himself when his Sub moans helplessly. Eddie increases the intensity and rapidity, gauging Steve's reaction with sharp eyes. The man's gorgeous brown locks fly when he tilts his head back in a silent moan, overwhelmed by the onslaught of different sensations. Subconsciously, Steve tries to get his hands forward to stop Eddie, but can't when the wrist cuffs pull tight.

Under his fingers, Eddie can feel the slight pulsation of Steve's cock, a telltale sign he's about to spill. Before he can do so, Eddie stops his tracks and puts the feather aside. He taps the control quickly, effectively shutting off the plug.

"No! Eddie please. No. Please."

Steve helplessly bucks his hips and trashes around. The chains of the cuffs rattle against the frame. Steve's red cock gives a small kick and twitch, some more precum dribbles from it.

"Shhhh, baby, it's okay."

Eddie soothes his Sub by running his hands along the upper thighs and over the chest, trying to ground him without adding stimulation where Steve craves it.

"You did so well, Stevie. Promise this was the last one. You wanna come?"

Steve nods eagerly, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

Knowing fully well Eddie wants verbal confirmation, Steve chokes out a watery, "yes please."

"So good for me, baby. You earned this."

Eddie reaches for the remote and slowly dials up the vibration of the plug. When he's happy with the setting, he sets it aside within reach and shuffles down the bed a bit.

Steve's covered eyes try to track him through sounds, but he stays quiet.

With skilled movement, Eddie dips down and takes as much of Steve's cock in his mouth as he can.

Above him, Steve moans and gasps and Eddie has to fight a smirk when the chains clink again, knowing fully well how hard Steve is fighting to hold on right now, given how close he was to coming before.

He wraps one hand around Steve's length, the part he cannot reach without gagging. Extra spit and a pool of precum serve as lubricant as Eddie flicks his wrist up and down as he simultaneously sucks around Steve's head. He soldiers past the salty tinge in his mouth. A taste he can never get used to. But he's rewarded by the wonderful moans Steve lets out uninhibitedly. Spurred on, he brings his other hand under Steve's ass and sneaks his fingers forward to the plug.

With vigor, Eddie sucks at Steve's cock while he presses the buttplug further in with his fingers. The intense double sensation has Steve coming with a scream. His load spills in Eddie's mouth, who pulls back with a slight cough and spits it into his hand. He quickly wraps his fingers back around Steve's twitching cock and strokes him through the rest of his orgasm. Only when Steve's sweet mewls slowly get a pained undertone, Eddie eases up. He reaches over for the remote and switches off the plug.

After cleaning his hands and Steve's cock, he crawls back up so he's face to face with his Sub.

"I'm gonna get the blindfold off, okay?"

Steve gives a small hum as affirmation. During a scene, Eddie would demand more, but it's sufficient for aftercare.

He carefully removes the fabric and Steve blinks up at him with bleary eyes.

"There you are, baby."

Eddie tenderly caresses a thumb over Steve's red cheeks, stained with tear tracks. He nuzzles into Eddie's soft touch.

They stay like that for a moment and then Eddie reaches up to the headboard to get the cuffs off. He dutifully checks for any bruising or irritated skin, pleased to find none.

When he tries to move down to take out the plug, Steve's fingers catch his wrist. He turns back to his partner. "Something wrong, Stevie?"

The man shakes his head but tugs Eddie closer anyway. He tilts his head slightly and taps his lips. "Kiss?"

And how is Eddie supposed to say no to such a sweet request?

(Steve refuses to take out the plug and demands cuddles. When Eddie notices his Sub is getting restless again, he takes the toy out anyway and fucks Steve deep and slow)

[snakeautistic]

I CRAVE deep pressure on this super fundamental level like yes please crush my body I want to be compressed. You know like those hydraulic press thingies? I want that to be me under there. Or like to lie under a steamroller. A weighted blanket is not enough I need to be flattened.

[dino-boyo-agere]

Fun sensory play to do when your smol/ with your little one:

.･｡ﾟ×ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ×ﾟ｡･*.ﾟ.✧.ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ×ﾟ｡･*.ﾟ☆ﾟ×ﾟ｡･.

1. Eating with your hands:

Especially food you would usually use utensils for is a really fun sensory experience. Just make sure to wear clothes that are allowed to get dirty and protect rugs & furniture.

My favorite are melons. Just cut whatever kind of melon you prefer in half, lay out a tarp on the floor/ table and dig in with your hands.

Pasta with tomato sauce or rice are really great to make a mess too!

2. Brushing you plushies, or your pet if u have one:

You could also brush your own/ a friends/ your CG's/ your little one's hair, which can be great for bonding! <3

It's super easy and I find the feeling of brushing hair/ fur extremely relaxing and comforting.

3. Playing with shaving foam:

It has a really soft feeling, is available in all kinds of scents and is great to play with in the bathroom or wherever you're able to rinse everything with water.

I like to play with it in the garden, I just wear my swimming trunks and cover my whole body in the foam, in the summer.

4. Playing with baby powder:

I'd advise to also do this in the bathroom or over a tarp, stuff gets everywhere.

It's fun to cover your body in the soft, comforting smelling powder and it's easily washable from skin and clothes.

If it ends of in the floor/ carpet/ furniture it can be removed with a vacuum.

5. Filling a tub/ bucket with different things to dig your hands into it:

This is a pretty easy and fast little sensory play, just pick whatever interesting texture you want and throw it in.

My favorites are: crumbled up/ shredded paper, sand, ping-pong balls, soft blankets, and cotton balls

6. Making playdough:

Making playdough is really easy and a fun sensory experience.

You basically only need 5 ingredients and are free to add any color and scent you'd like! → here is a recipe ←.

Make sure to lay out cling wrap on the surface you'll be working on and wear clothes that are allowed to get stained, food coloring is hard - sometimes impossible - to remove from certain services/ fabrics.

Also be aware that the food coloring will most likely stain your skin and nails for a few days, from mixing it in. You can wear gloves to prevent that, but that also lessenes the sensory experience.

All ingredients are safe to eat, since little ones can be very curious. If you choose to add scents, make sure to use food safe ones, in case you/ your little one decides to eat it.

.･｡ﾟ×ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ×ﾟ｡･*.ﾟ.✧.ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ×ﾟ｡･*.ﾟ☆ﾟ×ﾟ｡･.

That's all I can think of right now, feel free to add your own ideas too! I might add more later aswell.

Thank you for reading. <3

.ﾟ｡.･.*.ﾟ☆❗only interact if your blog is SFW❗☆ ﾟ.*.･. ｡ﾟ.

[madamejadex]

I’ve been thinking a lot about sensory play since you first talked about. I’ve never actually really tried it before, but my curiosity is admittedly piqued.

See, I’m not a particularly sensitive or reactive person most of the time. A combination of medication side effects and a naturally high pain tolerance can occasionally make it hard to get a response from me.

But, with some of my senses taken away, I imagine my others would heighten. The feather light touches that I would’ve never batted an eye at would now have me jerking and twitching against my will. And what a perfect little toy I’d make then: someone who’s a usual pillar of stone crumbling and whimpering with every little touch.

I doubt I’d make it very long before the crying and begging started. But you wouldn’t allow yourself to be rushed, would you? Not when there’s so many textures and sensations left to try.

And afterwards I would be so clingy. I’d never want to let go of you, wrapping myself around your waist like you’re the only thing grounding me in reality and burying my face in your chest while my sensitive eyes adjust to the light again. All while mumbling “thank you”s into your warm skin for walking me through such a beautiful experience.

Yours 💋,

🪶

My precious quill,

You have no idea how much I loved reading your message… how much I felt it. The way you shared yourself, the honesty in your hesitations, the tenderness in your curiosity, it’s a kind of trust that makes me want to hold you close, kiss the top of your head, and whisper, “You’re safe. Let’s go as slow as you need.”

Sensory play, for someone like you? Oh, the beauty in that contrast. That high threshold suddenly crumbling under the weight of a whisper-soft touch. A shift in power not from force, but from sensation itself. You, the unshakable one, twitching and whimpering just because I took something away from you... and gave you something deeper in return.

Can I paint you a scene? Let me show you how I’d take care of you.

I’d start with a kiss on your forehead as I guide you to the bed. I’d ease you onto your back and drape silk ties over your wrists. Not to tightly. But just there. A whisper of restraint that I kiss softly, before I’d murmur to you, “We're not in a rush, my sweet Quill. You’re mine now, and I want to take my time with you.”

Then the blindfold.

That moment when the world darkens, and suddenly every sound, every breath, every shift of fabric feels like thunder. I’d let the silence hang, warm and heavy, letting your body start to listen differently.

Then the touches would begin. Slow. Inconsistent. Purposeful.

A soft brush of fur across your ribs. A cool strand of pearls down your sternum. Fingertips ghosting over the curve of your hip, then gone before you can respond. The teasing isn’t just physical, it’s mental. It’s the wait. It’s knowing I’m right there, but not being able to predict when or where.

And I’d be watching, watching the way your body twitches, the way you breathe just a little faster. Maybe a frustrated huff escapes you. Maybe you try to speak.

“Ah ah,” I’d coo against your temple. “You don’t need words right now. Just feel. Just let go.”

Feathers. Ice. Silk. Claws. My tongue. My nails. Over time, your body would stop trying to anticipate and start to surrender. And that’s where the magic happens, isn’t it? That’s when the trembles become moans. That’s when even the softest touch feels unbearable and you love it.

Then I’d introduce something new.

The soft drag of suede strands over your stomach. The whisper of leather as I lift the flogger and trace it down your thigh.

“Let me give you something deeper,” I’d whisper.

I’d let the soft leather tails fall across your chest, your thighs, your pussy, gentle thuds first, enough to warm your skin. Enough to make your breath catch. I’d pause often to touch you, to check in with your trembling body. Then resume, gradually picking up the pace until you’re arching into every fall, craving it. The sting, the heat, the release.

“You’re doing so well for me,” I’d purr, pressing my lips against your chest and licking the salt from the curve of your breast. “Let it me hear you.”

And then—thwack—the leather tails lands across the patch of skin my mouth had just kissed. Hard enough to sting. Hard enough to draw a small shriek of surprise. One, two, then a pause, where I replace sting with the warm press of my hand. A praise. Another kiss.

The flogger moves in rhythm with your breathing. Faster when your body begins to crave it, slower when I want to pull you back. It’s all sensation now. The sound of the slapping leather, the softness of the silken ropes, and my presence.

And when you’re trembling, when your thighs are sticky, breath ragged, lips parted around a whimper that won’t quite come, I slide between your legs, fingers eager and knowing.

“Now,” I murmur, slipping inside you with a precision that makes you cry out. “Now I want to see how you break for me.”

You’re clenching around me, sobbing into the blindfold as the pleasure hits. Your body jerks with every slow thrust of my fingers, every firm stroke against that spot that makes your world go soft and white. I don’t let up. Not even when your voice cracks as my thumb slides over your slick covered clit.

“Come for Mommy,” I breathe against your panting mouth, “Come, my beautiful thing. Let it all go.”

And you do. Loud, shaking, undone, your orgasm hitting you like a wave as I hold you through it, murmuring praises, letting you ride it out in the safety of my hands.

And when it’s over, when the blindfold slips away and your eyes blink slowly at the light, you’d find me already holding you. Arms open. Chest warm. A gentle hand stroking your hair while you bury your face against my skin like you said you would.

“You did so well,” I’d whisper. “You were so beautiful for me.”

And as you whisper your “thank yous” into my skin, I’d press kisses to your cheeks and let you cling, grounding you with my warmth, my presence, my praise.

Because you are my puppy. And that experience? It would be yours to keep. Always. 💋

[xochimillilili]

Wish I could tie my pretty sweetheart up, set them all out for me on the bed, have them all nice and comfy maybe I'll settle a soft kiss on their lips before slowly trailing ice around their body— seeing how they squirm and twitch as the cold goes across their skin, a mix of stinging pain and delicate pleasure on them~

Denying their pleads to cum by shoving an ice into their mouth, making them feel my cock grow hard inside their warm little cunt from their desperate muffled cries and whimpers~

[stimboardboy]

the pool: loose felt shapes

[submissivefeminist]

What would you consider an “underrated” kink?

Sensory deprivation/overload. I think there is SO much to explore there and people often overlook a lot of ways you can play with someone's senses. Most ways don't even require kink toys and involve a lot of stuff you might already have around the house.

Prime examples of sensory play:

Complete deprivation (blindfold, earplugs, no clothing, every move is a surprise)

Ice dildos (easy to make and very exciting temporary toys)

Sour sadism (drops of lemon juice or pinches of sour sugar on a sub's tongue)

Locking mitts (makes their hands useless, great for human puppies & adult babies)

Playlist curated with your scene as they wear noise-canceling headphones

This extremely horny puppy will take a vape hit for each dirty ask you send it. 🐶🥵🔥

[faehoundnell]

I like the idea of mixing class-A's with Synesthesia. Lightening those senses until touch and sound and color and taste all mix together. An Affini just holding their floret in their lap, headphones over their ears, a modified class-a in their veins. They play their own biorythm over the headphones and watch as the florets eyes go wide, a shiver up their spine making them squirm as the noise explodes into sensation for them. A soft vine trailing up their arm causing them to drool from its taste.

These are the things I think about while playing out aerobic bacteria samples.

[whoreforhorror]

Kinktober Day Two: Sensory Deprivation with Hannibal Lector

Hannibal was the one who'd brought it up. He was curious to see the effects of sensory deprivation on a person up close, and you, his darling partner, were the perfect subject. He'd gotten everything all layed out and you were starting to suspect he's more excited about this than he's letting on. He'd spent literal weeks researching blindfolds and noise-canceling headphones and gloves and restraints. He'd looked relentlessly, only settling on the nicest silk blindfold and additional silk to bind you with. He found the absolute best noise-canceling headphones, ones that would work both with music and without. He'd done enough research that he'd even found gloves for you to wear too, so that you couldn't feel a thing with your own hands, of your own fruition. 

He'd made a whole night of it too, making an elaborate brunch that he delivered to you in bed, taking you shopping, and then taking you out for an incredibly expensive dinner, both of you dressed to the nines. After the day of pampering, he leads you to your shared bed, pushing you backward gently so that you're sitting on the edge. 

Hannibal grabs the silk red blindfold, kissing you as he slips the blindfold over your eyes and typing it behind your head. He kisses you once more, a quick but loving kiss to remind you he's there, and pulls back some. You can just slightly feel him moving away by the shifting of the bed. 

"Can you see, my love?" Hannibal says in a voice just above a whisper. Opening your eyes to look, and all you can see is the deep, nearly blood-red. The silk is smooth and cool against your skin and you can feel your eyelashes brushing against the material. 

"No, not a thing." You can practically hear the grin form on his face as you speak. 

"Good" He replies simply and comes back to you, placing the headphones on your head, over your ears. The world goes silent as he does so, you can't hear, you can't see. Already, your senses are heightened. Your smell, your sense of touch, you felt on edge and honestly a bit anxious for what's to come. It's one thing to imagine but to be sat here, deprived of the basic senses you'd grown so accustomed to using... it's an erotic, sensual type of fear, one that you can quickly feel yourself getting addicted to. Especially with Hannibal. 

His hands move to rest on either side of your face, each on your jaw, pulling you forward a bit and making your head tilt up just a little. He kisses you once more. A much longer kiss, filled with love and passion. Another reminder that he's still here and that you're in good hands, at least for now. 

When he pulls back, it's a long stretch of nothing. It was probably only a couple of minutes but it felt like ages, an eternity stretching on as you waited without sight or sound for Hannibal to do something, anything that you can feel. The time stretches on and on, so when you feel his hand back on your shoulder, you jolt with surprise as your breath hiches softly. 

Hannibal's hand slides down from your shoulder to your hand, taking it gently and guiding you to stand and walk a few paces forward, away from the bed. There's a short stretch of nothingness before he takes your hand again, pressing a kiss to the palm, then the inside of your wrist. His actions cause butterflies to flutter in your stomach as it flips, flustering you enough that you barely even notice as he slips the soft gloves onto your hands. You reach forward to touch him, but he grabs you gently by the wrist, bringing your arm behind your back and proceeding to do the same with the other. 

You feel the smooth, cool fabric on your arms, the silk restraints. He winds the material around and between your arms, tying them close together, tight but not restricting the blood flow. As his touch leaves you once more, you test the restraints just a bit, trying to pull them apart or twist and wriggle out. The restraints hold strong, your arms aren't going to be freed until Hannibal wants them to be.

Hannibal's hands make their way back to you once more, holding your face as if he were holding a precious Fabergé egg, his thumbs rubbing your cheeks gently as he holds you. His lips find their way back to yours, a moth to a flame, kissing you with a passion that grows from loving to fervored and hungry. He walks you backward, step by step, his lips never leaving yours until you hit the bed with the back of your legs, falling backward, a short gasp escaping you. The mattress cushions your fall, leaving you lying on your back, legs hanging off the bed at the knees, blinded, deafened, and bound.

Fem:

Hannibal's hands find themselves on your knees, spreading your legs a fair degree. His lips land on the inside of your knee, pressing a gentle kiss there too. One of his hands glides upwards, fingers hooking the bottom of your skirt and pulling it upward. The air hits your legs as your skirt moves up your lower thighs, up your upper thighs, up until it's just barely covering what it needs. Hannibal's lips trail up, following the hem of your skirt and peppering your inner thigh with short kisses. The butterflies in your stomach feel like a raging storm at this point, and your breath shortens as your face flushes.

Then, his touches disappear entirely. No kisses, no hand on the knees, no hand pulling up your skirt. You're left, lying on the bed with your skirt pushed up high enough that your panties peek out from beneath, the air brushing past your legs, reminding you of just how exposed and vulnerable you are right now. He's gone for several minutes now.

Sitting back, he's in an armchair in the bedroom, notepad and pencil in hand, observing you closely and taking notes. Every twitch, every change in breath, every single thing you do he takes notes on. Beyond taking notes, you can certainly count on him making sketch after sketch of these moments as he commits them to memory.

The longer he takes, the more you start to test the restraints and the heavier your breath grows, the anxiety and tension building and building, blooming into a combination of fear of the unknown and arousal from the lack of control or knowledge you have in the situation.

It takes seventeen minutes for Hannibal to stand from his chair. You're left in the dark, literally and metaphorically, unaware of where he is or what he's doing. He could be long gone from the room, he could be observing, he could be anything else under the sun.

A hand on your exposed thigh causes you to jump again, the long stretch of nothing leaving you on edge. His hand trails higher and higher, pushing your skirt fully up to your hips and pulling your panties to the side. You can feel the warmth of his breath before he presses a kiss onto your clit. He wastes no time starting to lick and suck, eating you out like you're his last meal.

Pleasure courses through your entire body, making you moan and writhe, the loss of your senses heightening every little touch of Hannibal's. You'd reach for his hair if your arms weren't bound. Your own pleasured moans and groans echo in your mind, the only thing you can hear. You've got no way of knowing how loud or quiet you're being either, adding a layer of freedom to the experience. Something so raw and unfiltered about not knowing or caring how you sounded, how you looked. 

One of Hannibal's hands slid up to your stomach, the other hooking across your hips to hold you down as he continued to eat you out. His tongue circles and zig-zags and licks in straight lines, each and every movement feeling like the only thing you've ever felt and the only thing you'll ever feel, and it's fucking mindblowing.

Your thighs and stomach start to clench involuntarily and your back arches off the mattress. Hannibal only buries his head deeper between your thighs, sucking and licking with more fervor than he had thus far. Your climax makes you see stars behind the silk blindfold. 

Your body falls slack onto the bed as Hannibal moves away from you again. Your dress's skirt is pulled back down to cover you properly, and Hannibal's lips are back on yours, kissing you once more with slow, gentle passion this time. You can taste your cum on his lips and it only serves to drive you crazier, wanting him to never stop. It was addicting. He was addicting.

Hannibal sits you up just enough to take the gloves and binding silks off your arms, gently laying you back onto the mattress as he gives you yet another peck on the lips. He takes the headphones off next, followed by the blindfold. Once everything is off, he gives you a charming smile.

"Hello again, my darling." 

Masc:

Hannibal's hands find themselves on your knees, spreading your legs a fair degree. His lips land on the inside of your knee, pressing a gentle kiss there too. One of his hands glides upwards, fingers around your belt, pulling it loose and unbuttoning the dress slacks you'd worn out. He pulls them off you gently, the air hitting your legs as your lower half is left in your boxers. Hannibal's lips trail upwards, peppering your inner thigh with short kisses. The butterflies in your stomach feel like a raging storm at this point, and your breath shortens as your face flushes.

Then, his touches disappear entirely. No kisses, no hand on the knees, no hands roaming your thighs. You're left, lying on the bed in your boxers, the air brushing past your legs, reminding you of just how exposed and vulnerable you are right now. He's gone for several minutes now.

Sitting back, he's in an armchair in the bedroom, notepad and pencil in hand, observing you closely and taking notes. Every twitch, every change in breath, every single thing you do he takes notes on. Beyond taking notes, you can certainly count on him making sketch after sketch of these moments as he commits them to memory.

The longer he takes, the more you start to test the restraints and the heavier your breath grows, the anxiety and tension building and building, blooming into a combination of fear of the unknown and arousal from the lack of control or knowledge you have in the situation. Your dick strains against your boxers with anticipation, practically begging to be released.

It takes seventeen minutes for Hannibal to stand from his chair. You're left in the dark, literally and metaphorically, unaware of where he is or what he's doing. He could be long gone from the room, he could be observing, he could be anything else under the sun.

A hand on your exposed thigh causes you to jump again, the long stretch of nothing leaving you on edge. His hand trails higher and higher, going to the opening of your boxers and pulling your cock free from its confines. You can feel the warmth of his breath before he presses a kiss to the underside of your shaft, just above your balls. He wastes no time running his tongue up it, wrapping his hand around and pumping before kissing your tip and taking you in his mouth fully. 

Pleasure courses through your entire body, making you moan and writhe, the loss of your senses heightening every little touch and lick of Hannibal's, the warmth of his mouth quickly becoming an addiction. You'd reach for his hair if your arms weren't bound. Your own pleasured moans and groans echo in your mind, the only thing you can hear. You've got no way of knowing how loud or quiet you're being either, adding a layer of freedom to the experience. Something so raw and unfiltered about not knowing or caring how you sounded, how you looked. 

One of Hannibal's hands slid up to your stomach, the other hooking across your hips to hold you down as his head bobs up and down, tongue running up the underside and him occasionally pulling back entirely to pump and stroke you with his hand. Each and every movement feels like the only thing you've ever felt and the only thing you'll ever feel, and it's fucking mindblowing.

Your thighs and stomach start to clench involuntarily and your back arches off the mattress. Hannibal only takes you in deeper, sucking and licking with more fervor than he had thus far. Your climax makes you see stars behind the silk blindfold as you cum down his throat.

Your body falls slack onto the bed as Hannibal moves away from you again. Your boxers are slid back on to give you a bit of decency, and Hannibal's lips are back on yours, kissing you once more with slow, gentle passion this time. You can taste your cum on his lips and it only serves to drive you crazier, wanting him to never stop. It was addicting. He was addicting.

Hannibal sits you up just enough to take the gloves and binding silks off your arms, gently laying you back onto the mattress as he gives you yet another peck on the lips. He takes the headphones off next, followed by the blindfold. Once everything is off, he gives you a charming smile.

"Hello again, my darling."

[lost-in-elysian]

Just imagining how a pretty little plaything would look on my floor -hands tied to your back and blindfolded in silk. All trapped and vulnerable kneeling before me.

I’d circle around you, thinking of the many ways to hear your breathing hike up. Perhaps, I’ll caress your sweet face, my thumb grazing your bottom lip. I'll wander down to that bare neck, as my nails catch on to your soft skin. My hands dip down to your collarbones, and just ever so lightly circling those perky nipples. I’ll brush my lips against your ear and teasingly whisper,

"How can a good girl already shake with simple touches? Maybe I should keep the touches to a minimum; I wouldn't want my little one to break."

And we'll keep playing this long game of sensation until you lose your silence. I want you to be riled up so much that you have to stutter through those whimpers just to beg me to attend to your wet quivering mess.

And how dare I ignore a sweet girl’s request when asked politely...

[jellyfshstms]

noface stims || tanookislimesofficial on ig

[rainbow-lite]

as an autistic person i think a little too much abt sensory play ,,

fuzzy handcuffs, blankets, their clothes, hot wax, ice, blindfolds, rope, vibrators, impact play, leather, rubber gloves, etc !!!!!