Tashanasha - Eveely's Dirty Spot

All rope, photos, text, and layout by me.  

Models: @dumdolly​, @ropebaby, @masochistic-babygirl​, and Anya Demure (@theropediary)

Library For Kinksters (Oct. 2018 Update)

Welcome to the Library For Kinksters. Check back often as the library is updated frequently.

NOTE: In areas of gender or identity most articles are transferable. Articles on subs apply to anyone regardless of gender, etc. The same is true for Dom/Dommes - all articles about Doms applies equally to Dommes as well as Daddies and Mommies.

Click on a link to go to that section

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K a y l a

You're not exactly shy that you want it.

To be reduced, transformed, entranced.

So when it starts, it's welcome.

It feels good to let go, to give in to the warm pink thoughts. Almost like returning to a womb.

It arouses you. The idea of being subsumed buy this new self.

But then you start to have trouble thinking. Details float away of who you are.

Your past becomes hazy. Perhaps it's this confusion that causes the first hint of panic.

But panic is too strong of a word. Whatever's doing this to you is dulling your sense of self preservation. You know you should care, but it's so difficult when even thing is warm and pink and fuzzy.

The last bit of the old you pushes through, trying to form the words to stop, but it's far too late for that.

You're in the pink now.

And everything feels wonderful.

Art by Pachu

daddied in public

We were waiting for the train and I was being incessantly pouty because he wouldn’t let me go to the other side of the city to retrieve a pair of boots I keep at the office. They’re super sexy and I wanted to wear them, but we had plans and no time to rearrange our commute. His logic was sound, but being told no still made me feel a wee bit petulant. 

He tolerated it for a bit, but then he gave me The Look. You know the look I’m talking about. It’s also called the Careful, Young Lady look, or the You’re Pushing It look. Whenever I’m on the receiving end of it, I get squirmy and immediately feel tiny. I buried my face into his chest. I do that a lot when I’m in trouble or being chastised; I leaned into him as if snuggles were going to save me from a spanking. I mumbled sorry into his shirt and he said, “sorry, what?” I hesitated, not expecting him to prompt me in public, even though the subway platform was mostly empty. “Sorry daddy,” I said. I felt myself starting to throb.

On another day, we were in Zara and I couldn’t decide between two tops. I really wanted them both. I help one up, stared at it longingly, and looked at him. “I can have both?” I asked. I expected either a yes or no, but he said, “How do you ask permission for something?” My eyes widened. The store was busy enough that it would’ve been easy to be overheard. People pushed past us every couple seconds. 

“But we’re in public,” I protested.

The look on his face made it very clear that he didn’t care.

“May I have both, please?” I whispered. He didn’t make me call him ‘sir’ or ‘daddy’, but I still felt like I’d been reminded of my place.

I got to have both tops.

When he daddies me in public like that, it’s always a pleasant surprise. It pulls me out of whatever distracted headspace I’m in and anchors me. Goes without saying that it’s hot as hell, too. I’m still getting used to being mindful of my behavior outside of the bedroom. It’s not that I forget I’m his submissive when we’re out and about; I just don’t usually make a conscious effort to behave like his submissive when we’re not behind closed doors.

It’s a good thing, then, that he’s there to remind me of exactly who and what I am.

He’s there to remind me that, no matter where we are, I remain firmly under his thumb.