u/PhBDSM

As a professional academic, metaphors amuse.

Also iambic pentameter amuses. We’re told it has ten syllables, and those iambs are the "feet." But logically, if I have ten of something, shouldn't those be the fingers of two feet? Or rather, the five toes of two feet... because calling them "foot-fingers" is the kind of linguistic slip that I trip over with my... mind-feet.

And a dactyl, being one stressed syllable followed by two unstressed, is more like a finger with its three joints. Whose toes have three joints?

It also turns out people and books have spines, but book binding is not exactly the same as BDSM. Bookmarks are something like blindfolds for typefaces? Libraries are such twisted places.

I'm only now reminded that I need a hook, something designed to grab your attention and compel them to keep reading. But the hooks in BDSM also don't seem as relevant. My referring to bodywriting as marginalia seems confusing. And why do we mark anal-ogies with colons?

For conversation: I am looking to discuss word roots and the arboretum of meaning, to poke at the "body of work" and the subtle misspellings of publishing and punishing, to make similar mistakes. Let us mix the high with the low and find some humorous middle ground.

For roleplay: A tale involving a pair of Victorian academics, and a dimly lit office of an already crumbling university building, a mysterious piece of parchment on a mahogany desk leading to a forgotten book in a library and then to an experiment.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

kinks: BDSM, D/s, orgasm control and denial

limits: underage

I am looking for an academic submissive who finds fulfillment in being a muse, a source for ideas, a vessel on which to try ideas, someone able to describe in detail the perspective of submission.

We would create and curate co-designed scenarios. A role is then to endure, experience, and eventually articulate the internal shifts you feel. Deconstructing their submission for discussion, taking apart media, thinking through the deeper ideas.

So if you are a submissive who craves theory, the "project," who thrives in imaginative world-building and creative explorations, reach out.

I’m looking for a bit of creative chaos. I need to decide on a specific time 60 minutes - 120 minutes from now, but a simple "pick a number" feels far too efficient. I’m asking the community to provide the most convoluted, mathematically rigorous, or unnecessarily complex process possible to help me arrive at a timestamp.

This must result in a specific time (HH:MM:SS) later than 1 hour from now and before 2 hours from now for me to cum.

The Input can involve anything readily available—stock tickers, weather data, the number of letters in the last three tweets by a specific person, or complex physics constants. The more steps, the better. And "Roll a d60" is too easy. I want a process.

"So the two of you are the only living speakers of Nyctian?"

The bookseller's voice sounded too old for his youthful features. He looked like a man out of time, clad in a high-collared frock coat of charcoal wool. It was exquisitely tailored, yet possessing a structural stiffness that fell out of fashion a century ago. He didn't wait for a confirmation. "I suppose the skeptics still claim the language never existed. A 'philological hoax,' they call it! Not I. Not I! I do not merely believe. I know."

Clara and Julian had barely crossed the threshold before Mr. Vallance turned his back to them. The shop was windowless, dominated by a door of unnecessarily heavy oak. He swung it shut with a pressurized thunk that moved the air from the room. With the practiced performance of a master of ritual, he slid a series of heavy deadbolts into place and turned an obnoxiously decorated skeleton key. The metal gave a final click before he vanished the key into a hidden pocket of his coat.

Julian caught Clara's eye. A flicker of reserved amusement danced in his expression, a silent acknowledgment of the man's flair for the melodramatic. Julian humored the eccentricity.

"We appreciate the invitation, Mr. Vallance," Julian said, his tone smooth and academic. "It is a rare privilege to be offered a glimpse of primary Nyctian texts. And yes, for better or worse, we are the experts."

"I am an expert in certain matters as well. And you may call me, simply, the Librarian." Vallance drew himself up, attempting to summon stature despite being a head shorter than both scholars.

Clara stepped forward, her politeness losing ground to the unease sparked by the locked door. "A library? I was under the impression you were more an antiquarian, Mr. Vallance."

"The Librarian," he corrected. The way he spoke gave both words audible capital letters. "I rarely descend to the level of commerce, my dear Doctor. My collection is curated for its intrinsic weight, not its market price. I am a guardian, not a capitalist." He gestured expansively toward a darkened corridor of shelves. "Shall we?" He pointed into the darkness at the rear of the shop. "Follow closely. Do not wander."

The two linguists followed him through a hidden archway, masked by a frayed curtain of weeping red velvet. While the storefront had been cramped, the space beyond defied geometry. The hallway stretched into an impossible perspective, a dizzying maze of stacks illuminated only by the intermittent, yellow hum of flickering bulbs.

The atmosphere shifted. The air smelled of old paper. And judging by the grey fur of dust coating the ledges, no one had cleaned these halls in decades.

Clara slowed, craning her neck around a corner. Her skepticism was rapidly being replaced by a rising sense of vertigo. "This is... an immense library, Mr. Vallance." She hurried her pace to keep his bobbing silhouette in sight.

"Just 'Librarian,' please," he called back over his shoulder. "And yes, it is vast. But you Nyctian scholars deal in the impossible, do you not? Libraries are made of words, not paper."

He flashed a sharp, knowing smile and vanished around the next row of books.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Libraries provide many opportunities for DPP. They're a threshold. They are transitional zones where the physical world meets the abstract world of thought. A shelf can hold a diary from 1820 next to a technical manual from 2024. Libraries are "quiet" spaces, yet they are filled with the "voices" of thousands of authors. This creates a tension.

And that textual tension is sexual tension.

kinks: discipline (quiet please), restraint (pressed against cold, mahogany shelves, tied to a ladder with ribbons for bookmarks), pain (paper cuts), mazes (a labyrinth where no one can hear what's happening), public-yet-private, magical words and spells in forgotten languages, taboo texts, bodywriting (and written words that directly cause orgasm)

limits: underage, vore

This paper reveals a curvilinear relationship between orgasm and satisfaction: the likelihood of "satisfaction" actually peaks for women who don't always orgasm!

Specifically, women who orgasmed "often" were 11.77 times more likely to be satisfied, whereas those who "always" orgasmed saw that likelihood dip slightly to 10.30 times. This suggests that when the destination is guaranteed, the psychological or relational value of the encounter may plateau. By intentionally practicing denial, couples can dismantle the goal-oriented mindset that the authors claim often hinders genuine pleasure.

Are there are other research papers that support the benefits of female orgasm denial?