u/XzylOfficial

i don’t think i’ve ever spoken about this here, so i think it’s time.

there was a session sub i was playing with last year or the year before i believe. we’d known each other for a few years already, so the routine was simple: sph, spitting, hard humiliation/degradation, hard drain, BNWO ruthlessness— you get it.

then one day, quickly dropped between him whining and groaning, he lets it slip that he has a fantasy of being fucked between the pews of a catholic church while being forced to announce that he was no longer a christian. he wanted to curse at god & announced his loyalty to Me while getting his asshole stretched. i completely stopped what i was doing. “oh?” i said. “yes goddess”, he confirmed. i asked him when this started, he said he’d been thinking about it for a while. when i told him i loved play like that, i swear i heard him audibly gulp & gasp.

chile we got into some thingssss that night. let me just say, i think about that session a lot. after a few times of that, i think he got scared of how addicted to it he became. i crave another experience like that.

anywho, i would love to hear what y’all think about blasphemy play. i love finding dommes that share my love for it.

ohhh, you pathetic thing. do i have a drain game for you.

how about this. let’s role play like we’re in the 18th century. i’ll be the stoic, sadistic doctor, and you’ll be the sickly peasant who comes in to get checked out.

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he’ll explain to me that he’s been feeling overwhelmingly nervous lately, so anxious that he cannot think. i ask him when this started, he’ll reply that it’s been happening for at least 3 years and has gotten progressively worse.

‘well, when do you notice it getting worse?’ i ask, to which he bows his head in shame and replies, ‘….i am embarrassed to say.’

‘spit it out,’ i say firmly, ‘i don’t have all day to talk with you. i have another patient to attend to in 20 minutes.’

he swallows a thick wad of saliva, letting it slide down his throat in an audible ‘gulp’. he finally takes a deep breath and responds, ‘i find that i get most nervous around women, miss. particularly, beautiful women.’

i look down at him, sitting in my chair, anxiously fidgeting with his hands and waiting for my next words. i purposefully take my time to answer, observing his weak form below me.

‘i see you’re anxious now. care to explain that?’

i can already see where this is going, and that this poor soul has no idea that what he really needed, was for a woman to put him in his place. he needed a release from this anxiety, sure, and a normal doctor may prescribe something more…..ethical. however…i haven’t had a plaything in so long, and this one is so pathetic, so oblivious. i feel the only correct thing to do here is to corrupt this peasant. this rodent. rodents are used for experiments anyway, why not?

‘i am anxious, miss. you are…very beautiful, miss.’

‘i am aware,’ i lean down to look him in his shaking, glossy eyes, ‘and you…….are pitiful.’. i stand, turning my back to him and approaching my tools. i know exactly what i’m going to do to him, and it’ll be exactly what he needs.

‘pitiful, miss?’

the clattering of my tools echo inside the small room, sharp sounds weaving between the softer tone of my voice, ‘yes. you are a pitiful creature. a wretched soul.’ i stand there for a moment, back still turned away from him, listening for his breath or the shifting in his chair. when i hear a slight screech of the chair scraping against the floor, i turn toward him quickly and trap him into it with my arms—

‘….how do my words make you feel?’

he gulps again, sweat beading on his brow and threatening to fall further down his face. i watch that bead closely, while observing every crevice of the “man’s” face.

‘your words make me feel…..uhm—‘

‘speak.’

‘—they make me feel excited, miss! your words……*ahem* they make me feel, excited.’

i stare at the creature before me, watching him & that bead of sweat dancing between the hairs of his eyebrow playfully.

‘excited?’

‘yes miss?’

‘is that the best you can do?’ he blinks in confusion, eyebrows furrow slightly, and that bead of sweat shifts toward the center of his face. weaving in and out, in and out, in and out between the hair like a snake through grass.

‘did you not learn to read in your formative years, or am i dealing with an illiterate swine who couldn’t possibly think of a better word than excited? can you even understand me right now?’ i scoff at him.

‘y-yes miss, i can understand you—‘

‘so did you learn to read, is what i am asking?’

‘yes miss, i learned to read!’

‘so pull your anxious head out of that filthy arse of yours, and tell me what it is you’re actually feeling.’

‘your words aroused me, m-miss!’

silence washes over the room, all except for his beating heart that sounded as though it would pop out of his chest at any moment. the eye contact has yet to break, and the suspense rises with every passing moment. little does he know, his life is about to completely change, and he will finally have a place to express these feelings bubbling within him. he will finally have somewhere, hidden from the public eye to be his most depraved. to be a pitiful creature, serving a deity.

a clatter shakes him out of his trance, and he glances behind me to check the source of the noise. however, at that same moment that bead of sweat finally falls from his brow & begins the trek down the valleys of his face. so, in one fell swoop, i run my tongue along that side of his face, catching the bead of sweat…not long before i spit it back into his open eyes.

he sits there in shock. i’m sure the saltiness is burning his eyes at this point, but he can’t help but blink it away and stare at me in horror. he had never experienced such a thing, that was apparent. i stand up, staring down at him with a knowing grin on my face.

‘now. i have just the thing for you. where is my payment for your treatment?’

‘uh…i-i—‘

i scoff, ‘get yourself together enough to utter at least one word or move at least an inch, kretin. where is it?’

wordlessly, he reaches behind him and presents a small coin purse, filled to the brim with pounds and shillings.

‘perfect.’ i turn around to my table of tools, grabbing my smallest scalpel and a jar, before turning back toward him to purposefully, slowly remove my belt. he looks in fear and curiosity, the questions painted over his face. after i’ve removed my belt, i wrapped it around his bicep and pulled tightly. he would likely be feeling pins and needles in his hand any second, and that’s exactly how tight it needed to be. i leaned down over him, trapping him in the chair once more.

‘this is not your last treatment. in fact, we are far from being done. you require something more intensive and long term.’

‘y-yes miss.’

‘here’s how things will proceed. i will make a small incision,’ i place a finger on his wrist, ‘right here to begin the bl**dletting process. it will be so small that it will flow easily, slowly, steadily without issue. over time, you will begin to become glued to your chair, feeling better by the minute.’ i place the jar underneath his outstretched arm, ready to receive & house his warm insides any minute now.

he gulps again, nodding his head slowly, continuing to hold eye contact with me.

‘y-yes mi—‘

‘shh.’ i quickly make the incision, making sure to only look down for a short moment, so i could catch the discomfort paint his face and create a beautiful sight. his insides begin the pour into the jar, starting with drops, and proceeding to a beautiful, smoothly flowing line. he’s staring down at it, worry washes over his face. i reach down to pick up the bag of currency, places it in between his legs, making a point to press the bag of metal coins into his testicles. it causes another beautiful wave of pain to wash over him, and a small groan escapes his lips. it might be the most beautiful thing i’ve ever heard. rivalling the most gorgeous compositions, is the pained groan and wince of a man.

i grab his other arm, placing it in his lap, ‘with this hand, you’ll pull out my payment, one coin at a time, and place it in my hand. you’ll count out loud as you do this. you’ll be correct as you count. am i understood?’

‘overstood, madam.’ i double take. hm, overstood. i would chuckle if it came from anyone else.

‘if you are incorrect at any time while counting, i will make another incision, causing more of that precious blood to leave your body at a quicker pace. i suggest you be correct the first time, as the longer this takes, of the more blood you lose, the more delirious you will become.’

i lean in to whisper in his ear, ‘it will be your own fault, if you lose your life doing this today.’

he gulps a final time. ‘yes miss.’

‘good. you will return every week for this treatment. you will put in extra hours to bring me more currency. you will aim for shillings rather than pence, aim for pounds rather than shillings, because i deserve every bit you make. you deserve nothing. i deserve fulfilling, delicious meals, while you deserve stale bread and stews made from mediocre ingredients.’

‘absolutely miss. you are correct miss.’

‘outstanding. now, let’s begin, shall we?’

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i definitely need to write a pt 2 for this bc i fucking cooked

now, i saw another post speaking on how subs should be paying for our period products. i absolutely agree. however, of course my mind had to take it a step further.

now, i am a deeply spiritual person, so my initial thought was having a sub swallow my bl**d clots, maybe bl*ed into a diva cup and administer it that way….but that was the non-logical, beautifully gross, unhinged part of me, and after thinking about that for a little while, that wouldn’t fly.

subs don’t deserve to drink or swallow something as satisfying or beautiful as MY bl**d. like, huh?? hell nah.

however……
there’s nothing in me that says i couldn’t plop my lining in a jar to be preserved, put it on a shelf and have subs worship photos of it every morning.

wouldn’t that be something?

throughout all these years, “men” have called our cycles unsanitary, disgusting, unladylike……so naturally, having an army of them worshipping my uterus & pledging their inferiority to it would be mouth watering.

your body can’t do this. your inferior form cannot create or self-cleanse. your blood could never be as beautiful as mine, but i bet you’ll keep trying to impress me with it, won’t you?

fuckkkkk! (FAHHHHHH)
*that thought just made me feral

visualise with me.

sometimes i like to imagine the sound of a man’s skull cracking down the middle.

cutting into it, creating the perfect divot for my fingers to slide through so i can pry it open & reveal its soft,

gooey center. i imagine the sound being similar to breaking the chest bone of a chicken before preparation. those loud cracks in such a quiet room, like opening a fortune cookie in an empty restaurant.

in a perfect world, the man would be conscious & hearing everything, feeling everything happen to it….but the center of its brain that connects & tells its body to move & run would’ve been long disconnected.

like a twisted dissection, while it squirms and twitches involuntarily beneath Me & it’s eyes roll back into its open skull.

the man would no longer be a man, but an experiment. similar to a fetal pig or a frog on the cold lab table of a college campus.

i wonder, if it would see light or still darkness, rolling its eyes back into an open skull…

“sorry”? the best you can do, is say ‘sorry’?

you’re speaking to a money-hungry, dacryphiliac who gets aroused at the sight of your pain & anguish, and you think a pathetic word is enough to rid yourself of sin.

your mistake is seeking forgiveness in the first place, because the only thing you can do to make up for your mistakes, is suffer. forgiveness isn’t something you’ve ever deserved. it isn’t something you’ve ever been worthy of.

i want your hands cramped up from pressing the send button over & over. i want your knees bloody & bruised, and i want a tear-soaked face staring back at me. show me the physical evidence of your suffering, the receipts of your bankruptcy.

so, whether it be for speaking out of turn, or lurking, or gooning for free…..you know your sin. now suffer for it.