You guys…Alastor is losing the sluttiest waist competition…ALASTOR. With his Lucifer-can-grab-him-with-one-hand waist. I cannot 🥲
If you didn’t, go vote on Twitter! I need him to win to release all my art of him and show off that tiny waist lol
https://x.com/rumpleholmes/status/1770138147285868604?s=46&t=fljbjv4kytNb0Oh4NW46uQ
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toy Closet
Your closet is divided in two. One part has two doors, and the other just one.
One day, you make me help you sort your clothes out, so that you can give or stash away a significant portion of them. When we're done, the section of the closet that has a single door, half the size as the other one, is completely empty. When opened, all that's visible is a couple empty shelves and a coat hanger railing at the top.
This will now serve a new purpose.
We make sure the door shuts close well, making it pitch black inside, and add a small lock to it. We make the shelves removable and even add a few extra slots where they can be slid in place at different heights. We add a few bolts in fun places, and it's ready!
The toy Closet.
This is where all the toys go. The paddles, chains, locks (but not the keys), ropes, canes, mittens, gags, hoods, and me. This is now where I'm stored.
When the shelves are off, Its big enough for me to stand inside it with no issues, even with some room to spin around if I so fancy. But when they're on...well... that's a whole different story.
You change the height of the shelf whenever you want, from crushing me bent in half my chest against my legs, to kind of sitting up in a fetal position, with room just small enough to not let me stretch my whole torso properly, to being comfortably sitting but unable to actualy stand.
You decide how much I'll suffer. You decide for how long. You decide if you'll leavt it open, or lock it and go, leaving me stored alone and helpless.
You train me to be able to take longer and longer storage times, enforcing strict stretching sessions before and after storage to keep my body from stopping you from using me.
You lock me in here and forget, or invite people over either to the living room or right next to the closet, to your bed.
You teach me that this is my place. This is where I belong if I'm not being used. I get excited every time you open the door, thanking you for simply being able to lie down on the floor, the only place outside of storage where I'm to be allowed.
Sometimes you might allow me to have my phone in here, either as a kindness, of with a purpose like to write a concept, or as a timer, telling mw how you'll only let me out once my battery runs out completely.
When I misbehave, you tell me to go to my room. Which I know means that I'm to lock myself up in here until you remember or want to let me out.
I love the idea of you inviting someone over and showing tjem your kinky arsenal by opening the closet door. I imagine them seeing a closet full of fun gear and at the very bottom, trapped underneath a shelf, me, your toy, helpless suffering and quiet, as not to cause myself more trouble. I imagine tjem picking something from the closet and then closing it again, leaving me in the dark.
I imagine this being the condition you give me for orgasming. I want an orgasm? Very well, I'll have to get under here and then the minutes I take to orgasm are the hours I'll have to stay here after I do before being taken out of storage. Forcing me to be in here, uncomfortable and in pain, sitting in my own filth, any horny feeling gone and replaced with absolute clarity about the level of suffering I'm enduring.
If you do that enough times, you might even condition me to not want orgasms.
pathetic toy
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