It’s been a while since the genius Jenby (aka @JenetalTorture) guest blogged for me, but if you’re familiar with her incredible past work (Pun-tastic pony play, anyone? Bimbofication? Squirting? Read the lot, treat yourself!) you will understand why, when her pitch email popped up in my inbox, I positively squeaked with glee. All her work is clever, funny, horny, and kinky-as-fuck, and frankly if I had been asked which writer I thought most likely to have had intense fun with a surveillance kink, her name would be top of the list. Got yourself a smart home? Know that it can be used to absolutely fuck with you…
Note: this post about surveillance kink is 100% consensual, and although it should go without saying I’m gonna say it anyway – like any other sexy thing, a surveillance kink should only ever be practiced with the informed and enthusiastic consent of the person you are surveilling. Be aware this post also contains use of ‘Daddy’ as an honorific.
Surveillance kink: one to watch
When my Daddy told me they had the means to monitor their bedroom 24/7 it went straight to my girldick.
Constant surveillance is something I’ve always coveted as a sub. Surely there can be no truer expression of commitment to a TPE (Total Power Exchange) dynamic than the total forfeiture of privacy. The knowledge that, whatever you’re doing, your dominant could always be watching, invisible, undetected…
There’s something both invasive and infantilising about it, so of course it’s going to be right up my street. Right up it.
Cut to last weekend, when Daddy was out of town and I, out of necessity, found myself staying at theirs alone. Of course, this gave them the chance to play with their toy. And the camera too.
As I entered Daddy’s beautifully immaculate bedroom, a text arrived:
‘Are you at mine yet?’
I responded ‘Yes Daddy’ and heard the black orb on the other side of the room whir into life and pan to focus on me. Tentatively, I gave it a wave, and Daddy messaged to let me know they’d seen it.
I breathlessly replied:
‘Well that was delightfully unnerving.’
‘I fucking love this. Heart emoji.’
I grinned into the impassive lens of the camera, and made a heart sign back.
The feeling was mutual.
I soon acclimated to the fact that every move I made in Daddy’s room could be accompanied by the possibility of the telltale click of that faceless artificial eye becoming activated, and slowly rotating to better see its quarry. As the day wore on and darkness drew in I noted that there was also a ring of red lights around the lens, like some HAL 9000 of horn. Of course, this did nothing to alleviate the deliciously pervasive feeling of unease.
It was amazing how quickly I internalised the idea that I was constantly being watched. Even when I went downstairs or to the bathroom it clung to me like a fart in a catsuit. Despite the rational part of my mind (an ever-shrinking locality) being fully aware that there was only one camera through which Daddy could conduct their nefarious business, I never felt entirely without their eyes on me. It was a warm fuzzy feeling. And not the least bit utterly terrifying.
Undressing was particularly fun. As I changed out of my travel clothes I was struck, as I frequently am, by the size of my boobs, growing as they are almost daily.
I texted Daddy to let them know they’d gotten bigger, giving a cheeky wiggle to the camera as I did so, and of course their response was:
‘So I see.’
As bedtime approached it came time for the grand finale. Daddy had informed me I wasn’t to come in their house without permission. And I was to tell them when and if I edged. I was assured there would be a time when I would come for them on cam so they could watch and enjoy.
That time was now.
The text came through:
‘I’m watching you.’
My pulse quickened.
‘You can play with yourself. I’m just sitting down for dinner.’
I smiled deliriously, and started stroking, knowing that for the next hour Daddy could tune in to my onanistic display any time they liked. After a while I moved to the foot of the bed to better fill the frame, and knelt before the camera, legs spread.
Then out of nowhere…
I started rubbing furiously, building towards climax. Between strokes I clumsily texted back:
‘Do I have permission to cum?’
‘Just a little longer, I’m enjoying you.’
‘Pinch your nipples, make it hurt.’
I pulled out my pert new boobs and began groping and squeezing with all my might, desperate to please my superior.
…came Daddy’s reply.
‘Come for me.’
And with that I exploded with ecstasy, bucking and moaning into the silence as clear rivulets of come trickled down my girldick. Without missing a beat I scooped up my mess and sucked it from my fingers in the most whorish encore I could muster.
I checked my messages.
‘Who’s a clever girl.’
I beamed, and began rebuttoning my onesie. Another ding.
‘Are you ready to go to bed?’
‘Yes Daddy,’ I replied.
As I climbed back under the covers and made the best job of tucking myself in that I could without Daddy there to help, I was introduced to the final surprise they had in store for me.
In tinny, mechanical tones, the camera piped up:
I jumped about a foot in the air.
Even though my Daddy was a clear fifty miles away from me, I could practically hear them cackling.
I fucking love my Daddy.