Dropping And Bringing Back A Little Pet So Many Times In A Row It Forgets It Ever Could Think. Hypnotizing

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All of the above

having an older sister is amazing, no one ever suspects anything if I have nightmares and need to sleep in the same bed as her, and very few people question why I lay oh so close to her... If I were to do that with a boy, I'd be bombarded with questions, but my older sister... She is just a "second mother" to me~

so many of the transfems i know spent their time pre-transition performing a kind of lifelong exercise in self-deprivation, the goal of which was to find out exactly how little a person needed to live. they starved themselves, dressed carelessly, shunned friends, and hollowed themselves out so as not to be burdens on anyone but themselves.

i see it now, too, in the girls around me. i'll ask if they want care – a home-cooked meal, relaxed company, sex without the expectation of reciprocation – and they say no, no, thank you, i don't need it; what would you like, what do you want, because in their head they're still doing that awful calculus, still training themselves to disappear in the eyes of the people around them.

i don't think i'd have died without transition – not in the conventional sense, at least – but to take that leap, i had to stop thinking of myself as a human experiment in fuel-efficient living and start nurturing the anemic, atrophied flame of desire in my heart. i had to learn to eat well, to exercise, to style myself beautiful, but harder than that, i had to learn to ask the people around me to work on my behalf in order to enrich my life and give me the things i wanted.

and i did it; i learned. and it was agony, but courage is a muscle you can train, and every day i get better at accepting gifts with the hungry gratitude i never learned in my years and years as a sad, scared, lonely boy.

so be patient with the trans girls in your life. better than that: be proactive, attentive, generous; be forceful, if you have to, and learn to distinguish real discomfort from the terrified reflex of self-denial that so many of us once learned to rely on.

and if you are so lucky as to love a trans girl, you must insist upon her. you must insist upon her happiness, her comfort, her pleasure, and her rest, because she may still not yet know how to make those demands for herself. if you can devote any amount of energy to becoming an engine that nurtures the flame of even a single tgirl then there is a place for you in trans heaven, which as far as i'm concerned is the only one worth going to

Its funny, the less you breathe the more I like you.

Let's see how long my pretty little pet can go without hm?

Sigh, princess. Give Me those.

These are tax forms, princess. I know your ID says you're a big girl but these are complicated and you shouldn't be worrying your pretty head about them.

I'll take them, and the logins to all that silly money stuff you have online, and I'll handle it. I've been doing My taxes since before you were born.

Why don't you go get yourself ready for Daddy tonight? Go take your bath with the special bubbles and make sure you're nice and smooth for Me. No playing with the shower head, ok? That piece of you is for Daddy to play with tonight. Yes, I know every time you do that because you leave the hose twisted.

Then you can put your good smells on, crawl into bed, and wait for Me. Good girl, run along!

Why are you giggling...princess?!? Did you COLOR on this?

Just wana punch someone hard in the gut, then drink their bile.

Just because the princess is *technically* undead doesn’t mean she’s not still royalty!

thinking about an escape room but the twist is that if you don't get out in time, you're used by the entire staff until they're satisfied.

you know what you're getting into, of course. you sign the forms saying that the facility can't be held liable for any damages that happen to you. afterwards, you're stripped down and restrained. cuffs around your wrists behind your back as you're bent over a table, chains holding your ankles together. a collar is attached to your neck, connected in two places. one, to hold you still on the table. and the other connected to the ceiling with a lot of slack. you seem to be in a dungeon, iron bars blocking the unlocked exit.

you're left alone and the timer is placed immediately in front of you, counting down, minute by minute. right where you can see it. the restraints are firm and secure, but they each have their give, their weaknesses. the chains on your feet can be undone by looping it around the corner of the table and pulling at it at just the right angle. then you have to move your cuffed wrists behind your back and under your legs so you can use them.

the part of the collar connecting you to the table is dealt with by simply unhooking it, meaning you're able to stand up and move around the room. there's a box with a pile of keys for you to sort through. one of them must open the cuffs. one of them must unlock the bars. you sort through them in a hurry, adrenaline making your cuffed hands shake as you try each and every one of them, adding them gradually to the discard pile. once your hands are free, you fiddle with your collar. it doesn't seem to have any give. but while doing this, you see that on the other side of the iron bars is a bolt cutter, exactly what you need.

you're invigorated, trying all the keys on the bars as the minutes count down. your time is scarce, it's moving far more quickly than you're able to take into account. until finally, the lock clicks. the metal gate swings open and you can see the bolt cutter on the floor right in front of you.

except when you walk forward, the collar around your neck tugs you back. the tool is just out of reach. you can't get enough slack to pick it up. you try desperately, every option you can think of, to stretch your body out and try and kick the bolt cutter closer to you, desperately now as you see you only have three minutes remaining, then two, then one and a half.

until you finally remember the chains on your feet. you hurry back to the table, reaching under it to grab the chains and looking at the time left on the timer. 50 seconds. you hurry back to the iron bars, throwing the chains, trying to lasso the bolt cutter to finally get it in your grasp. and with 20 seconds remaining, the tool hooks onto the end of the shackles on the chains, and you desperately try reeling it in. 15 seconds, and you're pulling it closer, so very carefully. until finally, you reach down and wrap your hands around the tool and that's when your heart sinks.

it wasn't a bolt cutter. it was a toy. lightweight and useless, like something that would go in a child's tool set. and you realise: you were never meant to escape this. you never even had a chance. you had willingly walked into a trap.

your time is up and an alarm sounds, the lighting in the room turning red. the staff walk through the door, heading straight for you, cocks and straps and toys in hand, grins of delight on their faces.

they push you back onto the table and use you exactly how they want to, each and every one of them noticing how soaked you've gotten just from being in the escape room and playing this game, mocking you for what a slut you are as they take you without any preamble.

they use all your holes simultaneously, manhandling you into whatever positions they want. bending you over, taking you from behind. seeing how much can fit into you at once. slapping you about, spitting on you, spanking and whipping, passing you from one to another. never a moment for you to rest or recover before you're impaled on another cock.

all while their mocking voices taunt you.

this is what you were asking for when you came here. this is exactly what you were hoping for. to be used relentlessly. you never wanted to escape anyway, no matter what you'd say. you needed to be used like this. only sluts ever enter these escape rooms, and so you would be treated as what you were. willing holes for them.

once they've all had their turn, they take the toy bolt cutter and shove it into your used hole, fucking you with it slowly. it's too big and uncomfortable, but you stretch around it so easily after all that use. your arousal making it easy. you keep crying out, and they keep laughing. this was the thing you thought would set you free. this was your salvation for twenty minutes or so, all you cared to get. and now they were filling you with it. and worse than that, they were making sure you enjoyed it.

they bring you to an intense orgasm with the very thing you thought would save you. your mind is foggy and you can't think of much aside from the feeling of the toy inside you. you're burning with embarassment.

you came so close to escaping. you were so resourceful and clever about it all. but now you were nothing but holes for them to use until they decided they were done. all that intelligence you used to try and get out would leak out with your arousal as they continued to whore you out. your brain would never work the same once they were done with you. once they had reduced you to something so pathetic.

they aren't done using you. they won't be for a while. and you don't know if you ever want to be done serving them. this is where thinking got you, and now you were being put in your place.

It's so cute when girls get so flustered that they can only say (or even think) one word at a time.

"Oh"

"Wait"

"Want"

Their train of thought is almost totally derailed, and it only takes a little nudge to keep it that way.

you'd been bratty all day. We'd had guests over and you used it as an opportunity to act out, knowing I couldn't correct you properly in front of them. Teasing, taunting, defiant. you even dressed in a skimpy outfit and openly flirted with the men.

Only now, as the door shut behind the last guest, did you find your contrition and submission. you didn't mean it. you were only teasing. you're sorry. No bunny, you're not sorry. But you are about to be.

I advanced slowly, menacingly, as you stumbled backwards, refusing to break eye contact. When you bumped into the wall I simply reached for your throat and pulled you through the house to the basement. When you stumbled I didn't let you fall, and you'd quickly scramble, choking and sputtering, back to your feet. you tried to plead with Me, but all that came out was an intelligibly hoarse whisper.

I cuffed you to the pipes above the water heater. They were hot, very hot, so you couldn't rest your arms. Instead you held them still above your head. I shoved an old rag into your mouth and cut your favorite panties from you with a box cutter. I wasn't particularly careful and you moaned as I knicked you, blood sliding down your leg.

I dragged My tool chest over. The hulking five foot metal cabinet made an awful sound as it scraped across the concrete floor. I pulled out every single tool that had a handle grip and laid them on the ground in front of you.

I pulled the rag out of your mouth and you immediately started protesting...so I put it back. I grabbed the item with the smallest handle. A tiny metal wrench, and slid it inside of you. you squirmed at the cold, dry violation. I worked it until the entire handle was inside of you, then pulled it out and tossed it to the side.

I pulled the rag out of your mouth and you started to yell, angry at the invasion. So I put it back and selected the next smallest tool. By the fourth time I took the rag out, you were silent. I put the hammer to your lips and you opened, sucking on it and leaving as much saliva as possible. It made the invasion easier immediately after.

On and on we went, until finally the impossibly thick and lengthy hatchet handle was removed.

Finished. I uncuffed you and you collapsed, exhausted, into My arms.

"When something in this home breaks, these are the tools that will fix it. you were broken. Now you are not."

With that, I returned upstairs. A little maintenance is good from time to time.