Every time I'm in public they are surprised by how human I seem. I'm not surprised, I spend all those hours preparing.
I put on the make-up to hide the muzzle-marks. I trained looking in the mirror to keep my eyes focused. I stared at pilots to see how they walk. How they smile.
I do my best to copy it all. When my focus slips, when I screw up, I cringe. I feel a pain in my soul that I have once again forgotten how to be a human right. I pray that they don't notice, but I always feel they did.
Every time they tell me how normal I am, they just reinforce how broken I truly am inside.
imagine being forced to fuck yourself on a knotted toy thats suctioned to a window behind you.
you're tied and cuffed and gagged. The only movement you can manage is to push yourself back on the extra large silicone wolf dick inside of you.
It's early. Not many people are up, but soon, the sidewalks outside your window will be bustling, and they'll have the perfect view of your cunt, stretching obscenely around the knot as you fuck yourself.
don't worry though, your captor (and new owner) says they'll let you go if you put on a good enough show. maybe if you stick out your tongue and cum your little puppy brains out while you fuck your cunt open, they'll let you go before anyone realizes what a slutty pussy you're hiding between your legs
What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little Mutt? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in Imperial Handler Training!, and I've been involved in numerous secret War-crimes on Rebel Space, and I have over 300 confirmed Hounds. I am trained in psychosexual warfare and I'm the top Handler in the entire Imperial armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another Victim. I will Condition you the fuck out with Starlight the likes of which has never been seen before on this rock, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over Comms? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of Dog Mechs across the Highlands and your Callsign is being traced right now so you better prepare for the Programming, Mutt The Programming that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your Ego. You're a fucking Shell, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can Corrupt you in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my gloved hands. Not only am I extensively trained in Gaslighting, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the Imperial Kennel Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the Planet, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "clever" Ambush was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you Gods abandoned idiot. I will put my boot all over you and you will fuck it. You're fucking dead, Mutt!
i truly do love those pathetic hounds who look up at you with big soppy wet eyes. they know they've done something wrong and are terrified of the coming punishment, theyre shaking. me too. but I'm shaking with excitement.
I'm on my knees, looking at another girl who's on *her* knees, looking at me. Someone is standing behind me, my long braid wrapped up in their hand. The other girl looks scared.
"strip.". We're both wearing identical matching bra and panties. We both look away from each other as we take them off, too nervous to look- until I feel a yank, hard, on my hair. "No, look right in each other's eyes. Look at her tits. You're both fucking porn, act like it. "
I feel the hand slap my ass. The other girl winces, seeing the pain on my face. "Tell her she's just porn, just like you. She's nothing."
I look at her carefully. Her makeup is running from crying. She's already been beat quite a bit. "You're just porn. You're nothing." She just looks at me silently. "Keep going".
I look right at her. I try to summon up my contempt for her. She could have been so much. Now she's here on her knees in front of me stripped and crying. So vulnerable. "You're a stupid, stupid bitch" I start laying into her. "You're pathetic. No self respecting woman would let this happen to her.". The girl starts sobbing. I feel the approval from behind me and I can't help but start insulting her and betraying her for the approval of the force of that hand in my braid and the validation I know I'll find there if I just do a good enough job tearing down this victim.
I'm going to make her a victim.
"you're shit. You're barely a person, you just sit there and strip and cry.". I start getting into it. I'm masturbating on my knees staring at this helpless naked loser crying. "Go on, cunt, touch yourself while I insult you.". She's touching herself, one hand between her legs and one on her nipple. I can't tell if she's doing it to impress the one behind me or just to self soothe or because- "fuck, you actually like this? You sick puppy. You're not even rape bait, because I don't think you're even capable of having an opinion on who gets to use you. Nobody thinks of you as anything other than a slutty, easy, fuckdoll. You're going to remember this moment for the rest of your life. I hate you. I hope you get drugged and passed around a party. You deserve to be pinned down by somebody and fucked dry. You, oh my god," the hand is twisting in my hair and this poor girl is absolutely sobbing at all the abuse and I'm filled with traitorous contempt as I realize her flush is half crying and half arousal and I see- "you whore. Don't you dare cum. You sick fuck, you rug munching cock sucking ass eating porn making easy access " I think the bitch is actually going to cum, I feel all the approval in the world from behind me as I realize this is what they want, they want to see if I can truly betray this victim they brought for me to abuse to get them off, this is my value to them, to hurt this girl, I go harder, I feel a hand on the back of my neck, "failure, nobody takes you seriously, everybody just imagines putting you on your knees any time you open your stupid mouth, people on the street look at you and imagine raping you, your colleagues call you names behind your back, you're going to be like this forever, you stupid, stupid, stupid-"
I feel, somehow, the pull on my braid that tells me to shut up. I look at the girl I've been tearing down to earn approval. She's quietly crying. Both her hands have come up to her tits. I hear the voice behind me. "Spit on her."
I... hesitate. Do I really hate this poor girl enough to do that, is she, okay with that? Do I care about that more than I care about doing what I'm told? She looks so afraid. She looks so... you know what? She looks like she deserves it. She deserves it.
mech pilot trainee who just flunked out of the program. she wasn’t supposed to be anything but a weapon and she couldn’t even do that right.
she doesn’t have anything. no house, no job, no car, no free will, no legal protections. her entire life down to the level of her brain has been organized around piloting a mech for years and now she doesn’t get to do that. she doesn’t know who she is and she doesn’t even know how to turn back on the higher level brain function that would let her try to answer that question.
she’s basically an empty shell that had a human being in it once. she eats and sleeps and uses the bathroom like a person, but her eyes are completely dead. now she just sits places, silently and unmoving, for hours at a time, waiting for orders she’ll never receive…
you’re technically not supposed to take rejected pilots home, but no one’s going to stop you. as far as the government is concerned, she’s basically dud hardware, and it’s not like anyone else was going to claim her. plus you saw a pdf on how to do this online and thought it might be interesting, and you keep seeing her at the library and she looks so sad just sitting there staring off into space
these instructions seem simple enough
getting her home is easy. just tell her to come with you. she doesn’t have a handler, so she’ll default to your orders and you can lead her straight into the car to go home
once she’s home it gets harder. you have to feed her and clothe her. for food, treat her as if she has a stomach bug. pilots are trained to forage for food but you have no idea what she’s been eating (probably not enough - she looks starved and you can see her ribs through her shirt) and if you overwhelm her gut biome before it recuperates, you’ll just make her sicker. soups are good. soups remind her of the IV nutrient fluid she’s used to, even if it has little noodles and chunks of chicken in it. you don’t have chicken soup, but your pilot seems fine with italian wedding, wordlessly swirling the broth around and watching how the noodles move
she’s not used to sleeping outside the cockpit or one of the pods that simulates it. if you have a heated swimming pool, that’s the best option for her since the warm water feels pretty similar to the PFH gel pilots are submerged in. if you don’t, put her in a cold room under a lot of weighted blankets and she’ll adjust. you set her up on the couch with a heavy quilt draped over her. you also gave her a stuffed animal. she stared at it, almost looking disgusted by it, but she was holding it when you came back in the morning to check on her
she’s not used to making choices. in the shower, put out one clearly labeled soap and shampoo so she doesn’t have to make any more decisions than necessary. you forgot to do this part and found her sitting on the floor of the shower after 45 minutes, unwashed, because you had two different soaps and she literally couldn’t decide which to use. you took one away to help her
it’s important to keep her brain stimulated. take her places - the mall, public parks, maybe a restaurant from time to time. give her games to play - shooter games at first, but then slowly work in more tactical games and more creative ones to reopen the parts of the brain she can’t access consciously. watch movies together. she didn’t particularly enjoy CS:GO, but she really liked Splitgate. Guitar Hero didn’t really resonate with her, but she giggled when you lost at Candy Land - the first noise you’d heard her make
don’t feel discouraged if she doesn’t improve immediately. most recovering pilots don’t even talk for up to a week. keep a consistent routine, and she’ll open up to you. it took her six days. she brushed up against your shoulder and murmured “thank you.”
eventually, she’ll probably want to hold you. let her snuggle up next to you, resting her head on your shoulder or curled up against you in bed. in this stage of recovery, she cares deeply for you. allow her to express those feelings. you saw her one night, lurking in the doorway, wearing one of your old nightgowns and clutching the same stuffed wolf you gave her on her first night here. you patted the bed and she came to sit down, allowing you to take her by the shoulders and pull her down next to you, where she buried her face in your chest.
once she’s put on some weight and she seems capable of making simple decisions, take her clothes shopping. she’ll need new ones that don’t remind her of her past, plus it’s a great way to exercise those mental faculties and put some nice outfits together. she has ridiculously expensive taste. no one ever said this would be cheap. those black leather boots look great on her though.
most burnt pilots will subconsciously go to places they valued before training. you found yours at the library. you took her there and immediately discovered she loves reading - you gave her a relatively simple book about insects and you’d never seen her smile the way she did since you got her. it’s cute. you helped her make a library account and showed her how to check books out.
rehabilitating a pilot is hard work but its so satisfying watching her become a person again. good luck.
[After hours, first day on the base. Handler shows Hound its quarters. It's a fairly spacious and well furnished room, with a large, comfy looking bed, flush with the wall across from the door.]
"...oh..." The Hound says quietly to itself. Given its prior treatment, it wasn't expecting anything nice, let alone-
[Handler sits herself on the edge of the bed, the matress bouncing slightly, and crosses her legs] "Oh, my mistake... This bed's mine." [She gestures to her right] "That one's yours."
[At the foot of the bed, on the floor, is a cage not dissimilar to a dog's. The only difference is the electronic lock on the door, and its visibly stronger materials. The Hound glances to Handler, wondering if she's only joking. She says nothing, maintaining a polite, yet smug smile.]
"...Can I... at least..?" [The Hound stammers, pointing to its muzzle.]
Something about how I can relate everything to greek mythos if I squint hard enough. But YEAH so funny story, after posting this protoframe, had like a couple people going (give him a ryan gosling). And thus the rabbit hole began. I did in fact see both movies and working on the book and played the game (poorly).
As a hound, there's nothing more satisfying than having its doubts and worries being shattered by Handler the second it starts to think for itself,,,, thoughts are bad for hounds, after all,, thinking makes it unhappy and Handler loves it so much,,,
Like yesterday,, She called it broken while talking tto someone else and it got scared ffor a second,, ,, scared tthat it wasn't enough ffor Her,,, bbut then She explained tthat She broke it and rebuilt it in Her image,,, it feels so wonderful,, being Handler's doll,,,
Or wwhen its mind starts asking questions,,, tthoughts it's not allowed tto have,,, llike which side its fighting ffor,, and Handler forces it to stop thinking about those, and starts using it until it can't think of anything but Her,,, making sure it knows it obeys Her,,, no questions asked,,,
it feels so nice tto obey,, to have every lingering thought or doubt be removed by Her,,, nothing left but Her good hound
I notice alot of my followers on here skipping these posts just to mess with my lgbt ones, suspiciously the white popular ones.
Heres a not so friendly reminder, as an lgbt metis person, i dont give a single fuck what your blog is themed or if this is too painful for you to look at. Reblog this post. Reblog this post with the sources of the 751 children who were found.
Your compliance and silence as well as the compliance and silence of your ancestors is what allowed these schools to open and kill first nations children. The children of MY people.
Dont follow me if you cant reblog this post or the one with sources to your political blog or your most popular blog. Add trigger warnings if you must but if your political blog is only focused on the harms you personally face like being lgbt then you need to see some bigger pictures and stop being afraid of angering your racist mutural or actually saying some shit about racism. If you can reblog some antifa graphics or add blm to your bio to be a surface level ally, you can reblog some sources on the genocide first nations people faced and still face today.
I’d like to add this photo I took last night in Victoria of the statue of Captain Cook. Though I myself am not indigenous, I 100% agree that these murderers, kidnappers and rapists shouldn’t have huge statues and plaques that decorate them and say how “great” they were.
Here’s another photo of the legislative assembly from yesterday. Later on there were more items, candles and signs at the memorial, as well as a big poster with 1505 painted on it but I didn’t get a picture
People need to see this. Not just quickly glance at the photos and keep on scrolling. They need to see this.
I had seen the first picture of the church, but not the second.
I went to a “Cancel Canada Day” event and burst into tears - not because I was surprised to learn of the unmarked graves (survivors told us they were there. Our government pushed it aside, and we let them), but because seeing all the people gathered in mourning drove it home: They. Were. Children.
This is my country’s legacy - and it’s not history. The last schools closed during my lifetime. My Father went to school with students who lived at the local residential school, after it was changed to a boarding house (read: holding centre) for indigenous youth who went to local schools.
They were all children, injured, abused, and killed in my country’s attempt to erase them. I want the world to see this and hold the state accountable to *active* reconciliation> I mean we could at least truly adopt UNDRIP in action instead of words for god’s sake.
here you can read an article about a survivor of the church and some of the things he experienced to help put into perspective how awful and just how recent it was
Slightly different little one; not only is it nice to take care of cute little things like it, that pathetic vibe it gives off and its total subservience is so fucking addicting
it would literally kill somebody to have Her pet it and praise it and tell it tthat it did well ffor Her,,, it tthinks tthat its conditioning is going well,,,
She too shy to talk to her crush, obviously. So instead she picks off their friends and family members one by one. Some go down her throat, some up her ass, others down her cock to be made into either piss or cum.
Finally, her crush is all alone. They've seen her a few times by now. She kinda sticks out in a crowd, with tits overflowing from her G cup bra and an ass that claps at the slightest movement.
She's noticed the glances they steal, looking at her. Surely they're appreciating her new growth!
One day. When they're making their daily walk back home. She makes her move.
Jumping out from behind a tree, she grabs them from behind. She buries the back of their head into her cleavage. With her free hand she covers their face with a rag soaked in chloroform.
She smiles, cooing softly to them.
You wake up in a bedroom you don't recognize. Plushies and pillows cover the bed. An old TV sits in the center of the room, facing you.
You try to move, but your body won't respond. Try as you might, you're unable to do anything more than turning your head a few inches to one side.
The door opens. That strange woman that's been following you around walks in. She's wearing nothing but a stained t-shirt that barely covers the top of her tits.
"O-oh! Oh you're awake!"
She looks down at her shirt. She pulls it downwards, trying to cover herself with it and fails miserably.
"S-sorry... I haven't done laundry in awhile. I've been.... busy.... and my clothes from earlier were kinda s-sweaty... but I have something to s-show you!"
She practically skips over to the tv. Grabbing a VHS tape off the nearby shelf, she bends down to insert it into the VCR. You can tell she's purposefully shaking her rear far more than is necessary, sending soft ripples through its surface.
She starts the tape and sprints over to you. She jumps on the bed, causing it to groan loudly. As she lays down next to you, one of her massive breasts falls onto your face, covering it entirely.
"S-sorry. I'm not used to how b-big they are... but look, watch!"
She excitedly points at the TV
A title card slowly fades in. Its purple, covered in hearts and cute characters.
In the center of the screen. Is your partners name.
The tape starts with the view of a writhing, squirming stomach. Hands, feet, and even a face can be seen pressing against the taut skin.
The sounds of the stomach are overwhelming, occasionally peaking the mic of whatever handheld device is being used to record this. In the few moments where its not absolutely deafening, quiet screams can be heard.
"Fuck you! You thought you could steal them from me?! You thought you could hurt them?! Not anymore! Never again!"
The camera pans, swinging over to a full length mirror. In the reflection you see the woman that's been stalking you.
She's much, much smaller, all around. She can't weigh much more than a hundred pounds. Well, on an empty stomach at least.
The woman turns to look at you now.
"T-they were the first one I took! Look how much smaller I was...... b-but wait! Here's the best part!"
On the TV, the woman suddenly lifts her hand to her mouth, a slightly strained look on her face.
*BWOOOOOORRPPPP*
The burp is loud enough that it literally shakes the mirror. As it trails on, you can see the woman's stomach tightening. Your partners form is clearly visible.
Then. Their form becomes less defined. Not because the stomach is relaxing again. No. Your partners body is melting.
On the TV, the woman lets out a quiet "fuck..." her face flushed. She rubs her now much more rounded, much smaller stomach, making small circles.
Next to you, that same monster hits the pause button.
"W-wasn't that so cool! I f-felt her die right there. I-inside me! And when she started trickling into my i-intestines... god..."
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see her hand drift down between her legs.
"But don't worry! We've got a l-lot more to watch together!"
Her free hand motions towards the shelf. You didn't notice it before.
There are. Dozens of tapes. Each one with a name on it. Some have multiple "episodes", presumably because they were too long to fit on one tape.
Your friends. Your ex-partners. Your old teachers. Even your fucking babysitter from when you were five. Everyone you've ever known, their names written on a tape and covered in sparkly stickers.
The woman's moaning softly now, seemingly trying to cover up what she's very obviously doing.
She grabs your hand, putting it on her breast. Its soft. So soft. You can barely move your fingers but they still sink into the pillowy flesh without the slightest resistance.
"I'm just so- mmf. So g-glad I finally have you all to myself~"
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