I think my favorite part of that accidental dominance thing is the shame. You're looking down at her. Your friend, your trusted companion, this strong, beautiful woman that you admire so much is on her knees, panting, her eyes clouded, overflowing with need and desire, completely unable and unwilling to deny you. Something rises with in you, something base and visceral and irresistible. Oh no, you realize to yourself, with growing apprehension and anticipation and desire, as you realize that you're losing your ability to hold yourself back. This... this might be bad.
It's really really really really really hot when one of your companions, who is very principled and dignified and also a secret sadist with a crush on you happens to have an automatically activated brainwashing power that she doesn't have perfect control of or activates as a consequences of some other ability. It's very very important to her that everyone understands she will only use her powers for good, and she doesn't even want to mind control anyone, but god you're just so cute when you can't think and you're humping her leg and really, no one could really resist in that situation, right? And if she starts, maybe, accidentally letting her control slip more and more, well, then, who could blame her?
softness in no way correlates to someone being "safer"
the myth of a "good person" often involves them laundering their cruelty through proper "justification", which often is just as much for themselves as it is for others- which is unfortunate for anyone who happens to fall within the space of useful justification!
now it can be said- there are ways to be kind and trustworthy. but it has very little to do with presentation
i don't like it when we glorify harmlessness or self helplessness as being more virtuous. because what the world does to us is violence. we are going to need a Spine for ourselves and for those who depend on us
Trust is about Retention, Trust is about Integration, Trust is about Expression
the fact of the matter is, Trust is often the faith that someone you know will not simply put that (or simply that element of) connection on the fire simply for being in any way complicated for a new existence change. We expect to be integrated, retained, and informed, for Trust
now, as flowery as that is, you know what else -> 🦋🦷, you will what you want, you want what you will. And so, it is important to have this feature known in the Trust you make. You do not have to make every sort of Trust another might reach for simply because it is good to do so
there are reasons for us not to have known about our own natures or future happenings in life, I do not encourage any shame in being a surprise to the self. but however: the awareness that this is the meaning of Trust.
Sometimes we break a trust we even actually wished to keep. usually this is caused by a rush of fear. Just as we might throw away our own boundaries to keep something that feels urgent and necessary, we will do so with the Trusts placed in us by others
What’s that you say? “So if you do burn something, do it with heart?” Yes.
So what’s that you say? That “Desperation” is the very worst reason to have broken something? Yes. You are entirely correct.
you gotta be reeeaallly nice to the scared vulnerable boy in the transfem system, okay? the one with the hurt eyes that's always trying to stay out of everyone's way.
Anyway as you all know I think excessively gimmicky kink premises are hot as hell. Towards that end... corruption percentages! I think I tend to see them more in art than in writing but like at least like four different hypnotees I've met have triggers conceptualized as numerical percentages.
Dumbification as percentage, submission as percentage, obedience as percentage. Percentile is just a fun way to conceptualize a transformation, be it mental or physical. It's a nice concrete number that makes it clear where it's going. Towards that end, I've seen 'tists go "over 100%" for certain things but I recommend against it. It damages the concepts within your sub's mind so while it can be fun in the moment, it's less good for long term things.
Towards that, a partner just sent me an old conversation that I'm now thinking about again about Maid Corruption Percent. I think 'maid' as a target is a lot weirder and gimmickier than the other things I listed above, and benefits from that immensely. Tropier ideas while they can take someone out of the headspace, when they do work have a lot of ideas and associations that I find can make them great targets to play with. Also, maids are cute.
My idea at the time though was focusing as much on what is lost as what is gained. What do you have that the platonic maid does not? The things I focused on were ability to resist orders and ability to focus on things other than cleaning. The end state of a kind of free use adjacent idea for a headspace, unable to parse the reality of the situation except through the concept of maid. On top of that, in an identityplay way, the kind of cognitive dissonance at 50% between the maid you and the not maid you. Are you a maid that wore the wrong outfit today or an intruder in her lady's mansion? Competing ideas of self jockeying for control.
I think it illustrates like. I know some kink stuff that focuses entirely on the the state. But I think the process is hot, too. Slow corruption, gradually being remade, gradually reshaped. And, I like identityplays that aren't permanent. Truly temporary states of self to be created and accessed for a scene before being reabsorbed. I think if all your identityplay is obviously intended to be permanent it can get exhausting. Much to consider.
stereotpyical party games with a group of trans women sounds transcendant. give me truth or dare. make that girl tell the rest of us her most embarassing kink. dare her to lick your boots when she refuses
give me spin the bottle. everyone nervously aitting in a circle slowly getting more and more turned on by seeing their friends make out. as we get more high and drunk everything just keeps getting sloppier and more wild. until it's a haze of hot sweaty groping and kissing and grinding
give me seven minutes in heaven. you and a short, quiet girl you dont know well enter the dark closet. as soon as the door closes she grabs you by the throat and and pushes you against the wall. she squeezes your bulge over your underwear and shoves her tongue down your throat. your moans and whines are drowned out by everyone else listening to music and chatting and having a nice time. while none of them bother to think about how you have become a puddle in this woman's hands. and then eventually a knock comes on the door, she retracts and you stumble out. everyone sees how red and sweaty you are, how fucked up your hair ia, they woop and cheer and giggle, and then the next pairing is sent in.
so yeah if anyone knows and trans girls who would like to have a sleepover just lmk.
"It's really simple: Either you, or your girlfriend:"
Becca swallowed, her mouth opening and closing. Standing in the doorway to her room, she took in the horror. On her bed thrashed her girlfriend, Mary, currently tied up, gagged, and sobbing. Makeup streaked down her cheeks, and sweat glistened on her bare skin. She was wearing that skimpy dress Becca loved. She was supposed to be wearing it for their anniversary dinner.
But she never made it. Liz, Becca's younger sister--by barely two years--stood next to the bed. At least, something that looked like Liz did. Liz was visibly inhuman; her body was a bright, glowing pink, translucent all the way through. Where her feet had been were replaced with the vague shape of high heels, giving her more height than she had. Her body had no other semblences of clothes, revealing a heavy pair of dripping breasts and a cock that was leaking like a broken faucet. The fluid would land on the floor, returning to Liz's form... and eating the carpet in its path. Her eyes glowed, and her lips had darkened and gone opaque just enough to distinguish motion and expression. She was smirking, eyeing Mary with unmistakable hunger.
"Time's running out, Becca," she said, and she reached out. Her arm homogenized and lengthened into a tendril, weaving through the air towards Mary's struggling form. "If you don't decide, I'll decide for you."
Becca forced herself out of her freeze response. "Why are you doing this," she cried, back stiff as a board.
Liz looked back at her. "Why? Isn't it obvious?" She stepped toward Becca. The elder sister wanted to move, but her feet wouldn't listen. "Three years ago, you told me we couldn't play anymore. That you were serious about this *bimbo,"* Liz spat. "Well, Becca, I'm serious too. I became a pioneer in bioengineering so I could show you just how serious I am. You can either join me in this new bliss," she declared, looking again to Mary, "or she can. So choose."
It wasn't even a choice.
"Me," Becca said, stepping toward her sister, throat dry. She gently grabbed onto Liz's shoulders-- they had more give than she knew to expect, but less than she would have thought. "Please, Liz, so whatever you want with me, just let Mary go."
Again, with that awful smirk. "Good choice." Lunging forward, Liz's lips were on Becca's in an instant. Despite Becca's muffled protests (and Mary's continued sobs), Liz kept pushing. The softness of Liz's form belied her strength, and she had Becca's wrists in a vicegrip. Becca felt herself reflexively lean into the kiss. It had been years since the sisters had fooled around, but the muscle memory was a strong as it ever was. It wasn't long at all before Liz's tongue was in her mouth... and then throat. Becca moaned with embarrassing abandon as her little sister's throat went deep inside her. At the same time, Liz made her own sounds, and grew a second pair of hands to grab at the waist of Becca's pants.
Now that I'm connected to your nervous system, I can explain, "said" Liz, her voice echoing in Becca's mind. I'm going to convert your boring meat into wonderful new slime. It's going to be nothing like you've ever felt before, so I'm going to need you to be a good girl and let me fuck you, okay?
Good girl... Becca thought back. It was a miracle she was able to create a thought so coherent; her mind was in a warm pool of ecstasy. When Liz finally managed to pull her pants down, Becca's cock bounced in place, straining hard, and actually leaking; she'd never leaked before. But it was no surprise. Her little sister knew exactly how to touch her.
Not bothering to busy her hands removing Becca's top, Liz repositoned her lower set to grab Becca's ass and lift with inhuman strength. The elder sister's leg's splayed out, revealing a delightfully tight pucker for Liz's monster goocock to poke against. Moaning into Becca's mouth--which had begun to turn purple--Liz pushed her maternally wide hips forward (goo was more feminizing than HRT had ever been).
It took barely any effort for the slick goocock to stretch Becca's hole. Becca moaned like a whore as she was speared onto Liz's dick, and all vestiges of resistence morphed into neediness as she went slack in her sister's arms. Becca's cock throbbed, shooting a single rope of cum onto Liz's slimey belly. The cum was instantly absorbed, and the surface of Liz's skin shone even brighter.
Liz let her upper hands let go of Becca, who put her own arms around Liz's neck. While the lower pair squeezed Becca's ass, the upper slathered slime across the elder sister's tank top. The fabric was eaten away with ease, absorbing back into Liz's neomass and allowing her upper pair of hands to grope Becca's home-grown breasts.
Good girl, Liz told her, so pliant. You didn't even need me to kidnap Mary. I could've just snuck into your room and fucked your gift into you.
A gagged "mhm" came from Becca's tongue-filled throat. The elder sister's own body was changing. Her head, throat, themiddle of her chest, and her stomach were all taking on an indigo hew, and became less opaque with each of Liz's thrusts. Girlcum leaked more and more from Becca's cock as it flopped around, ignored and straining. The room was filled with a symphony of slime on skin.
I think I'm going to cum now. Get ready, sis.
With a grunt of pleased exertion, Liz hilted her slimy bitchbreaker into Becca's ass. Becca screamed around Liz's tongue, her cock pulsing and throbbing as her new purple balls emptied shot after shot of glowing cum. The changes accelerated, and after what felt like a full minute of screams and moans, it was finished.
Liz didn't really pull out as much as she separated from her sister. Her bright pink eyes looked into the glowing periwinkle of Becca's, who stopped panting when she realized she didn't actually have lungs. The elder sister stood on her own two feet.
"Feels good, doesn't it," Liz asked, closing the distance and wrapping her arms around Becca's neck.
Becca grinned. "I feel horny, energized, and completely comfortable, all at once. Liz," she said, "you're the perfect sister. Thank you for showing me this."
Liz nodded, then looked aside. "So," she said in Mary's direction, "do I really let her go? Or do we get another sister?"
the effects and symptoms of mental illness do in fact have material consequences but "disorders" as clinical categories are not real in any metaphysical sense; they are terms created for the purpose of describing lived experiences. you can't see or hold onto a person's depression any more than you can hold their gender in your hands. western psychology may have legal definitions of and ramifications for being diagnosed with illnesses but they do not physically exist outside of that context. any opposition to behaviors like self-diagnosis in therefore invalid when viewed in this structural context
Today is Transgender Day of Remembrance, a day to remember and mourn the transgender people who lost their lives to violence in the last year. Here is more info: https://glaad.org/tdor/
I’ve written long posts on facebook for TDoR in the last few years, but today I want to share three things.
1) a poem, dedicated to all of the trans people I know who have struggled so intensely with the impact of transphobia and all of the trans people who are feeling hopeless and terrified. You are not abandoned, you are a loved and valued part of our community, and we will fight for every last person.
2) a list of links to resources for trans people, far from exhaustive but hopefully useful to at least one person who sees this.
3) a short list of places for cis people to donate – I found a few GoFundMe campaigns for trans people who are fundraising for the surgeries they need to be at peace in their bodies or who are trying to escape dangerous or hostile situations, and most of them have very few or no donations at the time that I write this. I donate to trans peoples’ GoFundMes almost every time I hear the news of a trans person’s death, because the only thing I can do in response is try to give back to the trans community in some small way.
It turns out that Tumblr has a limit to how many links you can share per post, so I will put everything in this google doc. Edit: a year later, I'm no longer using Google docs - you can now find the same resources and more at a-chilleus.neocities.org/transresources
Paracausal girl – girl who causes her own existence, girl who cracks her own egg, girl who ensures she grows into the woman she’s supposed to be, rather than the sad withered boy she once was
The jingling of the bell above the door jostles you out of your haze and you have to sit back, running your hand over your face and willing the caffeine you’ve been drinking to do it’s job. The text you’d been reading was dense and it was becoming increasingly difficult for you to care about completing this assignment. With a sigh you glanced up at what had disturbed your trance-like state, and suddenly couldn’t bring yourself to care about the homework assignment anymore.
The girl of your dreams had just walked into the shitty coffee shop that happened to have free wi-fi.
Vivid purple hair hung on one side of her face, the other side shaved down to the fuzz. Deep eyeshadow and bold black lipstick accentuated the sharp angles of her face, and long dangly earring hung from her ears. A cropped top underneath a leather jacket showed off a toned stomach and a glittering navel piercing. A ring of keys jingled hanging from her studded belt.
She looked so fucking cool. She was everything you’d ever wanted to be.
You couldn’t take your eyes off of her as she sauntered up to the register with a confidence you wished you had a fraction of. She finally noticed you staring after she gave the bored cashier her order, and you tried not to look to flustered at being caught. Her eyes roamed over you, curled up in the corner behind your laptop, and a strange, knowing smile bloomed on her face.
After picking up her order, she made her way over to your table, and you just barely kept yourself from sinking further into your seat.
“Noticed you staring,” She said, her voice delightfully husky, and that damnable smile still on her face. “Something on your mind, hun?”
The Angel Traphouse @breakerofhalos - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
