A Savage Garden of Unwholesme Delights

its a serious question

tinfoil-on-the-windows

well like, the whole thing is that you cannot have consumed anything belonging to the fey realm. so, yes, probably, you would be stuck there. the same would apply if you just straight up ate a fairy.

new question: would deepthroating count in this case even w/o swallowing

tinfoil-on-the-windows

no. temporary doesn’t count, otherwise fairies would all be running about sticking their hands in your mouth to get human servants.

you gotta digest it.

so like??? if you puke afterwards?? maybe it doesn’t count?

huh! i wonder how long is enough time for it to be legit. like whatever goes through your stomach immediately condemns you no matter if you throw it up later?

generallyhuxurious

Well Persephone only ate 6 seeds so she only stayed 6 months, so maybe if you spat out most of it you’d just be condemned to the occasional day “BRB got go pay the two day toll for fellating a fairy.”

“you wanna come over for the weekend?”

“oh man im so sorry i sucked some fairy dick once and now i have to keep coming back to do it again– its a long story”

“you what now”

the-negotiator

i can hardly believe this isn’t already the plot of an Oglaf comic

bannableoffense-deactivated2018

now that u said it im really surprised as well

rainnecassidy

what the fuck did i just read

manynamedshe

Why ISN’T this an Oglaf comic yet?

thewinterotter

I’m so happy that i’m not the only person who thinks of questions like these. I love you all so much.

audsbot

I’m not convinced by this, actually!

Like, this analysis treats it as a substance problem, i.e. “edible matter from fairyland has properties that, if ingested, physically prevent you from being able to return to the real world.”

But OTOH, a recurring theme throughout fairy stories is that they’re all about…rules and exchanges and agreements with really steep interest rates:

“I’ll do you this favor, but if you don’t guess my name you’ll have to give me your first-born child.”

“You’re gonna be real good at everything but when you’re 16 you’re gonna prick your finger and die.”

“You loaned me $2 for the bus when I looked like a beggar, so now here’s a literal pile of gold and shit.”

Not to mention that in Childe Rowland, one of the central “if you eat food from fairyland you’re stuck there” stories, Rowland manages to retrieve his siblings despite them all presumably having chowed down on fairy food – all it took was beating the Fairy King in a swordfight and threatening to chop his head off.

The takeaway, I think, is that the food thing a matter of implicit exchange: if you get your grub on in fairyland, you’re accepting their hospitality and eating food that they own. This means you owe them, which the fairies can magically leverage to prevent you from leaving.

(You can probably get around this by explicitly agreeing to pay for your meal before you sit down to eat. From what I remember, fairies don’t seem capable of pulling a “Haha, we had an agreement but you’re fucked anyways!” maneuver, so if they agree to let you leave they might even be forced to help you leave.)

Which brings us to the matter at hand: if you blow a fairy you’re doing them a favor! They owe you.

And…they’re a fairy, so if you didn’t agree to terms beforehand they might not repay you in a way that’s ultimately helpful or safe, but it certainly doesn’t seem like they’d be able to, like, pat you on the head and be like “Thanks, you’re really good at this buuuuuuut also you’re stuck here forever now.”

Instead, what seems more likely is…I dunno, showing up to your wedding years later and giving you a beautiful white horse that always comes when called, while loudly praising you as truly deserving it for giving them them simply the best oral they’ve had in years.

constant-instigator

Or they feel obligated to show up at your house a couple days a year. So, like

“you wanna come over for the weekend?”

“oh man I’m so sorry i sucked some fairy dick once and now he always comes by over memorial day weekend and helps me out with minor home repairs.”

“you what now”

thewinterotter

This is my favorite act of intellectual bugfuckery on this entire website, when I die I want someone to print this out and place it in my grave with me so I can cherish it forever.

monticellomarshmallow

This is wild™

quality content on my dash

friedcherryblossomprincess-deac

Of course, if you’re very good at giving oral pleasure to fairies, a malicious one might try to find some way to trick you into breaking some other rule so that they can make you stay as long as they like.

It is disappointing, but I have a very good reason to disappear for a while.

camdamage

@cubicletocollar best shot ever

camdamage

Yep.

That feeling when you are chatting with other women, encouraging them to close up or otherwise disfigure their cunts so that they can’t be used.

Confessions

Yes. That is what it feels like.

I’ve been chatting with the most delicious sadist, who enjoys taunting me with how many times my whorish confessions can make him come while I can’t even touch myself. I tell him all my nastiest fantasies and dirty little secrets, all the things that I’ve ever done that I’ve never told anyone. There is so much to tell. And I get hot reading his ideas for ways to torture me further. He wants to break me down, to ruin me in ways that would definitely leave a mark. Not the commonplace abuse of flesh, but deeper, more lasting harms. He understands perfectly that physical injury is just a vehicle to inflict psychological traumas, and not the most subtle one. He wants, I think, to provoke me to touch what I must not, to see me struggle to avoid cumming without Sir’s permission. He is evil, and I love it. It would be easy to write to Sir and ask if I could please be released from restriction. Sir is kind. He might grant the request. But I think it would be so much less interesting for my sadist to take my denial away from me, if it were permitted. No, it is only really fun for him to watch me struggle and suffer. The whole point is to persuade me to give him something so precious to me, because of how much it will hurt if I do. If it were easy, he’d lose interest. And I want him to hurt me, so I have to keep making my discomfort amusing for him. It is so hard to be obedient with a fair devil whispering in my ear to try to tempt me to disobey. I feel as if I am being pulled apart, drawn and quartered by conflicting desires. It is a sweet Hell. Please, God, make this torment last.

I mentioned a scold’s bridle. Here it is. In case you though face bondage was just something that we thought up recently.

It is nice to see such classic designs still in current use.

fantasytransformations

Summerscaptions:

It had taken all day, but Rose had finally managed to get the headphones off. From the moment she put them on, she knew that she’d made a mistake. Somebody had done something. Changed something. Something wasn’t right.

It had been nearly a year since she escaped from the brainwashing facility, and she knew they still had operatives out, tracking her. They’d invested in her already - physical upgrades, mental conditioning - and they wanted their investment back. Nobody believed her - hell, nobody believed any of her story - but she couldn’t really blame them. It was crazy. It was the stuff of science fiction, of dystopian nightmares. It also happened to be true, unfortunately.

Rose kept mostly to herself these days. She was the first to admit she was paranoid. She left the house to work and to buy groceries - that was about it. She talked to as few people possible. She didn’t trust them. But even still, despite all her precautions, they got to her somehow.

She sat down on her bed after work, a bowl of microwaved pasta in her lap. She grabbed a book and put on her headphones. As soon as she pressed play, she heard it. A whispery, scratching noise in the background. She recognized it. It was everywhere at the facility. Broadcast over the loudspeakers, in the messages piped into the dorms, on the TVs. Rose felt her heart sink when she heard it.

The worst part was she reacted the same way she did when she heard it in the facility - she froze, and listened more closely. Everyone did. She suspected it was designed to make you do that. To stop, and to listen, to try and make out exactly what the noise was. Sometimes it sounded like words. Sometimes it didn’t. But no matter what it sounded like, you always tried to hear it better.

Rose remained cogent, though, and started to take off the headphones. Moving her arm made noise, though, and that made it harder to hear. So she stopped. Even the small sounds of fabric rustling made it harder to hear. So she could only move very, very slowly. Getting her hand up to the headphones took over an hour. Her fingers were numb by the time she got them there.

Then she had to grab onto them. That was even more difficult - it was nearly impossible to do without interrupting the sound. Then there was the issue of actually removing them. Her brain simply wouldn’t accept willingly taking that noise away. She had to listen to it. So she did all she could think of - she pulled the headphones as far from her ears as she could, sat up, and waited. She knew that before long she’d nod off. The sound always did that. Hopefully the motion of her head falling back and her grip on the headphones would yank them right off of her head involuntarily.

It took a long time. She was wide awake, and the stress and fear of the situation flooded her body with adrenaline. Eventually, though, after sitting and listening for nearly six hours, Rose felt her eyes fluttering closed. As she fell backwards, the headphones slid neatly off her head, dropping to the bed beside her, still in her grasp. As she drifted off to sleep, she gave silent thanks - maybe that was fast enough. Maybe it didn’t get into her mind enough to scramble it again. Maybe she wouldn’t remember how good it felt to be docile and simple and obedient. Maybe she wouldn’t fantasize about being programmed and enslaved and sold. Maybe she wouldn’t wake up and willingly turn herself in to her pursuers, begging them to finish her training. Maybe she wouldn’t wake up desperate to be brainwashed.

Maybe.

This was originally from The Daily Mail. Again, how can you not look at this and see porn? Look at that collar / necklace, the way she is wielding that syringe ominously. And what is in it? Mind control serum? Some bimbotastic clinical cosmetic? The stories just write themselves. Media is full of images like this, that are clearly eroticizing very disturbing ideas. It is no wonder I get turned on by my weird kinks. They’ve been primed by years of seeing this all around me. I’m not trying to get all uppity and feminist and demand to be rescued from this brainwashing. Remember, I’m into it. It just makes it easier and easier for me to find images that reinforce my desires to be manipulated for the amusement of others. I’m a happy puppet.

This image came from the website of fairly mainstream beauty / women’s magazine.

To me, it is porn. It is the seed of a story about objectification and dehumanization, about my body and mind as raw material for a sculptor to adjust to suit their tastes. It has tones of clinical exploitation and dubious consent. The dominating gloved hands versus vulnerable, compliant flesh add a particularly nice touch. Beauty really is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose. That modern women happily look at this image in periodicals meant to reflect their interests - and don’t see it as degrading porn - is clear evidence that feminists have pretty much lost the culture war.

It finally came yesterday. I didn’t though. Sir gave me permission for anal play, since I can’t orgasm that way. But I didn’t have a single toy, and my fingers just weren’t doing what I needed. This is a beautiful bit of glass that is just enough for me to tease myself with, but not enough to stimulate anything I’m not allowed to interact with. Eventually, I’ll want to up size considerably. I don’t know exactly where this new fascination with wrecking that aperture comes from, superimposed as it is on my fetish for vaginal / clitoral chastity. Like so many things these days, it is hard to know for sure what thoughts are *mine* and what thoughts are implanted one way or another into my very suggestible mind. I blame all the other chastity blogs that I read while I’m not touching myself.

@vaginalchastity @dumbandpretty

hypno-control

madamebustybrenda

Something about this speaks to me.

pearlqueensposts

mmmmmm yesssssssss

Always a fan of white-eyed girls. It’s so perfectly dehumanising.

squirm

An empty mind. No-one left in there at all. Kept like that. Not a slave, bimbo or slut. Just a drone or puppet or toy.

wimppur

Maybe with the key thrown away. Permanent.

shaking hard at the thought of it being thrown away permanent. whimper

the girl is thrown away. only the puppet is kept.

nodding…shaking… whimpering …. eyes lowered