Sometimes even us 'givers' need a helping hand... or two, and after my attempt at helping someone backfired (or 'frontfired', technically) on me, I was left with these dozens of pounds of tit-flesh.
Not that I mind having Q-cups every now and then, but I'm really trying to keep up with my cardio this month...
Besides, I just know if I let myself get too comfortable with these over-productive milk-tanks I'm going to be in a milking frame getting them nursed by industrial pumps, and my IQ will be in the gutter before the week is even out.
You understand, don't you?
That what I get for trying to help a femboy achieve their 'Extreme Hucow Brainless Milking Stock' dream, when I'm not paying attention...
How about a curse that makes your udders grow by how ever much you manage to expel in a day. Manageable at first but then quickly starts getting out of control. You start with some beads of milk then drips, slowly progressing to an ounce or two a day. Suddenly you wake up hot, heavy and swollen, that day you pump out a total of half a gallon. Midnight rolls around and you're woken up to your tits itching and hot again, veins spread across them as they heave to a new size.
You couldn't wait till morning so you started pumping, as the pressure eases you drift back into sleep. By the time you wake the bottles have overflowed onto the floor. Who knows how much you pumped out but you'll for sure find out later that night. To your surprise you had to pump 5 more times that day totaling 2 gallons, not counting the unknown amount in your sleep.
The next morning you wake to heavily engorged udders throbbing with pressure as you are constantly leaking, no spraying milk from them. There was no stopping it, any attempt to stop the flow made the pressure too much to handle. So there you were sitting by the edge of the tub with your udders spraying into it as you now understand that you'll never stop growing now. There was no way you could stop, but for some reason you felt like you didn't want to stop. If only you could find someone to help you get fitted with pumps so you can put all that milk to use.
Yhh yhea whhat a tterribblle currse moooo ii wwoullnt waant thatto happenn to mee
Nnywayss whgat do i do if i cannt carry my udders nnymore there so heavvy nnd imm stuckkkkkkkk mmoooooooooouhhhhhhhh
When you made the well-intentioned and earnest wish of "I wish I had the ideal body for my girlfriend," you couldn’t have know that you'd end up quite like this.
You knew your girlfriend had something of an 'appreciation' for women with larger busts — her IG feed was constantly filled with a cornucopia of 'breast foot forward' content creators — and assumed that you’d get some DDD-cups... maybe E-cups... maybe some smoother skin... presumably gain an inch or two in height... and that'd be that!
Not this...
"Oh no, sweetie! You look so flushed and so focused... are your milkers getting too full again?"
Instead, you have this...
A pair of breasts that store more milk than a cow's udders, and so over-sized and full that they make any shirt become all-but transparent as they stretch it out...
But more over, you have a fearsome level of milk production... and now... if you find yourself going more than twelve hours without at least some form of relief, or even a 'quick pump', the pressure inside them grows to painful degrees... and you watch them visibly swell, and stretch more and more until you're properly 'serviced'.
"Sorry guys, Tits over here needs some love. Give me a mo'?"
Nina's happy now, though...
She gets to have her 6' 6" tall R-cup ladened milky hucow toy... and she keeps talking about 'business opportunities' for her milk now, so at least you both don't have to worry about money any more.
I know it's just a "silly less intense" twist on the fantasy but I am stuck thinking on like, consensual time stop "release" play.
Like having a partner who agrees and knows that at any point, at any moment, they could be put through the mind-breaking experience of a thousand orgasms and suddenly snap back to reality filled and covered with cum and sweat as the sensation runs through them and hits them in relentless, unstoppable waves.
The confusion, the intense shaking born from nerves and being physically overwhelmed.
The loss of strength in their legs requiring me to keep them up, to hold them or lay them gently.
The pain of overstimulation and the pounding pleasure of who knows how many hours, days?, of use they were subject to.
The white hot fire in their head and on their skin, the shock threatening to take over but being pushed aside by the familiarity of more pleasure and plenty of 'practice'.
And the shivering, quiet peace of being bathed by your partner and laid to a much needed rest 💜
Timestop 'free use' partnerships have a place in my mind.
people tend to assume medical transition is about the visuals (eg “how is this different from [beauty trend primarily engaged with by people whose income relates to appearance on visual media]”)
& it’s hard to explain that like, of my surgeries the only one so far that is externally visible is top surgery, and for me personally I went from having my chest be my most hegemonically “beautiful” trait (big round breasts) to my most hegemonically “ugly” trait (uneven keloid scarring) so that was not really for like aesthetics either.
the primary reason I get medical care is for my body to function comfortably. for it to feel comfortable.
like I remember reading this article by a trans woman discussing her decision to get very large breasts even though she anticipated it would draw her negative attention, and she talked about a lifetime of feeling off balance, and after surgery feeling the weight on her chest that she had been accounting for to be balanced correctly in the way she held herself and moved.
I know cis people see transition through photographs and assume it is a primarily visual thing, but in my experience it is much more experiential. it is about how we exist physically and sense the world around us. it is our bodies not just how our bodies look & are perceived
dominants should praise the pre-emptive green more often. when your sub looks at you after you do something harsh to it and you can feel the check in question on your lips, praise them to the ends of the earth if they say 'green' before you get a chance to say 'colour?'
there's a reason green is specifically called out here.
a preemptive red is calling yellow. every sub knows to call red when it's too much, yellow when things need to slow down, but then think to themselves 'why would I call green? if i want things to continue i just need to say nothing' and they're wrong. green doesn't just communicate that everything's okay. green also communicates that what's happening is being enjoyed. that it's not just being tolerated, but it is wanted. by saying green you acknoweldge that what's going on might be painful in some way, but that you still want it. if you wait for your domme to ask for a colour, you're not giving them enough feedback. if you're always waiting for her to ask you for a colour, you're putting all the responsibility for your experience on her. if you're waiting for her to ask you for a colour, you're being passive and reactive instead of active and present.
give your dominants feedback when things are going well, not just when they're going wrong, and you'll build their confidence and trust in you to communicate how you feel about the play not only when it's going badly but when it's going well too.
praise every colour when it's given, but give special rewards for a pre-emptive green.
“What’s wrong, toy? Unable to look away?” Your hypnotist asked, giggling at you. “Helpless to do anything but stare deeper and deeper into my eyes?” You were helpless, their eyes were like magnets, pulling you in, more and more. You nodded, dreamily.
“Good.” They said, grinning. “That’s exactly how it should be. When you’re staring, when you’re lost in my eyes, that’s when you’re at your most pliable.” Their hands pressed on either side of your head, holding you still. Their eyes were pouring their programming into you.
“Your most accepting. It’s in this space that I can begin to slip my commands as deep into your brain as I want.” Your brain was shutting down, as their control took over. “Rewiring you to obsess over me. To find yourself daydreaming about me.” Their smile had shifted.
It had been alluring, seductive. Now they had a possessive look on their face. “Mind wandering off whenever you have free time. Not enough to be dangerous, you’ll always be safe… But your obsession is going to grow, and develop.” You felt the seeds, landing in your mind.
“I’ll be in your head as you go to sleep, and when you’ve just woken up. And you’re going to want to think of me, more, and more.” You couldn’t resist. Their words were flowing, unrelenting, into your unresisting mind. I’m so soothing. So comforting. So… Alluring.”
You felt enchanted by them. “Anytime you do think of me, you’ll send me a message, it doesn’t have to make sense. It doesn’t have to be long. It can just be a full stop. We’ll know that I’m in your head. And that’s what matters. That you become more obsessed with me, got it?”
* * *
This was released yesterday on patreon (patreon.com/hypnopum) and subscribestar (https://www.subscribestar.adult/hypnopum)! Support me there to get early access to all future microfictions, from just £1/month! Or, from £5/month, you get access to my longer pieces!
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"D-do you really think it'll wuh, work?" It seemed like a foolish question--it had already worked, at least on Willow, or if it hadn't then she needed to do some serious self-reflection because folk magic was really the most comforting explanation for her impulsive decision to drive six hours out into the countryside to pull up at a random farm and offer her pussy to the owner. She was bent over at dawn in a field of sprouting wheat, her hands pressed into the loamy soil while this total stranger plowed her cunt from behind and the choice of phrasing was anything but accidental, and here she was asking out loud if the magic behind it was real? It made Willow blush at her own silliness.
But the farmer took her seriously, huffing out an answer even as his stiff prick pushed between Willow's plump pussy lips with a force and urgency that made her heavy tits quake beneath her. "Should do," he said, pausing between phrases to rail Willow's cunt again. "You're nice and wet down there, you're dripping onto the soil… all it needs is my part to seal the ritual." Willow blushed again, understanding in the moment exactly what that meant in a way her dazed and cloudy mind couldn't quite picture when she was smiling vacantly and waiting for the equinox to arrive--he was going to cum inside her, and the jizz dripping out of her needy snatch would guarantee a bountiful crop.
That wasn't all it would guarantee, she realized, and although she was already far too lost in the farmer's spell to even think about struggling Willow nonetheless felt a tiny pang of trepidation at her sudden awareness of what was to come. This was a fertility ritual, and one powerful enough to bring crops up out of twenty acres of barren ground--of course it was going to knock her up in the process. She was going to be the most pregnant a woman could be, fully in the grip of her own procreative urges for nine solid months, and honestly she'd be lucky if she didn't wind up with a belly swollen with twins or even triplets. Willow thought of all the jokes about big farm families and wondered if she hadn't finally found the source of every last one of them.
It was enough to prompt another question, and she heard the quiver of anxiety in her voice as she asked, "W-will I be able to leave afterward?" She had sudden visions of the darker side of things, the fall and the harvest and the dead of winter, and wondered if they had rituals of their own that would demand her participation… but the farmer's warm, gentle pat on her rump reassured her of that, at least. Whatever was happening, it was welcoming and not demanding. Magic like that didn't seem like it required sacrifice.
But a welcome was its own kind of demand, and when he said, "If you want to," Willow instinctively knew that her newly-forged connection to this land and its owner would keep her in a comfortable trap of amiable, helpless acceptance. She wasn't going to care about the rest of the world once she had a bellyful of jizz and a baby to grow, and she'd be just about ready to get pregnant again by the time the next equinox rolled around. Which meant another year here, and another tie that bound her to this farm… and when she felt pearly warmth trickle down her thighs and a deep, inchoate sense of something potent finding purchase inside her, Willow discovered for herself just how wonderful that notion could be.
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Kimmy knew she was pretty much doomed the moment she felt the wave of deep, irresistible contentment washing over her and through her… and yet, it was that same contentment that turned her despair into a vague and abstract notion that gained no real purchase on her drowsy mind. She could feel Derek's semen leaking out of her sated cunt, dripping down onto her thigh as she lay there with her eyes only a quarter of the way open and her breath coming in slow, gentle sighs, and even though she understood she should be panicking given her lack of birth control and the information her period tracker had given her just that morning, all she could think about was how happy she was.
Because he'd dialed her in. Somehow he'd done something with his phone, jailbroken it and hacked it and souped up the little transmitter buried inside the guts of the damn thing into some kind of otherworldly device that could beam a signal straight into her brain, and even though he told Kimmy that was what he was doing it didn't matter because the feelings Derek gave her were so strong and potent and irresistibly real that they instantly overwhelmed her intellect. Kimmy was smart--hell, she was brilliant, almost brilliant enough to hang with Derek's prodigious intelligence even though he was doing things that reshaped humanity's knowledge of physics and biology--but she was rapidly discovering that feelings always trumped brains when it came to big important decisions.
When Derek showed her his user interface, and dialed it in on her specific brainwave pattern, Kimmy's surprise and fear rapidly turned to a kind of meek, submissive awe that left her totally incapable of any concern over the hold he'd gained on her mind. When he spun up her lust to some theoretical maximum she'd never even known existed before Derek pushed her to it, all her self-control deserted her in an instant despite her intellectual awareness that what she felt was purely artificial and she wound up humping his leg while she begged him to fuck her. And now, lying here with her cunt a messy creampie and the sure and certain knowledge she was ovulating, Kimmy couldn't feel anything but a warm, drowsy satisfaction. She literally could not.
It wasn't that she didn't understand the danger this thing posed, the existential threat to free will it implied by its very invention. Derek now held the capability to simply overwhelm any rational objection with waves of sheer, unthinking bliss, to reduce anyone he chose to simpering affection simply by connecting his phone with their brain patterns and sliding his finger along the screen. But the only reaction Kimmy could muster up to that was sleepy contentment, and she could already feel her mind warping around her emotions to rationalize her feelings into some kind of congruence. She knew what cognitive dissonance was, understood every single psychological principle that was making her convince herself that of course Derek knew best and of course this discovery was in safe hands, and yet none of it helped her fight off her growing conviction that he deserved to be in charge of her vulnerable brain.
She didn't know how long she lay there, fighting a titanic struggle in her brain that she was doomed to lose. It felt like an eternity, but it could only have been as long as it took for Derek to get hard again because she was already thoroughly defeated by the time he pressed the tip of his cock to her sloppy cunt and asked, "Would you like another load, pretty girl?" And even though she knew she shouldn't, even though she knew it would leave her belly swollen with his child, Kimmy couldn't stop herself from saying yes.
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Trans Women Face More Injuries Than Cis Ones (It's Not Even Close)
A new study found that injury rates among transgender women are significantly higher than injuries among cisgender women, based on radiologi
❝Transgender women in the study group suffered 8x times as many head injuries as the controls, 36x as many facial injuries, and 5x times as many chest injuries.❞
For all those wondering why the title doesn't say this, it's because the study doesn't say this either.
While the cause of the injuries may be obvious, it's not technically known, and science speaks for what is known.
Some (a minority) of the trans women injured reported that it was violence, and some (a smaller minority) reported that it was intimate partner violence, but most did not report anything and the stats are just from the fact that they needed treatment and so went through the radiology department with their injuries.
Getting a lot of reblogs saying "undescribed" and "no image ID" etc, so please be aware that I did add alt text shortly after posting (it was a pain to copy on my phone so I did it on my desktop), but by then, it had already been reblogged by a couple of big blogs, so this alt-texted version is languishing, please do reblog it!
the collar had a little bell on it. it didn't really mean a lot to her, but adrianus wanted her to wear it. it wasn't too tight or uncomfortable or anything, at least.
he pet her hair affectionately, something shifting in him now that she had it on.
"it looks nice on you... do you like it?"
"it's... it's fine," she said quietly.
"you just make such a cute little pet," he cooed.
"i just..." she felt small. "i mean, i'm just wearing it because you like it... i'm not really..."
"it's alright," he murmured. "you'll feel like a pet very soon."
her heart pounded. "i don't know if i want to-"
"shh," he whispered, looking down on her, seeming to tower over her. he usually liked to be close to her face, but now the distance reminded her how much taller he was than her. his hand was still stroking her head, in soft, slow, hypnotic motions. "it's alright, my pet..."
she leaned into his touch without really thinking, her mind going blank for a second. parts of her head were tingling... part of her body was tingling.
"that's it," he murmured, rubbing those parts of her head, massaging them, coaxing something out.
little ears. little cat ears were growing out of her head.
she squirmed at the thought, at the feeling, but his soft touches and coos seemed to push her back down.
"don't struggle against it... it's alright. you'll be a good pet. it's what you're meant to be. you feel how quickly and easily your body is accepting it, don't you?"
it's like he was stimulating her head in just the right way to make them grow, pulling them out of her.
it was so confusing and overwhelming. she thought they just had a normal romantic relationship... that this was just a cute accessory he wanted her to try on. he wanted to keep her as a pet?
"you... you really want me to be beneath you?" she muttered, unable to look him in the eyes.
"oh, it's not about that," he said sweetly. "i just want to take care of you... to know that you're mine."
her entire lower body felt strange. more and more of her body felt like it was going to start shifting, changing. she tensed up in response, trying to hold it back.
"i just... what am i turning into?"
his other hand was stroking her cheek. he still loomed over her, his gentle, affectionate touches feeling sort of possessive and dominating. "it won't change your whole body... you'll just look a bit more like a pet. you'll have soft fur to stroke... cute paws... a fluffy tail... i know you're nervous, sweetheart, but you'll like it."
she could feel the fur poking out of her, growing from the waist down. it wasn't painful, exactly, but it was a little itchy, a little uncomfortable.
"there you go..." he said softly. "it will be easier if you relax... it will feel better if you give into it."
"i just... i wasn't ready for this..."
"i know, sweetheart," he cooed. "but you needed it... you understand, don't you? it should be affecting your mind by now, too... does it feel a bit fuzzy now?"
it did. it was like her head was full of fluff.
"you just... you want me to be..."
"i want you to be relaxed... i want you to be happy... i want you to feel good," he droned in a slow, quiet, monotonous, overpowering voice, shutting down all of her thoughts and making her shoulders sink. "you want that too, don't you?"
the fur was covering her lower body like a blanket, feeling soft and comfortable and warm now, all of the itchiness disappearing. her legs and feet were changing shape, but somehow even that just felt like stretching the muscles and then being massaged.
adrianus was petting the fur around her stomach now, moving her body, so that she was lying supine on the couch. something was growing... even now that her thoughts felt fuzzy and clouded, she worried for a second, confused as to what was happening, what shape she was becoming.
"your body is going to extend here," he explained gently, "and you're going to grow another set of legs right here... a bit like a centaur, but with a cat body. this way, you can have two sets of paws... and crawl on the ground... while still having your human hands... so you see, you won't be completely helpless, will you?"
it was enough for her to relax again. her fur had a calico pattern... it was kind of cute looking.
he pulled off her underwear, telling her he needed it out of the way, and helped her tail grow. she at least didn't feel too naked, with her fur covering everything.
"that's right... you're doing so good... it isn't so bad, is it?"
she was distantly aware that she had a reason to be bothered by the situation, but even that awareness was fading away. his praise and touches felt nice...
her torso extended, sensitive little paws sprouting out of it, as he stroked and massaged them, encouraging her to stretch and feel them.
"there you go... such a good kitty... such a sweet cat..."
he stroked the soft, fluffy fur on her stomach, in the same slow, hypnotic motion he'd done while petting her head earlier. he looked so loving and affectionate, so fixated on the feeling of it, so fixated on her new body. on the part of her that looked like a pet.
"how do you feel? do you feel good? does that feel nice?"
she nodded.
"oh, good girl... that's what i thought... i know it was scary for you... but you like it now, don't you? you were such a brave girl for me... i'll be sure to reward you with lots of pets and treats... until you forget you were ever worried about any of this... until you understand that you were always my pet."
a wave of dizziness came over her at the words, but it only made her sink deeper into that fuzzy feeling. it only made her feel more small and helpless.
her paws reached for her owner's hand, holding it on her stomach.
"oh, you're so cute," he cooed. "you already understand, don't you? such a clever girl..."
Legally there's no known 'safe maximum exposure' for the principle ingredient in love potions, but we all know that one drop can't really hurt you that much. Look at how happy and excited they all look. Eyes wide, knees rubbing together, giggling and grabbing at myself and each other. Don't you want to join? Let go a little, take your hand off the wheel. It'll all wear off by tomorrow.
I hate you Ozempic craze I hate you 'heroin chic' I hate you weight loss ads on public radio I hate Burn Fat Fast ads every thirty seconds I hate you I hate you I hate you
I grew up before the term 'thigh gap' was invented I grew up before 'hip dip' was invented I was born before 'muffin top' was a thing before 'clean girl look' was a thing before 'glass skin' was a thing before razoring off peach fuzz was a thing and I'm so so so fucking tired of us inventing new concepts purely for the purpose of convincing people to hate their own bodies enough to buy products
Last time Tuberculosis ran through the USA a small number of people got it on purpose to look skinny and waifish and delicate and used makeup to look flushed and bony and when the Victorians figured out tapeworms people would infect themselves on purpose to starve themselves smaller and women and now in the year of our lord 2026 there is a noticeable fraction of the USAmerican population genuinely thrilled about a treatment-resistant microbial parasite that makes you shit and vomit your brains out for a month because side effects include weight loss and STILL we talk about being skinny like it's the natural default setting for all healthy people as if it's a self-sustaining standard and not an imaginary goal that we are constantly constantly constantly beating ourselves with a whip to acheive
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