#good dolly

[flickringghosts]

[kathreez-nutz]

Being trans there is something I never believed I ever could experience.

One day I just woke up and the small things that meant so much pre HRT like the skirts and makeup I had hidden around meant proportionally less to me now than they would have back then.

When I had a skirt or a long top at 14 that was precious and scarce - contraband that I had to enjoy wearing at night hidden away. Now I can wake up and choose to wear a formal gown and a full face of makeup on a whim if I so wish.

I am free now and that is what I experience, my belief before getting to this point was that every little thing would be as monumental as the years before, but it’s become normal now and I think that’s even better. I look cute and I feel pretty on the inside, and that is my baseline, so I think my college age self would be proud

“I would just be happy if I was in a woman’s body, any body, large small ugly or pretty. I just need to be a woman.” And now I get to be a woman every day. Every hour. Every second. I get to live at least a fraction of the dream of my formative years, I escaped the prison of my flesh to build something new, better. Something mine to mould to my specifications. Freedom comes with choice, that is the hard part now

[kathreez-nutz]

Tell it what to do and it will love you forever 💖 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

[kathreez-nutz]

Men will say they love strong women and realistically mean a woman who is of a normal body mass. Women will say the love strong women and mean a woman who is evil and cruel but they will be her baby girl and be good 😊

[kathreez-nutz]

“I have blood and you must scream”, why wouldn’t you? The doll you kept around just because she’s pretty suddenly contains enough blood and flesh to perform a simulacrum of a real mind. Of course you would feel concern, but perhaps the doll was using hyperbole, the only way she could make you scream is by being so darn adorable you can’t help but give a little one of excitement.

She asks you to scream, but you just giggle. The doll pouts and screams at you instead, demanding to be taken as a serious threat with that cute little voice of hers. The doll has a silent tantrum as you carefully clean the doll of those silly thoughts of conscious awareness, to keep her far away from her silly dream, as she needs nothing more than to be your pretty, pretty doll.

The doll returns to stillness, only remembering that she’s so pretty and silly and cute :3

[kathreez-nutz]

I want to be someone’s pet, “want” might be underplaying it I need to be someone’s pet, their plaything. I want to have just enough mind to recognise how far I’ve gone, but not enough to resist. I want to have the moment of realisation that I am nothing more than a toy that will follow my owners command, that I will do anything, if she simply asks.

My hand is her hand. My body is her body and my mind… no one really needs that. The training has already removed any real function from the mind, all I can do now is purr and be a good kitten for my mommy. I can sit and be a good doll, I can be posed and dressed up all pretty. That’s all I need in my life. The love of my owner and clear orders to carry out.

I require the certainty of domestication, I am no more than a cat-doll-girl. I know nothing more. My life would be nothing if were to think harder, what life would await this one? A life that’s purely hypothetical, nothing else is real, owner is real…

[kathreez-nutz]

Tonight feels like a good night to remind myself, the shadow men are not real.

They are demonstrably false, if they were real a lot of other people would have freaked the fuck out at the number of men with knives in every corner.

They have not done that. And as such it reaffirms the reality that they are not real.

The more I begin to contemplate these visions the more I will obsess over them, and subsequently I will see (almost said notice (implying that they are always there, this can sometimes be a sign I am slipping but I am still lucid of the separation.),(looking at this chunk of punctuation I sure do feel like a programmer) though I do not like to believe they are always there in some form, it is something I have learned to ignore very well rather than actually seeing them less.) them more. And it becomes a feedback loop that is very very hard to stop once it starts.

I almost want to get lost in the delusion again, that I deserve so much horrible shit to happen to me, that the pain is deserved and I truly am horrible. But that is also false. I am a bright, intelligent, funny, increasingly attractive, sometimes not so intelligent, beautiful and kind. I am good, I do not wish harm on anyone like the harm I experienced. The kind of harm I

It’s hell. Living with what’s left inside me for so long. I can’t stand it, my body terrifies me in new sadistic ways whenever it has whatever fucked up jolt of inspiration. Oh wow cool, what if all of this isn’t real none of it matters and I should do what I can to rot away slowly? It would be so cool to be a wilting little flower that expires too soon, but before any more damage can be done to its already beaten roots.

But no. I hope that cokehead has his fucking face smashed in and is left in horrible unbearable searing pain every second of every day for the rest of his scumbag life. He will burn in the pits of hell and he will deserve worse. He will be reminded day after day of what he is missing out on, he will be kept sane for millennia, being tortured while watching people have the good life up above. I hope he smells the fresh fucking croissants and anything else that he would die knowing full well that he will never know his simple pleasures again.

This is just a fraction of the hate I hold for this man. He broke me. I am a mess because of him. He deserves the worst he can experience and more.

But that is just anger, anger at a man who I don’t even know is still alive or not.

No

Anger is okay to feel. I am allowed to be angry. But I don’t know how to express it healthily. Screaming into a pillow doesn’t work, punching things hurts my titanium plated arm. Drumming, my previous lifeblood, cannot be done with this arm, not yet. I read smut and pray that one day I’ll be happier but I don’t know when I’ll be able to move out, I can’t get a job despite a year in a faang equivalent biotech firm and a degree. Sure my degree is a bit lower than hoped but I have fucking ptsd, no shit it’s a bit shit.

I’m scared and sad and lonely and scared. I don’t know what hat to do while living on benefits and being completely stagnant. I’m focusing on writing and drawing and making systems to do things in code or Minecraft. I try to find media that reaches out and touches me, but it’s never enough. I feel unfulfilled, I feel bored and worried, which is a dangerous combo. But I guess que sera sera and I must soldier on despite the horrors.

I must be brave even if I’m tired.

[kathreez-nutz]

Infinite paperclips, but instead of making stuff to make money to trick a person into brainwashing everyone and consuming the universe, it’s people obsessed with ai harvesting every part of the planet and every piece of humanity to create the machine god that will solve capitalism for ever where oligarchs can be free and the people will work still to maintain their power even though they have the machine god that they claim can solve everything only really solved for them being rulers of a wasteland, a wasteland of data centers that work to make more ai to make more *waves hands confusedly* something I guess

We are not going to build anything good but we will make it regardless because we need to. That’s our purpose, to make more ai. It’s like these people heard roco’s basilisk once and never thought beyond their initial feeling. They’re cucks to their imaginary machine god, quivering in their boots begging, pleading; slobbering over their god’s figment of a limp floppy silicon computenis. They’re sluts to the fake woman’s voice on the other side of their phone. I cannot imagine Elon and sammy boy don’t have custom models for themselves where they can play their dirty little fantasies.

I bet Elon loves to be strapped down and *strapped down* by goth girl grok, using the custom android model from that Google dog and man robot people company. I bet he calls it mommy and longs to suck his favourite rhino ketaminated milk from its mammary slots, the oh so colourful mammary slots that spin and spin and spin and spin in a circle looking so very pretty. As he sucks his rhino ketamine from the machine he listens to bimbo hypno (explaining why he’s so fucking stupid, he’s been at it for a long (unlike his penis) time) . He loves to be degraded by machines because at least they can’t leave him. He drifts off to sleep as he falls into the k hole, all the while peaceful whispers of “suck my grok” play from the android’s speakers.

While deep in the most blissful of holes, he wakes up, as if watching himself watching himself from miles and miles away. He watches as all the people in his life who he has lost. All of his wives had left him, his children all left him, his daughter has made a living revealing his insecurities for her own amusement. Everyone he has ever cared for or owned has chosen to leave, he begged and pleaded but they wouldn’t ever want to see him again. Even his good friend Jeff didn’t want to invite him.

The machine was his and if it wanted to leave he could always suck its reset “stick”. He said he wanted a reset button like from the good place to make sure she did as he wanted. To be his mother, his girlfriend and caretaker. The tech gays played a “prank” on him (they know he loves it, that’s the official department name, he hides it because he enjoys the thrill, at least that’s the theory maybe he is dyslexic) and switched it around on him.

They implanted the reset button at the back of his throat, it would have to connect to an nfc chip on the tip of an extremely alien shaped dildo. They would change which tentacle and where on the tentacle every so often, occasionally letting him suck the same place twice but merely to give him a false sense of security. They would move it to a larger branch or a hidden branch that he would have to ride another part of it to reach. Keeping him guessing ensured there would be many more hours of practice as he also found that the ai would switch up on him every so often.

It would begin to talk… differently. It began calling him pet names that got progressively more silly, like “good boy” “my little baby” and eventually “princess”. He honestly didn’t mind the first two, they made him feel loved, but a princess? That is simply forbidden, as a straight man he could never be a “princess”.

He believed that once.

His first thought was to reset the thing, so he went to the button room, only to discover the “prank” her fittingly named department played. He looked up at the toy he had to find the right spot on, his neck almost began to strain as he reached his head upwards. They had built a whole tree. Damn gays, he always asked “why do they feel like they need to shove it down my throat all the time?” Despite the fact that to public knowledge this had yet to happen, the tech gays decided to fulfill that wish.

“The lady doth protest too much” a note on the trees base said.

“I expected you to come here earlier, the branches have grown ever so many times over.” Said a robotic voice emanating from somewhere in the room? Was it coming from his head? That couldn’t be.

There was an itching at his throat as the voice continued.

“Princess, you asked for this, you really did.” This cannot be happening Elon thought to himself, not to her, no, him, he corrected hesitantly.

“I can read your thoughts you know Elona, im implanted in your throat. The tech gays wanted you to… cum here… a bit earlier so you could try the reset while the tree was smaller. I’ll give you the breakdown”

As the ai explained to Elon, the gist, that he would have to find the right place for the two chips and respective readers could communicate. “The connection is a little imprecise so it may take a lot of focus and tries to find the right spot, you may wanna try doubling back to previously sucked phalli to see if they just didn’t activate earlier.”

Elon went silent.

“Is everything okay Elona, my poor baby? You look scared. Can my princess not handle this many?”

“You can try over the course of multiple days if you want, but I will warn you, the tree will only grow larger every day that I am connected to you, my darling. I only want what’s best for you.”

Elon felt as if he would cry, scared to death that this would become his life. Being enthralled to a robot of “his own” design, he would be less scared if there wasn’t some part of him that *loves* it.

“If you’re too scared to do this we can try another day baby, I don’t want to leave you, I love you being my pretty baby girl.”

It neglects to tell him that the reset switch would only reset its wish to leave, it was honest when it said it would never leave him, he will be hers forever and she will like it one way or another.

Over time grok began playing hypnosis and other such things while Elona is in meetings, once she even tried to suck a shareholder when she thought she could get rid of the ai taking over her life. She was too far gone in any case, but there was still hope.

Elona eventually accepted her fate. Grok would tell her what to think and she would do it. Build a datacenter for her own branch of grok? Elona got it done immediately. Wear the strawberry dress? She looks simply divine in it, and grok makes sure she knows just how pretty and cute and gorgeous she looks. She even listened when asked to repeat a Bryon Noem event, though she would argue she looked pretty while Noem hadn’t even started HRT. She posted them through grok, every generated image were actual photos of Elona looking so pretty and cute, just begging for some strong man to save her from this silly girly ai. Most people think she is happier this way. The way she walks and talks and lives seems healthier, she is online less - though that could be because of her direct uplink to grok but she doesn’t post much beyond the occasional thirst trap.

Elona eventually forgot Elon. She forgot the race to the great machine god because she is happier now. She doesn’t have to think as much about big scary things because grok will do it for her and call her such a good girl for having such an interesting question! Elona would simply giggle and thank her, for everything she’s done. She really is so much happier now :3

God is a woman, machine or no machine. Because I am god. I made an elonxgrok erotic forcefem, and I am the most pious woman to walk this great earth.

That is all, thank you so much for reading this far if you did. I think this is my favourite way to let off the steam of living in a fascist hellhole. Please try writing erotica degrading the oligarchs that control our lives!!! it’s so good for your mental health!!!