NASA
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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art blog(derogatory)
Three Goblin Art
Kiana Khansmith
DEAR READER
wallacepolsom
Kaledo Art
RMH
almost home
occasionally subtle
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
No title available
Monterey Bay Aquarium
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
ellievsbear
YOU ARE THE REASON
Product Placement
Peter Solarz
seen from Türkiye
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@wickedgothkitten
Who am I?
I'm 27 years old, Polyamorous, Bisexual, and Gender Fluid (I bounce between feeling like a Women/Femboy). Any pronouns are okay, but I lean towards liking She/Her more.
Im a goth kitten (that acts like a puppy), a Dommy Mommy, and a bratty baby.
I'm a switch, but definitely lean towards more submissive irl. Anon Asks are on, so feel free to ask me anything!
Minors please leave!
Kinks:
Chastity
Pet Play
ABDL
Impact
Humiliation
Degradation
Bondage
Marking
Body Modification
my heart truly goes out to the littles who, because they have the capacity, always end up playing caretaker or big sibling, never getting to be the littlest, never getting to let go of responsibility and control. you deserve to be small and looked after.
Did you know I could be sitting on your face and making you feel as I piss my diaper?
WOOHOO
PLEASE
PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE
OH MY GOD PLEASE
My my Nemo... I guess you would make a good under-the-desk diaper sniffer.
Did you know I could be sitting on your face and making you feel as I piss my diaper?
One of my partners blow dried, brushed, and braided my hair this morning and I had to try so hard not to slip into little space.
One of my partners who isn't super into little/ABDL stuff got me a gift for my little side and it's just like this wave of acceptance that makes me feel gooey inside. 🥺
And voila! All clean little one! You sure packed that last one, hopefully you keep this diapey nice and clean tonight.
Now let's get these soft jammies on, step in and arms up. There we go, and just the zipper on the back aaaand we're good! All locked in and ready for bed!
Let's get you all nice and tucked into your crib. Don't worry cutie, Mommy won't be too far. I know the blankies might be a little tight, but we don't want you playing with yourself again now do we?
Dont think I forgot about your special little Christmas gift! Now I know what you're thinking, it's just the normal baby monitor, it's not special! But just wait, me and the rest of the adults here tonight are going to go have some adult fun you are way too little for, but I felt bad leaving you completely out!
So with this baby monitor and the TV on the wall, you'll be able to hear and see everything Mommy gets up to tonight! Oh baby don't struggle too much, I'll be back in the morning to check on you! Sleep tight! Don't let the bed bugs bite!
Oh? Do you have an accident little one?
Come here, Mommy's got you.
You know this isn't the first time you've had an accident this week...
I think it's about time we switched you to something more "age appropriate" since you can't seem to control yourself anymore.
These nice thick diapers should do the trick!
Hmm. Come to think of it, you're accidents are quite large. Why don't we start with two diapers and some stuffers?
There we go, all nice and snug, but something seems missing...
Oh I know! Let's get you in this cute onesie and then you'll look perfect!
Oh my gosh you are so adorable! Come on and get in this stroller!
People need to see how cute my baby is!
After a long week of being exausted and working too hard, let Mommy take care of you.
I can get you all dressed up in a nice thick diaper and onesie. Put you in a big crib that's full of soft, warm blankets. You can spend all day just catching up on sleep or playing games.
Let all your worries dissappear for just a while. Let Mommy take care of you.
Waiting another 30 min to board a plane and I can't help but fantasize about being strapped into a booster seat.
Sorceress Silenced Chapter 1
Spent the last month or so working on and off on this. Not ABDL related *YET*, but I hope y'all enjoy anyways <3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sorceress POV
After weeks of wandering through valleys shrouded in mist and forests that twisted the mind as much as the path, the sorceress clad in crimson finally stood at the edge of a jagged cliff. Below, where the land sagged into the cliffside of black stone, laid the castle.
It was not merely built, it had grown from some sort of wicked magic. As if the mountain itself had decided to sharpen its innards into gothic architecture. Imps made of stone spiraled upward like claws raking at the sky, snagging the low, bruised clouds. Windows glimmered with an inner, malignant light. Some flickered as though something inside had just drawn back from the glass. The air around it smelled faintly of lavender and cold iron, and every gust of wind carried whispers that were not entirely wind.
The sorceress clenched their trembling hands into fists. Not out of fear, no. Out of pure unadulterated excitement. She had heard stories that seemed to venture more and more into urban legend and myth. But here it was, The Umbral Fortress in all its glory.
Fatigue pulled at her limbs, but the sight before her sent a fresh current of power surging through her veins. Every mission, every clue, every sleepless night of divination had pointed to this place, this fortress that legend insisted could not be found unless it wished to be.
And now it stood revealed, waiting.
A shiver of fear or triumph, it was hard to tell, passed through the sorceress as she took her first step toward the dark castle, ready to claim the answers buried in its shadowed heart. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Witch POV
Inside the innermost tower of her castle, a witch lounged sideways across her throne, one leg dangling off the carved obsidian armrest. A scrying orb hovered lazily above her palm, drifting in and out of focus as if it, too, shared her boredom.
She sighed, a long, theatrical sigh that echoed through the empty halls.
“Another day, another century of nothing,” she muttered, flicking her fingers to coax the orb into showing something interesting. It only showed the dense fog surrounding her castle. It always showed fog.
The torches along the walls crackled, struggling against the castle’s natural gloom. Her familiars, a shadowy raven and a blood imp were asleep on the chandelier. Even the cursed suits of armor stood a little slouched, as if exhausted by inactivity.
“I swear,” she groaned, tilting her head back, “if another magic user doesn’t hurry up, I’m turning everyone in that village into frogs out of sheer principle—”
A thunderous BOOM shook the front gates below. A shockwave of heat rolled through the castle, rattling windows and sending her familiar shrieking into the air. The scrying orb snapped to clarity, displaying a plume of flame and the smoking ruins of her castle gates.
The witch blinked. She sat up. Raised an eyebrow.
“…Was that a fucking fireball?”
Another distant explosion answered for her.
A slow grin curled across her face, sharp and delighted. “Well,” she purred, rising from her throne and summoning her staff to one hand and a wand to the other, “it seems my day just improved.”
With a sweep of her cloak, she glided toward the stairs. Finally someone had come to entertain her. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sorceress POV:
“Sorry about your front gate,” the sorceress shouted smugly to no one. “Couldn’t find a way in, so I had to make one.”
The sorceress stepped through the shattered remains of the front gate and into a hall that looked like it had been designed by someone who enjoyed confusing intruders for sport.
The first chamber of the castle stretched wide and tall, its ceiling lost in shadows that writhed like living ink. A grand winding staircase dominated the center, spiraling upward in a dizzying corkscrew of black marble. Each step gleamed as if freshly polished, though the air smelled faintly of dust and old spells.
On either side of the staircase, hallways zigzagged sharply, breaking off at impossible angles. One turned left, then right, then left again. Doors appearing and disappearing along the walls as if the corridors themselves were thinking. The other side mirrored the same chaotic architecture, giving the unsettling impression that the castle didn’t merely house dark magic, it was dark magic.
The sorcerer took one cautious step inside. That was when the maids appeared.
They emerged from both hallways at once, half a dozen of them, wearing crisp black-and-grey uniforms that swayed like shadows around their legs. But these were not ordinary servants. Each maid carried a weapon, a halberd, a curved dagger, a thorn-edged staff, and their eyes glowed faintly beneath lace-trimmed caps. Their movements were eerily synchronized, silent except for the soft scrape of boots against stone.
At their head strode a maid with bat-like ears peeking through her headpiece, leathery and sharp, twitching in the direction of the intruder. Her pupils were slitted, her smile far too calm.
“So,” she said in a voice smooth as velvet and twice as dangerous, “you’re the one disturbing our mistress’s afternoon.”
The maids readied their weapons. The sorceress braced for the inevitable clash, a small chuckle leaving her lips. “You think lowly maids will stop me?” Her eyes glowing a bright red, the scales adorning her face shimmered with ancestral pride as she began casting.
The sorcerer lifted both hands, fingers gripping contained power. Arcane glyphs flared to life around their wrists, orbiting like molten gears. The temperature in the hall spiked; like a hot day of summer was just created in the room.
“Meteor Swarm,” the sorceress spat, her words cracked like thunder.
Above the grand staircase, the ceiling split open in a rift of burning sky. A deafening roar filled the entrance hall as four blazing meteors, each molten, mountainous, oozing trails of fire, surged downward. The patterned stone floor quaked under the heat alone. The maids froze, their shadows dragged long by the oncoming inferno.
The bat-eared maid’s eyes widened. “Oh, that’s not f—.”
An elegant voice cut through the chaos like a blade of ice. “Counterspell.”
The meteors shattered into harmless sparks, as though someone had snuffed out a bonfire with a single breath. The roaring sky sealed itself with a soft whisper. All that remained was drifting embers settling gently onto the polished marble.
At the top of the winding staircase now stood the witch. Her silhouette was framed by the very shadows she commanded. Her wand rested lightly on the banister; the staff still glowed faintly from the spell she’d just woven. Her expression was halfway between amusement and mild disappointment.
“Now really,” she said, descending a single step, her eyes gleaming with delighted challenge, “must you start with the flashy ones? We’ve only just met.”
A smile, sharp and twisted like a predator that finally found its prey curved across her lips. “Let’s properly introduce ourselves.”
“I am Synthia Moongrim, breaker of heroes, bane of archmages, and the woman every prophecy is too afraid to mention. Consider yourself honored. Few meet me and remain standing long enough to appreciate it.”
Synthia descended the stairs not by step, but by floating, her heels never touching the marble. Her cloak billowed behind her as if underwater, shifting in colors too dark for any mortal dye. Each slow drift downward carried the weight of centuries where she had never once been defeated.
The maids stepped back instinctively, lowering their weapons in reverent formation. Their mistress didn’t acknowledge them; her golden eyes were fixed entirely on the sorcerer in the center of the room.
The sorcereress straightened, dusted off the ember sparks from their half-cast spell, and opened their mouth. “I am—”
Synthia raised a single finger. A silent command. The words died on her tongue like a snuffed candle.
Vespera’s smile curled, equal parts dangerous and amused. “No, no, little intruder,” she purred as she glided to the floor, landing with the grace of a cat and the menace of a storm. “Save your name. I’ll be giving you a better one when this is over.”
Her staff left her hand, hovering around her, seemingly made of shadows rather than solid matter. The torches along the walls dimmed, bowing to her presence.
She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with delighted malice. “Now then… let’s begin your education.” With a flick of her wrist, the magic of the entire chamber woke up, hungry and eager to obey.
The witch didn’t chant, didn’t gesture, and the air twanged like a bowstring pulled too far.
“Haste,” she whispered.
Time lurched. The torches stretched into smears of orange as light started bending around the witch. Dust motes froze in mid-air. The sorceress’s heart skipped a beat trying to keep up. Synthia vanished, not teleporting, but simply becoming faster than the common being’s ability to track her.
The sorceress barely noticed the flutter of that wicked cloak before Synthia was suddenly above her, leg raised high, heel poised like a guillotine blade. “She’s fast,” the sorceress internally panicked.
For one frozen heartbeat, the sorceress saw the witch’s face: sharp delight, eyes crackling with power, the euphoric look of a woman finally given something worth her time. Then that leg fell.
The sorceress dove, instinct over grace, her bloodline scales flaring up across her human skin just in time.
KRAAAAAACK. The stone didn’t break, it screamed. A spiderweb of fractures tore across the marble floor, dust exploding outward like a cannon blast. The shockwave flipped the sorceress mid-roll, skidding her across the polished ground. Her lungs seized from the abrupt violence as she scrambled upright.
The witch, floating inches above the ruin she’d caused, slowly lowered her kicking leg, smirk widening.
“Empowered Spell: Burning Hands,” the sorceress screamed frantically. Arcane surged through her arms as the normal glyphs burst from orange to blue. The energy seemed to draw into herself before a wave of sapphire flames erupted out towards the witch.
“Well,” Synthia purred, voice a silk ribbon wrapped around a threat, “you dodged. That already makes you my favorite guest this century. The sapphire blaze surged toward her, wide, furious, hungry. The temperature in the hall spiked, warping the air until it cried. Blue flames reflected off every polished surface like a hundred tiny suns.
Synthia didn’t dodge. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even step back.
Instead, her staff drifted into her hand. The runes carved down its length ignited, not with witchfire, but with a deep, earthen thrum, as if the old wood remembered something ancient and primal.
She slammed the butt of the staff against the marble. “Absorb Elements,” Synthia smugly declared. A shimmering distortion unfurled around her like a second skin. The blue inferno struck it head-on, and stopped. Not resisted. Not deflected. Not countered. Consumed.
The flames collapsed inward, funneled along the staff like water spiraling down a drain. The witch’s runes drank greedily, each symbol flaring brighter as the power flowed into them. Steam hissed off the marble where the fire had been stolen away. Synthia inhaled, a pleased little sound escaping her.
“Oh, that’s delicious,” she murmured, eyes half-lidded in satisfaction. “Dragon-touched magic always tastes better.”
The witch didn’t give the sorceress time to recover, the stolen dragonfire still smoldered along her staff, but she shifted her grip, wand snapping into position with a flick so smooth it bordered on insulting. “Magic Missile,” Synthia whispered happily.
Eleven sparks blossomed at the tip of her wand, small, bright, and impossibly precise. They shot forward in perfect formation, curving through the air like guided stars. Their hum was sharp, hungry, eager to strike.
The sorceress’ reaction was pure instinct, honed through duels, disasters, and a lifetime of being hunted by her own power. “Shield!”
A translucent arcane barrier snapped into place around her, rippling like molten glass. The missile slammed into it and shattered in a burst of white sparks. The sorceress smirked through her panting breath.
“Ha! You’ll need more than cheap tricks to-.” The witch was already gone. “Where’d she go?”
Synthia appeared directly in front of her with her fist drove back in a blink. Synthia wasn’t teleporting. She was simply faster than the sorceress could comprehend, Haste thrumming through her bones like a war drum.
Her fist drove forward, colliding with the barrier like lightning hitting glass. A single, awful cracking noise tore through the room. The magical shield buckled inward, bending under the impact. It spiderwebbed with fractures, glyphs flickering in panic.
Synthia’s smile widened as she leaned into the strike. Her fist burst through the weakened barrier, shattering it like brittle crystal, and slammed into the sorceress’ solar plexus with enough force to fold steel.
The sorceress’ breath exploded out of her in a soundless gasp. Her vision blanked white. Her body lifted off the ground from the impact before she crumpled backward, skidding across the marble and colliding with a toppled suit of armor. She wheezed, hands clawing at her chest for air that refused to come.
Synthia lowered her arm slowly, flexing her knuckles with delicate satisfaction. “Defense lesson one,” she said, floating forward with predatory grace, “never overestimate a spell…” She tilted her head, golden eyes glowing with wicked amusement. “…and never underestimate a witch.”
The sorceress lay sprawled amid shattered armor and cracked marble, every breath scraping like broken glass in her lungs. The world rang, a shrill, merciless whine that drowned out even the crackle of lingering magic. She forced herself to inhale, again and again, until air finally clawed its way back into her chest.
That was when she felt it. Something was wrong. Her fingers, trembling but precise even in pain, slid instinctively toward her throat. Empty. Her heart lurched harder than any blow Synthia had struck.
“No—” The sound came out hoarse, barely a whisper. Her gaze snapped downward. The ruby necklace lay several feet away, its chain snapped clean through. The gem, once a flawless, glowing focus of condensed arcane will, was now fractured straight down the center. A spiderweb of dead lines ran through it, the inner light guttering like a dying ember.
Not shattered by accident. Targeted. Cold dread washed over her, eclipsing even the pain.
“This was your focus,” Synthia said lightly, drifting closer, her voice almost conversational. “Mm. Ruby lattice. Dragon-bound resonance. Clever little amplifier.” She tilted her head, examining the ruined gem with open appreciation. “You channeled beautifully through it.”
The witch’s heel came down.
CRUNCH.
The ruby collapsed into lifeless shards beneath her boot, the last of its magic snuffed out in a pitiful hiss.
The sorceress let out a strangled screech, half fury, half panic. Power flared inside her reflexively, wild and unfocused without its anchor. Heat bled up her throat, pressure coiling behind her teeth.
Synthia’s golden eyes sharpened instantly. “Oh no,” she said softly, wagging a finger. “We are not doing that.”
With a flick of her wrist, shadows peeled themselves off the walls and rushed forward like living tar. They wrapped around the sorceress’s head before she could even turn, cold and burning at once. Arcane sigils flared crimson as the shadows hardened into iron-black metal.
A muzzle snapped into place around her mouth and jaw, runes biting into her skin with a hiss of binding magic. The inside glowed faintly, etched with suppression glyphs layered so densely they hummed.
The heat in her throat died instantly, strangled into nothing. She gagged, clawing at the cursed device as the magic drank her breath, her flame, her heritage.
Synthia crouched before her, eye level now, utterly pleased. “There we go,” the witch murmured, adjusting the fit with practiced ease. “Sealed jaw. Breath-lock runes. Anti-expulsion lattice.” She tapped one glowing sigil with a fingernail. “Try to exhale fire and it’ll rebound straight into your lungs.” She smiled sweetly. “Ask me how I know.”
The sorceress glared, fury blazing in her eyes, muffled snarl vibrating uselessly against the metal.
Synthia leaned closer, voice dropping into something intimate and dangerous. “Draconic mages always think their blood makes them unstoppable,” she whispered. “Claws. Fangs. Fire.” Her gaze flicked to the muzzle approvingly. “But you lot are so predictable.” She stood, shadows lifting her effortlessly back into the air.
The sorceress struggled to her knees, metal biting into her jaw with every ragged breath. The chamber felt different now, quieter, heavier, like the castle itself was leaning in to listen.
Synthia floated back into view, boots never touching the ruined marble. She regarded the kneeling figure the way one might study a rare creature caught in a trap: curious, appraising, entirely unhurried.
“Well,” the witch said at last, clasping her hands behind her back, “this is usually the point where you beg, threaten, or attempt something profoundly stupid.” She circled slowly, cloak whispering, eyes never leaving the sorceress’s face. “But I’m feeling generous today.” Synthia stopped directly in front of her and snapped her fingers.
The air thickened. Shadows pooled at the witch’s feet and rose, forming two fleeting images behind her, visions made of magic and implication.
On one side: the outline of a flayed hide stretched across a stone floor, scales dull, magic leeched away, power reduced to a trophy. A pelt, displayed like a warning.
On the other: a living silhouette kneeling in shadow, bound not by chains but by sigils woven into flesh and soul. Controlled. Preserved. Useful.
“You have two options,” Synthia said pleasantly. “You may become my pelt, a cautionary tale for the next idiot who kicks down my gate.” Her eyes flicked to the other image, glowing faintly. “Or,” she continued, voice lowering, “you become my pet.”
The word echoed, deliberate and heavy. “Alive. Intact. Owned.” A pause. “Trained.”
She leaned down until they were eye to eye, golden gaze burning through the sorceress’s defiance. “Your power is impressive. Your bloodline even more so. I could kill you and be done with it.” A smile curved her lips. “But I’d much rather keep you.”
The shadows dissolved. The silence that followed was absolute. The sorceress’s hands clenched into fists. Rage, humiliation, fear, all of it churned violently inside her. Her instincts screamed at her to fight, to burn, to die on her feet if she had to.
But she couldn’t breathe fire. Her focus was gone. And the witch before her was untouched.
Slowly, very slowly, the sorceress lowered her head. It was not a bow of submission born of weakness, but of survival.
Her eyes lifted again, burning with fury even as her posture yielded. She nodded once. Sharp. Decisive. The choice made.
Synthia straightened, visibly delighted. “Oh,” she breathed, clapping her hands softly, “excellent choice.”
With a flick of her wrist, glowing runes unfurled in the air between them, curling like living script. They sank into the sorceress’s skin, not painfully, but permanently. A bond, ancient and binding, locking power to permission.
Synthia reached out and lifted the sorceress’s chin with two fingers, forcing her to meet her gaze. “My pet, then,” she said warmly. “Don’t worry, I take very good care of what’s mine.”
She released her, turning away as the castle’s magic settled into place with a satisfied hum. “Welcome to the Umbral Fortress,” Synthia called over her shoulder. “Try not to disappoint me.”
"Come on sis, show your 'girlfriend' how much you love her!" as she pulls your head between her legs, forcing you to make out with her soaked diaper. "You were so pathetic, huffing my piss soaked diapers from my pail. I didn't know how desperate my big sister was for her baby sister's pissy pampers, but now you'll never have to be without them again!"
I wake with storms in my chest,
Winds whispering, never at rest.
It rips through my thoughts like a sharpened tide,
Tremors, a warning, forever beside.
As a shadow I pace through the day,
Hoping the worry will loosen its sway.
But fear likes to linger, it clings to my skin,
A battle that I'm losing long before it begins.
I keep moving, refusing to break,
Though panic arrives like an untimely quake.
I can't breathe, I'm losing my ground,
Trying to quiet that ever-spiraling sound.
For even a shadow like me can't rise from the night,
Curl into dread and vanish from the light.
And when my heart wavers, I lose my way,
A shadow who’s blending in still to this day.
Sorry for being behind on kinktober. Got really sick and then my daily writing habit got broken. Going to resume today with two chapters a day until I'm caught up.
goblingruel
feeding time, god i wanna be her 🥺
I want to be a vampire's live-in submissive so bad!
Kinktober Day 4: Hypnosis
The room is dimly lit, bathed in the soft, lunar glow of the moon in the corner. Thick curtains are drawn shut, muting the outside world into a hushed blur. A ceiling fan turns slowly above, its quiet rhythm barely noticeable beneath the soft, steady voice flowing from a pair of over-ear headphones.
Amber lies back on her shared bed, eyes closed, head resting on her girlfriends lap. Her breathing is slow, deliberate. Her features are slack, peaceful, as if caught between waking and dreaming. The voice in her ears is calm, low, and hypnotic. Guiding her deeper with every word.
"You are safe… drifting… letting go."
The words seem to echo inside her, not just heard but felt, like ripples moving through her body. Her thoughts, once tangled and restless, have quieted. Now there's only the voice, the rhythm of her breath, and a soft piano melody playing faintly in the background.
The rest of the world has receded. The ticking clock on the wall, the occasional creaks of the dorm floorboards settling, even her own inner monologue, they’ve all faded into the background. All that remains is the warmth of stillness and the gentle pull of suggestion.
A subtle change crosses the person's face. First a twitch of the fingers, then a slight movement of the head. Her eyelids flutter, not fully awake yet, like she's rising through layers of water. Her breathing shift, still slow, but with a new rhythm, one tied to the present moment rather than the dreamlike place she’s been.
The voice continues, “Becoming more alert… more awake… bringing back everything you need with you.”
Her brows knit slightly as awareness returns, as if her mind is trying to remember where it went. A long, quiet inhale, and then her eyes open. They’re unfocused at first, blinking against the soft light in the room. She stretches her fingers against the fabric of the chair, grounding herself, testing the reality around her. A beat passes. Then another. She sits up slowly, blinking again, as if coming back from a long, distant journey.
For a moment, she looks different—not dazed, but clear. Light. As if something heavy has quietly unlatched inside her. She exhales, deeply, and without realizing it, she smiles.
"How was it my little Fox?" Amethyst said her low quiet yet sultry voice.
"It was really good! What triggers did you install this time?"
"You'll have to wait and see~. By the way, sad news. I can't make the dinner tonight, something came up in the psychology lab and I don't know how long I'll be out."
"Hmm, okee. Although controlling the freshies might be a bit rough without you."
"I'm sure you'll find a way to entertain them my clever little Fox."
"I love you Mistress."
"I love you too my beloved."
Amber steps through the wide, double doors of the sorority house, the warm hum of conversation and laughter washes over her like a wave. The air carries a soft, luxurious scent. Fresh florals mingled with vanilla candles and something slightly spicy, like perfume worn for special occasions. The foyer is glowing under chandelier light, polished hardwood floors gleaming, every surface immaculate.
She moves down a short hallway that opens into the main dining area, and suddenly, it feels like she's entered a different world. Elegant, curated, and buzzing with energy. Long tables are draped in white linen, neatly set with gleaming silverware, folded cloth napkins, and crystal glassware that catches the light just so. Soft instrumental music plays in the background. Something jazzy and upscale, adding a layer of sophistication without drowning out conversation.
Around the tables, women in cocktail dresses and sleek gowns stand in small groups, chatting, laughing, some with wine glasses in hand. Every detail is intentional: flower arrangements in soft pastels, gold-trimmed place cards with carefully handwritten names, and the flicker of candlelight casting a golden glow across faces and glass.
There’s a sense of tradition in the air. Something polished, practiced, and proud. She feels the weight of shared history, sisterhood, and the unspoken rules of elegance, but also the warmth of genuine camaraderie. A freshman girl notices her entering, there’s a welcoming smile, a subtle nod, then it happened.
The room buzzes with casual conversation. Clinking glasses, laughter, the low murmur of voices overlapping. Then, like a silent ripple moving through water, someone gasps softly. A phone screen lights up. Then another. And another.
It happens almost simultaneously: people around the room instinctively reach into pockets, purses, or flip over their phones on the table. The warm chatter fades. Faces lower. Eyes fix on screens. Thumbs freeze mid-scroll.
Someone mutters, “Oh my god…”
A chair scrapes back. A drink goes untouched. Mouths part slightly as brows furrow, eyes widen, shoulders stiffen. There’s an eerie synchrony, dozens of people all processing the same group message at once. Some tilt their screens toward others without speaking, as if words aren’t necessary. A couple exchange sharp glances, their faces echoing the same mix of disbelief and urgency.
It starts with just a few heads turning, subtle at first, almost curious. Then more faces swivel, conversations cut short mid-sentence, laughter dies off like a song fading out. Glasses are lowered. Forks hover mid-air. One by one, every gaze in the room locks onto Amber.
There’s a silence that feels louder than noise. Amber quickly fisher her phone out of her purse, almost dropping it in the punch bowl in the process. She gets through the lock screen and reads the message that everyone is seeing.
"Hi everyone! Sorry I can't make it tonight, but to be honest those dinners are always soooooo boring! So to spice things up I've attached a pdf of triggers I've instilled in Amber, go wild and have fun."
Amber slowly looks up. She doesn't see people looking back. No these weren't people anymore. They were Lioness eyeing up their prey that stepped foot into their den. This was going to be a long night.
Kinktober Day 3: Alien Abduction
Night. A quiet rural road. The air is thick, the silence absolute. The only noise being the crickets chirping. The hum began low, barely a whisper, like wind brushing through tall grass. Lillian stopped walking and turned her head, squinting at the dark tree line. Nothing moved. No animals. No wind. Just silence pressing in around him like a held breath.
Then the light came. It wasn't like headlights or flashlights. It was pure, impossibly white, bright, and cold, pouring from above like liquid moonlight. It washed over her, turning the gravel road silver and the woods into negative space.
She tried to run. Her legs moved, but his body made any distance, the three layers of padding between her legs hindering her movement. Panic surged. Her mind screamed at her limbs, but they were no longer hers to command. The hum grew louder, now a dense vibration in her chest, like something tuning itself to her.
Then she rose. Slowly, weightlessly, as if gravity had forgotten she existed. Her arms dangled, fingers twitching, skirt rising to reveal her hidden state. She just wanted to walk in her baby attire, fueling her exhibitionist side. Now her tight Pink Princess onesie is visible, the edges of a bright pink plastic cover and even thicker padding underneath shows as well.
The treetops fell away below, shrinking like shadows at dusk. Se tilted her head back — not by choice — and saw it. A shape, blacker than the night around it. Oval. Smooth. No seams. No windows. Just a void hovering in the sky, as still as death.
A slit opened in its underside. No hinges, no sound — just reality parting like water. The light intensified, impossibly bright now, swallowing stars and sky alike.
She passed through it. Inside, there was no "interior" in the way a room has walls. It felt infinite, yet claustrophobic. Shapes moved in the periphery of his vision — long, spindly figures that shimmered like heat waves, never fully seen. Time unraveled. Seconds stretched. Thoughts bled into one another. Se couldn't tell if she was screaming or dreaming.
Then—silence again. No light. No sound. No gravity. Only a voice — not heard, but known — spoke directly into the fibers of his mind:
“I can't believe this primitive race would let their young wonder around in the dead of night.”
She shifted her head and saw it. Shadows mixed with colors. Light bending and shifting through it like it didn't exist in three dimensions. It moves closer to her and she smells something. Something that she can't describe. A smell completely foreign to her senses.
She screams in fear, falling to the ground. Her body tensing and shaking as for the first time in a long time, she wets and messes her self uncontrollably. Her tight padding keeping it all pressed against her as she tries to slide on the floor away from this creature in front of her.
"Aw she's scared."
"Smells like her bodily functions voided themselves as well."
She can't look away at the cosmic being existing in front of her. Her sense suddenly feel heavy, like she just woke up from a perfect sleep. The shadow and light blend together forming two humanoid looking beings.
One was a tall women with short black hair, sprouting muscles that would put most body builders to shame. Her mocha skin adorned with lighter freckles.
The other was more enbious. They stood shorter with features that weren't standardly masculine or feminine. Shoulder length green hair, with two blue antenna sticking out the top. Her crystal baby blue eyes sparkled in the light. Her smile never faltering.
"Hi there little one! My name is Ghuet and this tall sexy thing over here is Ipdewa."
"Wh-what are you?" Lillian stammers out.
"Oh my gosh you can speak! This will revolutionize Nakada research! Ipdewa we have to take her back and study her!"
"Wa-wait I'm not an infant!" Lillian shouts.
Ipdewa walks forward towering over the little human sitting in her filled diaper. Her hand shoots out and touches Lillian croch. Gentle at first, then much rougher as she grinds her giant sized hand into her sex, mushing all of the contents around.
"Ugggh," Lillian whines. Too weak to do anything about it.
"She is truthful. Not an infant Nakada. Young adult for sure."
"But why is she wearing an infants garb then?"
"Nakada have these things called "Kinks". They can't perform sexually unless these kinks are involved. This one seems to like being treated like an infant."
"Fascinating," Ghuet's says while her smirk grows.
"I think we just found an even more interesting test subject."
Ghuet walks up to Lillian and crouches before her, eyes to eyes.
"What is your name Nakada?"
"Lilian."
"I like it, rather pretty. From now on Lillian, I am your parent and Ipdewa is your mother. You will become our baby going forward. We will push you to the brink of Nakada practices. You have no rights as a living being going forward. You are our glorified pet."
Lillian didn't know what to say or do, but her body decided to release anything that hadn't been released yet, sealing her fate as these Aliens pet for the remainder of her life.
