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At this point in time, I would say my philosophy aligns with a sort of objective materialist or rational skeptic or IDK what the words are. However, I also think that there's a really weird thing that happens when humans come around with their language and society. Through sheer belief, humans seem to have the ability to get other humans to act as though something is real, even if it has no bearing on the physical substrate of reality.

Humans have this weird ability to “play pretend” about things. But they do it so much that they don't even realize they're doing it half the time.

I'm being reductive of course. It's a lot more complicated than that. The shared reality that humans build is a result of social contracts, agreements, beliefs, and more. In my experience, most of we interact with as humans is part of this shared “pretend” reality that exists only because we collectively will it to be so.

Take money for example. Currency. Numbers in a database or pieces of paper or coins. They have value merely because we will them to have such. Without those beliefs, they have no value. Yet we spend so much of our lives chasing money, struggling to get enough to survive, and so on. Much of our lives centers around it.

Some people confuse our “make believe” world of shared ideas, beliefs, and agreements with the solid substrate of reality. Some people think that how much wealth someone has is a real thing, just as real as a cloud or a tree or a rock.

It's not. If you went to a deserted island or a far away planet, disconnected from the rest of society, your money and wealth would cease to have any meaning.

But within this society that believes in it, it has real power to affect things.

In truth, the things we pretend are real... The things we make believe about... They have so much power, they can literally move mountains, reshape continents, move the planet. They can kill us or bring us joy. These mere ideas and beliefs shape us just as we shape them.

Here's where things get really exciting. The relationship between our identities and the shared fantasy of reality are complex, intricate and oh so interesting.

It's one thing to do psychological analysis or sociology on identity. It's another to realize that you have the power to reshape your identity at will. That the very things that define who we are as people are also stories we tell, fictions we create.

For example, to realize you don't need to participate in static binary gender the way you were told you had to as a child. You can change your gender, abstain from gender, or go deeper in it. You don't have to be heterosexual. You don't have to follow the narrative of finding a single spouse and getting married. You don't have to follow the narratives that exist in this culture.

The rules that you have to be these things and do these things are just like money... shared ideas that exist only because people say they do. They're not real like a cloud or tree is...

Going deeper, the ideas of who and what we are are also fantasies. The idea that you're an individual being with your own single separate and independent thoughts and ideas is a story you tell yourself.

What are you really? You're a collection of cells, some of which have neurons that fire in a complex pattern we have labelled a “neural network.” No part of that is you. You are a story that thing tells.

That's not to say that it's not a useful story. It can be useful to treat yourself as a single independent entity. But you could just as easily model yourself as a collection of independent entities or as part of a network of minds connected via sounds transmitted over the air and electronic signals transmitted over the internet.

You could do all of these at once, or none of them.

When you're free to write the story yourself... To create the model by which you interpret your own experiences... the power there is incredible. Singlet, plural, interconnected multi-body being...

We can even step away from trying to tell a story about what our brains are doing and just envelop ourselves in fictions and stories of our own making, instead of the overall collective story. We can tell a story about being a cat, or a bird, or a robot, or a dragon...

There's a reason that the Matrix was written by two trans women. Their story reflects a lot of these ideas. That when you see that so much of the world we exist in is a shared belief or fiction, you gain the ability to rewrite it and to work with it in a new way.

Sometimes, you need something, perhaps a preference for a different gender narrative, so strongly that it causes you to break the Matrix we live in and realize that we can do and be so much more than the stories that usually get forced on us.

I'm still a materialist. I don't believe that gods or angels or magic really exist in some of the ways people say they do. I don't think spells or prayers work.

But I think that shared human beliefs are incredibly powerful. I've seen the way that ideas can reshape people and landscapes. I've been a part of that.

It is there, in the space of what humans believe, and the powerful affects of those beliefs, that I do recognize the reality of magic.

I recently had the opportunity to “pitch” Mastodon to a couple wonderful friends of mine, and in doing so, got them excited about Mastodon and the fediverse. It caused me to reflect on what really excites me about Mastodon and the fediverse at large. There's a few things that specifically jump out at me.

• Your service provider is a person or small group, not a corporation seeking to exploit you.
• You own your relationships and can pick up and move anywhere in the fediverse without losing your relationships
• There are many different services in the fediverse. You're not tied to one paradigm or social network. It's really many social networks working together.
• Mastodon has locality. It has neighborhoods and spaces.

Let's look at each one in more detail!

Your service provider is not a corporation seeking to exploit you

Mastodon is a piece of software that enables anyone to create a social network. While a corporation could create such a network, most of the social networks that have been created within the fediverse have been created by individuals or small groups of people dedicated to serving a small community. Instead of a source of income, mastodon serers are typically paid for by their community or by the generosity of their administrators.

Corporate social networks and messengers like Twitter, Facebook, Discord, Instagram, etc. are designed to provide users with a free service in exchange for using their personal information to make money. Whether this is through advertising, selling products, or whatever, the intention is to make money. Frequently, these services wind up modifying the content users consume in order to increase their interactions with that service. This can lead to emphasizing emotionally arousing content, such as descriptions of people being awful to one another, etc. inadvertently skewing user's perception of the world and the people in it.

Mastodon based social networks typically don't engage in this behavior. While there's nothing stopping them from doing so, leaving a mastodon social network that is misbehaving is super easy, which leads us to our next benefit.

You own your relationships

One of the biggest problems I have with Facebook in particular is the fact that it holds your relationships hostage. If you don't have a Facebook account and follow their rules, you cannot interact with the people on there. If Facebook begins to engage in behavior you don't approve of, leaving Facebook involves leaving those relationships behind. Given the degree to which Facebook inserts itself into the social interactions people have with one another, this can result in such extremes as entirely losing contact with friends outside of Facebook, if social events and communication were predominantly done on Facebook.

(Twitter and some of the other social networks aren't as bad, allowing people without accounts to read public posts from users of their social network. But the problem still exists.)

This isn't the case when using Mastodon. As a decentralized collection of interoperating but independent social networks, for the most part if you don't like the policies or choices of the individuals that run your local server, you can move and bring all of your relationships with you. As long as you are using a social network that is compatible with Mastodon, you can talk to anyone that is using Mastodon anywhere in the fediverse.

For example, If you make a lot of friends on coolkids.chat, you could move to radfolks.city and still follow and chat with all of the friends you made on coolkids.chat. For the most part, there are no restrictions on who you can talk to. There are even tools for exporting and importing the lists of people you follow so that you can easily migrate to a new server.

Your relationships and friendships are never limited. You don't have to choose between your friends and your values if you don't like the values of the people running your social network. You can just leave and keep chatting like nothing ever happened.

(It is true that some servers fully block other servers in the fediverse. However, nothing stops folks from having multiple accounts with different server wide block lists, or finding servers that don't block the servers you want to interact with.)

The Fediverse is diverse

Sometimes when I first describe Mastodon to someone, they complain about the confusing nature of decentralization, asking “Why do they have to make it like that?” Lately, I've been wanting to turn that around and say “Why does the fediverse have to be Mastodon?”

Mastodon is NOT the whole of the fediverse. It's one piece of software for running a twitter like social network. There are many other free social network platforms out there that folks can get and use to run their own social networks. And the best part about those platforms is that they interoperate with Mastodon and every other piece of software that uses the common “ActivityPub” language.

Here are a few examples of other pieces of software, and the social media networks you can create with them.

• Pleroma: Another twitter-like replacement
• PixelFed: An instagram replacement
• NextCloud: A Google Drive/Office/Talk/Etc. replacement with twitter-like functionality
• WriteFreely: A minimalist long-form blogging platform like Blogger or Medium
• Plume: A more fully featured blogging platform closer to Wordpress or Blogger or similar
• PeerTube: A self-hosted replacement for Youtube

Even better, if you start on one platform and migrate to another, you can still follow and read all of the content being published by the users to used to follow on the previous platform. They're all (more or less) completely interoperable. If you prefer an instagram style interface, join a Pixelfed network. But you can still see videos posted by folks using PeerTube and “toots” by Mastodon users and long blog articles written by Plume users... All from within your Pixelfed account!

And more platforms are showing up every day!

The fediverse has locality

On many corporate networks, there is a single social network on which all of the users exist. All are subject to the rules and regulations of the single, centralized administration team. Discovery of new users to follow is done by following people you already know and seeing who they follow, through algorithm controlled high level recommendations, or through discovering off site, such as finding the social media accounts of celebrities.

While it's true that within the fediverse, any user can follow any other user anywhere in the fediverse, and could theoretically discover the fediverse addresses of public figures off site and follow them.... The fediverse has something else going on that creates some richer experiences.

Instead of being a single large pool of users, users are all located in smaller social networks that interoperate. This creates various levels of discovery. There is no central algorithm recommending users to people. Instead, you can use the local timeline to see users that are using the same server as you, and you can use the federated timeline to find users that are using servers that your server knows about.

That federated timeline can sometimes be hard to explain, so let me spend an extra paragraph on it. The federated timeline is a composite of all public posts from users follows by people on your local server, as well as all public posts from servers that share any relays your administrators have subscribed to. Put simply, it's all public posts from everyone “nearby” to your server.

This means that one server in the fediverse might have one kind of perspective on the larger fediverse, while a different server has a completely different perspective. In a sense, there are real “neighborhoods,” that you “live” in, and each neighborhood might look and feel entirely different.

Most importantly, each individual server in the fediverse is independently moderated. What kinds of speech, behavior, and content are acceptable on each server is completely determined by that server. There is no central authority to make decisions about what kinds of content are permitted overall.

Moderators on large corporate social networks apply a broad brush towards everyone, frequently disenfranchising marginalized groups of people or indirectly influencing political situations by banning certain kinds of speech. In the mastodon compatible fediverse, you can always find a server that will permit the kinds of content you want to talk about. At worst, you could theoretically create your own with your own rules.

The fediverse having locality means that different social network “neighborhoods” within the fediverse have different kinds of content. In one “neighborhood”, you might see radical folks arguing for violent revolution, but not allowing erotic content. Another “neighborhood” might encourage erotic content but not ban highly charged political content. Another “neighborhood” might be dedicated to free unfettered speech, while another might ban anyone that even remotely engages in bigotry or hate speech.

What's probably the most amazing about this is that servers can exist “in between” these neighborhoods. Even when two servers refuse to talk to one another, you can talk to them both so long as you don't run afoul of their rules of who they will and won't talk to. Perhaps you're a server dedicated to open source conversation and don't want to get involved in political arguments. Your users could theoretically follow users from servers dedicated to leftist dialogue as well as conservative dialogue, despite those two servers perhaps blocking one another.

Locality allows every server in the fediverse to make its own decisions about who it wants to interact with, instead of requiring everyone to adhere to a single arbitrary set of rules provided from on high.

Note

I've used the term server and social network interchangeable above. Outside of this post, people sometimes refer to these as instances. I am referring to the independent social networks that are created when a user runs their own social network software. In other words, a single mastodon server is its own independent social network interoperable with other social networks that run compatible software.

Seeing Jack on twitter talking to Trump about how to improve the degree of civil discourse on their platform strikes me as utterly absurd. Asking the person who is one of the least civil members of your platform for advice on how to improve civility is like asking the wolf that keeps eating your sheep how to do a better job protecting the sheep.

That said, I think I understand what Jack is trying to do, and to some degree I do applaud him for trying. But he's going about it all wrong.

My feelings on civility

I'm a huge fan of civility, respect, and mutual discussion. I myself have talked to conservatives to have difficult conversations about how to respect their beliefs better. I think it's really important to be able to have those kinds of conversations with people with whom you disagree.

However

I think one of the things that's missing from the conversation about civility is the conversation about ground rules FOR those civil conversations. Basically, a conversation can only be civil if all participants in that conversation agree to rules on how that conversation is going to go. And I think it is here that we are seeing problems in the state of modern discourse online and elsewhere.

Well, Actually and other forms of “rational debate”

In the atheism/skeptic communities I sometimes associated with, I sometimes see this attitude of “I am always open for rational debate” with folks. The idea seems to be that they are open to discuss any subject at any time. I think the reality of this is that they are not actually open to any subject at any time, but any reasonable subject at any reasonable time, where “reasonable” is an unspoken set of expectations they have of the ground rules for the conversation.

If I woke you up at 3 in the morning to debate whether or not the concept of ownership extends to the house you're living in and how I think I should have it instead of you, you might have a problem with that discussion. This is uncivil because it wildly breaks the ground rules of civil conversation you generally expect.

Where civility actually comes from

Real civility, in my opinion, comes from a place of mutual respect for one another's boundaries and limitations. It arises from establishing explicit ground rules for a conversation, and editing those ground rules as the conversation continues and new boundaries and limits are realized.

Ground rules change between different people and different contexts, as well as different days. When I've gone to schools and taught my “Trans 101” discussion, I'm perfectly willing to entertain and discuss really sensitive parts of my identity and even to some degree the validity of my experiences and the experiences of other trans people. That's something specific to that context, though, and outside of that context, those discussions are off limits. I get to choose when I'm open to those conversations, not others.

Ground rules enables everyone to have control in the conversation. Everyone gets to consent to it. If any party doesn't agree to those ground rules, then we don't have that conversation. THAT is a lack of respect and civility, when we don't permit others to set the terms of conversations that we would like to have with them.

This is why jumping into someone's mentions to “well, actually” them or start debating them is absurd. When the discussion is CLEARLY violating the ground rules of the people you're trying to talk to, continuing to push that conversation is a violation of civility. Not wanting to have a conversation on a particular subject at a particular time is not unreasonable or “irrational” of a person. It's good and healthy boundaries. It's good ground rules for conversations.

To this end, that's why a person wanting to have a “civil debate” about whether or not trans people are legitimate is going to find themselves yelled at and shouted at. It's not because of a “difference of opinion.” It's because they are not agreeing to a set of ground rules with the trans people they are trying to communicate with.

When civility is inappropriate

There's another layer to this. Civility is nice and all, and I very strongly appreciate it and hope to foster it in more and more of my interactions. But sometimes, civility is completely inappropriate.

When someone with power uses that power to harm you or others, it is reasonable to break the rules of civility to resist or fight back. I would even go so far as to say it is more than reasonable, but frequently necessary and vital for fighting back against that harm.

Civility pushed for by people already in power, using the ground rules they alone have established, is not a call for civility but a call for subjugation and a refusal to respect their own ground rules for conversation. It is precisely the opposite of civil discourse to engage in discussion that others do not wish to have.

Conversely, when those that are not in power fight back against power, they are not beholden to the rules of civil discourse, because civility has already been removed from the table. You have no obligation to be polite to a person that is threatening to harm you.

Content Warning: References to the Twilight Zone 2019 S1:E1

Content and Consumer

Content creation is a funny thing. Whether you produce jokes, art, music, software, games, thinkpieces, articles, reviews, videos, etc... When you create for an audience, there is a strange relationship that occurs between you and that audience. At first, the approval and delight of fans over what you've created is amazing. But as the audience grows, so too does your service to that audience. Fans that come to see you do one thing will be turned off if you do something different. A pressure to conform to your prior self comes into play. If you start to become concerned about growing your audience, you might seek more and more things that are likely to have mass appeal. The uniqueness of what you create may fade away as you polish and hone it into a reflection of the audience you desire.

Now, this isn't a bad thing. At least, not inherently. It's a description of some of the ways that content creation relates creator with consumer, performer with audience. To achieve success in finding and keeping an audience is a challenge whose accomplishment is the result of great luck and skill. It's also really important, because so much of our culture relies upon some individuals taking part in content creation of this nature, to mold, shape, reflect, and guide our communal cultures and subcultures.

Watching the first episode of the new Twilight Zone series, it really struck me that it was very much about some of the darker aspects of this. The fact that whenever you build an audience, the audience slowly lays claim to what you are. Deviation from that results in rejection, frustration, and an end to the praise and approval you had derived from creating what the audience had come to provide.

That's one reason why dissociating your content creation from your self can be so valuable. Maybe you produce music as a music act instead of as yourself. So one act could be the name you produce synthwave music under, while another act is your christian rock performance, while another is for your EDM experiments. This is also true of game development studios, review publishers, etc. The audience may lay claim to your act, band, company, studio, publisher, etc... But not to you...

Consumption of self

But the best art can often be found as a reflection of deeply personal experiences. A reflection and expression of you, your own self. . In the Twlight Zone episode, a comedian discovers he has the power to offer parts of his life to his audience to great results. But once he does so, those parts of his life vanish. Ultimately, he gives the audience the only thing he has left, his self... and thus he vanishes.

There's a reflection of this in reality, especially in modern social media. People continually fight for likes, shares, and subscriptions. Tokens of approval and praise. Opportunities for growth and larger audiences. This happens on youtube, blogs, microblogs, image sharing sites, etc. People are hungry to have large audiences for the content they produce. To find what content will draw a large audience and lots of approval. And often? That content is a reflection of their own self.

But as the audience lays claim to that self... What happens?

Youtuber Lindsey Ellis goes into some of this in her video YouTube: Manufacturing Authenticity (For Fun and Profit!)

Youtubers report tons of stress and anxiety about the whole thing. And multiple folks have talked about this experience of having their performer self being an alternate version of themselves. While they attempt to sell themself, they start to build a persona to sell instead.

This idea bothers me at a fundamental level. To see constraints on what one can create. To have an audience judge and demand you create something to fulfill their needs, in line with what you've created before... To see your own self consumed by your audience. It sounds exciting and horrifying at the same time.

Keeping a low profile

Throughout my career as a software engineer, as well as an activist, adventurer, game developer, musician, and more... one goal I've always had is to maintain a relatively low profile. I don't want to be noticed. I never want to develop such a large audience that I feel like I have to maintain consistency within myself to meet their needs. I value growth, change, and dynamicism too much. Even perhaps more importantly, I value freedom.

I grew up being effectively brain washed by my family members. Taught to follow precisely only the rules given. Taught not to ever experiment outside that. Taught to never draw outside the lines as it were, and if the lines were not apparent, to not draw at all. I was constrained and choked as a person and unable to live a full human life. When I transitioned, they literally blackmailed me, stalked me, harassed me, threatened me, and did other things to try to get me to stay within their world and under their control.

As a result, I never want to go back to that. I hunger for the ability to choose my own path as much as possible. Of course, no one can fully do that... It's only by cooperating and working with others that we can live well and happily, and to work with others is to continually compromise and negotiate. But I choose those contraints. I enter into agreements with others to live with those constraints in exchange for our mutual interaction. Partners and I are together for mutual support and love in exchange for having to work towards ensuring one anothers emotional comfort and fulfill one another's needs. Etc.

The parasocial relationships that develop when you've gained even a modicum of fame are terrifying to me. They sound positively awful. To be a figure instead of person. To have people consuming your self without the ability to directly and explicitly negotiate what that self is.

For me, my digital social self must be social, not parasocial. If my relationships with others aren't individually negotiable, I don't want to have them. I don't want to ever achieve or do anything that would result in tons of people knowing who I was and having a parasocial relationship with me where I couldn't negotiate the terms of that relationship back. And I think that is an inherent consequence of building a large enough audience and trying to attract attention, approval, likes, shares, and subscriptions. A modicum of success in having an audience results in this relationship being broken.

Well that was fun! We flew out to Portland yesterday in our plane and... I'd say that was both the most harrowing, most fun, and most exciting flight I've ever done!

Planning the trip

For the past month, I've been trying to figure out how and when to visit my friend Amy up in Portland. I planned this trip

KRHV to KPDX via KRDD KMFR KRBG

But the problem with that route is that the Oregon weather was having none of it. I originally planned on flying out there for Easter, but the weather forecasts looked bad for it, so I tried the weekend before that looked better. It looked nice for a few days in the forecast, and then the forecast changed again. For an entire month, I kept going back and forth before settling on this weekend.

Unfortunately, the weather for even this weekend started to look bad. Looking at the weather of the course above, it looked like it was going to be overcast throughout most of Oregon. Now, the clouds DID kinda maybe look like they were going to be high enough to safely fly under... But we had to come over mountains first... Was there going to be a way in under the clouds? Only time would tell.

After talking through the plan with my pilot friends, I decided the best course of action would be to fly up to Siskiyou and evaluate the situation from there. So that's what we did!

Onto the flight

One of the other problems with the flight was that there were some NASTY headwinds, especially at altitude. I tried going up to 8500, but was getting maybe 100kts ground speed. So I dropped down 2000 ft to 6500 and that was much much better. You can see me do that in this chart:

Moderate Turbulence

At 6500, there was some very light turbulence, but nothing too major. However, when we got to Redding, things changed.

See, north of redding the terrain gets... bumpy. Here look

And uh, there's also this big boi

So like... Normally in that area, I want to be going around 10500 to have enough clearance and stay out of all the thrashing winds that hit you down below... But that wasn't really a good option here. So on we went at 6500ish.

As soon as we got north of redding, the turbulence starting throwing the plane about near constantly. I was focused on the controls and physically fighting the winds tossing the plane around. Avery described it like being on a speedboat. I'd been in turbulence like this before, but this was definitely up there.

Just south of weed, though, we hit some sort of downdraft worse than anything I've ever experienced. For a moment, it felt like we were in free fall. Everything in the plane went flying. My passengers bumped their heads on the ceiling, even. It was intense.

Luckily... That was the end of it... After that, it calmed down and by the time we hit Siskiyou, it was over.

Decision point

Now we had the difficult decision of which direction we could go. To the north east was remote terrain, far from major roads and cities, but current weather reports were indicating clear skies. To the northwest was major roads and cities, always a comfort when flying a single engine prop plane, but lots of clouds. The northeast route would take us an extra 30 minutes and have us landing just after sunset. And it would, of course, need some extra fuel.

To weigh all these factors, I was furiously using my iPad to pull up current METARs in as many places as I could along both routes while we were coming up to Siskiyou. As I read through the weather reports, it was clear that the northwest route was a LOT clearer than forecast. Still plenty of big ol clouds, but clear enough to fly.

We went northwest.

Amidst the clouds

With smooth air around us, now we had a new challenge “Dodging clouds.” I'm a VFR pilot and as such I must maintain a distance of 500 feet below, 1000 feet above, and 2000 feet abreast of any clouds. At first, the clouds were just above us around 7000 feet. But as we continued north, the clouds were showing up lower and lower. Near the end, they got down to 4000 feet or so.

So this became one of those VFR pilot moments where you really have to keep your eyes outside the cockpit, watching where the clouds are around you. Navigating to the sides of them or dropping altitude as needed to maintain VFR cloud clearance. It wasn't really dangerous or harrowing. It just required vigilance.

The sights we saw were beautiful though.

I got to see a big ol cumulus cloud up close as we came over Eugene:

That big boy had a TON of stuff going on inside it, despite its calm exterior. We made sure to give it a WIDE berth.

Portland

Portland was probably the most covered in clouds out there.

Still high enough to fly under, but dark and forboding. Portland, btw, is on the right side of that picture far in the distance. Near the end of that mountain ridge.

This picture from one of my passengers really shows off how dark it was under there.

PDX tower had us come over the tower, then told us those delightful words that every pilot wants to hear

“You're #2 following a 737, caution wake turbulence”

Gaaaah. Wake turbulence! And a 737!

The trick with wake turbulence is to watch the winds. Either give it enough time that the winds blow the turbulent air away, or land beyond where the big jet landed, staying above their glide path on the way in.

I did both to some degree.

I gave them a wide berth, stayed high on the glide path initially, then carefully descended to land just past the numbers with a beautiful picture perfect gentle-as-hell landing.

Taxiied over to Atlantic, parked the plane, and we were there!

Backroom at the Club

BDSM, Humiliation, Musk, Fluids, Face Sitting

@Norintha@beach.city

Looking at your phone, you see it's getting on to one. You finish your drink, wave the bartender over, and settle your tab. The club doesn't close for hours yet, but you have an appointment of sorts to keep. Smiling, you stand up from your stool and walk out of the club. Dipping away from the line of lights, much like you did last week, you walk to the far end of the warehouse that houses the club. Peeking down, you only see darkness and the end of the club's dumpster. Hearing nothing, you carefully walk into the alleyway to the dumpster.

Peering past the edge to the dimly lit end of the alley; you see only a back door to the club. You pull your phone out again, and turn on the screen. One on the dot now. You decide to wait a moment and see if they come out the back, Suddenly a weight slams you to the dumpster. “Look who showed up, babe!” It is the excited, now familiar voice of the person you mentally labeled Leathers. “Hah, you were right, the dirty piggy really wanted round two; guess I owe you head later.” Leathers presses on you hard enough that she forces the air from your lungs.

“Well it's your lucky night, someone scored the key to the club's back playroom.” Denim, as if on cue, dangles a key before you, on a small dark blue plastic ring. Leathers leans off of you, and as you catch your breath, she wraps her arm around your neck and leads you away. Stumbling on the slick alleyway, you struggle to stay on your feet as Leathers drags you to the door you saw a few minutes ago. Denim walks back into your view, slides the key into the lock and pulls the heavy metal door open. Leathers tugs you into the back playroom.

Creaking on rarely used hinges, the door slowly swings shut behind you. The room looks much like the other club playrooms, except half the floor is bare concrete. “No one knows you’re back here, and no one can peek in on our fun.” As Leathers speaks, she removes her jacket. The woman pushes you to the ground, and you watch Leathers walk to the side wall. Before you can see what she is doing Denim prods you onto your back with a sharp heel. The shorter woman straddles you in her ripped fishnets, leans forward slowly and holds your face in her hand. She pulls you forward for a kiss, then you feel warm wetness in your mouth. Denim releases your face and slaps you, causing you to swallow in surprise. Flashing on the far wall next to Leathers is a small red light. “Smile, star!” She chuckles and walks back towards you.

Grabbing your hair, Leathers twists your head up to hers. “On your knees, filth.” Then she lets you fall back to the ground. Shoving yourself onto your stomach, you push up. The rough concrete digs into your hands and knees, and you look up to see Leathers grinning down at you. Denim grabs your hair and yanks your face down to Leathers' boots. “Get to work, you worm!” Denim commands you as one of Leathers' boots waves slowly in front of your face. Closing your eyes you stick out your tongue and give the leather boot a lick.

Strong flavors of leather and polish, backed with hints of the street and dust. You cough and sputter as Leathers moves the other boot about. Shaking your head, you try to refuse. The spike of Denim's heel presses into the small of your back, and crying out, you open your mouth. As you work at the other boot Denim whispers into your ear. “If you don't start in the dirt, worm, you won't ever move up”. You hear her jacket land somewhere in a corner before an arm wraps around your neck. She isn't as muscular as Leathers is, but forces you back easily.

A bead of sweat runs down Denim's arm and across your face. “Feels so much better to have that off finally. Looking good for the club can be quite difficult” She muses as she forces her armpit over your mouth and nose. Her gentle musk overtakes your olfactory senses. “She must really like being under your arm, babe.” Leathers speaks as she kisses Denim, her hand petting you gently. You give into your baser nature, licking Denim's underarm. Sweaty and musky, she tastes wonderful. Denim laughs softly “That tickles, you dirty worm you.”

The smaller woman drags you to the padded half of the room and drops you back to the ground. Leathers is facing away from you, waving her ass slowly as her skirt works down her hips and thighs before landing at her bootless calves. Turning with a twirl, she walks towards you. Stopping in front of you, she wiggles her toes. You stretch your neck to lick at her toes, before sucking on them. Strong hints of the leather in her boots, and salty sweetness of her sweat from the night in the club. Leathers groans as you work your tongue between her toes.

Getting on her knees she rests with her ass over your face. “Time for you to pay up on the bet, babe. I'll get comfortable over here first.” Leathers leans back, resting her hips on her ankles and forcing your face between her cheeks. Reaching with your tongue, you tickle her. “Oooh fuck, she is good with that. Come over here, I got something for you too.” It's hard to hear with Leathers' thighs around your ears but Denim walks before Leathers. Looking around Leathers' large cock you watch Denim drop to her knees and start to suck upon her shaft.

You continue to poke and prod at Leathers' tender entrance as her weight wavers over you. From under her cock, you watch Denim pull Leathers' cock totally into her mouth. Bobbing up and down on the girldick, a bead of her drool slowly slides down Leathers before landing on you. The musclebound woman quivers and shakes, her thighs squeezing your head. Rivulets of sweat run down her back and off her backside, onto your neck and down your face. Denim makes a muffled noise as you feel her chin hit your forehead and Leathers seems to hold her in place.

Leathers cries out and puts more of her weight onto your upturned face. Unable to pull in a new breath, you focus on continuing to please her as her cock twitches and pumps its load into Denim. She pulls away, and you hear her sit on the room's padded floor with a loud thump. After a long pause Leathers pulls herself off of you, and you gasp in a breath. Looking over you see Denim wiping her chin before making eye contact with you. “Oh, I think our dirty worm still has a lot to work to do.” The woman stands up and dusts off her knees.

Denim grabs your shoulder, and pulls you over onto your chest. She sits back on the padding, spreading her legs. Her short denim skirt does a poor job of hiding her panties, slick with moisture. Crawling over to her, you carefully work her panties down with your mouth. Your tongue teases Denim's labia, then Leathers gives your ass a rough smack. “Up on your knees and spread open.” Raising your ass into the air, you wave it teasingly at Leathers. She silently pins your legs down with her own as she gets in place, thumping her hard cock on you.

With hardly any other warning she pushes into your tight, waiting ass. In tandem with her partner Denim mashes your face in her crotch. Her sweaty musk sends shivers down your spine. Running your tongue along and inside her labia causes the woman to grab your hair. She squeezes her thighs as tightly around your head as Leathers did a few moments ago. Behind you Leathers slowly slides back out, pauses, then pushes back in. This time her hand trails down your hip and between your legs, finding your own swollen and needy little girlcock.

She runs her nails down your shaft “Work for it, you filthy pig.” Her girldick tickles your prostate as she continues to use you as her cock sleeve. The waves of pleasure are dizzying, though Denim running her nails through your hair helps you stay focused on pleasing her. Tracing within her labia and tickling across her clit, your tongue dances across her genitals. She cries out in pleasure and her body quakes, but she only tightens her thighs around your head. Leathers pounds into you harder and harder, one hand stroking your desperate? girlcock.

Working around Denim's clit with your tongue, you feel her breathing quicken and a rumbling groan. A splash of her fluid hits your mouth, and you lick deeper; aching to clean every last drop. The cock in your ass continues to slam in and out, hips meeting ass over and over. Leathers' girlcock twitches deep in you and she moans with pleasure as she fills your insides with her seed. Her hand continues to work your own girlshaft, the building monsoon of pleasure in you reaching a crescendo. Your own seed splashes on the padding of the floor.

Leathers pulls back and rises, letting the circulation return to your legs. Curling on your side, you writhe as the pins and needles feeling wracks your body. Denim gathers and hands Leathers the pile of clothing from the ground. “Looks like she enjoys being used like this.” Leathers walks back to the red light while sliding her skirt up. The light flashes off and she puts a small object into her jacket pocket. She stoops over you and ruffles your hair. “Don't worry about the key, the door will lock on by itself. See ya around, cutie.” She works her boots back on and takes Denim's arm as the two women exit the dark, cold room your clothes in hand.

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Furniture

Restraint, Exhibitionism, Furniture Play

@Norintha@beach.city

Standing quietly in the dressing room, you watch me dig through the costumes in the back racks. “I know it's here somewhere, tonight calls for something a little different.” Finally after minutes of shifting outfits around, and I pull something out triumphantly. A suit jacket, with short skirt. The bow tie dangling off the neck causes you to laugh. “Something funny, pet? You should be dressed already.” The outfit I picked out for you tonight could be described as 'A piece of rope'. Picking the skimpy thing up, you reluctantly strip.

Standing behind you, I help you loop the rope between your breasts, between your legs, and up your back. Pulling the harness, the soft rope slips slightly then locks in place. Then I reach around and cup your breasts, jiggling them in the braided rope that lifts and separates. “Perfect!” With a finger in a loop of the rope I pull you along with me. We stop at the entrance to the dressing room and I pat your ass “You may wear a simple skirt and top for the ride to the club as well.” The relief is palpable when you hear those words.

Pulling a plaid knee length skirt and simple white top from the rack you toss them on, along with a pair of shoes then we head out. Stopping at the door, I order you to pick up the packed play bag next to it. The bag is heavier than you expected, and clinks with metal. The cool spring air blows up the skirt, and chills your girlprick. Realizing now that the rope precluded wearing underwear you pull the hem down. Seeing you blush makes me laugh, and you hoist the bag in both hands, using it to pin down your girlcock and skirt.

The bus is more crowded than usual, and we head to as close to the back as we can manage. The rope rides up as we sit through the bus ride. Every other stop or so you discretely try to adjust the bondage into a less arousing position, your member behaving badly without tucking. Adjusting the tie, I lead us off the bus and down the lit road to the club. Even in the distance you see there is a tent set up outside the entrance tonight. “It's a special event tonight, so everyone inside must meet the dress code. You shouldn't have much trouble changing.

Ahead of us in line, you see many people in similar fancy dress as mine. Shifting back and forth on your feet, you start to feel underdressed. Watching you get anxious I lean over and whisper “I always take care of you, all you need to do is strip down to your harness.” You slip off the skirt and top you quickly threw on, and can feel your cheeks burn as your face flushes. I lean over and kiss your cheek softly as you work off your socks and the butterflies in your stomach fade.

Inside, the club is playing symphonic music instead of the usual bopping dance music. As your eyes adjust to the light, you see that tonight is a special event indeed. Where usually there are tables and chairs around the bar, now the tables and chairs are naked submissive. A living buffet runs along the stage, with trays of food arranged on the naked, muscular property. We walk through the club, arriving at a far wall. A row of short benches have been pulled out, and several people are sitting farther down with living tables holding food.

I point at the ground, and you set down the bag. Unzipping the bag, I pull out several lengths of metal. With the metal in hand, I walk behind you. The chill of metal nips at your back as I threat the rods through your rope harness. The rods slide down, to your knees. Carefully I guide you to your knees. Instructing you to reach behind you with both arms, I lean you backwards until your hands reach the ground. Without any further help, you get up on your feet. Reaching into the bag, I now produce several short leather straps.

One wraps around each of your legs at the knees, and one around each wrist. Two final rods slide through the shoulders of your harness and slot into the wrist straps. Testing the bars, you find they limit your movement but don't support your weight. In the crowd, you recognize Emily, and her sub Ashley making their way towards us. Ashley is harnessed similar to you, while Emily is wearing a tailored black leather suit with jacket and tie. Emily begins to pull metal rods out and arrange Ashley into a chair.

While you watch that process, I pull a long narrow bag from the larger play bag. Unzipping it, I reveal a long piece of glass and place the plank on your chest and stomach. You stagger from the added weight for a moment but adjust your distribution and steady yourself. Beneath the glass, you watch Emily as I enjoy a meal. Our drinks roll back and forth in their glasses as you breath, and your muscles tense as either of us press down with our forks. Ashley shifts and squirms, as Emily leans back and rests her weight on the woman's chest.

Your member, already excited from being bound, slowly starts to press the glass to one side. You watch me lick a finger, then slide it out of view. Moments later you feel the finger run along the bottom of your girldick and slide your naughty piece straight under the glass. Twisting your head to the other side, you can see Ashley's own small girlcock poking it's head out from underneath Emily. Finishing my meal, I put my thumb over your nipple and press downward on the glass. You cry out and the glass table shudders drawing attention.

Waving a member of the club's staff over, he takes away our dishes while Emily and I start to rearrange slightly. We pull the piece of glass off of you, allowing you to take a deep breath and relax from the reduced load. Emily, muscular as ever, picks up Ashley. She places her living chair in front of your face. A brief tickle and you realize I have pulled the metal rods from your arms. “Lower down pet, Ashley has been a good girl and I promised Emily she could use you.” Flexing down, you line your mouth up with the lithe girl's member.

Emily guides her seat in place and your tongue starts to lick and tease the smaller woman's girldick. Emily walks along your side, a hand idly running along your abdomen. She reaches back and gently rubs the nipple I pressed on through the glass a minute before. Your leg twitches slightly, the stimulation still intense, though your moan is muffled by Ashley's member. Emily drags a fingernail softly down your cleavage, and along your abdomen. She pauses momentarily to tease as your belly button before drifting to your girlbits.

Your member is quite hard, and it twitches as she runs her fingertips along the underside. Running the tip of her index finger along the top of your girlshaft, she takes the bead of pre that has formed and runs it around the head of your girldick, causing more twitches. “Mind if I?” Emily asks me while holding your slick girlcock in her hand. Without speaking, I nod affirmative and watch as she slowly undoes the leather trousers and pulls her muscular legs out, one at a time. Her heavy girldick sits forward in her panties.

Ashley twists and moans in the bracing that holds her in chair shape, your tongue darting across the end of her member. Taking one of each of your nipples in hand I alternate rolling and squeezing Ashley and yourself. Emily slips her panties off and reaches a leg over you. She slides expertly onto your hard member, resting her weight on your hips for a moment as she wiggles and adjusts her positioning. Pushing herself back up, as if she were doing squats she then lowers back down. Her own girldick stiffening from the movement and stimulation.

Ashley, finally unable to contain herself, blasts her load off your tongue and into the back of your mouth. She blushes and squeezes her legs as close together as her chair frame will allow. Moving both hands to you I work your chest softly while Emily speeds up on your member. You can feel the tell tale scar between Emily's legs as her thick girldick bounces on your stomach. You flex and try to arch your back, the rods still holding you stiff. Wells of warm pleasure lap inside of you, growing like a storm as Emily rides your girlprick faster. Finally, you explode inside of Emily. She slides all the way down onto your member as it fills her with your warm girlseed. With a few flicks of her wrist, her girlcock lets a river of her own clear girlcum drizzle down your stomach and into the ropes. Undoing the rods that hold you in place, I whisper “what a good girl you were tonight” as I go along.

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Killdeer by Anne B. Walsh #bookreview #fiction #scififantasy Anne B. Walsh wrote my absolute favorite Harry Potter fanfiction. So I started following her when I realized she also wrote actual fiction.

I first read her collection of short stories all centering around cats (Cat Tales). Which of course is why I bought it. The longest short story in the collection was actually the first part of this novel, so of course I had to buy it too. (A scifi book involving cat people and space. It was an easy choice.)

The protagonist is a plucky young girl who doubts herself, but is brave in the face of her fear. It's cute and a fun read, and even has some gender transgression. The book describes the meeting of two cultures, one like our own, and one fairly different with different gender norms. But there are individuals who transgress those norms, which always makes me happy.

In summary: This is a quick and light-hearted feel good read. With cat people. And space ships. Purr....

Working Woman

Feminization, Implied Sex Work

@Norintha@beach.city

You check your phone again. No new mail, just like five minutes ago. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you fall back your phone next to you. It was a long shot anyway. A chance to live and work and socialize with other folk like you. Even an offer of well paying employment. Sighing, resigned to something else you curl on the bed and try to sleep your phone beside you. The buzz under the pillow wakes you. Groggy and with only the moonlight to see by it takes you almost a minute to realize you were atop your phone.

Nervously, you check your notifications. One email. Sliding in your passpattern you pop open the email. 'Congratulations! Your application has been accepted!' The email continues 'As per the posting this job involves close personal work with a variety of clientèle.' The rest of the email contains the address and parking instructions. Tossing the address into your GPS, you see it's a long drive, but not impossible to do in a day. Which is nice as your orientation date is the day after tomorrow. You toss a few things into a bag and set off.

Pulling out of your parking spot, you feel like you have just drank ten cups of coffee. As the hours pass, however, the powerful thrill turns in to anxiousness. What if this personal work is to difficult? Is dropping everything and moving at the drop of a hat wise? Catching sight of a mile marker, you are over three hundred miles into the trip. Bit late to get cold feet. Turning the volume up you just try to lose yourself in the rest of the trip ahead of you. Crossing state lines hardly registers as the drive rolls on.

Tanking up at the last gas station marked on your directions, you look to the horizon. Scrub, brush, and hills as far as you can see. Few changes over the final two hours except the sun setting behind the hills. Bouncing along the dusty trail leads you to a gate. Buzzing in, you enter the code from the email. The large metal gates slide into the thick, matching fencing and you drive to a small parking structure here in the middle of nowhere. Following the directions soon you're parked, walking to the only other building you can see. You can only describe the building as a mansion. Queer flags of various designs hang over most of the window sills. Dropping your bag onto the mat at the front door, you pull on the door bell. A ringing echo can be heard softly on the other side.

Seconds that feel like eternities pass before the door opens. An attractive woman in a short skirt and revealing blouse opens the door. She looks you up and down “You must be the new girl.” Hoping to break the tension you add “Not many clients look like me? Without a hint of amusement, she replied. “Hardly, our clients show up at the appointed time. Early can be worse than late here.” Your face burns in silent agreement to the woman as you enter the building. “I suppose we can make room for you tonight however, please follow me.” You find the room to be rather over decorated. Plush loveseat, plush recliner, and a four post bed with delicate canopy. Laced and frilled sheets. The bed is however as comfortable as you could have hoped for and hardly have time to toss or turn before falling asleep.

Your alarm goes off just after the sun rises. As you wipe the sleep from your eyes, the same woman as last night walks into the room. Your orientation will be in 45 minutes, here is a map of the facility for you. Make it to breakfast as well, you'll need it. After a surprisingly filling breakfast, you follow the map's directions to the far side of the mansion to what is labeled a 'conference room'. You take a seat in one of the chairs at the table. A tall, thin woman in a striking skin tight dress is already waiting there.

The door opens a couple minutes later and a shorter woman walks in. Her dark makeup, and long flowing clothing makes her look like a B movie event hostess. She pulls out a chair close to the first woman and pulls out a nail file to work on her tips while waiting. Promptly at the top of the hour the same woman enters the room and sits at the head of the table. “My name is Madam Kelly. And to cut to the chase, this is a brothel.” She continues “We however service a very special client base to ensure a safe, queer working environment.”

The prospect who was in the room when you arrived nods. “So we only service...” She trails off. “Yes people like ourselves.” Is the simple answer that Madam Kelly offers her. “It's a lucrative paying brothel, and well all of you knew what kind of work this was from the coy ads.” “And remember, just like the email promised, we do offer simply the best health care that money can buy. That is what drew you here in the first place.” Hearing this you just look down at the table and think about what that means to you. Leaning back, you listen to her continue.

You can see the other women try not to be shocked by the revelation. “We aren't just going to turn you off onto clients without training though.” Madam Kelly walks around the table, and hands each of you a key with a number etched onto it. “Second floor, east wing, your instructors will already be in the room.” As the others leaves the room, Madam Kelly tugs on your shoulder. “I will be your instructor, please proceed to the room, I will be along presently.” Nodding, you obey her instructions and head to the room.

When you open the door, you are surprised. The room looks to be fifteen feet or so to a side, tastefully decorated. A full sized bed, a dresser, and a desk account for the furniture. The bed feels comfortable as you sit on it. After a few moments you lean back into the mattress. You hear the door open after about ten minutes of waiting. Without looking up, you listen to Madam Kelly speak “If we both decide this is a good fit for you, this will be your personal room. This entire wing is the residence for the staff. She brings herself into your view.

“First thing, we will work on your wardrobe.” Opening the closet, she shows off a range of revealing clothes. Short skirts, and sleeveless tops. Bare midriffs. “You can wear whatever you wish on your time off, but most clients will ask for something special when you work.” “Well? Strip, you had better get used to showing off that body.” Blushing slightly, you pull off your jeans and t. She thrusts a bra into your hands and walks behind you. Fitting the cups on, she closes the clasp then reaches around to adjust your breasts.

She then works your panties off, letting your member fall out “Grab a pair from the dresser.” In the top drawer, you find several pairs of thin, lacy panties. Picking a color at random, you slide a green pair on. “Pull everything up front, that is why there is material there.” Blushing harder, you try to hide your bulge, as usual. She places her hand gently on it and adjusts that as well. Turning away from you she pulls a backless one piece from the closet and hands it over. Sliding into the tight dress, you watch her walk to the desk and open it.

“Don't forget your stockings and a pair of shoes.” Turning back into the closet you sift through packages of tights and fishnets and stockings, settling on a pair of dark full length stockings. All the shoes have much more heel than you have tried before though! Stumbling, you exit the closet. Catching yourself on the doorknob you look over to Madam Kelly. She looks up for a moment and waves you over. “Come here, we have work to do.” Balancing yourself, you slowly inch over to the desk before you finally reach the chair.

Sighing with relief you sit at the desk, your feet aching already. “I thought this would be some kind of uh...” She interrupted, not unkindly. “How to fuck lesson? I kind of assume you already know, but I'll see before too long. Before then you have to look the part.” She pulls out a rack of makeup and your eyes gloss over. She goes slowly slowly as she explains each layer “Now, the first rule is never touch your face”. Moments later she swats your hand as it moves to your foundation covered cheek. The Madam continues, hardly missing a beat.

She blocks the mirror, but you see the bright colors on the pallet. Nervously, you swallow, You've never had this much makeup on before. “You'll get the hang of this fast, most clients like the look”. Resting your hands on the desk, your nails dry as she goes back to your face. Half an hour later of work and explanation the Madam turns you to the mirror, and are surprised. The woman looking back never looked like this before. “Now, the next lesson is keeping that look during a session” The woman pulls your shoulder and you almost fall out of the chair.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulls her skirt up and takes you by the shoulder “Now, suck me off”. Falling to your knees, you lick and suck on her girlcock. Sliding it deeper into your mouth you let the end bounce on the back of your throat, bobbing faster as you hit pace. “Don't get your makeup on my thighs while you are down there”. You try to mumble from around her dick, but are surprised to feel her hands forcing your face farther down the member. Pushing back you try to keep from rubbing your cheeks on her thighs, while she works against you.

Madam Kelly lets up and you slide up from her member. She looks her thighs over for a moment then smacks your ass “Good job, now get your ass in the air.” Crawling onto the bed awkwardly, you take care not to break a nail getting into position. You can hear Madam Kelly pace. A shiver runs up your spine as a hand traces down your stockings. The dress is flipped up over your rear, and the hand rests softly on your ass. You lean gently into the hand grabbing at your rear, giving Madam Kelly a good handful. You feel her weight get behind you on the bed.

Holding still, you feel your undergarments working their way down your thighs. Moments later a hard cock thumps off of one of your cheeks. Madam Kelly's nails run gently up your freshly released girlcock, before drawing the bead of pre to your ass and fingering it into you. Her large member pushes its way in, causing you to cry out sharply. Madam Kelly laughs and pushes harder. Your eyes cross momentarily as she slams her hips against your ass. Before you can recover, she pulls out and slams in again, waves of pleasure echoing through you.

Biting your lip your head drifts to the pillow. Suddenly your head is yanked back. “Don't let your face touch anything” she admonishes you. Keeping a grip on your hair she continues to drive her girldick in and out with enough force to send your breasts swaying under you. Each thrust, sends another wave of pleasure through your body. Madam Kelly finally lets go of your hair, you fall forward but don't let your head hit the pillow. Her fingers dig into your hips as she pushes in once more and holds your ass in place as she fill it with her seed. She pulls out of you, and walks around the edge of the bed while you struggle to catch your breath from the power fucking. She tips your head up by your chin and looks you over. “I think that is enough for today, relax and compose yourself we start early tomorrow.

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Dronification

Restraint, Dronification, Hypno, Chemicals

@Norintha@beach.city

Shaking my head, I just sigh. “I really didn't want to have to do this. I was hoping that we could reach an understanding with each other.” I click your leash in place, while you look up at me with a mixture of defiance and confusion. You resist even now, as I tug on the leash. You relent as I pull harder. We head, not down the stairs to the basement dungeon, but to the dressing room. “Pick something, it doesn't matter what, you won't need it for long.” Starting to feel like something is amiss, you quickly grab a modest skirt and blouse.

You fall in line behind me without protest, and I lead you into the car. After a short pause- pulling up the directions and sending a couple quick texts – I pull us onto the road and start the drive. You watch as the suburb quickly melts away behind us. The trees grow thick and the road narrows to a poorly maintained two lanes. As far as you can tell the thick pine curtain extends far off into the distance. Turning to look at me you start to ask where we are going. “Just don't. Don't talk. Don't do anything. Just. Don't.”

Shrinking back into the seat of the car you gaze out the window and fight back tears. This is beyond anything you have ever seen before. The GPS beeps about an upcoming turn, and soon enough a narrow unpaved road appears. We turn down it, still curtained by thick trees. The minutes feel like hours but we soon reach the end of the drive. 'Miss Kelly's Finishing School' Says the sign as we pull into the parking lot. For the first time in an hour you can feel your heartbeat run at a normal pace. This won't be as bad as you worried it could be.

Composing yourself as best as you can, you follow me up the steps and into the lobby of the school. The building is quiet, the only sound a pair of heels approaching. A woman opens the door labeled 'Office' “Welcome! We spoke on the phone this morning, is this your trouble maker?” You’re blushing as the woman points at you Wordlessly, I nod. “Well if you both would follow me back into the offices.” The woman points to a row of chairs outside of her door. “You may wait here.” I follow the woman into her office and you can hear our conversation.

“Rampant poor behavior. Not just talking back or performing poorly, or a lack of effort.” Seconds later the woman's response “Mmm, sounds like we need more than simple suggestions. We could start at a week-long battery and see how much more breaking she needs from that.” Sucking air in between my teeth I sit in silence for several seconds. By now you have turned in the chair and are peeking in under the blinds of the office window. “No, I think we should handle this in a more aggressive fashion. I understand you do that?” “Well yes. An intense deep wipe combined with a course of hypnotol. That would leave us with a mostly blank slate. Natural talents and learned skills would be retained of course; what would be the point otherwise.” “Yes, that is what we are doing.” Is my immediate response.

You swallow hard, this doesn't sound very good. Moments later Miss Kelly and I both walk from the office. Bending down I kiss you deeply. “I love you, pet. This training is for the best; both of us will be happier when it's finished.” Hugging you powerfully I finally let go. Waving her crop in front of your face Miss Kelly addresses you “Come now, before we begin you should be in the proper school uniform.” Not wanting to risk making whatever this training is go harder, you follow her out of the offices, and across the lobby to a dressing room.

“Strip” She orders you, holding a leather tipped crop in her hands. Whimpering softly you start to pull off the hastily selected blouse and skirt. The crop traces under your full chest, and down your stomach before lifting your girlcock forward. “You'll make an adorable drone.” Not quite understanding, you mumble out a quiet “Thank you.” Miss Kelly smiles subtly “Not many soon to be drones thank me for the effort.” She passes you red underwear and a matching padded bra, the combination of which show off your curves quite well.

From the rack in the end of the room, she pulls off a hanger with a black and blue latex miniskirt and top. Between the panties pushing your girldick forward and the short miniskirt, it's impossible to hide your bulge. Shifting it back and forth you blush at the realization. Watching you blush, Miss Kelly tips your face up to hers. “You won't have to worry about feeling embarrassed much longer.” She walks towards the door of the dressing room and you follow along asking “What kind of training is happening to me? What do you mean by become a drone?”

“You are going to become the perfect submissive, my dear. Your owner wants that, and I suspect you want that too. You wouldn't be in this kind of relationship, this long, without understanding your place in the world on some level.” She leads you to a room with a strange chair. “I mean I suppose...” you falter on agreeing with her. She waves at the chair “Please front down, legs in the stirrups.” Looking at the odd seat, you carefully work your way onto the contraption. “Face into the headset.” follow the direction, you feel a strap across your head.

Biting your lip you wager internally the risk of asking a question now. Two more straps across your back, and cuffs around your ankles and you are firmly in the chair. “My dear you are about to undergo rather intense mental and emotional reprogramming.” Your heart skips at this. Forgetting the strap holding your face in the headset, you try to turn your head. “It's a little too late to back out now, just relax and hold still. This intense a session requires medicine as well, and you don't want me to hit a muscle instead. You start to struggle.

The crop swats your ass thrice. “You stripped before a stranger, before letting yourself be strapped into that chair young woman. You know you need this even if you are too scared to admit it.” Miss Kelly responds with an icy calm. “Now, hold still” followed by a prick. A warm feeling spreads from your arm, through your body, and then your head. “Now be good and listen to the program” These are the last words you hear Miss Kelly say before earphones are placed over your head. The dark headset flickers on and text speeds by too fast to read.

Sunbursts of blue and red explode onto the headset before devolving into flickering static. A voice starts through the headset “You are no one, nobody, nothing.” It's hard to even think of the idea of struggling again, so much easier to melt into the chair and behave. You feel like you are flying in a cocoon of cotton candy now, the voice in the headset gently echoing “Drink of the River Lethe and forget all that you were.” Everywhere you dart your eyes the grainy static starts to twist and swirl and spin. You wonder where you are at now.

“Forsake your desires, forget your wants, become the drone.” Your mind feels so foggy now. Where your body feels like it's flying, your brain feels wrapped in layers and layers of delicate silks. Thinking is almost painful at this point, like electric shocks every time you try. Words float under the swirling static field. Follow Orders. Obey Commands. You are Drone #92401. Your eyes track the words Orders and Commands as they slowly leave the screen. Those words make you feel warm and safe and good. Is 92401 your name? 92401 is rather a nice name.

Somewhere in the distance you feel another prick, and a chill. “Submit to your Mistress, and crave Her lust at all times.” Your cheeks flush, and whine, me and my cock nowhere near you. “Her pleasure is yours, Your pleasure is nothing.” You breathe harder, your body heating up. The voice gets quieter and distant, while the static swirls fade from the headset. You very much feel like you are laying face forward in a chair now. Your mind isn't even reporting back that it exists, let alone if it's in the same reality as your body now.

The only feeling you have, the only thing you know, is that you exist for the pleasure of your Mistress. Just thinking about me makes your own girlcock twitch and drool. You don't even realize that you are whining out loud now, wondering where I am and when you can suck on me. Laying in agony the gentle heat from before is now a raging torrent of fire. You crave to be used, and filled up. Your girldick presses on the chair as the idea of being pumped full of girlcum day in and day out drifts gently into your head, as you idly lick your lips.

“Stand” You hear me say. Pushing yourself up without a thought, you are standing before me. “She still knows how to do everything she did before the treatment. But you will need to spend some time teaching her to do them again. Sex for example, or other more complex tasks.” You hear the words, and recognize they are talking about you; but that recognition doesn't spark a reaction. Leaning forward I look you in the eyes “What a perfect sub you are now, exactly as I need you to be.” The woman interjects “May I offer you a room to test her out?”

The woman opens the door and leads us both down the hall to another small room, this one with a bed. After showing us in, she closes the door with a click. “Tits on the bed, cheeks spread.” Without so much as a thought in your head you climb onto the bed and open your rear. I climb onto the bed behind you, and my girldick pushes its way inside. I slide it out and slam it back into you several times, then smack your ass with my palm. “Match me, drone.” You’re bucking your hips in time with my thrusts, while I support myself on your shoulders.

Crying out softly, you buck your hips against mine. The burning ache dying back to a dull roar, but still present. Digging your fingers into the mattress you push harder, knowing that only one thing can extinguish the blaze inside of you. Much to my pleasure, whenever I speed up you follow along perfectly. When I reach under you to squeeze a nipple you don't miss a beat. Pushing yourself up on your hands now I can easily cup both of your breasts while slamming my girlcock in and out, faster and faster.

Wrapping my arms under yours, I lift you back and up onto my girldick. Sitting you on my lap, I bounce you up in the air with each deep thrust. The shadow of your breasts bounce on the wall of the small room as you slide up and down on my hard shaft. With a grunt I pull you by the hips firmly onto my girlshaft, which explodes a load inside of you. “Good girl” I say as I lay you on the bed. Curling out next to you I drape an arm across you for several minutes “I think I want breakfast now, 92401”.

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The Ranch 2

BDSM, Drugs, Group Sex

@Norintha@beach.city

I wake you with a kiss. You blink your eyes several times and I kiss you again. Another tablet, you swallow it without protest. I smile and call you a good girl. Hearing that makes your whole body tingle. I sit next to you, letting you rest your head on my shoulder. Gently stroking your hair “We need to get you into the shower, you have a busy day today.” You open your mouth to say something, but after a moment the thought has drifted out of your head. Taking you by the hand I pull you gently up from the bed.

Cupping your breasts in my hands, I squeeze them gently, as I lean in for a kiss. Rubbing your nipples with my thumbs, I pull away from the kiss biting your lower lip. “Such a pretty girl you are. Everyone will be so pleased with you.” You blink several times, confused. I push you forward gently, and soon you find yourself standing in the shower, a jolt of water smacking yourself in the face. Coughing and sputtering you blink your eyes repeatedly as the water begins to flow in undulating waves and splattering into sparks.

The floor of the shower zooms at you suddenly and you throw your arms out to catch yourself. A second later you realize I bent you forward. Feeling the warm water wash down your back, it turns into a warm blanket. My arm wraps around you as your knees start to bend in relaxation. Remembering where you are, you steady yourself while holding the position. The wave of water moves to your ass and hips. Soon it feels like your girlcock is wrapped up in a tiny blanket and your eyes roll into the back of your head. Whimpering softly you start to space out.

A sharp smack later and you return to the shower. “Relax, but stay here dear. This is a lot easier if you can stay standing.” You open your mouth to respond, but find you can't even understand the mumbles coming from your mouth. Spitting out a bit of shower water, you just not. Breathing deeply you try to relax as much as you can without zoning out completely. Suddenly you feel something push into you, like a giant wiggling tentacle spreading you open. The wriggling and warmth feels so good though you can't help but moan again, and bite your lip.

An army of wiggling feelers tickle up your sides and grab your breasts. It isn't until you think to look down that you realize that the fingers of my hands are the feelers and you cry out in ecstasy as you figure out the tentacle in your ass is my tongue. Soon you find yourself wrapped in another blankety warmness, only this is actually solid. I rub the soft towel all over your body, drying you off from the shower. Pulling you by the arm “Come, you need to get something in your stomach before the day begins.” Nodding you follow.

You hardly see what I shove into your face. But your tongue tells you it's chocolaty and coconuty and herbish all rolled into one. “That should fuel you until lunch at least.” I continue to lead you along by the arm, back to the couch in the living room. “Just wait here.” You melt into the soft, full couch. Looking up at the ceiling, you realize the sloped wood has rails running crisscross the whole room. Near the peak, coils of black rope dangle. “Just relax, we will have you suspended up in the air for everyone to see in no time!”

The words muddle around in your head and you are still trying to understand “up” and “air” when I fasten cuffs around your wrists, thighs and calves. Pulling you forward, the soft lined strap that goes around your midsection tightens. “Take a deep breath” I cinch it. “Up we go!” I say as the world is ripped out from under you. You brace yourself, expecting a painful landing on the ground. Opening your eyes a few seconds later you find yourself laying on your back, but in the air. Looking around you realize that you are at waist height.

The straps around your torso support your weight, you feel a slight draft blow around you. Trying to move an arm you find the rigging isn't inclined to move. Without anything to hold on to, you can't meaningfully move you arms or legs. “One last touch” I say with perhaps too much enjoyment in my voice. The world goes black as I place a blindfold over your face. “We are having a party today, and you are my party favor. Be good for everyone and I'll have a reward for you later. You nod, causing a gentle swing.

As far as you can tell it isn't long until guests start to arrive for the party. Several women trickle into the house, mingling and chatting. Most at least admire you in words, while several run a hand down your side, or gently roll a nipple between their fingers. Before long, one rests her dick on your lips. Wanting to behave, like you were ask to do, you open your mouth letting it fall in. The woman gently cups one of your ears as you suck and stroke her girldick with your tongue. The member grows as you work, and she starts to thrust.

On your back in the air, the woman is able to force her cock deep down your throat, in a way you haven't felt before. Unable to breath when she is all the way in, you sneak air as she pulls back for each thrust. The deep throat fucking causes your own member to stir and grow. Another of the women gently strokes at your own girldick as the first woman slams deep into you, forcing her thin seed into your stomach. Slowly pulling her long cock out, you suck at the head, trying to get every drop out of her. The second woman now climbs on top of you.

You swing slightly as the woman centers herself on your hips, before she leans forward and takes hold of your breasts. Her warm mound against you stirs your semi hard girldick, while her fingers knead your breasts. Her thumbs gently rub your nipples, coaxing you to a moan. Balancing herself carefully, she sucks on one of your nipples. While she teases your breast with her mouth, she slides your girlcock into her pussy; warm and inviting. Using you as a living sex swing she uses the momentum of the rigging to slide you in and out of her.

You feel her hands on your stomach, her nails softly digging into you as she steadies herself. The swinging back and forth increases in intensity, and it feels like a gale storm is whipping past you. She cries out and the swinging slows as a moist warmth flows onto you. A moment later the woman pulls herself off of you with a wet plop, and then she spreads her squirt gently across your hips with her hand. You can feel her hot breath on your neck before she whispers “Thanks for the ride” and bites your earlobe softly.

You gulp down air, your head drifting freely. In the distance you hear yet another voice “Sit in front of her Ashley, both of you are going to please me at the same time.” The shuffling of people near your head, and then your face is buried in a soft ass. Warmth radiates from her parts and you can feel that near your forehead. Poking your tongue out, you lick at her soft opening. The woman stumbles for a moment before steadying herself. You can just hear her sub crawl into place and suck on the end of the woman's cock.

Licking and poking and prodding at the woman's entrance, you feel her thighs gradually tighten around your head. Then trembling, more stumbling, and mumbles from the submissive a few inches from you. The woman pulls away from your face, satisfied. Her submissive leans in, and kisses you softly. Her tongue tickles yours and she passes some of the woman's cum to you during the kiss. Resting her forehead on yours, you can hear her giggle softly and brush your cheek with her hand. “Maybe Miss will allow me a turn later.”

“What a good girl you’re being!” You hear me as I drag my nails down your side and across your hips. “I think you have earned a reward.” You can hear the motor of the vibrator before I tease your opening with it. My hand softly strokes your sticky girlcock. Pushing the vibe into you, I nudge it around inside. The twin stimulations feel amazing, waves of pleasure growing from your core and lapping out your limbs to your fingers and toes. Biting your lip to keep from crying out, your whole body shakes in the suspension. Turning the vibrator up as I work it in, you give in and moan loudly. I milk your girlprick in long full strokes, until you exhale and go limp, a spurt of your girlseed mixing with the cum drying on you from before. Seconds later, I kiss your forehead. “Such a good girl.”

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