#Shrink: Story of a Fat Girl

[atthequillsmercy]

Lenni Reviews: "Shrink: Story of a Fat Girl", by Rachel M. Thomas

(Image Source) *This book was given to me in exchange for an honest review. Rachael Thomas tells the story of how it has felt to live in a fat body through her young life and her weight loss journey. I love how the art works with the words. This is what makes graphic novel biographies so interesting to me. The medium really lends itself to evoking emotions that perhaps wouldn’t have come through…

[clementine-thedestroyer]

Kinktober day 31: Gangbang - 141 x reader

Warnings/tags: F!reader, f receiving oral, PIV sex, ect. Over stimulating, light bondage.

Um…. Better late than never?

If you’ve been following me for a while, you know that I didn’t finish Kinktober remotely on time, but I guess if you can say one thing about me, it’s that I’ll keep trying.

Anyways, just pretend like it’s not August.

There’s a hand over your stomach, resting over the layer of fat covering the area as you try to take deep breaths. In, and out. All in an attempt to calm yourself.

Your hands are restrained above you, secured to the head board via a pair of handcuffs one of them got from god knows where. The four of them are all standing over you, watching you with varying degrees of patience for what’s coming next.

Over the years, you like to think you’ve memorized every inch of your partners. Where Price’s and Johnny’s hands were both large and calloused, John’s were always warm to the touch with thicker fingers, short, neatly trimmed nails, and a thicker layer of hair on the backs- while Johnny’s were almost always ice-cold with dry skin, bitten-down nail beds, and old, picked at hangnails. Kyle and Simon both had longer and slightly thinner fingers, but Kyle kept his nails neatly trimmed, often just slightly longer than Price kept his, while Simon’s nails were more often than not left unattended. Simon would rather just tear the ends whenever he deemed them too long than bother finding a pair of clippers. Both Kyle and Simon’s hands were rough from work like the other two’s, but Simon’s preference for wearing gloves left his a bit softer than the rest’s, which posed a stark contrast to the remnants of past injuries that decorated his hands like medals- scars and crooked fingers and swollen joints- all with a story to tell and a memory to stir.

At this point, you think you could tell blindfolded whose hands were on you, so even without looking, it’s easy to tell that the hand on your stomach belongs to Price.

His fingers ghost along your skin, ticking just enough for your core to jerk and your breath to hitch at the touch. You make the mistake of meeting his eyes, nearly shrinking back at the undeniable hunger to his gaze.

You jerk your gaze away, shifting on the bed as you try desperately not to squirm. You feel the weight of their eyes on you, their full attention devoted to watching, admiring, lusting over your body laid out for them.

Price’s hand pulls away from you as he takes a step back, tugging a cigar out of his pocket and clicking on his lighter as he speaks in a calm, authoritative tone.

“Alright, boys. Let’s take care of our girl.”

And with that, it’s as if a spell is broken. The other three all take a step away, shuffling around you in wordless understanding as Simon takes his place as the first between your legs.

“It’s alright love, ‘going to get you nice and stretched open so you can take us.” He says, pulling off one of the black leather gloves covering his hand and slipping his hands under your butt to lift your hips, tilting them up for a better angle. Wordlessly, Johnny grabs a pillow from the top of the bed, handing it to Simon to prop your ass up, which he takes with an unintelligible grunt.

After positioning you how he wants you, Simon bites the fingertip of his remaining glove, tugging it off before rubbing slow circles into your clit with the pad of his thumb.

You let out a needy noise, arching your back and trying to grind down onto the pressure on your clit.

You don’t do much more than turn your head into the warmth of his skin when Kyle and Johnny sit down- with Johnny moving behind Simon, watching with a slack jaw and hungry eyes as Simon rubs easy circles into your clit, and Kyle takes a seat beside you, pulling your head into his lap and tucking a wayward strand of your hair behind your ear. Already, you’re nearly too out of it to notice Price taking a seat in the dark, brown leather chair situated in the corner of the room and taking a long draw from his cigar, exhaling and filling the room with the rich smell of his favored brand.

A needy moan escapes you as Simon moves his touch lower, rubbing at your hole with two of his fingers but not pushing in. You try to arch your back to wiggle back down onto his fingers, whining softly when he only pulls his hand away.

“Be patient.” He says sternly, and you want to whine about it, but you’re distracted by Kyle’s thumb running over your mouth, pressing gently at your lips.

When you part your mouth for him, he smiles, running the pad of his thumb over your molars and the inside of your mouth as you struggle not to try and speak around his finger.

“So pretty.” Kyle coos, holding your head gently as he continues to distract you from Simon’s prep work.

“Right’ Bonnie lass she is” Johnny adds, nodding dumbly as his accent thickens to the strongest you’ve ever heard it.

Simon chuckles, “Careful, Johnny, you’re drooling.”

“Wha-?” Johnny’s head snaps up, looking around in confusion before he rolls his eyes. “Very funny.” He grumbles, settling back into his spot.

Kyle laughs, continuing to stroke at your hair and hold your head in his lap.

Without warning, Simon pushes a finger inside of you, curling it up and rubbing circles into the walls of your cunt in a way that mirrors his motions at your clit.

You moan, jerking your hips and squeezing around his finger as tight as you can to wring every bit of sensation you can from the digit.

Again, Simon chuckles, pausing his rubbing of your clit to lean down and lift his mask, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to the swollen bud.

The stubble lining his jaw pokes and prickles at the sensitive skin between your legs and you whimper, trying to squirm away even after he pulls away.

“You like that, princess?” Simon coos, slight condescension evident in his tone as he rubs at your thigh and works to stretch your enough to fit a second finger inside of you.

You whine and shake your head no.

“S’ scratchy-“ you mumble, wiggling your hips even as you’re held firmly in place.

Simon laughs, a deep, amused noise that you’re rarely allowed to hear in full force.

“Alright love, I’m sorry. I’ll make sure I’m clean shaven next time.” He says, before beginning to work a second finger inside of you and ducking his head down to give your clit a firm suck.

You can feel his triumphant grin against your skin when you moan and try to fuck yourself on his fingers.

“It’s fucking- yer hand.” Johnny practically whines, and you feel a surge of arousal move through you at the view he must be getting- of Simon’s hand pistoning in and out of you as your cunt seems to swallow his hand with each thrust.

The force behind the fingers fucking you intensifies and Simon’s tounge circles and rubs at your clit and Kyle pushes his thumb deeper into your mouth, holding your head still and using his thumb to press firmly down on your tongue, trapping the muscle against the bottom of your mouth.

You moan loudly, unable to cut off or muffle any of the sounds you’re making as your hips twitch and jerk.

Your cheeks burn as you realize you can already feel an orgasm beginning to build, each thrust feeling better and better as the feeling begins to build.

“Add another, Simon.” Price says from his chair in the corner. He’s leaned back in his seat with his legs spread comfortably. In one hand, he holds his burning cigar while the other lazily rests atop the tent in his pants as he watches the four of you in the bed.

Simon pulls his mouth away from your clit and sits up. You feel a third finger prod at your entrance, whining when it’s pulled away instead of pressed inside you alongside the other two.

“I’m trying.” Simon growls, looking up. “Garrick, get me the lube.” He adds, thrusting his hand hard enough into you for you to bounce and be shoved slightly up the bed.

You moan, trying not to drool around the thumb in your mouth, swallowing whatever drool had accumulated when Kyle moves his thumb to rest between your lip and the side of your teeth. He turns and uses his free hand to reach behind him and yank open the nightstand drawer, grabbing the bottle of clear liquid before passing it up to Simon and Johnny.

Simon’s hands don’t move from between your legs, instead, Johnny is the one to take the bottle and pop open the cap, squirting a generous amount onto where Simon’s hand is buried between your legs.

You moan as the slide of his fingers inside you turns 100 times sweeter, it’s almost enough to completely distract you from the stretch of a third finger being pushed into your cunt, and you can feel your orgasm creeping closer and closer with every thrust of Simon’s hand.

“It’s alright Bonnie, you’re almost there- Simon’s just got real gnarly fingers, not a good fit for pretty girls like you.” Johnny coos, rubbing his hand up and down over your tensed stomach in a soothing motion.

“Shut it.” Simon growls, decidedly unamused, increasing the force behind his fingers and going down to suck and lick at your clit until you’re twitching- hips jerking as you cry out and cum around his fingers.

You’re squirming your hips down and side to side to try and get Simon’s fingers deeper inside of you and drooling from both ends. From above your head, you can hear Kyle laughing, although you’re not sure whether at Johnny’s words or the pitiful display you’d just put on. Even Price is stifling a chuckle from his seat in the corner, looking down to hide his laughter even as his shoulders shake from the force of it.

Simon’s hands don’t still, even after the last aftershocks of your orgasm finally fade. Instead, he adds a fourth, continuing to bully your clit with his tongue and batter your inner walls until you’re writhing from overstimulation.

Kyle’s thumb goes back to pressing down on your tongue, and you let out what you're sure is an absolutely debauched sound as you squirm. It’s like you’re a doll stuck between them- made solely for them to poke, prod, play with, and bully. Your moans and cries only serve to spur them on further, and your squirming is easily negated by the strong arms that hold you in place.

You look pleadingly at Price, begging him with watery eyes to make Simon give you any kind of mercy, but he only laughs, his legs spread as he languidly jerks his thick, full cock and watches the four of you.

“Don’t look at me like that, Dove. I can’t save you.” He says, and you sob, looking up at Simon and tugging on where your hands are cuffed to the head board.

Simon switches from his mouth to using two fingers to rub circles into your clit, not missing a beat as he keeps pace with the hand currently fucking you.

“Simon- I can’t- it’s too much-“ You whine, only to be cut off by a hash slap to your hip.

“Shush. I’m almost done.” Simon responds, not looking up from where he’s meticulously stretching you open that last bit.

You open your mouth to speak, but Kyle shoves two fingers deep into your mouth, watching with a pleased grin as you gag and choke around the intrusion.

Tears that may be a bit more than reflex prick at your eyes, and just as it’s about to be too much, Simon pulls his fingers out of your cunt with a lewd, wet squelch.

“She’s ready.” He says, scooting back and wiping his hand on the side of your stomach, leaving a streak of cold wetness shining on your skin. “Who’s first?”

“ME!” Johnny yells, practically flinging himself forward. He scrambles between your open legs and yanks open the fly of his pants, freeing his drooling cock and giving it a few rough pumps before climbing on top of you.

Kyle has to move out of the way so as to not be crushed in the whirlwind of energy Johnny has become. He makes a teasing remark you can’t quite catch as Johnny captures you in a wet and messy kiss.

His hands trace the curves of your body, taking every opportunity to grab onto the pockets of fat you carry and squeeze. He gropes at your tits, ass, hips, thighs- anything he can get his hands on, all while kissing you as deep and hard as he can.

“Fuck, Bonnie- yer’ perfect.” He pants, giving your tit a particularly harsh squeeze. “I’m gonna take such good care of you.”

You can hear rumbles of “get on with it” from across the room and Johnny scoffs before sitting up, giving a slight roll of his eyes as he pats you twice on the hip.

“Alright, alright, the peanut gallery is getting impatient. Roll over for me, love.” Johnny says, and his face splits in a grin when you do exactly as he says, letting the chain of the handcuffs keeping your hands above your head twist as you roll on your stomach and get onto your knees. You keep your upper body against the mattress, sitting in an ass-up, face-down position that puts somewhat of a strain on your back.

The position prompts a deep groan from Johnny behind you. Your cunt is aching again. Johnny’s groping and kissing and practicing jumping your thigh had been enough to make you as wet and needy as you felt around Simon’s fingers.

“Fuck- Simon, you should’a opened up her ass for us too. Bet she could’ve taken two of us at once like that, yeah?” He asks, and you moan at the thought, squeezing around nothing as you press your hips back, silently begging for Johnny to hurry up and get inside of you.

The only response from Simon is a noncommittal grunt, but you hear a vague “we’ll see,” from Price.

Without warning, Johnny’s cock starts pushing into you and you moan, a warm, happy and content pleasure spreading through you as his cock easily slides inside of you.

“Fuck!” Johnny curses, hips stuttering halfway as he squeezes his eyes shut, his grip on your hips turning bruising as he takes deep, panting breaths.

“Gonna cum before you’re even inside our girl, sergeant?” Price barks, his words degrading but his tone light and amused. Regardless, you feel the jerk of Johnny’s hips in response.

“No, Sir.” Johnny says through gritted teeth, taking a final shuddering breath before pulling out and beginning to fuck his cock into you.

You moan, already somewhat lost in the pleasure as your head turns to the side.

You find Simon standing near the edge of the bed, looking down at you with his cock out and an unreadable expression. You feel yourself drooling at the sight of his large hand roughly jerking his fat cock, and you feel almost compelled to put on a show for him- moaning messily when Johnny curses and doubles over, thighs slapping your ass as the room fills with the sounds of sex.

When you see Simon’s hand tighten around himself, you take it as a victory, making a show of letting Johnny keep you pinned in place. His knees rest bracketing you on the mattress, while his hands pin down your arms by the wrists and his cock forces you again and again deeper into the mattress.

You’re so close, and it’s almost enough- but you don’t come with Johnny. He tries, continuing to fuck you even after you feel his thighs shaking and his cum spurting inside of you, but after a moment of fucking you though his own orgasm, he curses, pulling out and panting out apologies as he strokes your hair.

You whine when he pulls out, feeling his cum beginning to drip out of you and flopping onto your side to ease the strain on your back.

“Fuck- fuck, I’m sorry Bonnie. ‘Sorry I didn’t make it good for you. I can take care of you, I promise. I’ll lick your pussy so good you’ll never wanna-” He starts, being cut off by Kyle shoving at his shoulder, rolling his eyes.

“You can do that later, mate. ‘Rest of us want a go.” Kyle says, nudging again at Johnny to get him to move.

“But-“ Johnny whines, looking desperate.

“Kyle will take care of her, Johnny.” Price says, and Johnny relents, moving so Kyle can settle between your legs, his hands running up the sides of your hips gently.

“Alright love, it’s okay. I’ll take care of you, how about you just roll onto your back for me, alright?” He says, gently guiding you to roll back onto your back.

You mumble something incoherent, needy and dripping. Your body aches from holding your earlier position and you nearly moan in relief when Kyle scoots you up on the bed so your shoulders can be bent.

A hand smooths over your stomach and a kiss is pressed into the inside of your thigh. Kyle is sweeter about it than Johnny, rubbing appreciatively at whatever parts of you he can reach as he pulls his cock out.

“Please, Kyle-” You whine at the sight, admiring his- fittingly- pretty cock as he guides the tip to your hole.

He laughs, smiling down at you while his guides his swollen tip to your hole.

“It’s alright, I’ll take care of you.” He says, pressing in slow and steady while petting gently at your still sensitive clit.

You moan in relief, relaxing into his touch as he starts to pull out and thrust back in, rolling his hips into you so his cock hits every right place.

Again, it’s slower- sweeter than with Johnny, but you find yourself enjoying it just as much. The drag of his cock inside of you steadily increasing in pace, Kyle’s undeniably handsome face smiling down at you, the stimulation to your clit- all making for a slow, building orgasm that feels less intense but longer and harder all at the same time.

“Kyle-“ You whine, letting your head fall back and shuddering as he sucks wet hickeys into the tender skin.

When you come, Kyle is quick to follow, groaning at the feeling of your cunt squeezing and pulsing around his cock and grabbing you by the hips to pull you as deep onto his cock as he could as he came.

“Fuckin’ hell-“ Simon growled, watching the two of you, eyes transfixed on how your head flopped lazily to the side, watching him with hazy, post-orgasm high eyes.

You hear similar sentiments from around the room, but you’re too taken by the sight of Simon jerking himself off- almost mean in how he tugs and strokes himself.

You barely notice Kyle pulling out- too distracted with the sight of Simon practically bullying his cock into an orgasm.

“You’re up, Simon.” Kyle pants, heaving deep, heavy breaths as he moves for Simon to take his spot.

“Don’t fucking think I need it.” He hisses through gritted teeth. “Our girl paints’ too pretty of a sight.”

You squeeze your thighs together with a soft moan at the feeling of cum oozing out from between your legs, struck by a sudden urge to keep as much of it in as possible.

“Wait- Simon, inside-“ You say, spreading your legs, silently begging with your eyes as you try to reach out for Simon, desperate to have his cum inside of you with the other two’s.

But it’s too late. Simon groans, shuddering as he catches his release in his hand and braces himself against the night stand.

You watch as some of the precious liquid oozes out of his cupped hand, whining needily at the sight of it going to waste.

“Fuuuuck, L.t.” Johnny drawls, watching Simon’s hand full of cum with almost as much need as you.

“You didn’t finish inside….” You mumble, your lower lip wobbling. You’re sensitive enough that even this feels like it’s enough to bring you to tears.

Simon laughs softly at your despair, glancing down at his hand full of cum before slapping it against your cunt with a loud squelch, earning a yelp from you and a laugh from Soap as your back arches and his palm hits your thoroughly worked clit.

“That better, love?” Simon coos, his tone condescending as he wipes a tear from your face with the pad of his thumb, leaving what was left of his cum smeared on your face.

Despite the mocking nature of his words, you find yourself nodding. You would probably thank him for smearing his come over your abused cunt if he asked.

Before it can go any further, Price is stepping forward. You’d been so absorbed in the other three that you hadn’t noticed him standing up until just now- when he’s towering over you and holding his cock out, already moving to situate himself inside you.

“Alright, that’s enough. Leave the poor girl alone, she’s still got one more round she’s gotta’ give us tonight.” Price says, lifting your legs to his sides as he slowly starts to push in.

You make a noise somewhere between a whimper and a moan, and with the first thrust, you’ve already lost it- your entire body is bounced with the slaps of his thighs against your ass and moaning like a porn star as you do.

“Do you think that if we fuck it back into her enough it’ll take, Captain?” Kyle asks, earning a groan from Price.

“Fuck- don’t joke about that, Gaz.” He growls, his hands squeezing at your waist.

Vaguely, you can hear Simon say something about you already having “a belly full of cum,” and the other’s reactions to that statement, but you’re too lost in your head to understand what they’re all saying.

The only thing that mattered was the head of Price’s cock hammering into you- you were well and truly fucked dumb. Your clit was over sensitive and your cunt as a whole felt sore in the best of ways. You were too sensitive to take much more than a few minutes of Price fucking you like he was- thrust after thrust, bullying the same spot until the heat in your belly started to build and build until it snapped and you came with a cry, spasming around Price’s cock as he continued to fuck you. His own pace only started to falter when your moans turned to pitiful overstimulated cries- his hips twitching as he finally finished, burying himself to the hilt and gritting his teeth, groaning as he shot his load into you.

He remains draped over you for a moment, panting as he tries to catch his breath- stroking gently at your hair to keep you nice and floaty through your post-orgasm high. When you crack your eyes open, it's to Kyle unlocking your handcuffs and massaging the blood flow back into your hands while Price slowly pulls out of you, leaving you to whimper at the rough drag of his cock as it leaves you.

“Fucking hell…” Johnny groans at the sight of all the cum pooling out of you, his eyes wide and focused. Price is quick to catch his staring, patting Johnny on the shoulder as he speaks.

“Go get some water for her, alright?” He says, to which Johnny nods, swallowing thickly before standing up and grabbing a cup from the nightstand, going towards the bathroom to fill it up.

He nearly walks into Simon as he’s coming out of the bathroom with a wet washcloth. Johnny ducks to the side he sees him, barely managing to fit between him and the wall, which earns a raised eyebrow from Simon but not much else.

Price sits you up and leans you against Kyle, who’s perfectly content to hold you and coo soft praises to you while he pets at your hair and rubs your back.

You’re absolutely exhausted, and Kyle’s arms are more than comfortable enough for you to start to doze off in.

“You did so good for us, Love. So good.” Kyle says, wiping some of your tears away with his hand as Simon spreads your legs, making you perk up as he starts to gently wipe away all the cum, slick, and lube that’s smeared between your thighs.

No matter how gentle he is, the rough material of the washcloth is hell against the tender skin of an already sensitive area. You whine at the pain and try to close your legs, but your attempt only results in firm hands holding them apart.

John watches you squirm for a moment, still catching his breath as he watches Simon clean you up.

“Stop squirming.” Simon says, rolling his eyes at the whine you make in response, but ultimately continuing to work to get you clean.

Johnny comes back from the bathroom with a cup of water, standing to the side as he waits for Simon to finish before taking his place and working in tandem with Kyle to get you to drink something.

“Come on, you’ve got to drink some water before you can drift off.” Johnny says, and when the first bit of water touches your lips, you find yourself suddenly parched, draining the entire glass in a single sitting.

“Good job.” Kyle says, patting your head when you finish the water, pulling it to rest against his chest the same way you had been before.

You try to say thank you for the water, but all that comes out is a muffled, unintelligible noise. The moment your head’s back against Kyle’s chest, your eyes are closed.

After getting you situated, Simon folds the rag over to present a clean side and hands it over to Price, who thanks him before using it to clean the remnants of cum and slick off his cock, tucking himself back into his pants and zipping them up once he’s done.

“Alright, hand her over to me.” Price says, standing up and sitting down at the head of the bed, his back leaning against the headboard.

You groan softly as you’re passed from Kyle’s lap to Price’s, but you’re quick to settle into his arms regardless.

Around you, you can hear the sounds of the other three settling. You feel the bed dip as someone (or someones) lay down beside you, and someone pulls a blanket up over you.

“It’s alright love, you can go to sleep now.” Price says, patting you on the back and placing a kiss behind your ear.

You barely manage to acknowledge his words before you’re out cold.

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

[ktwritesstuff]

The Babysitter (a Last of Us fanfic) pt. 3

Title: The Babysitter Fandom: The Last of Us Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Joel Miller x Reader Word Count: ~2000 Summary: Playing house with Joel is not all it's cracked up to be. As always, lovingly beta-read by @bs-fangirl. Additional content notes below the cut

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (below cut) | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Content Notes & Warnings: mentions of assault, depression, p-in-v sex, & violence.

I consider my personal brand to be "All your faves want to fuck fat chicks" but the post-apocalyptic setting makes that harder to convey. Given that the diet culture of the 90s and early 2000s fucked us all, be on the lookout for body talk and mentions of disordered eating.

Atlanta 2007

It was a miracle you were alive.  That was what the doctors said when Joel and Tommy managed to find a FEMA clinic nearly 48 hours later.  The bullet had hit Joel first, just grazing him, but slowed down enough that when it struck you the impact didn’t send you into cardiac arrest.  It entered a few inches below your right shoulder, missing the lung, the subclavian artery, and the bundle of nerves controlling your arm, and exited the top of your chest before lodging in Sarah’s stomach where it tore her apart from the inside.  Some miracle.

The clinic doctors decided to send you to Dallas by helicopter, where there was supposed to be a working trauma center.  Of course, by the time you got there everything had gone to shit.  But the fluids and antibiotics they had already pumped into you kept you stable.  You hunkered down for a few weeks until Joel and Tommy decided it was safe to move you.  

From there you headed east, eventually making your way to a refugee camp in Atlanta.  It was a fucking mess–most folks had fled their homes without gathering important documents, but the bureaucrats were still insisting on trying to verify peoples’ identities.  The people outside were begging and bribing for someone to vouch for them.   

With Tommy being military, the government knew everything down to what underwear he had on; Joel managed to hang on to his wallet so thankfully he still had photo ID.

“This is my daughter,” he said, pushing you in front of him at the gate.  “Sarah.”

The powers that be immediately pressed Tommy into service helping to control the crowds and guard supplies, leaving you and Joel to get settled into one of the canvas tents on site.  It wasn’t much, but you had a cot, a toothbrush, and a bar of soap, which was quite a bit more than you had arrived with.

“Why’d you tell them I was your daughter?” you asked.   

“Because I’m pretty sure it’s still frowned upon for grown men to be traveling with a random teenage girl,” Joel replied gruffly.  “It’s just temporary.”

But after four years this temporary stopover looked more and more like home and you felt more like a mother than daughter: washing, mending, cooking when there was food which there usually wasn’t.  You had lost more weight than was probably safe, but you weren’t quite as rail-thin and sallow as most of the other evacuees haunting the camp.  

Still, you regretted all the time you had spent starving yourself when there was plenty of food around, desperate to shrink down to nothing.  Your body had kept you alive in impossible circumstances and you had promised yourself you would do what you had to to take care of it. 

With Joel, it was a different story.  About a month into your stay at the camp, a man whistled at you in the breadline for weekly rations of beans and government cheese.  It was so strange and unexpected that you didn’t even realize it had happened until Joel had jumped the guy.

“Stop it!”” you screamed, helping two other guys pull him off.  “You’ll kill him!  Daddy!”

Even after one of the guards slammed his rifle into the back of Joel’s neck, he still wasn’t satisfied.

“I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!  She’s mine!  I’ll fucking kill you!”    

The guards probably would have hanged them both if not for Tommy running interference, but that didn’t keep Joel from picking fights wherever he could.  He had a death wish and that made him dangerous. 

Losing Sarah had broken something inside of him, how could it not.  Keeping you and Tommy safe had kept him grounded for a while, but now that things were (relatively) stable, he had no reason to keep going.  You sympathized, of course, with the unfathomable grief of losing a child.  That didn’t mean you were content to stand by while he self-destructed.  

It was past noon and Joel was asleep, passed out, you realized as your toe connected with the bottle that had rolled under his cot.  

“Get up,” you said, pushing on his back.  “Laundry day.  Get up.”

Joel grunted, balling up under the blanket.

“Well that’s just great,” you said.  “You want to drink a week’s worth of rations in one afternoon, fine.  But if you think I’m gonna let you get a staph infection from sleeping in the same filthy clothes for weeks, you’ve got another thing coming.”

You grabbed the corner of the blanket and pulled with all your might.  Joel fought you, growling and thrashing, but ultimately you managed to wrestle it away.  Joel harumphed and turned over in bed.  You threw the blanket into the laundry basket and stormed out of the tent.

Tommy was on rounds and you passed him on your way to the little stream that ran through the east side of camp.

“You need to talk to him,” you said.  “Cause I am at the end of my rope.”  

Joel had been shutting down for weeks and things seemed to be getting worse and worse.  You knew he wished you had died instead of Sarah.  As if it wasn’t bad enough that you'd always be left to wonder if you hadn’t turned around when you did, would that bullet have passed through Sarah and killed you.  You would have taken her place if you could.  This wasn’t the life any of you would have wished for, but this was the life you had.

“Cut him some slack,” Tommy said.  “Birthdays and anniversaries are always rough.”  

“I’m sorry,” you said, as Tommy walked with you toward the edge of camp.  “I’m sorry.  I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you–I know how much you loved Sarah and we can’t even talk about her.”

Tommy shrugged.  “You compartmentalize.  Deal with it when it’s safe.”

“So never?” 

“That’s the job,” Tommy said.  

You shook your head.  “The job sucks.  And we still need to figure out what we’re going to eat this week.  I already traded my last tampon for the month.”

“Don’t tell me that,” Tommy chuckled.  “I don’t need to know that.”

“Yeah, well, I figured your back was getting tired from carrying us,” you teased.

Tommy waved you off, jogging back to his post before his C.O. noticed he was gone.  

You sat down by the river, sprinkling your weekly allotment of laundry powder onto the stones.  Having to do all the scrubbing manually certainly gave you time to think.  When weekly assignments came around, you usually asked to be on the cleaning crew–it wasn’t a desirable chore, but you liked knowing that the communal showers and horrible pit latrines you had to use were as sanitary as possible.  Besides, as long as you weren’t greedy you could get away with pocketing extra hand sanitizer and disinfectant–that shit was better than gold around camp.  

But FEDRA was trying to get a factory up and running about a mile outside camp, hard work, double shifts, and shit pay.  But there were fringe benefits for those willing to take the risk.  This dude called Axel had a pot farm on the other side of the fence.  He was always looking for people dumb enough or desperate enough to move his product–they were always getting caught at the gate.        

So you wrung out and hung the laundry and marched down to the big house to sign up for the next truckload of workers leaving camp.

You worked the graveyard shift, and made it back through the gate the next afternoon with half a kilo of weed in the hidden pocket you had sewed into the lining of your jacket.  As you suspected, the guards were more interested in groping your breasts and between your legs during their pat-down.  You headed back to your tent with the most money you had ever held in your hands–before the outbreak or after.  

Your euphoria at your success was only somewhat diminished by the realization that Joel and Tommy had spent the morning tearing the camp apart looking for you.

“Where the hell have you been?” Joel said.  He looked frantic, disheveled, cold sweat, the works. 

“Working,” you said, digging the wad of ration cards out of your bra and handing it over to Tommy.  “Maybe you can find us some real food now.”

“Jesus, kid,” Tommy said, flipping through the cards.  “Where’d you get this?”

“Why? They’re good, aren’t they?”

You toed off your shoes and pulled off your sweatshirt as you came into the tent.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Joel followed after you, wiping a hand across his forehead.  “We’ve been worried sick–thinking you were dead in a ditch somewhere, or worse–and that’s all you have to say for yourself?”  

“Can we have this conversation later,” you groaned, shimmying out of your bluejeans and collapsing on your cot.  “I’m exhausted.”  

When you finally woke, Joel was sitting on the folding chair beside your cot.

“So what are you a whore now?” 

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you groaned, sitting up, pulling the thin blankets up around you.  “Does it fucking matter?”

You had considered sex work, but the truth was there wasn’t much of a market for it.  Assault was more common than toilet paper in the camp–there was hardly a woman who hadn’t been groped (or worse) or a man that hadn’t been mugged for that matter.  You figured the only reason you had been spared so far was that Tommy and Joel were so fucking scary.  

“Yeah, it fucking matters, Sweetpea,” he growled.  You had never seen him angry before, not like this.  You would have been terrified if you weren’t so goddamn tired.  

“I am responsible for you.”

“Oh, spare me the sanctimonious bullshit,” you said.  “I’m not a child.  I am grown.  I’m certainly not your daughter.”  

“You think I don’t know that!”  Joel grabbed you by the chin.  You met his gaze; for a moment, you weren’t sure if he wanted to hurt you or something else.

“Prove it,” you said, the corner of your mouth lifting into a sneer.  “I fucking dare you.”

In the space of a breath, Joel had crushed his mouth against yours.  You moaned against his lips, leaning back in bed, but Joel held the back of your neck, keeping you close.  You put your hands on his face, running your fingers into his hair.

Joel climbed on top of you in bed, the thin mattress sagging under your combined weights.  He sat up long enough to unbuckle his belt and paused.  

“Say yes,” he instructed, leaning down, planting his lips in the space where your jaw met your neck.  

You sighed, gripping his shoulder, turning your face to expose your neck to him.  

“You have to say yes.”

“Yes,” you breathed, pulling your ratty t-shirt off over your head and dropping it on the floor.  

Joel pulled down his jeans and ran his hands down your back, looping them into your panties, pulling them down.  You kicked them off to hook your ankles behind Joel’s thighs as he kissed your throat.  

He pressed into you all at once; you were so exhilarated you hardly felt anything.  Then pressure and a sharp tug behind your pelvic bone as he withdrew and pushed deeper. You gripped his arms and squeezed your knees into his sides. 

“Good?” he asked, kissing and sucking a trail down your chest, grazing the mounds of your breasts with his teeth.  

You took a few deep breaths and relaxed your face which had tightened into a grimace.  

“It’s a lot,” you said, running your hands down his back.  

“I know,” Joel breathed.  “I know, Sweetpea.  I got you.”

Joel moved one hand between your legs, to the bundle of nerves at the peak of the wishbone where your bodies met, massaging in circles with his rough fingers.  You felt something coiling inside you, hot and tight.  You arched into him.

“That’s better?”  

“Mmhm.”  You nodded, relaxing your thighs.  “That’s nice.”  

Joel moved against you, hips flicking up into the bowl of your pelvis as he massaged you.  He cupped one breast with his spare hand, pressing his mouth over the other, tongue circling the sensitive nipple. 

“That’s nice.”

He bucked into you harder; you bit your lip to stifle a cry.  You could feel the knot in your belly spreading, unfolding.  Your body stiffened and relaxed and with a low moan, Joel dropped his weight onto you, tired and spent.

You felt your heart rate slow and your breath grew deeper.  Joel rested his head on your chest and you ran your fingers through his hair.  You noticed it was damp and smelled faintly of mint.

“Did you shower?”

Joel nodded, his beard rubbing against your skin.  You smiled.

“You do listen to me.”

“Mmhm.”  You ran your hands over Joel’s shoulder girdle; felt the tight knots of muscle relax under your touch.  

Joel’s lips found the ragged scar under your collarbone where the bullet had left your body.  He kissed the scar gently, running his fingertips over it.  For an instant you felt like he was worshiping you, in awe of you.  And you marveled at your own sweet self for being able to give such pleasure.  

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” Joel said.  You pressed your eyes closed.

“I may not have a choice,” you sighed.  “Axel wants me to do another run at the end of the week–I don’t think he’ll take no for an answer.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said. 

After a moment, Joel rose from the bed, pulling on his pants as you pulled the blankets up over you. 

“What are you going to do?” you said.

“I said I’d take care of it,” he repeated.

“Joel,” you warned.  “You can’t narc on him…you can’t kill him.  Don’t kill him, Joel.  Please.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning over to kiss your cheek.  “Eat something.  Tommy brought you peanut butter.”

You had half a mind to try and stop him from leaving, but who could resist peanut butter.

Baby's First Taglist: @stilllivindue2spite, @amethystwonders11 & @teacupcollector

[ecc-poetry]

TERF WARS

I wrote JK Rowling a letter when I was a little girl, asking to play Hermione in the Harry Potter movie. The nerdy witch. Justice-monger. Shame and self-doubt had started to snake their way through me, but weren't yet my veins. It was safe then to beg boons of St. Joanne. Mother Christmas. "Miracle" wasn't a slur–hadn't she taught us to be plucked from obscurity? Hadn't she made magic real?

Unplucked, I hit high school, where despite owls and broomsticks, the reality was that I wasn't the right kind of girl: Awkward. Too smart. Too angry. My body clung to me like a slur, meanwhile Joanne SPEWed her punchlines: A witch who believes in sharing power?! I had no power. I only felt safe while shrinking. I shed baby fat like the skin of a snake,

and couldn't think who taught me the trick. My mind writhed like a snake. Hermione got a makeover to ready her for love, her worth made real. Joanne said: at my age, she could've been conned to seek a safety only gettable in the body of a boy. Not me. I was indelible. I'd die of girl before I stopped being one, like the girls who were told which they were and rebelled. Like the boys Joanne slurs

as lost girls. Joanne's three-quarter prose drowned Hermione in a slurry of girlboss: memory-muddler. Perfect prime minister. A snake licked my ears since 11, and now in the base of my brainstem, a witch peddles poisons. Joanne says the things in your head aren't real just because you know them. She says struggling. That girls are at risk of erasure, because it's un-safe–

and worse, unpopular–to be one. St. Joanne wants a safe world for women, so she causes with people who think I'm a slur. She says, "The system, surgery, easy fix, poor girls who do not conform." She parcels her tongue, snakelike, each poison pill small and swallowable. She knows 'real' lies between my legs. She thinks she is only burning witches;

but her cruelties sear me too. Don't you get it? Hurt one witch and her sisters scream. Joanne says protect, but I've never felt safe in her sanctum. I keep smelling flames. I run to my real coven, my story-slurred sisters. Joanne says that bigot's a slur, but to her it's a badge. It admits her to the parliament of snakes. All in the name of protecting 'real' girls–

Well, spare me your cherishing. My witch-womb rejects you. I pronounce your sanctimony slurred,

your safe, a stake to the heart. You think we're the same, but Joanne: I don't caucus with snakes. You made magic

once, but what you call love isn't real. It's a nuclear bomb, shedding ash through the years onto all us wicked girls.

-Elisa Chavez

(Notes and recs)

[anamenooneowns]

A Creepy Fanfic: The Big Dick.

A/n: This is a fanfic to indulge my inner pre-teens creepypasta phase (which was never really a phase🥀⛓️🖤🤘🏽😔) also, the woman above is not a face claim and you're a spirit entity thing. i'm obviously making up shit bc it sounds cool in my head. so yeah. enjoy.

warnings: Cursing. Death/dead people. Gore? sorta. Horrible jokes bc i think i'm hilarious. No use of y/n. Use of religion to bully another. Bullying. Sex (use condoms pls). Spanking. Name-calling (bitch and cunt). Rough sex. I think thats all... if I missed something lemme know🙂

pairing: ticci toby x you

Water was still when it was untouched. The water in Lake Black has been still since the death of that poor girl–it was so sudden, so awful–awful how everyone in that bumfuck town pretended they had nothing to do with her death. (♱) didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t her fault that her mother was sick, that her mind was broken since the terrible death of her husband, (♱)’s father. 

The witches of Black Falls is what they called her and her mother. Rolling their eyes back and pretending to spasm whenever she passed them in school hallways and in public, reciting prayers in their Religion class to ‘ward’ her away, refusing her food in line at the church when she and her mother had been hungry–starving.

But no longer. A dead girl didn’t need to eat after all, right?

Wrong. Because (♱) was hungry. Starved. Ravenous with a need to sink her teeth into the rotting meat that was this town. A stain is what it was. All heretics.

A head split the still waters of Lake Black. Jet-black hair plastered to brown skin, droplets of water clung to her hairline before rolling down, connecting and parting over and again as she continued to rise. The fog that had settled over the water billowed around her body, rising with her slowly, the currents below swirling angrily and bubbled with the white-hot, scalding, burning anger of a woman scorned. 

Eyes, white–having lost their iris and pupil–were all sclera and thin, red veins. When her pale blue lips kissed fresh air after having been lost to the bottom of Hell for so long a hiss escaped them. The water relinquished its hold on her as she continued to rise into the embrace of the moon on this beautiful night. The only companion she’s ever had her entire life.

The woman in the moon. Her daddy would make up stories about it. How she had been cast away into the stars for bringing darkness…darkness associated with anything bad. Yet, she was so warm right now. Anything would be considered warm compared to (♱)’s cold body. Undead.

She was going to eat this fucking town. And everyone in it, alive. 

Drenched, scuffed sneakers dragged along the asphalt of the street. (♱)’s only goal was to reach the only person here who mattered: her mommy. Each step she took in line with a house on the block set it ablaze, screaming long having made its symphony in the night as they all burned alive. Skin shrinking and fat rendering–it was all so delicious. Her body absorbed it like she was eating, the wounds of her body fading as she gained more… ‘life’ into her.

And when she reached that house, the door opening for her before she could touch it, the sight ran flashbacks through her mind when she was still alive. Out of the mudroom, the stairs to your left in the hallway, up the stairs, the first door to your right was her mother’s room. The door creaked open and there her mommy lay. (♱) neared her and laid on the bed, wrapping her wet, slimy arms around her before weeping softly. 

Because her mother was dead. A pill bottle in her hands, and her body cold, but smiling. To think she was ready to leave this place and be with her husband and daughter again, but (♱)’s soul knew where it belonged, and after tonight–it was destined to one place only.

“You shouldn’t be alive.”

Silence.

“I… know,” (♱) croaked. “But I am.”

“So you are,” they affirmed. “You’re gonna stir a lot of shit, but, you don’t know the rules yet so The Operator is letting you off the hook, but you need to come with me. Come with us, and learn.”

“If-if I don’t?”

Something cold pressed against her throat. It was sharp. “You die here, and your soul is sent straight to Hell where it belongs.”

(♱) didn’t care that the blade has sliced into her neck a bit. “I don’t believe in Hell. I don’t think I ever did.”

“All the more reason to come with us then. None of us believe in it much either,” they moved the sharp blade. 

She sat up slowly and looked at them. It was a man. He had shaggy brown hair, light brown eyes, and skin as pale as the moon. Looking back at her mother, she leaned down and kissed her on the cheek before standing. “Okay,” she agreed.

A black tar-like substance webbed across the ceiling of the room before lighting up, fire licking away at the interior of the once warm home. It was the end of her old life, and the start of another.

“Y’know, I hate when you do this shit,” Toby grumbled. “It ain’t playin’ fair.”

“Playing fair? That’s for losers, baby,” (♱)’s voice echoed like a purr in his mind, the exact way she’d voice her words if she was in fucking front of him and not hiding.

“Callin’ me a loser, little girl?” he huffed, cutting down the greenery blocking his way.

His eyes flitted around the clearing as he looked for (♱). Ever since she joined them and fell into step quickly with the whole undead thing and learning the extent of her abilities-and them falling in love yada, yada, ya-she was the prettiest damn nuisance he’s ever experienced in his life.

Her laughter echoed from the crows above on the gnarled trees. He growled and huffed out a deep breath from his nose-

“Are you?” A boline knife shaved a bit of his five o’clock shadow. (♱) tilted her head at Toby and smiled, black lips parting to reveal pearly whites at her man. “Loser,” she whispered.

Toby chuckled and pulled his goggles up to rest on his head, brown eyes slicing over to her from the corner of his eye. “Alright, mama… you got me. Training over.”

He turned to her and pulled down his mask, revealing his own smile. A vicious scar ran jaggedly from the left corner of his mouth into a permanent sneer. A half-glasgow as (♱) would tease, a running joke after she had said it to hurt him during a particularly nasty argument. The skin there was taut and deformed, the flesh puckered and a whitish-pink, healed but forever marred. With his skin ripped and pulled back, teeth–which were slightly yellower on this side but just as straight as the rest of the teeth in his mouth–were on permanent display.

(♱) leaned up on the balls of her feet and pecked his lips. “What’s my reward?”

Toby raised an eyebrow and snorted. “You’re jokin’, right? This is part of the job description, sweetness.”

“So? Don’t I deserve a.. I dunno, a fuckin’ blowjob or something?” (♱) huffed. 

Toby’s eyes widened. “Babe, what the fuck are you-”

“Look, after how I just fucked you in the ass with that win, I’d say I have a pretty-” (♱) squealed as Toby picked her up and threw her over his broad shoulder-“big dick!”

“Big dick, huh? I’m gonna show you a big dick, little girl, always runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth,” he smacked her ass sharply and then her thigh.

Toby walked toward their cabin, passing Tim and Jeff–Jeff whistling at the sliver of the bottom of (♱)’s ass on display from her ridden-up shorts because, of course–cursing a “Fuck!” when Toby cracked him on the back of the head with the stick of his axe. “You may not be able to close your eyes you lidless fuck, but watch it unless you want me to pluck them out for (♱) to use in her witchy shit.”

(♱)  giggled, kicking her legs lazily and waving at the two other men. “Bye, Tim! Fuck you, Jeff.”

In their cabin, which was in a more secluded section of The Operator’s woods, Toby kicked the door open and shut it behind them. “So fuckin’ cocky and thinkin’ you can talk to me however, babe-” he dumped her onto the bed and (♱) giggled, biting her lip as she rolled onto her belly, Toby grabbing her throat and lifting her head to force her into an arch. His eyes looked into her own, seemingly sightless without an iris or pupil, but he knew she could see.

“Then what’re you gonna do about it?” she hissed.

His permanent sneer stretched.

(♱) bobbed her head with a voracious need for the mouth-ripping burn of swallowing down Toby’s dick, a thick oozing string of saliva filled with bubbles and mixed with pre-cum drooling onto her chest and the bed. (♱) was still on her belly on their bed while he stood up above her, a big and pale tatted hand clamped around her neck, rough fingertips digging into the joint connecting her skull and jaw to force her mouth open. Her clothes were sliced off with her own weapon, courtesy of her boyfriend, the bastard.

Those gorgeous white eyes, not as soulless as one would think, looked up at him.

And then there was the rough scrape of enamel against flesh. “Fucking- oh, you litte cunt,” he hooked his fingers over her bottom teeth and pulled her jaw down as far as he could before pistoning his hips forward. A wet gurgle came from her throat as (♱)’s gag reflex was triggered, her nose buried into his pubic hair where the pungent smell of sweat from training had become stale. (♱) gagged and choked, tears rolling down her brown cheeks as her nose burned, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his shaft with each thrust of his strong hips.

And she loved it. God, hearts would be fucking floating around in her pupils if she had any.

“God- you’re fucking disgusting,” Toby laughed dryly. “Bet that pretty pussy is all wet just from suckin’ cock, right, mama?”

(♱) moaned around his length and he finally pulled out of her mouth, smirking as she panted-and also because she let his cock rest against the fold between her cheekbone and nose. “Huh? What was that?” he asked.

“I said… I-I alr..already told you I have a big dick,” (♱) panted with the most impish fucking smile.

Toby let his head fall, shoulders rising and falling in short intervals. He was laughing. “Alright, bitch-” he grabbed a handful of thick curls and (♱) whimpered as he pulled her up to her knees and then used both hands, tucking them between the back of her thighs and calves to pull her forward, making her bounce onto her back. With the wind knocked out of her, Toby was already pushing his turgid cock into her, the pierced head of his length breaching her first, cold and shocking.

(♱)’s hands pressed against his lower abdomen and he snatched her wrists together in one hand and held them in front of him as he fucked her, smirking as the sight of her back arching away from the bed and her hips canting forward, making a bridge. “T-Toby, oh my… fuck!” she whined, breathily. “Sho… big,” she slurred.

“Nah, that doesn’t sound like what I was just hearin’ sweetness. Fuckin’ say it. Who has a big dick again?”

“Y-you-”

He leaned down to her face, head turned so his warm breaths were spread over her ear and neck. “I can’t. Fucking. Hear you,” he snarled.

“You, baby- on…only you!” (♱) wailed.

“Good girl,” Toby licked up the side of her neck, her sweat making his salivary glands sting. He let go of her wrists and she immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, whining and pursing her lips which he responded to. His lips pressed against hers, tongues sliding against each other as they kissed, suckling and smacking. He pulled away the ripped side of his mouth making divots where the puckered flesh connected to normal skin, he was smiling. “Yeah, there we go… can’t even get a word out.”

(♱)’s eyes were lidded, the muscles of her neck loose as her head fell back onto the mattress. Just babbling quietly, legs crooked at the knee and splayed open, cradling his body between them. Her cunt gripped him tightly, small spurts of cream coating his cock in a thin sheen as he buried himself inside of her warmth over and again. “T-Toby,” she whined.

“Shh, I know, mama–m’gonna take you there,” he panted. His thumb strummed over her clit, his hips stuttering every time she clenched too tight around him, jaw falling open so his ragged breaths could fall from his lips. His free hand wrapped around her throat and she bit her lip and he could tell she was looking at him, straight into his eyes.

It felt like electricity crackling through her nervous system, each shock waking her up but the lack of proper oxygen flow making her dizzy and hazy.

Toby’s balls, heavy and tight–churning with cum–pulled upward, the seam of his sac making the separation of each ball prominent. (♱) sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth that developed into a groan as she was right there. Right… there!

White-hot heat coiled and burst in (♱)’s belly, lava overflowing and extending through her body as her toes curled and her muscles contracted and trembled. Toby pressed her thighs against her chest, her pussy squeezing around him so tight that it forced him out of her, her squirt sluicing over him while he humped himself to completion between the chubby folds of her sweet cunt. His cockhead dipped between her pressed together thighs until it was jumping and twitching, thick ribbons of cum streaming over her plump lips, dripping down her brown skin.

He sighed, grabbing his shaft and running it up and down the seam of her pussy until she whined. “Alright, alright, m’done,” he chuckled.

“R-remind… remind me to p-piss you off-” she lifted her head and smirked at him- “more often.” Toby leaned down on the bed, the muscles of his back shifting and rippling. “Sweetness, you can piss me off as much as you want as long as you remember one thing at the end of the day: I’m the one with the big dick in this relationship.”

[mlembug]

Click me!

Description: Are you curious enough to do this? Originally published: 6th of August 2019

CONTENT WARNING: M->F gender transformation of the person reading the story, assumes the person reading it is an egg, possession, kinda horny

Oh, you actually did it!

Just why exactly though? Are you expecting something from me? Because I know that you do. You just don’t know it yet. You’ll need to embrace your feelings.

Are you feeling a little lightheaded right now? Feel free to lie down. Focus on your own body.

You feel relaxed. Hang on in there for a moment. Do you feel it? This slight touch on your neck?

Don’t bother looking down, you won’t see anything either way. I’m possessing you from the inside. You’ll be sharing a body with me for a while. Don’t worry though, I’ll make sure to leave it as soon as possible. I’ll also make you feel all better. Like a whole new person.

You can’t see it, but I’ve made your Adam’s apple disappear. I see you’re trying to move your hand to it. Don’t bother, it’s all gone already. Your voice pitch raised too, and you sound like an anime girl.

…don’t tell me you actually liked your own voice, did you? Oh well, you won’t get it back. :)

I also took the liberty of eliminating any possibility of you growing a beard or a moustache ever again. Are you frowning? Don’t be, a manly beard or a moustache would never fit your style. So I’m helping you.

I am also touching your cheeks and the forehead. Your face is slightly smaller, smoother and rounder. You don’t see it, but it’s actually quite adorable. Now then, what should I do with you now? Oh, I know.

Your hair is getting softer, and longer. It’s also straight and dark now. It’s reaching up to your shoulders now, but it’s growth is not stopping. Soon enough, it will reach down to the waist level. Should you not like this, you’ll be able to change it to any hairstyle you desire.

You should be feeling prickly sensation all over your body. It’s your body hair disappearing. No, no, don’t move, it will only speed up the process if you do. Also I’m making your skin feel so soft. Yes, I am turning you into a girl.

You didn’t want that? What were you doing here then? Why would you click on that link? Deep down, we both know you were never the man you thought yourself to be. Why are you resisting?

You feel the world around you get bigger. It’s actually you getting smaller though. Your shoulders are getting narrower, too. I’m gonna make you so tiny and cute, you’ll never question your femininity ever again.

Your hands feel so small and dainty. I’ve decorated your fingernails to have a beautiful shade of red. I also made your feet to be smaller, too. You’ll be able to fit all the heels and sandals you could want to wear.

Your nipples feel puffy. Don’t touch them now, because it will be painful for you. Just wait it over for a while. Yes, hang on, it will be over soon.

…

They’re large enough to be pushing against your clothes right now. Quite a surprise, isn’t it?

Are you feeling ticklish on your belly? You definitely should. This fat you’ve accumulated there… it belongs somewhere else. You feel it slowly shifting towards your hips. And to your chest. Yesssss… Feel it. Feel it all over. Your chest is growing out nicely. These two girls will need a big bra to hold them. Yes, a bra. You may have never needed it before, but surely will need it, starting from today. You’ll be wearing it with pride, too.

You still claim you’re a boy? Oh, stop it. We both know you’re just lying to yourself at this point.

This thing down there, it looks like it’s getting excited about the whole thing. You think it’s just your own quirk? Nah, it’s just a sign your body likes this and expects me to continue. And so I will.

You feel a slight touch on it. It’s shrinking now, and you can’t do anything about it. Yessssss…

Mmmmmmmm…

It’s all smooth now, but you’re still feeling horny.

You still want to turn back? Do you?

I thought so :)

[joshslater]

Sucker Punched

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I was the last one from the crew left at the bar. Andrew had left early, Jon and John had to catch a bus, and in the end it was just Michael and I for a last whiskey. I had finished mine quickly, and was halfway through my second “last” whiskey when he left. He had some contractor he needed to meet in the morning, leaving me to empty the remainder of my glass alone. I reckoned I should take a piss before walking home as well, to avoid having to make a stop in the park.

Just when I was headed to the men’s room I saw one of the girls from the annoyingly loud table at the other end of the bar walking toward the ladies’ room. In my tipsy state I thought it would be a fun joke to follow her and give a funny one liner. "Is this where I pick up ladies?" perhaps. That wasn't really funny, but I was sure I would have something great to say. I didn't have time to find out. As soon as I entered the ladies’ room she pivoted around, shouted "CREEP" and slapped me. At the same time someone exited a stall, grabbed my shoulder, and swung me around.

In front of me was a petite, goth-looking girl with raven hair, black lips, and a nose ring. "Go back to the boys’ room and play with their toys, you fucking creep!" she shouted, and kneed me in the groin so hard I blacked out.

When I came to I was sitting on the floor of the ladies room, with my groin in agonizing pain. I staggered into the men’s room and emptied my bladder under excruciating pain. As I exited the bar everything looked pretty much the same as before, so I could not have been out for long. I walked home and crashed in bed. Had I not been so drunk I would probably have tossed and turned in pain, but instead I went out like a lamp.

Waking up was something differentl entirely. Besides the normal trappings of hangover, I rocked a massive erection that screamed in pain. All morning I was contemplating just being naked all Saturday, but eventually managed to slip on some basket shorts. You know the brag warnings for penis pills "Seek medical attention if your erection lasts longer than 3 hours". By lunchtime, meaning 3 pm on a Saturday, I was seriously considering going to the hospital. I kept running the conversation in my head though. "Hi, a goth girl kicked my junk and now I have a chronic hard on. Do you have any remedies for being a pervert" Fearing my medical premiums being erected as well, and the fact it slowly hurt less and less made me decide to tough it out. Thankfully I had enough food at home to not leave the apartment, and went to bed that evening still with a considerable tent.

He was in his early twenties, dark hair, boyish face, pale skin. His lithe body was smooth, save for a faint treasure trail just below the belly button. There was a hint of a six-pack, but less from lifting weights and more from having very little body fat. He wore skimpy, swim diver trunks that hugged the body. Like a bright blue shrink wrap they highlighted his firm ass and average size bulge.

He smiled as he walked towards me next to the swimming pool. I looked around and realized that we were the only people in the massive swim arena. He was only a few steps away now.

"Good you came. I'm so happy I can help you." "What?" "It has to be a first time for everyone. I'm so honored to be doing this with you. I'll guide you slowly. Just do what I tell you."

He held out a thick, white shower towel to me. I took it.

"Put it on the floor and get down on your knees."

I realized that I too was almost naked. I had nothing on except for similar, white, body-hugging speedos. I put the folded towel on the tiled floor next to the swimming pool and kneeled on it, staring right into his belly.

"First, the best is if the other guy stands or sits straight. Make sure he can see everything you do. You want to involve as many senses as possible."

He put both of his thumbs inside the swim trunks and pulled down several inches, exposing a clean-shaven, semi-erect penis and scrotum.

"Try to always have more than one thing happening. Have at least one hand touching him at all times, even if it is just holding him. Here, place your hands on my hips."

He had a really soothing voice. I did as he said and put my hands on his sides, running my thumbs up and down his V.

"You don't want to just put it in your mouth. You want to at least start with a hand job. But do it in one direction, from the tip to the base, so there is a big upgrade when you put it in your mouth. If there is no lube, like now, start by licking it."

I started licking his dick from top to base, over and over. After doing that a few times I made sure the underside and balls also were wet.

"Great. You don't want to be too quick, but you also don't want to tease too long. A few minutes at the most. Now, the most important part, until you really know what you're doing, is that the teeth should never touch. For now, just curl your lips around them and start working on the tip. You decide how deep you want to go, but keep it slow and steady."

I did as he said and started doing shallow strokes, in and out. In and out.

"Yes, you got it. Focus on what you do with your mouth and lips. The tongue doesn't really matter nearly as much. Now, at this point you can start using your hands a bit more. Try tickle the balls or the perineum. That's the part behind the balls going toward the back.

Yes, like that. Be careful about pulling. Many times it is a safer bet to lift the balls and let go. Remember, it's all about creating as much sensation as possible, so move your hands around, stroke the upper, inner thighs. Keep the rhythm though. Slow and steady."

It was like playing some coordination game. While I was trying really hard to not mess up the actual blow job, my hands were going all over the place, trying out the different suggestions he was giving.

"Now let's go for a neat trick. Take one hand, make an O with your fingers, and do a hand job in sync with the blow job. Keep it just in front of the mouth so I can't feel which is which. Oh boy, yeah, that's it. You got it."

I was feeling really good about how everything was coming together and I could tell that he was getting close to his finish. Instead of giving any directions now he was just moaning, and he had placed one hand on my head, teasing my hair. For some reason hearing him moan made me glow with pride.

Then suddenly, without any warning, he just started pumping cum into my mouth. I hadn't really thought about what to do. Swallow? Pull out? Hamster? At the same time I could feel my own dick shooting load after load.

I woke up, almost gasping for air. In a confused moment I wondered where all the cum had gone. It had all been a dream. Well, not all of it. I turned on the light and checked the sheets, and I don't think I've ever had that much cum on me before. Whatever my dick had saved up during the weekend was all dumped on me now. It looked like someone squeezed a bottle of shampoo all over my mid section. Well, at least I didn't have to go to the ER for my erection, because that problem was solved. But what a fucking dream. I’ve never been tempted to do any gay shit before. The clock showed 4:14, so I did the least I could. Changed the bed sheets, showered the lower part of my body, and went back to sleep, this time wearing boxer briefs.

I slept until well after 9, and to my relief I could take a piss like normal. If anything my dick felt small and spent after its heroic act as a flagpole for 28 hours straight. At least it felt like things were getting back to normal, and I could spend the entire Sunday putting things back together as you would after any heavy party weekend.

Despite the overcast it is a suffocatingly hot day. The concrete ground and tiled buildings around us radiate heat, and the shade roof keeps the hot air stale beneath it. A chainlink fence separats us from the empty street. The black man has worked up a thin sheen of sweat dribbling the basketball, though his high tech blood red Nike Jordan baller shorts fabric looks the same wet as dry. He stops juggling with the ball and looks straight at me.

"Hey Boy! Come and suck black cock!", he demands loudly. I look behind me, but we are alone in the court. I hesitate. "Don't make me wait! It'll just be worse for you if you let me wait", he continues to shout. I walk towards him. I'm wearing basket shoes, calf-high crew socks, and basket shorts, but no shirt as well. I, too, am sweaty in the heat. As I approach him he makes no attempts to move closer or do anything at all. "Yo, get on with it".

I kneel in front of him. The rough concrete is uncomfortable, but not painful. Still with hesitation I lower his shorts. His body is tall and toned, athletic without being overly muscular. Once the glossy fabric passes his large dick and balls the shorts falls into a heap around his ankles. He is not wearing any underwear, so I’m almost getting slapped in the face by his long penis. I start licking the shaft of the dick, and then down to the tip. Just as I’m about to work the underside he suddenly grips my head and thrust his dick deep into my mouth, making me gag. “This is for me to enjoy, not you, slut boy!” and starts thrusting his dick back and forth, while holding my head in place.

Every thrust he makes is painful, forcing its way through my gag reflex and down my throat. He just kept going and going and going. My body makes the most horrendous noises of slurps and wet gagging. I try every way I can think of to make it better. Relax, adjust my breathing, position myself better, move with him. It gets better, or perhaps it is just my gag reflex giving up, but in the end I find that the best I can do is to attempt to take over. To stroke him, the dick, the balls, and to control how deep his dick goes. It seems to work, and for what feels like an eternity I work his dick. Suddenly he grabs my head with both hands, pushes as far in as possible, and buried my nose deep in his pubes. I can feel him pumping load after load after load deep inside my chest.

I was almost angry as I lay in bed. It was still an hour until the alarm would go off, but I had thoroughly creamed my boxers. As I stepped into the shower and pulled them off I thought my cock looked spent. My dick and balls were definitely smaller than usual. Just a thumb sticking out over a pair of balls running scared up into the groin. As if I had already had a long, cold shower.

I was off my game the entire day at work. Had the girl done something to me? It must have been her. Did she give me something while I was blacked out? On my way home I swung by the bar for an after-work beer, but couldn't see them.

Back home I decided to do something, anything to get things on track. I pick the normal items, position myself in front of the computer and load up pornhub top list. “Daddy Lets Me Ride His Cock”. Ten minutes and forty seconds later my dick isn’t harder than my earlobes, but I am getting horny. I spend another 20 minutes hopping the top list, personal favorites, and random suggestions. Step siblings, truck stop gang bang, and big tit ebony babe nympho only made things worse. I was going to bed as upset as when I woke up, but now it was more out of frustration and exasperation. What the fuck was happening to me?

It's a slow day in the diner, perhaps the lunch crowd already left. As I enter I recognize the patrons sitting by the bar from the truck stop gang bang video. "Look y'all it's him cocksucker" one of them says loudly as I approach the bar. "I reckon we all up for a good ol' BJ before we're on our way" he continues, before he starts to unbuckle his jeans.

He's neither caring like the swim diver nor assertive like the baller, but just stands there, passive, leaving the entire blow job up to me. I work and work on his fat, short dick, but he is taking forever to cum. I try all the different tricks, and finally after an eternity he shots a load in a few, small dribbles. That's a lot of work for very little fireworks. It feels like a chore. I move on to the next guy, who’d continued eating while causally observing me blowing the first trucker.

*meep* *meep* *meep*

I push the phone silent. Finally a full night’s sleep. I check the bed. Dry. The boxers however have like a teaspoon of cum. My dick has shriveled even further, down to   prepubescent   size. Is this the new normal now? And what the fuck is up with the gay shit? This is sick! I somehow managed to push it aside and not give it much thought during the day, but I desperately need to get hold of the goth girl. I decided to make another go at finding her at the bar after work.

It's after-work happy hour and not many patrons are in yet. I recognize the bouncer from last Friday. A tall guy that looks like an Irish rugby payer. Strong and athletic, without aiming for a six-pack. I walk up to him. "Hey, you probably get this a lot, but I was here last Friday and met a girl I need to get in contact with. Short, black clothes, black hair, black lips, white skin. Very goth feel. Oh, and a nose ring I think."

He gives me a long look before responding. "Yeah, I know who you mean. She said you would come asking. Left a message." My mood went from Yes! to Shit! in half a second. What did she tell the bouncer? "Nothing bad I hope." I'm trying to gauge him, but he is all poker face. "Not bad at all. Come with me. Sam! Take over five!"

We walk inside the bar and he leads the way. My head is spinning with thoughts on where this leads. What did she leave me? A bit too late I realize that we are not going to the kitchen or any staff area, but he is taking me to the men’s room. "After you," he says, holding up the door. He makes a quick glance that all stalls are empty and locks the door.

"Now, suck my dick, boy!"

Immediately I kneel in front of him, on the restroom tile floor, unbutton his city camo pants, and tease out his cock from his 2(x)ist underwear. I take command and try to be as active as possible, and he follows my lead. It's clear that he isn't used to someone doing all the things I do to him. He doesn't really know what to do with his hands, but judging by the moans he doesn't care. Not wanting him to come too soon, I pace him, switch around techniques, so he can come at exactly the right moment. There is that pride again, as I control his moaning and he is overcome with pleasure. Finally he pumps rope after rope of cum down my throat.

At exactly the moment he pulls out the dick with a final slurp, as I suck it clean on exit, the spell breaks. I realize that I've just given head to a real man. I'm on my knees on the floor in a bar bathroom and, apparently, have just jizzed my pants through the fabric. I stare at his work boots in disbelief over what I’d just done, too ashamed to look up.

"Dude, she was totally right. That's the best blowjob I've ever had." He pulls a well circulated $5 note from a pocket, tosses it on the floor in front of me, and leaves.

[tomorrowinspo]

Tomorrow I’m gonna fast, no food, no purging, just water and exercise. This will be a new me, not the person who can’t say no to dinner, to a sweet creamy dessert, a chocolaty treat or a simple sugary cereal, it stops here for a day. Then another day and then it’ll just keep going until my thighs are inches apart and never touch each other, until my arms shrink and the fat that coats them is removed, until my skin contracts to stretch over my ribs to expose them, it’s day one of many days. I’m done being the girl who eats seconds when all of her friends are full from the half portion meals, done being the girl who can’t borrow her friends size six jeans, a girl who’s clothing could fit comfortably over any guy years older than her. I will be the girl who everyone envy’s, who can take sexy pictures that people add to their inspiration boards, an icon, another success story, and it all starts tomorrow. I’m not giving in, not anymore

[littlelarajean]

Going to put this here because I can’t keep annoying my real life people with this.

Trigger warning: body image and existential crisis lol?

I’m an illustrator and reiki practitioner, so I usually barely make the bills. I work at a spa that’s adding Cryoskin, a fat reduction procedure that is actually non harmful or invasive, but super fucking expensive. It also reinforces the narrative that natural, aging bodies that aren’t skeletally thin are in need of changing, fixing, smoothing, reducing.

February of 2023 I stopped restricting calories for the first time in almost 2 years. Post having severe anxiety and panic attacks for about 5 years I was underweight. Then my life situation changed and I stopped having a panic disorder and I gained weight, which freaked me out and made me hate myself. I then tried to lose it with undereating and exercise. I stopped having my period and was dizzy constantly, and got severely bad depression. It was a huge relief to be able to think about something other than food when I stopped restricting. I could see a photo of food without salivating like a starving animal. People out there starving for real and this dumb ass starved herself by choice for the aesthetic. And nobody even cared. Nobody ever looks at me. I’m a fucking artist.

My history of hating my body goes way back to when I was 11 or 12. I know this is super common, and I even have a lot of privilege in my body experience, being thin, tall, and white. I can’t imagine how hard it is to be built in a way that doesn’t fit the insane cocaine girl aesthetic that the media demands of us, or the dehydrated egg carton abs of a steroid pumped maniac. I hate the way the media presents beauty as so limited to big lips, flat bellies, one type only. I hate the way that physical beauty is the most valued commodity a human can have. Pretty people win.

And yet I’m in a position where I might have to prey on people’s insecurities to keep my job and to pay the bills. If I refuse to become a Cryoskin tech I probably won’t be allowed to stay working at the spa because I do so little reiki work. I hate that I’ve failed to make money by creating stories that teach people to appreciate nature and art and kindness. I hate that AI is taking over making soulless content so we can be further brainwashed into thinking we have to pay thousands of dollars to photoshop our natural bodies in real life, money that could be spent on so much that has real value. Like real art, real experiences, or helping preserve the natural world.

Worst of all, I want the treatment. My old insecurities are flaring back up and I’m thinking about spending my income from Cryoskin on Cryoskin treatments. Shrinking myself. Conforming. Money that I could spend on seeing tide pools or the rainforest or eating handmade pasta from the new super fancy Italian restaurant in town or investing in a future home where I could have a wildflower field and a vegetable garden or that new book my friend just released or donated to actual fucking starving people will potentially go toward freezing my midsection so I lose… inches.

Meanwhile nobody will notice as I struggle to self publish my second book, begging people to care about the magic and the small wild things in the world, silliness and adventure and kindness, because they’re all too busy thinking about shrinking their belly fat. Just like me.

I’m so tired guys.

[somethingclevermahogony]

Find the Word Tag Game

@sarandipitywrites tagged me here - thank you! I suggest you check out some of their stuff!

my words were blink, peer, ghost, pulse, and jaw. As of right now I only have two WIPs, books 1 and 2 of The Testaments of the Green Sea (both of which are currently unnamed, oops) and so I will be drawing from there. I think this will end up being just Book 1.

I am tagging @abalonetea, @foragedbonesblog, @theblackbookofarkera, @patternwelded-quill, @the-octic-scribe and whoever else wants to answer, if you want to play! your words will be snort, breeze, soul, crash, and blood.

Blink

... But the real excitement came in the form of a small cone-shaped snail. Snails were a delicacy among the nobility of Labisa, braised in wine and herbs, coated in olive oil or else fried in sheep’s fat, and topped with salty cheese and various herbs. The one survivor who worked in the kitchens inspected the mollusk, and after plenty of shakes of the head, double takes, and stoic nods, he declared that the snail was in fact safe to eat. In the blink of an eye, people were in the water flipping stones and digging through the sand in search of more of the delicate treat while others went about making a fire using the wood washed up on the river bank and the long dry grass that grew just beyond. 

Peer

...“A slave revolt perhaps, or the hungry rising up,” Penetinos said calmly.  “You’re not nervous?” Suru asked. “Not particularly. I have no qualms with them or with what they might do to me.” Suru frowned and opened his mouth to say something. Just then something shot through linen curtains. That something sailed through the air in a wide arc, limbs outstretched.  Gasps and shouts rang out, tables were flung and potted plants upended in the mad dash to get away from whatever it was that lurked just out of side. Suru thought he could hear something growl. For his part, the guard who had just been thrown through the curtain groaned and tried to sit up. A moment later he was joined by a peer who was slid across the smooth marble floor, one broken arm trailed at his side. He would have shrieked with pain if only he were conscious. The curtains were ripped from their hooks high above and tossed to the ground. In their place stood a hulking figure, chest bloodied by the prick of the guards’ spears. A little girl was perched upon the giant's shoulders, arms wrapped around his head. “Narul!” Suru gasped.

Ghost

“What about people?” “People? Well, they’re all around, you’re talking to one right now.” Penetinos chuckled under his breath. “No, I mean spirits. Dead people, ghosts.” This finally broke Penetinos’ concentration and he looked up from his work. His furrowed brow accentuated the lines on his forehead. “There’s no such thing as ghosts. Mortal beings don’t just become spirits. They are entirely different things. Human souls reincarnate anew in another world. Do you not know this? I know you’ve been a slave, Suru, but certainly, you have at least some passing knowledge of spirits and the cycle?” “No no, I do, it's just,” Suru paused “there are ghost stories, and well, people die with unfinished business, maybe sometimes they stay and-” “Do you really think if people could deny death and stay here on Kobani to appease their own concerns they wouldn’t? What unfinished business is so important that the gods and the universe itself should break the rules of life and death just so that normal humans like you and I can see it finished? Hmm?” Penetinos snapped, his normally serene countenance now gone. One quivering finger was pointed at Suru’s chest.  Suru opened and closed his mouth as he searched for words. The sage's golden eyes seemed to burn into his own. “I don’t know-”

Pulse

Zatar smiled and bowed with an exuberance he had not shown since his youth. “I will let you begin.” Kumad marched forward, all the while his eyes remained on the tip of the spear. With each twitch and bob he would shrink back, and each time would earn a chuckle from Zatar. “Go on Macurian, hit me!” Kumad could feel his pulse in his temples, could hear his teeth chatter. He closed his eyes and swung, he waited for the sting of bronze, but was greeted by the most unexpected of sensations, nothing. Zatar had stepped out of the way of his strike and grinned at him, he had not even bothered to lift his spear. Kumad scowled. “You could have killed me, you could have killed me dozen times over.” “Indeed.”

Jaw

 Istek looked up into the soulless black eyes. The two stood in silence. It struck Narul how different they looked, the vibrant and lively sea captain and the sickly and gangly creature.  With a strangled roar Istek swung his fist. The creature made no move to stop him. It fell to the floor, jaw shattered by the force of the blow. It half-heartedly waved its arms in the air in an attempt to fight back as Istek straddled the gaunt chest and rained blows down on that inhuman face. Blood splashed across the smooth floor. By the time Dati dragged Istek off of the creature it's face was broken and crushed. Istek's knuckles were bloody, the skin peeled. Narul made no attempt to stop him, he had felt just the same way.

[t0wardthesun]

My Body and Me; a Love Story.

There was a time when I thought I would never write this post. The battle against my body seemed to be the one mountain I would never climb. I would go around in circles, coming up against the same obstacles; bingeing, emotional eating, restrictive dieting and hating what I saw when I looked in the mirror. I honestly thought it was something I would struggle with for the rest of my life. I think every woman knows this journey, some have walked the path before, others are waiting to begin - each of us up against years of conditioning, programming and subconscious messaging designed to keep us small (literally). This is the story of how I took my power back, went from self loathing to self love and healed my relationship with food and my body.

It’s Australia Day, 2008. My sister and I are riding our bikes around the small town we grew up in, jumping in and out of the crystal clear water wherever we can find the space. The path along the creek is teeming with families and kids our age walking around drinking UDL’s and cans of Smirnoff. Despite already being self conscious about my fifteen year old body, I’m feeling particularly brave wearing just a pair of shorts and my bikini top.

As we climb out of the water and mount our bikes to head home, a guy a few years older than me walks passed with his girlfriend. He looks me up and down and slurs, “Yeah, keep riding,” with a smirk on his face. His girlfriend slaps him playfully, looking back over her shoulder to mouth an apology, but it’s too late. My stomach drops, my world crumbles. Everything I ever feared about myself is true. I'm not attractive, I'm not desirable, I’m not worthy and I’m not enough.

I scroll pro-ana blogs and experiment to see how long I can go without food. I practice putting two fingers down my throat, trying to dredge up the shame I swallowed with that second chocolate brownie. I lament to my mother about the size and softness of my stomach, she shows me which ab exercises reduce belly fat.

My breasts grow almost overnight and suddenly I’m the subject of gossip and the butt of jokes. Relatives and strangers comment on my changing shape, as though my body is public domain to be deliberated. I learn that my body is not my own. I walk into the kitchen after dinner out with friends, “You can’t possibly still be hungry.” I learn that my bodies signals can’t be trusted.

I hold myself up against billboards and pictures on the internet and they all tell me one thing; shrink. Shrink and you will be beautiful, and before anything else, beautiful is what you should aspire to be. I stand in front of the mirror and pinch, suck, poke and prod. I squeeze a tape measure around every inch of skin, using the numbers to define how much I’m worth that week. I hide in the pantry, looking for something to fill me. My mind blanks as I reach for packets and jars, a brief reprieve before the guilt kicks in and I berate myself ceaselessly for a lack of self control.

I’m desperate to be noticed. I crave being seen. I take photos on my phone and send them to boys. When I’m drowning in a sea of insecurity, their shallow compliments keep me afloat.

I grew up believing that “big” was the worst thing a person could be. Worse than being mean, selfish or boring, it was the ultimate failure. The subconscious messaging I received was that being skinny was synonymous with being happy. That having the perfect body somehow made you immune to sadness or other negative emotions. Like, how bad could things possibly get if you looked amazing in a bikini? If you were thin then people paid attention to you; boys wanted to be with you and other girls wanted to be like you. To be thin, was to be beautiful - and to be beautiful was to be adored, cherished, loved. Life was an endless exodus away from fatness and toward thinness.

You can imagine the war that started internally when my e-cup boobs came in overnight. Dance costumes had to be altered, bras and bikinis had to be special ordered and I was constantly asking for a bigger size in change rooms. The changes in my body sparked a downward spiral in my self esteem. In my mind, with every kilo I gained I was becoming less important; my ideas less valid, personality less loveable and my dreams less achievable.

By the time I was sixteen, my body was a tool I used to validate my dwindling sense of self worth. I used it when it suited me, to get attention and validation from guys. The more I was willing to show of it and the more I was willing to do with it, the more approval I got. It made me feel powerful. I traded recognition for respect and mistook attention for love. The rest of the time I either berated it with criticism or ignored it completely.

For most of my teens and early twenties, I felt like a floating head walking around completely disconnected from my body. I didn’t identify as my body, it felt like an annoying attachment that kept betraying me by not doing what I wanted it to do or looking the way I wanted it to look. I hated how easily I could be brought down or carried away by the emotions that arose inside me; a wave of insecurity that would leave me hiding under the covers for days, a flash of anger that always left a wake of destruction in its path. It was too risky and far too painful living in my body, so I checked out. For almost a decade, I didn’t look down in the shower and I couldn’t touch my stomach without a wave of nausea flooding through me. I dreaded walking past mirrors or shop fronts and I used to yell at my mum for taking photos of me when I wasn’t looking.

By the time I left home at eighteen, it became apparent that in addition to my negative body image, I had also developed a pretty damaging relationship with food. Food was my anchor and my security blanket. When everything else in my life was uncertain, I could always count on the jar of peanut butter in the fridge. I would use food to suppress negative emotions; discomfort, anxiety, boredom. Even positive emotions - excitement, joy, happiness - were always accompanied by something to eat. It was as though I couldn’t bare to feel anything fully, so I sought a way to dull the experience.

I would spend hours researching different diets and exercise programs, getting confused and overwhelmed by the mass of conflicting information. Was yoghurt good for me, or bad? Should I be eating carbs with every meal or cut them out altogether? Should I be vegetarian, vegan, paleo or #sugarfree? Is running 5k’s burning fat or telling my body to hold on? I would walk around the grocery store with tears in my eyes, totally overwhelmed by all the choices and torn between what I wanted so desperately and what I thought I should be eating.

“Compulsive eating is basically a refusal to be fully alive. No matter what we weigh, those of us who are compulsive eaters have anorexia of the soul. We refuse to take in what sustains us. We live lives of deprivation, and when we can't stand it any longer, we binge.”

- Geneen Roth, Women, Food and God

Before I even knew what it was, bingeing was a regular part of my life. If had a bad day, a fight with my parents or an assignment due, bingeing offered an incredibly effective distraction. There was no thought or awareness, I would stand at the fridge and put whatever was on the shelf into my mouth. Because I refused to have anything unhealthy in the house, bingeing usually meant raiding my housemates cupboards for whatever had the highest sugar or fat content; four slices of toast with tablespoons of honey, two wraps, half a packet of biscuits and coconut oil straight from the jar. It wasn’t until after I had consumed the entire contents of my kitchen that the guilt kicked in. I felt totally helpless and completely out of control.

The promise of a diet is not only that you will have a different body; it is that in having a different body, you will have a different life. 

In 2013, I lost nine kilos leading up to my twenty first birthday. I was eating broccoli with chicken or tinned tuna for every almost meal and smashing myself in the gym 5-7 times a week. Everything in my life revolved around getting the numbers on the scale to drop. I kept a food diary on my phone and wrote down everything that passed my lips and at the end of the day I’d give myself a rating based on how ‘well’ I’d done. A smiley face meant it was a good day, an angry face meant I better try harder tomorrow.

I would measure and weigh myself in the morning and my mood for the entire day, and how I treated myself, depended on what I saw on the scale. I was obsessed with #fitspo blogs and instagram accounts and would spend hours drooling over photos of girls lifting weights or posing effortlessly in bikinis. I would deprive myself all week and have a ‘cheat day’ on the week end, which usually meant buying a block of chocolate on the way home from the gym and making myself sick by finishing off the whole thing in one sitting. A few weeks before my birthday I started taking OxyElite and would happily pop four a day - made me shake and pee constantly - completely ignoring the liver failure warning on the label.

But even when I was at my skinniest, my anxiety didn’t fade and I wasn’t any happier. I still had bad days and moments when I felt unworthy and insecure, and I was so preoccupied maintaining my new weight, I didn’t have time to focus on anything else or enjoy my life. As soon as my birthday was over and I didn’t have a goal to work towards, the weight came back and the battle raged on.

As I watched women my mums age berate themselves for eating an extra slice of cake, apologise for taking up too much space and obsess over their physical ‘flaws’, I started to think maybe this was just part of life as a woman. I hated the idea of passing my insecurities on to my future daughter, but I couldn’t see a way to break the cycle.

So I started working with coaches, and read and listened to every intuitive eating, eating psychology and body positive book, blog post and podcast I could get my hands on. There wasn’t one pivotal moment, but a series of small but deeply significant revelations that helped me improve my relationship with food and lead me back to my physical body…

1. I got angry.

When I discovered the extent to which mainstream media tries to keep us small - literally - as a form of disempowerment, I got angry. By making thinness the ideal and celebrating women who shrink, we get the message that we are not allowed to take up space, a subconscious belief that ingrains itself in our collective psyche. It’s the same belief that stops us from speaking up when we are being taken advantage of, it stops us demanding more from partners who mistreat us, and it stops us creating epic shit and sharing our unique gifts with the world.

As I continued pulling back the veil to expose the corporate agenda behind our BS beauty standards, it got easier to rally against my own inner critic because I knew they were both just trying to stop me wielding the full force of my power as a conscious woman. A woman confident in her own skin is no longer an obedient consumer, she no longer drains her time, energy and resources trying to “fix herself”. She shows up fully as her authentic self. She is a force to be reckoned with.

2. I focused on my strengths.

That insta-famous bikini model posting photos of herself looking toned and tanned in various exotic locations? Yes, she could have done a lot of editing/had surgery/spend thousands on a celebrity trainer, but you know what? Some girls really look like that - and that’s amazing! Go them! You have your own set of unique gifts and God-given talents that are exactly what you need to enact your purpose on this earth, and they might not have anything to do with how you look. Say it with me now, “I was not born to be an instagram model.” (Unless you were, then carry on your merry way). Being trapped in jealousy or comparison usually means we aren’t fully embracing our Genius. Ask yourself, ‘What am I really good at? What do I LOVE?’ then go do that.

BODY IMAGE CHALLENGE: Take a look at the people you follow on social media. Do they make you feel more confident, or less? If you feel ‘icky’ every time you scroll through instagram, it might be time to do a social media cleanse and get rid of any accounts that don’t inspire you to feel good about yourself.

3. I shifted my perspective from the external to the internal.

My journey this year has been letting go of the belief that people will only listen to what I have to say if they like the package it comes in. As women, we are taught from such a young age that beauty equals success, and for so long I was hung up on this idea that in order for my thoughts, opinions or ideas to be taken seriously, I would need to measure up to societies standards of beauty. That belief kept me from showing up fully in my business and in my life. Bullshit!

How many of us are held back from the work we are meant to do and the joy we are meant to experience because of our obsession with living up to someone else’s idea of beauty? How many of us delay happiness and postpone joy, waiting until after we’ve lost the weight or dropped a dress size, to be active participants in sucking the marrow out of our lives?  

These days, I’m focusing less on impressing people with my looks and more on empowering them with my energy. I realised I would so much rather invest my time cultivating compassion, sharpening my intellect and developing the kind of inner radiance that inspires people than forcing my body to take on a shape that isn’t natural for me.

I get that some people absolutely love pushing their body to see how far it can go, but when I think about how much effort it took to maintain my ‘goal weight’, I can honestly say - for me, and my standards - it’s just not worth it. As with anything in life, you have to ask yourself, do you want it because that’s the experience your Soul is longing to have, or because everyone tells you that’s what you should want? Is it your dream or someone else’s?

BODY IMAGE CHALLENGE: Start a creative project that you can work on in your spare time. It could be a collection of short stories, a sketch pad full of drawings or a line of your own handmade clutches. Passion projects are good for the soul and you never know where they might lead ;) 

4. I let go of my obsession with losing weight.

After nearly a decade of trying to get smaller, the thought of giving up scared the shit out of me. I clung to diets because they gave me a purpose, losing weight made me feel accomplished. It was easier to write a meal plan than it was to map out a plan for my future. And it was easier trying to change my body than it was to change the world.

I also thought that if I wasn’t following a strict eating and exercise ‘plan’, I would completely lose control and binge until I was the size of a house. And for a while, I did go a little crazy. I had to rebuild the trust between me and my body. I needed to prove that I was sticking to my word this time and I wasn’t going to deprive it any more.

But when I stopped labelling foods as ‘good’ and ‘bad’ and started giving myself unconditional permission to eat whatever I wanted, eating an entire block of chocolate lost its appeal. I could have it, so I didn’t want it. If I did end up over eating, I quickly forgave myself and moved on. No judgement, criticism or shame, just unconditional acceptance. I quickly learnt that most of the time I didn’t actually want the chocolate, I wanted the way it made me feel; worthy, deserving, full.

Instead of using food to suppress my emotions, I wanted to tap into my bodies natural wisdom. I started by opening up the lines of communication. I wrote her letters in my journal, apologising for all the times I had ignored her, made her sick and used her to satisfy my ego desires. I promised to take care of her, trust her and always ask her what she needed. I spoke to her like I would my best friend or little sister. Much to my delight, she started talking back.

I’m sorry.

I know.

I love you.

I love you too.

Today, my relationship with my body feels like rekindling a romance with a long lost lover; we’re both still marvelling at all the things we can do together, getting excited about what this means for our future and falling more in love with each other every day. Like any great relationship, ours is based on trust, communication and mutual respect. I speak kind words to my body, I don’t make her do things she doesn’t want to do, and I trust that she knows what she needs in any given moment. Sometimes that means making a big fat pasta dish, sometimes it means stopping when there’s still food left on the plate. I still apologise if I drink too much wine and wake up with a hangover. She forgives me and we go and do something to make us feel amazing again.

Exercise doesn’t feel like a chore, it’s a way to expend all the beautiful energy that runs through my body. I don’t slog it out at the gym to burn calories or punish myself for overeating, I move in ways that feel good. Lifting weights makes me feel powerful, dancing makes me feel sexy as hell. My body is an incredible vehicle I have been given to fully engage in this earthly experience, and I love it regardless of its shape or size.

I know this is an ongoing process - as my body changes, I will need to continue practicing self love and some times are going to be harder than others, but never again will I let insecurity hold me back (for too long). 

The beauty standards set by society will continue to change, but I reserve the right to decide what’s beautiful to me, and my definition of beauty is all encompassing - there is room for everyone. I am so excited to see - in our lifetime - a generation of women liberated from the shackles of self loathing, free to share their unique gifts with the world and I am so grateful for the women before me who have publicly embraced their bodies at every size.

Wherever you are on the journey, may these words guide your way home.

Do not be afraid to take up space. Consciously expand until your presence rivals galaxies. Should your body say anything about Who You Are, let it say nothing of willpower or self-control, let it tell the story of your curiosity, your bravery, your compassion. Should you seek to be less of anything, may you be less worried about making yourself look acceptable.

May the only picture of your progress be the feeling of expansion in your Spirit. When you go looking for validation or your sense of Self, may you go only to the Source of all Love that lives inside of you. 

May you appreciate your body as the temporary home your soul chose to inhabit. May you honor her sovereignty and listen to her wisdom. May you praise her in public and pleasure her in private.

When you look at your body may you see our mother earth incarnate; in every crevice and fault line, in the veins that run like rivers, in all the mountains and valleys that ripple across your skin. 

And when the time comes for you to leave, may it be with gratitude as the veil is lifted and the joy of returning to the infinite oneness from which you came... can no longer be contained.

Jae x

If you are looking for more on this topic, check out the recommended resources below. I also run a weekly circle called ‘Love the Skin You’re In’ and I’d love to have you along. (If you’re based in SE Qld / Northern NSW, check it out here > https://www.eventbrite.com.au/e/love-the-skin-youre-in-tickets-626697347637)

Recommended Resources

Embrace the documentary - https://bodyimagemovement.com/embrace-the-documentary/

The Well-Fed Woman - www.rachelwcole.com/blog

Poodle Science - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H89QQfXtc-k

I Didn’t Wake up Like this - https://www.buzzfeed.com/sonamkapoor/i-didnt-wake-up-like-this?utm_term=.clmdDBLaw#.kboeY8g6O

10 Principles of Intuitive Eating - http://www.intuitiveeating.com/content/10-principles-intuitive-eating

Psychology of Eating Podcast - http://psychologyofeating.com/podcasts/

Lauren Beckett, Body Love Coach - http://dropthestruggle.com/

[msareviews]

Review - Starfish by Lisa Fipps

Starfish by Lisa Fipps is a verse novel exploring the bullying fat kids can face from their peers and even the adults around them. It follows Ellie, who is taken to therapy after being harassed, bullied, and monitored because of her size. In the process of learning how to love her body and stand up for herself without compromising her kindness, she stands up to her biggest bully – her own mother. It is recommended for readers in 5th-8th grades (NoveList, n.d.), but is being reviewed here for the 6th grade and under audience since my local library shelves this with the middle grade fiction (Hurst Public Library, n.d.). I chose this specific book from recommendations from the head of youth services at my library and because of its inclusion as Fattie Book Club’s (2024) October read.  

This book was easily the best book I’ve read so far for this project, though admittedly I am a fat woman, and I’m involved in fat justice discourse so there is an element of personal connection to the subject. Fipps’ language is often lyrical and evocative, using the poetic format to put the reader in Ellie’s mind. Fipps also creates realistic characters that spark genuine emotions in the reader through their actions and journeys. Perhaps the only somewhat weak point of Starfish is the plot; Fipps does a wonderful job showing the constant barrage of harassment fat people can face from peers, strangers, and even their own family, but she stops short of calling it abuse. This leaves an unignorable hole in the messaging of this book. 

I confess I don’t usually like verse novels. My previous experience has been reading Impulse and Crank by Ellen Hopkins, and my main issue with those novels was that the verse style didn’t seem to add anything to the story. After a certain point, I stopped thinking about the rhythm of the poetry, which since Hopkins uses such naturalist language would be the main benefit of using a free verse structure. Starfish, however, is very thoughtful about the rhythm and language in ways that do enhance the story and contribute significantly to Fipps’ successful messaging. The rhythm of the prose mirrors natural thought patterns that evoke the same emotions in the reader as those Ellie is experiencing throughout the story. It makes the character real and her experiences more harrowing because the reader is experiencing all her joy and distress with her. The language Fipps uses is also often lyrical and beautiful, while remaining natural. Her use of rhyme is spare, bringing attention to the moments when it is used and enhancing their impact. Overall, Fipps’ style elicits empathy in the reader and makes her successful in making the reader consider their attitudes towards fat people, self-esteem, and empathy. 

The true strength of this book is the characters. Starfish follows Ellie, who has always been a fat kid but as she’s grown older, she has faced more and more pressure from those around her to shrink herself. Since she can’t shrink her body, she shrinks her personality and adheres to her harsh but relatable “rules for fat girls.” It’s not until her father takes her to a therapist that she is able to become comfortable taking up physical and emotional space and break free of the judgement and bullying she has always faced. Since we are in Ellie’s mind, she is the character we get to know most, and we see all her strengths and flaws. These are believably balanced, especially for a girl of twelve, who often acts out though she knows she shouldn’t and has to grow into self-love and leave behind a desire to retaliate. This is a relatable journey for kids who face bullying, and Ellie’s success at finding this inner peace is a hopeful and beneficial message for those children. 

The only weakness in this novel was with the plot. I felt that Fipps shied away from an aspect of the plot that was staring me straight in the face: abuse. The mother in this novel is constantly pressuring Ellie to lose weight, often through unhealthy means like restricting food, oppressively monitoring her behavior, and verbally abusing her daughter. The mother even takes the daughter to a doctor to discuss weight loss surgery, a surgery which killed Ellie’s aunt and that both Ellie and Ellie’s father express is out of the question. This is abuse. It’s not bullying, this is child abuse. Fipps says she’s writing this novel to reach out to kids who are victims of bullying to give them hope, but she stops short of calling the mother’s behavior abusive and giving the mother tangible consequences for that abuse. While it is powerful for Ellie to confront her mother and reject her self-centering sorrow and express that their relationship is forever strained because of her behavior, without calling out the mother as genuinely abusive and having her face consequences like divorce or legal action, it sends the message that children facing abuse for their size will not be protected by the adults around them, even the ones like Ellie’s father who actually care about their wellbeing.  

Though I have serious issues with Fipps dancing around the abuse label, I did adore this book. I found it harrowing to read at times but overall, it was uplifting and beautifully written. 

References

Fattie Book Club [@fattiebookclub]. (2024, August 24). Join us virtually on October 16 at 8pm ET / 5pm PT for our discussion about “Starfish” by @authorlisafipps Register [Photograph]. Instagram. https://www.instagram.com/fattiebookclub/p/C_D7_fRRALO/?hl=en.  

Fipps, L. (2021). Starfish. Nancy Paulson Books. 

Hurst Public Library. (n.d.). Search results for starfish. https://hrst.ent.sirsi.net/client/en_US/default/search/results?qu=starfish&te=.

NoveList. (n.d.). Starfish. https://web.p.ebscohost.com/novp/detail?vid=2&sid=fb16e089-c227-4620-8ea3-c388df400b02%40redis&bdata=JnNpdGU9bm92cC1saXZl#db=neh&AN=10947429.

[graphicpolicy]

Shrink: Story of a Fat Girl is an interesting graphic memoir that's about how we perceive weight

Shrink: Story of a Fat Girl is an interesting graphic memoir that's about how we perceive weight #comics #graphicnovel #graphicmemoir #graphicmedicine

Shrink is a work of graphic medicine that depicts the emotional and physical realities of inhabiting a large body in a world that is constantly warning about the medical and social dangers of being “too fat.” This smart and candid book challenges the idea that weight loss is the only path for a fat person and encourages the reader to question the prevailing cultural and medical discourse about…

[the-firebird69]

This FAN Got HIT By Billie Eilish..!

And his grandmother-in-law and a little money from birthday presents they never got an hour fighting the max I can finally do it that's terrific it's not really who it is it is kind of he says I'm a giant like 10 to 12 ft tall that's why my ass is fat so look to my ass is fat it doesn't look like ours and he says what's the damn difference it's looks like a big fat ass cuz I was built and this one is like saggy and just kind of chubby like your mom's fat ass girls gross that's gross imagery so it's like this droopy kind of old lady ass like what is wrong with me should I have a giant bubble because the friends doing well and I hear you say it's not your body you got a big fat ass and my grandmother in law and I said that's gross so why do you think you're hot looking at that I had to check and I said screw you I was mad and it started to figure out I am not controlling myself and eating well it's okay part of the time this is awful I have a terrible diet that's why I thought I had a fat ass and he's like no that's just odd luck really I'm shrinking he says it's from this water you need bottled water instead of that I start getting big and I figured out something it's a hormone I got to tell you something this is terrible and he's trying to help me I've got Friends now with the same problem and we're trying to zero in on it. We are FBI agents as well and we have hotspots we have areas of concern and interest in people too we question a bunch and they know about it but maybe not involved directly and we do and throw screening we're finding out that this is hard and I'm not finding out that it's real and he helped me a lot and I'm going to find myself and he has to go where he does not know where and I might have been the girls went missing from the Dollar general but years ago and he was not here yet and I tried doing it again no try to say it just happened so she's missing and he says oh you have to say what year could Justin that you went missing from the Dollar general and he should figure it out start telling me the whole story and said this really huge they went up and they're these chips that they escaped him they're very high tech and he says he thinks the Giants front down and may have relocated and these ones very huge too and they are very huge up there they might not have much to do with it and she was that was me I was happy about it so we're working on it and we're learning there's a lot to learn but boy this is interesting it's right there in the movie

Billie eilish so you want to concert tickets minimum too so Ken can go and I might get three so Justin can go with you he might be able to get you a ride and yeah I'd have to get four it's becoming impossible so he says two me and you and you don't need one that's very funny I can't get great it's not that I can't that's very funny

[the-haylien]

What I've Been Watching On Netflix

Big Bug

Big Bug is a fairly good series full of robots acting badly. It's a Sci-Fi black comedy from France.

Godzilla: King of Monsters

I watched these out of order, so I almost turned it off. But I'm glad I stayed through the end. It was worth the watch. Rogue scientists race to reset the balance of humanity by awakening monsters. Godzilla rises to fend off the Titans.

The Midnight Sky

George Clooney does sci-fi in a slow-moving post-apocalyptic story about a lonely scientist in the Arctic. He works to stop astronauts from returning to a global catastrophe on Earth.

Atypical

I enjoyed this comedy-drama series set in Connecticut. It focuses on 18-year-old Sam Gardner, who is on the autism spectrum. But we get to know the whole family and their various quirks and foibles.

Chimp Empire

An excellent documentary about our cousins' culture.

Prometheus

I didn't know this was the 5th installment of the Alien franchise. I began to suspect as familiar objects appeared and the action progressed. Actually, it was a quite satisfying way to watch it!

The Social Dilemma

Billed as a docudrama, this is about the negative effects of social media. It may be informative if you live under a rock, but I did keep watching to the end.

You Are What You Eat: A Twin Experiment

I learned that little things in your diet can make a big difference in your health. Our food system is screwed up. You can look slim on the outside and still be fat on the inside. A lot of doctors are still not educated on what a healthy diet consists of. I also lost my appetite for animal protein.

School Spirits

Not another High School series! But I liked it. Maddie investigates her own murder at the local high school. She meets other ghosts from different eras and becomes friends with them. They are all trying to figure out how to move on.

65

Humans discovered Earth 65 million years ago. After a crash landing, an astronaut finds a girl from one of the other ships and works to get her off the dangerous planet. Slow moving, but it works well.

Lift

Heist comedy worth $500B in gold bullion. Exciting. You can see the twist coming.

LIve to 100: Secrets of the Blue Zones

Another long drawn-out documentary. Nothing you haven't heard before, except the Blue Zones are shrinking and disappearing. You need to do some work to create your own Blue Zone.

Detective Forst

Polish detective movies are in their own genre: grungy, dark, brutal, complicated, frenetic, blurred lines of right and wrong, survival against the odds.

Cowboys and Aliens

A spaceship arrives in 1873 Arizona. Yeah, okay, good movie. But it begs the question, why are aliens who are smart enough to build an interstellar spacecraft so brutal, running around naked, trying to kill everyone? So they are the advance-testors, but even so.

A Trip to Infinity

A documentary about the concept of infinity filled with enough explanatory moments to give us a brief idea about the endlessness of the universe.

Level 16

A mostly boring, science fiction B-movie. Nothing to see here people. Move along.

The Magicians

Fantasy with depth and young adult angst. I never watched season five, so I watched the whole thing from the beginning again. I also read the novels at least three times. You probably won't believe me when I claim to like hard science fiction better. But you would be correct to say that I love Mr. Grossman's story. I am satisfied with the TV series timeline.

Made in Italy

Starring Liam Neeson and real-life son, Micheál Neeson, this film is about a father and son who travel to Italy to sell a house they inherited. The film examines themes of art, loss, and family.

Queer Eye: Season 8

So nice to have the Fab 5 back on my screen, but oh so short! This season seemed a bit too slick, but I loved it anyway. What am I going to do without them?

Orion and the Dark

This is a kid's animated movie. It's a bit jumpy--maybe that's a reflection of the neurotic kid who's afraid of everything. Just when you're thinking it's over and that was real short, it starts in again.

Rim of the World

Another kid's movie. Not much to see in this poorly developed sci-fi movie. Crudely pasted together: for example, an injured child with vital information is unconscious, then up and running when it is time to go. Lots of running around in circles because there is nothing better to do, and the movie needs to be longer.

Anon

This is future hi-tech criminal noir. How can you get away with murder when everyone records what they see? Great science fiction.

Alexander: the Making of a God

A dramatized documentary. Very enjoyable, but they draw things out. It probably could have been done in half the episodes. I enjoyed hearing the historians interviewed as much as I liked watching the dramatic presentations.

Freaks

Science fiction story. Some humans have new powers and are being discriminated against out of fear. They fight for their life.

Einstein and the Bomb

Another dramatized documentary. All of Einstein's words were taken from real life. A good show for the most part.

Pluto

Anime about strong robots with strong AI.

[mlembug]

May as well use this tumblr to put up stuff I've written, because why not.

Original publication date: 6th of August, 2019 (9 days after cracking my egg)

Title: Click me!

Description: Are you curious enough to do this?

Original story prompt: Make media based on the following premise "Possessed by a friendly ghost/demon"

CW: M->F transformation in second person perspective, slightly lewd

Oh, you actually did it!

Just why exactly though? Are you expecting something from me? Because I know that you do. You just don’t know it yet. You’ll need to embrace your feelings.

Are you feeling a little lightheaded right now? Feel free to lie down. Focus on your own body.

You feel relaxed. Hang on in there for a moment. Do you feel it? This slight touch on your neck?

Don’t bother looking down, you won’t see anything either way. I’m possessing you from the inside. You’ll be sharing a body with me for a while. Don’t worry though, I’ll make sure to leave it as soon as possible. I’ll also make you feel all better. Like a whole new person.

You can’t see it, but I’ve made your Adam’s apple disappear. I see you’re trying to move your hand to it. Don’t bother, it’s all gone already. Your voice pitch raised too, and you sound like an anime girl.

…don’t tell me you actually liked your own voice, did you? Oh well, you won’t get it back. :)

I also took the liberty of eliminating any possibility of you growing a beard or a moustache ever again. Are you frowning? Don’t be, a manly beard or a moustache would never fit your style. So I’m helping you.

I am also touching your cheeks and the forehead. Your face is slightly smaller, smoother and rounder. You don’t see it, but it’s actually quite adorable. Now then, what should I do with you now? Oh, I know.

Your hair is getting softer, and longer. It’s also straight and dark now. It’s reaching up to your shoulders now, but it’s growth is not stopping. Soon enough, it will reach down to the waist level. Should you not like this, you’ll be able to change it to any hairstyle you desire.

You should be feeling prickly sensation all over your body. It’s your body hair disappearing. No, no, don’t move, it will only speed up the process if you do. Also I’m making your skin feel so soft. Yes, I am turning you into a girl.

You didn’t want that? What were you doing here then? Why would you click on that link? Deep down, we both know you were never the man you thought yourself to be. Why are you resisting?

You feel the world around you get bigger. It’s actually you getting smaller though. Your shoulders are getting narrower, too. I’m gonna make you so tiny and cute, you’ll never question your femininity ever again.

Your hands feel so small and dainty. I’ve decorated your fingernails to have a beautiful shade of red. I also made your feet to be smaller, too. You’ll be able to fit all the heels and sandals you could want to wear.

Your nipples feel puffy. Don’t touch them now, because it will be painful for you. Just wait it over for a while. Yes, hang on, it will be over soon.

…

They’re large enough to be pushing against your clothes right now. Quite a surprise, isn’t it?

Are you feeling ticklish on your belly? You definitely should. This fat you’ve accumulated there… it belongs somewhere else. You feel it slowly shifting towards your hips. And to your chest. Yesssss… Feel it. Feel it all over. Your chest is growing out nicely. These two girls will need a big bra to hold them. Yes, a bra. You may have never needed it before, but surely will need it, starting from today. You’ll be wearing it with pride, too.

You still claim you’re a boy? Oh, stop it. We both know you’re just lying to yourself at this point.

This thing down there, it looks like it’s getting excited about the whole thing. You think it’s just your own quirk? Nah, it’s just a sign your body likes this and expects me to continue. And so I will.

You feel a slight touch on it. It’s shrinking now, and you can’t do anything about it. Yessssss…

Mmmmmmmm…

It’s all smooth now, but you’re still feeling horny.

You still want to turn back? Do you?

...

I thought so :)