the “oh. oh.” moment in fan fic but instead of a character realizing they’re in love it’s them discovering they have a specific kink at the worst possible moment
#A Rental Car Takes a Left Down Rake Street and Disappears #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #sexuality and lack thereof #rape tw #murder cw? #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once
ok, translated and polished into a less deranged form:
content warning: sexual assault. i am wondering wether rol playing a sexual assault is permissible if i am a female non-binary person? my boyfriend is biologically male, so it has to be up to me to pretend to be the sexual assaulter, because he is male and i am female so if we were to rol play a sexual assault with him as the assaulter it would be actual rape. oh, by the way, i use masculine pronouns to refer to him because we rolplay a relationship between a girlfriend and a boyfriend. my thoughts on the matter are that this is all fine because i am neurodivergent.
translated without polishing into a less deranged form:
content warning: sexual assault
okay, timeline, so be for real. is sexual assault roleplay okay if i’m an XX-chromosome nonbinary? my boyfriend or significant other or whatever is an nonbinary white trans woman so i know it is up to me to do it if we do do my noncon roleplay because he is XY-chromosome so if we do an XY on XX noncon roleplay it maybe noncon-noncon i.e. for real sexual assault. oh yeah to me he is my ‘he’ because we do boyfriend on girlfriend rp, my 2 cents is it is okay because too-long-didn’t-read i’m neurodivergent, XD
Tags:
#incredible #language #the humour of my people #(I managed to understand everything but ”yt tw” without checking the answer sheets) #(but I had to start over a couple times because later letter-pairs recontextualised earlier ones) #rape tw #this post was queued because my to-reblog list is too long and I didn’t want to dump it on you all at once
Ami couldn’t stop staring into the darkness. It was as if it simply swallowed up every stray particle of light that came her way, leaving her eyes so completely and totally accustomed to the blacker-than-blackness that greeted her gaze that she couldn’t even imagine illumination anymore. She didn’t know if she was blinking or not; her eyelids felt like they were fluttering and drooping, but there was no difference between the world of utter shadow that greeted her when they slipped shut and when they struggled, desperately and ineffectually, to open. Her optic nerves were simply shutting down from lack of stimulus, taking her mind along with it.
She knew there was a person with her in the room; she could feel fingers caressing her nudity, groping and squeezing her body. But the latex suit they wore blended in perfectly with the impossibly deep shadows of the room, absorbing every last bit of luminescence until Ami’s eyes tricked her and she couldn’t pick them out from the black background they walked past. The only sign they even existed was when she saw them cover her skin with a silhouette of pure darkness, brushing her with caresses that kept her dazed and disoriented and helpless. She knew there must be light coming into the room from somewhere–she could see her own tawny flesh, at least when her stare wasn’t captivated by the perfect darkness that drew her ever deeper. But she didn’t know where it was coming from. Everywhere she looked, she saw only void.
The absence of visual stimuli numbed her brain, leaving her progressively more vacant and empty and desperate to be filled. It was as though the absolute blackness was leaking down through her eyes into her mind, her very soul, deadening Ami’s will and making her increasingly helpless to think her own thoughts anymore. When she felt the invisibly dark cock brushing against her lips, she opened wide for it simply to feel something concrete and tangible–she didn’t know whether it was flesh behind the sheath of latex, or a silicone strap-on, and she didn’t care. The shaft was real inside her mouth. She could center herself on it. She could anchor her mind to it. When it popped out, leaving her alone, she almost cried.
She knew she couldn’t take much more of this. Ami could sense her mind teetering on a precipice of utter subjugation, the sheer void around her leaving her unmoored to the point of total personality collapse. “Please,” she whimpered, her voice almost sounding as if it too was absorbed by the endless darkness, “please, I’ll do anything. Please, use my cunt, use my mouth, use my ass, I… I’ll be yours forever, I promise.” Her cheeks burned furiously at the depths to which she’d sunk, but she couldn’t stop herself from babbling out desperate pleas of submission and obedience. “Please, just t-tell me who you want me to be. Tell me what you want me to do. I, I’ll do anything, just command me. Just please tell me what I have to do. Please. Please tell me. Please.”
And she heard it. The voice in the darkness. Her new owner. Her salvation. The command that would tether her soul back to her body. Ami nodded gratefully as she heard, “By accepting this brainwashing you confirm that you are not Anish Kapoor, you are in no way affiliated with Anish Kapoor, and you are not being fucked into obedience on behalf of Anish Kapoor or an associate of Anish Kapoor….”
#I don’t normally reblog porn and this porn isn’t even my style #but I have to admit that ending is amazing #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #vantablack saga #sexuality and lack thereof #nsfw text #rape tw #this probably deserves some other warning tag but I am not sure what
is there anything more awkward than looking back at your childhood at innocent interactions you had with other kids and thinking “oh…. wow. that was uhhh definitely their early exploration of a fetish, wasn’t it?”
I’m also remembering a lot of games with one particular friend who always found reasons why her character should be tied up. I didn’t mind, because it meant I got to play the Noble Knight Who Rescues The Princess™️ AND the mustache-twirling villain, but it always pissed me off when we paused the game and she would still pretend that she was actually stuck and would fake-struggle for like ten minutes against the most half-hearted jump rope tied in a bow around her arms. Please, knock it off, I just want to go to lunch.
Villain: “Can you PLEASE just ride off into the sunset together already?”
Knight: “You’re just letting us go? What’s the catch, blackguard?”
Villain: “No catch. Kidnapping the princess was just supposed to be a distraction while I executed my REAL plan. I did not expect this to take so long and now the window of opportunity has closed… a whole day, wasted.”
Hero: “Look. I am TRYING to rescue her. She just… well.”
Princess: “Ha ha oh nooo it looks like these ropes just wrapped around me somehow… I’m hopelessly trapped…”
Villain: “Ma’am. Your Highness. That’s the power cord to my Xbox.”
Princess: “And it’s getting tighter! Oh no!”
Knight: “I’m sort of uncomfortable. Are you uncomfortable?”
Villain: “Yeah… I know I technically initiated this entire scenario but I’m starting to feel… used, somehow. Like. It doesn’t feel professional.”
Princess: [sarcastically] “Is someone baking a cake?”
Knight: “No?”
Princess: “Huh. Weird. ‘Cause I could swear I smell the overpowering aroma of vanillain this room.”
The games themselves (probably? hopefully?) weren’t recognizably sexual—just early fixations upon things or ideas that seemed maybe a little weird or exasperating at the time if you didn’t share that fascination, but which in retrospect were almost certainly the unrealized roots of your playmate’s later sexual preferences.
It is a bit disturbing to realize that you had some kind of role in developing their, uh, proclivities, but it’s not like Little Jimmy could have meaningfully articulated why he always insisted on the rule that everyone had to take off their shoes to play tag, or known that it would creep his friends out ten years later once he realized he had a foot fetish. It’s awkward but—so long as the games didn’t result in something traumatic—ultimately sort of an unavoidable embarrassment of youth to look back and go, “Oh, that’s what that was…. 😬”
I was reading Perv by Jesse Bering (which in general is only so-so; not enough discussion of the research IMO), and he points out that, where kinks can be traced to a formative experience in childhood, this formative experience often comes well before puberty, like anywhere from five to ten–which is super awkward, because for many reasons our culture likes to draw a bright, clear dividing line between childhood and adulthood, and where that’s not possible, at least between childhood and adolescence. But that’s not always possible! And given how much of human psychology is dominated by romance and physical attraction, it would be weird if that system of the brain didn’t exist some unformed, incipient manner, but sprang into existence suddenly on our 13th birthday or w/e.
I have spoken to a lot of kinky people about this. In my experience, about 50% are like “yeah, in retrospect I was an extremely kinky eight-year-old, not that I had any understanding of any of this at the time.” In other words, I am the playmate here and I apologize to my cub scout troop.
Did the many kinky people you’ve talked to fall into distinct camps of “yeah, in retrospect my insistence on getting my acquaintances to play with me in certain very particular ways was Meaningful” vs “yeah, in retrospect my insistence on *freaking the fuck out* at acquaintances who happened to play in certain very particular ways in my presence was Meaningful”? If so, are there other clear distinctions between said camps?
Whenever I hear stories about childhood selves who don’t know they’re kinky and unwittingly erotic games, the young kinksters are always the ones *instigating* the games. But I was the exact opposite of this! Long before I had any idea why, I knew down in my bones that this was something *important* and *profound* and *private*, and I couldn’t stand to see people taking it lightly and without regard for whether anyone was watching.
(“It’s just a game,” said the girls confused about why I was upset by one of them pretending to hypnotise the other, and they were more confused when that only upset me further. It isn’t *just* anything.)
Don’t get me wrong, I played plenty of in-hindsight-sexual games as a child. But they were always, *always* alone and in private (to the extent that a child can arrange for privacy). (…and would you look at that, I grew up into an asexual adult who finds casual sex extremely unappealing. I feel like these facts might be related, but I have so little data.)
—
(I worry about the people who think that the senses of importance and privacy people have around sex are invariably *learned*, that they are a collective trauma that we as a society should work to grow past.
I know some people actually do feel deep down like it’s not a big deal, even in spite of having been taught otherwise. And I know vanilla people can’t control for knowledge, can’t see into what “a version of themselves who hadn’t been taught anything at all about how to interpret their desires” would be like. But I can, and I know that I could never have been good enough for them.)
Tags:
#reply via reblog #sexuality and lack thereof #is the blue I see the same as the blue you see #my childhood #embarrassment squick #rape tw
So, something a little different today! I’ve been friends with a wonderful author called Samantha Parks for a few years now and those of you who enjoyed porn in the early days of the internet will likely be familiar with her.
For those who aren’t, Samantha was one of the best and most prolific erotica writers of the mid-90s and her work was shared on all sorts of BBSes and forums.
She hasn’t published anything for a while, but when she asked me about posting something on my blog to see if people were still interested in her work, well I couldn’t say no!
So I really hope you enjoy (and support) Samantha’s return, and without further ado, I’ll hand over to her!
Greetings. I’m Samantha Parks and years ago, I wrote a piece of erotica, so different and so daring, the government shut it down. It was deemed unfit for mortal minds to read through their mortal eyes. However, after digging through the vaults (my basement) I’ve been able to recover and piece it together. So here, for the first time, is my opus Diabolus Hypnotica. To celebrate this momentous occasion I am also going to present author’s notes to help you understand the fractured narrative you are about to enjoy.
-Diabolus Hypnotica-
Chapter 1- The start of things to come
It was a cold night on the streets of the city. Emily rubbed her fleshy hands together in a failing attempt to warm her fingers. Soon she would be home to the warm and dark embrace of the darkness.
As she arrived she nodded her head towards Francesco, the doorman of her building. She asked about mail. He had heard of mail, but there was none for Emily. This was normal. Emily didn’t get many letters.
She climbed into the elevator and let it elevate her to the floor where her apartment sat, the same as it always did. She walked in through the front door of her apartment because all of the other doors in her lease were interior doors and thus impossible to enter through. She went to her computer. She loved her computer, working in IT meant she had to have a computer and this one was a beast.
It was a beautiful, off-beige, SliconFusion B86. It had a quad speed CD drive, a colossal 8 MB of memory and a sound card. It was beautiful. If it had been a person she would have made love to it. However, it was a computer, and sexbots would not be common for at least ten years.
At this point, I had a sponsorship deal with SilconFusion computers. They paid me $20 every time I mentioned their name in a story. They were planning on releasing a sexbot and had a good prototype. However, it gained sentience and drowned itself in a bowl of soup. This put the project back several years.
Actually, I should check if that deal is still going, as they owe me at least $40 for this.
Emily turned her computer on and went to make a cup of tea. She scanned the boxes in the cupboard and picked a tea that would perfectly suit her mood. Something dark, something moody, even musty.
She got the box and put it on the table with a thud. She boiled the kettle and felt the heat in the room rise. She poured the water on the tea. She carried the tea to the couch and drank it. She turned around and saw her computer finishing its boot process. The green cursor flashing on the deep black background.
She tapped the keyed and started up her connection. Its whirring was comforting, relaxing even. Its aural landscape transported her to a world of electronic sheep counting each other as a way to get to sleep. It was a peaceful place. Emily was happy when a warning popped up telling her that the connection had failed. It meant she got to visit that place again.
After the second attempt, the internet connection connected to the data tubes. Emily went to the place she always went. A chat-room. It was like sending each other letters, except you didn’t need to write or wait for it to be delivered, or to know the person you were sending it to. It also didn’t use envelopes. This was good, Emily hated envelopes.
While this may seem odd now, people really loved hearing about the magic of the internet back then. It was authors like me who made the internet so popular by hooking people with our stories.
Emily had a favorite room. It was like a room in her house, except it was full of people she didn’t know and had not let in. It also did not exist physically, much like the built-in closet the landlord kept insisting was there despite Emily not being able to see it.
Her heart lit up as she saw one of the names in the user list. Arachnida. Emily loved seeing Arachnida, they had been talking for a few weeks and Emily had loved every moment of it.
Emily sent Arachnida a hello. A common start that meant so much to her. Soon Arachnida replied and within moments the two were in a high-speed conversation. The conversation got so fast Emily had to get her second keyboard out to be able to keep up. Like most people who worked with computers, Emily could type with every single one of her limbs and this was a talent Arachnida found delightfully endearing.
“So what are you up to tonight?” Asked Emily via her typed words.
“Studying for my certification exam,” Arachnida replied with her typed words that looked the same as Emily’s just with a different name at the start of the line.
“Another exam? Why do magicians require so many tests?”
“For the last time, I am not a magician. I am a hypnotist. It is a recognized field, like Demonology or the draining of humors,” replied Arachnida, the speed of her reply conveying her irritation.
I actually had a degree in Demonology, before the killjoy government shut it down as apparently you have to be a “registered institution” to give out degrees and not just be an eldritch entity that lives under a bridge. The joke is on them, I still have it on my resume.
“True, magic would pay better,” replied Emily, sticking her tongue out despite Arachnida not being able to see it.
“You didn’t seem to complain,” replied Arachnida. Her message was followed by either hand cramp or an attempt at rendering a face using the simplistic ASCI character set.
“I didn’t seem to complain? I have never been involved in your weirdness,” replied Emily, slightly indignant at the idea of Arachnida presuming her likes and dislikes without her vocalizing them.
“Well I do have to practice!” replied Arachnida. Emily crossed her arms and pouted. Something that didn’t phase Arachnida due to her inability to see it, due to only conversing with Emily via a textual medium.
“You could have done no such thing on me!” Insisted Emily, typing harder to convey her point. Emily was one with the darkness, she had used an ouija board and had tried to summon Bloody Mary by covering a mirror in tomato juice and licking it off. Such magic would not affect her or her mind.
Her mind was like a steel colander at the bottom of a river. Unsinkable.
“I have proof that says otherwise,” replied Arachnida, her evil laughter not well conveyed through a computer, but Emily could hear it in her head.
“And what proof would that be?” Asked Emily, crossing her arms and starting to type with her feet as a show of defiance.
“A certain polaroid, depicting a certain someone running around in her bra and panties,” cackled Arachnida. Emily ran into her kitchen and grabbed her tinfoil and started to wrap it around her head. While she was okay with Arachnida laughing in her head she couldn’t risk other people getting in as well.
By the time she had sealed her head and returned to the computer, Arachnida had typed a few more messages to her.
“If you’re looking for it, you won’t find it,” she had said. Emily sighed, of course, she wouldn’t find it. How does one find a picture that does not exist?
Emily started to hammer on her keyboards, the tin foil on her head rustling gently as she did. “There is no such photo! Your magic doesn’t work on me!” She insisted.
“If you want to see it, then come to the park at midnight,” came Arachnida’s response before a creaking sound signaled that she had left the chatroom.
Emily sat and stared at the blinking cursor. What had Arachnidia planned for her? What was her end goal in all of this? And could this photograph be real?
Emily shook her head. Obviously, it wasn’t real. Emily often swallowed St. John’s wart and thus was immune to manipulations of her aura. She knew this to be true.
But if she knew it, why did she want to go so badly? And if she knew she wanted to go, did she actually know it wasn’t true? And if she didn’t know that, what did she know. All she knew was that she didn’t know. Which meant she didn’t know that she knew the question she asked herself. Which was as good as not asking at all.
Emily shook her head and grabbed her long coat. The park was a sprawling mass of grass and worms only a few minutes walk from her building. However, it would be cold on a night like this due to the low temperature.
At the one side of this floral nightmare was an old decaying mansion house, complete with crypt. Emily knew Arachnidia would be there, she was always one to appreciate an atmosphere. Emily was going to go and disprove that photo.
Chapter 2- Ghost Of A Chance
Emily waved to Alexandro, the doorman, as he held the door open for her.
“Late night walk?” He asked, with interest.
“I’ve got to make something right,” replied Emily, blowing into her hands in an attempt to warm up her flesh.
“Ah, well if you are chasing up a blood debt I suggest you be careful, cold out.” Nodded Alexandro. He always gave Emily the best advice about such matters.
As she started to wander towards the park Emily pondered her situation for a while, how exactly was she going to deal with this obviously crazed girl. Could she talk Arachnidia out of her delirium? Maybe she could seduce her out?
The park was large, and a sense of foreboding hung in the trees like overcooked pasta. The wind howled and a heavy mist crept along the cold grass. Emily put her head down and walked to the decaying house, its rotted beams and falling tiles testament to how long it had lived in the park. No one knew who had built it, or why someone had constructed such a thing.
But the place was overrun with spirits, denizens of the night who rattled their chains and moaned their ghoulish howls at any mortal who tried to step foot on the property. The council had many times tried to evict them to make way for a mall, but the spirts had prevented this every time. Their legal representation being both costly and effective.
This is actually a reference to the TV pilot I wrote called “Legal Ghost House” I had some interest from several television executives until, in an act of pure spite, they had me arrested for trespassing on their property!
Emily moved closer, pushing some branches out of her way as she headed towards the crypt, her feet sinking into the mud a little with each step.
“I knew you’d come,” came a voice from behind the crypt.
“Arachnida,” sighed Emily, a cloud of breath forming in front of her.
As the woman came into the dim light of the moon Emily was able to see her for the first time. She burst into laughter. Arachnidia looked like a dork! She was middling in height and her hair was a mess. Her figure was made almost comical by a coat that seemed to be some horrific crossbreed between a gothic trenchcoat and an anorak.
For those curious, the “Anoroat” was something I was lined up to promote, but then I realized that being warm was not goth at all. To be goth one must endure the cold of the weather like the cold of your soul. If you lose a few fingers to frostbite, then that is the price you pay for fashion.
“Don’t you laugh at me,” growled Arachnidia, glaring butter knives into Emily as she walked past the cold stones of the crypt.
“What are you going to do?” Replied Emily, growing more and more confident about her situation. “Take another photo?”
“I already have the one I need,” grinned Arachnidia, lifting a polaroid from one of the many pockets that adorned her stupid coat.
“I don’t believe you,” responded Emily, only to squeak as Arachnidia threw the polaroid towards her with surprising force, like [Sportsperson] throwing a [Sportsperson thing].
As the square hit the floor Emily scrambled in the mud to pick it up. As she turned the image over she gasped. The picture was a real as the ghost that whispered to her in the night.
It showed her running around in her tinfoil bra and panties, her arms stretched out into a giant T and a dumb look stuck on her face.
“What did you make me do?!” Screamed Emily, her scream so loud that it could shake the birds from the trees. However, unluckily for Emily, she lived in a city and thus the only birds were pigeons, all of whom were too fat to get into a tree.
“You thought you were an airplane, it was pretty cute,” smiled Arachnida, adjusting her glasses as she did.
“I won’t let you get away with this!” Shouted Emily, throwing the picture into the mud before quickly grabbing it again, not wanting to risk a fine for littering. The park rangers often hid in the bushes and could smell a discarded wrapper from fifty feet.
“And what do you think you can do to stop me!” Laughed Arachnida.
“I’ll think of something! I’ll sue!” Shouted Emily in response.
“Under what grounds?” responded Arachnida smugly
“I’ll punch you!” Sighed Emily, realizing she couldn’t afford a lawyer.
“I doubt that will help,” replied Arachnida. “I have something of a secret,” she purred.
“Apart from being a pervert?!” Hollered Emily, marching forward.
“Oh on top of being a pervert,” giggled Arachnida, licking her lips as she did. Suddenly a beam of moonlight refracted through one of the mansion’s old windows and bathed Arachnidia in the pale light of the night.
Arachnidia started to twitch and groan as her terrible coat was ripped through by eight spindly black legs, her body shifting and changing and taking on a more arachnid-like form.
Emily stood in disbelief, unable to work out what was going on with this girl. Why was she such a drama queen? Why was she happy to shred such a disgusting jacket instead of returning it to the store?
“Bask in my glory!” Shouted Arachnidia, looking down on Emily, her voice now much deeper. “For I am Werehnid!”
“Aracwolf,” coughed Emily, shaking her head gently.
“What?” Asked Arachnidia, her voice returning to normal.
“Werewolf is old English for Man-Wolf, thus Werehnid would be Man-Spider.” Explained Emily.
“Right, I get your point, it is a common misconception, but like, look at me,” smiled Arachnidia, moving her hands to show off her eight-legged body. “Does any of this look like a wolf to you?”
“Umm, no?”
“Right, so Aracwolf is wrong, I’m not part wolf, I’m part man, so Werehnid is more correct.” Said Arachnidia firmly, making Emily cower a little, fear flowing through her veins like a cheap blood substitute.
“Right, but, I mean spirit of the rule,” mumbled Emily, looking at her shoes.
This part is based on my attempt to pitch “Were Were Where?” to a movie studio. It was an educational film about someone trying to locate a Werewolf in one of America’s lesser known desert towns without the aid of a map.
However, they rejected it outright, due to them not being happy about being pestered while in the shower.
“Anyway, my full name adds to it,” grinned Arachnidia, moving closer to Emily, who looked up with terror in her eyes.
“What do you mean, your full name?” She asked, tripping over her words slightly.
“I am Werehnidacula!” Shouted Arachnidia before laughing, thunder forking down from the sky as she did.
“So what? You’re a woman spider from Europe?” Shrugged Emily, not fully understanding what Arachnidia was going on about.
“No,” sighed Arachnidia, lowering her head down to Emily’s level. “I’m a woman, spider, vampire hybrid.” She explained before shaking her head, “why am I bothering explaining this to you?”
“Monologuing is fun!” Smiled Emily, only to jump as Arachnidia pushed her face right into Emily’s.
“So is hypnosis,” giggled Arachnidia as her eyes changed from a soft blue to a spiraling vortex of pink and black. “And I think you enjoy it,” she cooed. Emily stumbled, her whole world starting to spin as reality almost melted into those two spirals. Some primal part of her mind screamed that she should run, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away from the spiraling pattern.
She felt her whole body go limp, it was like she was sleepwalking like she was trapped in a dream she couldn’t wake up from, a lot like taking a day trip to Wales.
Her body slumped forward, her nose pressed flat against Arachnidia’s as she started to drool, her eyes growing wider and more glazed as she continued to stare into the spiraling eyes, the world falling away around her leaving nothing but numb nothingness.
“You will obey me,” purred Arachnidia, her voice like sweet honey flowing in Emily’s brain, drowning her thoughts and leaving behind a sticky residue.
“I will obey you,” slurred Emily, swaying gently in the breeze, her eyes crossing as they continued to focus on the spirals, unable to do anything but submit to them.
“I will do whatever Arachnidia says,” added Arachnidia, sounding more confident as she did.
“I will do whatever Arachnidia says,” nodded Emily drowsily, not even bothering to question, the spirals wiping out any and all resistance.
Suddenly Arachnidia grabbed Emily firmly around the waist and pushed her against the wall of the crypt, tearing her clothing away in one quick swipe of her legs. She admired Emily’s nude body before reaching in with her fangs, biting Emily firmly on the neck as her legs circled around Emily’s crotch.
{Note from Harley: The next 20 pages have been cut for reasons of length and general decency}
Chapter 5- The Further Development Of The Situation Described Previously
Emily pulled herself up out of the pool of blood, her head throbbing and her eyes blurred. She was sore all over, her body riddled with puncture wounds.
The light applause tickled Emily’s ears as she blinked. She turned and found several police officers applauding, some of whom were holding up score cards grading the sex a perfect ten across the board.
As Emily started to walk she felt her feet fall from under her as she slipped in a puddle of stray custard. As she thudded to the floor the police officers giggled, some of them blushing a little as Arachnidia took a little bow.
“Thank you, thank you!” She smiled. “What a wonderful evening! You’ve been a wonderful audience! I’m here all week, tip your waitress!” She said before laughing, nudging a man who was tied up in a web as she did.
Emily started to crawl along the floor, trying to pull herself out of the crypt, she needed to escape this spider girl or risk becoming forever part of her harem.
But in front of Emily, there was only blood and stone followed by blood and stone, followed by yet more blood and yet more stone. Also more custard. Sickly yellow custard. And more blood.
Suddenly a line of webbing tied around Emily’s legs. Emily tried to struggle but she was slowly dragged backed towards Arachnida. Emily tried to break the web but found it was stickier than old wet cement.
“And where did you think you were going?” Asked Arachnida, looking down at Emily with a smirk on her face.
“Home?” Stuttered Emily.
“But I am your home,” smiled Arachnidia, her eyes starting to spiral again, causing Emily’s eyes to change in response, her whole world starting to spin like a disc jockey on ketamine.
The world fell away again, there was only the spiral, and at that moment Emily wanted nothing more than the spiral.
Chapter 6- A World Torn Asunder
Emily sat in front of her SilconeFusion computer, typing away with her feet, a dumb and dopey smile on her face, the rattle of the keys echoing around the polished room.
On her desk, a phone rang. Emily reached forward and lifted the corporate beige receiver. “Arachnidia psychic hypnosis service and detective agency, how may I help you?” She drowsily cooed.
Arachnidia looked out from her office and giggled to herself, her body back to its more human form. She put her feet up on her desk and leaned back in her chair, this was going to be great.
“Psychic Hospital Hypnosis Detective Service” or PHHDS was another of my pilots. However, due to a miscommunication, it was only pitched to networks in Peru.
It went through a few changes and became a soap opera about a Doctor who solves medical emergencies with medicine. The only thing about my script that remained was the shorter name, which became the name of the main character.
However, due to the negotiations falling through I never saw a penny. It also held the record for the only Peruvian soap opera to be canceled while it was on the air. In fact, it was canned during the first episode.
I don’t like to talk about it….
Suddenly Arachnidia heard a thud from down below. She squinted her eyes and looked around, making sure no one was looking before she pushed her chair back and lifted a hatch under her desk.
There was a set of stairs going down into the darkness, much like a spelunker who had forgotten how torches worked. As her feet echoed on the steps Arachnidia heard a familiar tapping sound growing closer and closer.
Suddenly she came out into a large room, crammed full with wooden desks and spider webs. At each desk was a wonderful, sexy, SilconFusion computer, and in front of it was a dazed girl, staring forward at her screen. Each of them typing in a chatroom. Each of them using the name Arachnidia.
“My web is coming together nicely,” cackled Arachnidia. “But what was that noise?” She said to no one before shrugging. It couldn’t be anything important, likely just rats with tunneling equipment.
Little did she know that something was rising up from the depths and in time it would come back to haunt her. And bring with it a whole new adventure.
I hope you enjoyed my opus, my masterwork, Diabolus Hypnotica! I think the story teaches an important life lesson that we all need to learn at some point.
Always trust doormen. They are at one with the universe and thus can sense its vibrations.
Also, never trust anyone on the internet. They might turn out to be a spider. Why else do you think they called it “The Web”?
I actually continued the story of Diabolus Hypnotica in a small series of fifty-seven books that I, unfortunately, lost when a rogue pyrokinetic maniac attacked the special safe my agent kept all my manuscripts in.
Maybe one day I will piece them all back together and share them with you all!
Until next time, sleep tight. If you can sleep that is!
Tags:
#April Fools #(sorry I’m late) #(I wavered for a while on whether to reblog this?) #(I’m not sure I’ve ever actually reblogged porn) #(*links* to porn occasionally but not porn itself) #(but then I’m not reblogging this *as* porn) #(and in the end:) #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #(I especially liked ”glaring butter knives” and ”like a steel colander at the bottom of a river: unsinkable”) #(though the part that made me laugh most was) #(”like a day trip to Wales”) #long post #nsfw text #sexuality and lack thereof #rape tw #storytime
Your fetish is the main topic of a two hours long movie where it’s applied to the whole world. There’s no sexy time, the whole movie is about the financial and societal consequences on your fucked up fetish on society.
Oppressive [Light Is Not Good] oligarchic dystopia…. but that’s pretty damn hot; you can just leave details to the imagination. Could range from less creepy (everybody’s just LARPing!) to creepy/hot mind-screw (modifying people to enthusiastically consent??!).
it’s really boring because there’s no conflict as everyone is satisfied with things, also there’s half an hour of exposition to explain how the fuck things are able to happen, like how people can keep giving birth to the same people multiple times, and other logistical issues
Everything takes five times as long because whatever you do, the recipient has to describe in eye-wateringly explicit detail what it’s like and how good it is.
Your boss spends half her time standing behind you, murmuring what a GOOD worker you are, go on, add another column to that spreadsheet, YES, just like that…
Society could not keep functioning if my main fetish were real. Too many deaths too fast, humanity itself would probably go extinct soon afterwards. Vore is so good tho, it’d be worth it
#okay so I’m conflating some stuff here #to create a world where my fetish isn’t routine you wouldn’t actually have to remove sleep entirely #just (”just”) tweak human neurology to have a much sharper line between consciousness and unconsciousness #or hell you could even keep dreaming in #sexuality and lack thereof #nsfw text #people who can distinguish between their drive for sleep and drive for sex fascinate me #rape tw #(for preceding posts)
Brinens and Things 