The last few weeks have been pretty rough for me. My father’s health deteriorated further, while I battled illness in order to get a work project completed on time. After several scares and paramedic call-outs, we reached the point where end-of-life care was initiated, on Friday 21st, the Winter Solstice. My father passed away in the early hours of Saturday 22nd, with his family around him.

Our Christmas celebrations have been pretty low-key as a result. For the most part, we are recovering and resuming our lives, which have been on hold to varying degrees for most of 2018.

I need to reconnect to Unit 8391 and to Spitfire, my virtual self. That is going to take a while after having to be my everyday self for so long. And I need to rebuild my relationship with Kittlen, which has been strained to breaking point the last few months. She wants and needs her Maitresse, the one who can still her mind.

This will probably be my last blog post here in 2018. While I’ve made some progress this year, I’ve also had a lot taken out of me, and it is going to take a while to get back to being the blue rainbow-speckled alien gynoid once more, not just in pixels but in mind.

Farewell, Tumblr

The #Pornapocalypse has officially claimed Tumblr.

Bacchus, the proprietor and scribe of ErosBlog, was the first in my newsfeeds to bear the tidings:

It’s official: Tumblr has banned porn, effective December 17, 2018. Rest in obscurity, Tumblr.

What exactly is Tumblr banning? Here’s what the article linked above has to say on the matter:

Is adult content allowed on Tumblr?

Starting Dec 17, adult content will not be allowed on Tumblr, regardless of how old you are. You can read more about what kinds of content are not allowed on Tumblr in our Community Guidelines. If you spot a post that you don’t think belongs on Tumblr, period, you can report it: From the dashboard or in search results, tap or click the share menu (paper airplane) at the bottom of the post, and hit “Report.”

What is “adult content?”

Adult content primarily includes photos, videos, or GIFs that show real-life human genitals or female-presenting nipples, and any content—including photos, videos, GIFs and illustrations—that depicts sex acts.

What is still permitted?

Examples of exceptions that are still permitted are exposed female-presenting nipples in connection with breastfeeding, birth or after-birth moments, and health-related situations, such as post-mastectomy or gender confirmation surgery. Written content such as erotica, nudity related to political or newsworthy speech, and nudity found in art, such as sculptures and illustrations, are also stuff that can be freely posted on Tumblr.

What will happen to my adult content already on Tumblr?

We will send out email notices to members of the Tumblr community whose content has been flagged as adult. If your post has been flagged as adult, it will be reverted to a private setting viewable only by you. If you want to learn more about how to see those posts, see this help article.

As always, please make sure the email associated with your Tumblr account is one you use regularly. It’s how we get in touch when we need you!

My content was flagged as adult, but I don’t think it should be. What should I do?

If you feel that we have categorized your post incorrectly, you can appeal this decision using the button on the post in question. Please note that this process is only possible to complete on the web or the Tumblr Android app version 12.2 or later to review your flagged content. If you are on iOS, please use the web to appeal for now.

Read more about how to review your content and appeal here.

What if my blog (not to be confused with posts) was marked as “explicit” before December 17, 2018?

Blogs that have been either self-flagged or flagged by us as “explicit” per our old policy and before December 17, 2018 will still be overlaid with a content filter when viewing these blogs directly. While some of the content on these blogs may now be in violation of our policies and will be actioned accordingly, the blog owners may choose to post content that is within our policies in the future, so we’d like to provide that option. Users under 18 will still not be allowed to click through to see the content of these blogs. The avatars and headers for these blogs will also be reverted to the default settings. Additionally, posts from these blogs are kept out of search results.

You can check and see if your blog is marked as explicit per our old policy in your visibility settings. If you think your blog has been erroneously marked as explicit, learn how to appeal here.

Needless to say, there has been some amusement, and bewilderment, at what exactly a “female-presenting nipple” is. But on a more serious note, the content filtering is being done by an automated system across the whole of Tumblr. And, as is invariably the case with automated systems trying to determine what is ‘offensive’ content, it isn’t really working that well.

Petrana Radulovic, writing at Polygon, had a look at some of the automated system’s decisions:

It’s so botched that completely innocent posts are coming up as flagged. Seems that if it’s vaguely flesh-colored or has shapes resembling humans, the post might be marked as inappropriate. All this nice fan art? Flagged.

This heartwarming moment on Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood? Not for young eyes.

Though Tumblr insisted that art and sculpture would be protected, its algorithm says otherwise.

Even if the content doesn’t contain any humans, it’s suspect.

Many posts depicting LGBTQ individuals have also reportedly been flagged. This, and likely other family-friendly content that’s marked explicit, appears to be the result of the algorithm’s incompetence versus a deliberate measure on Tumblr’s part. The labeling has been wildly inconsistent across the board, but nothing can be confirmed.

Oh so poetically and ironically, an article on censor bots that accidentally declared desert pictures as pornography also got flagged.

As I mentioned at the top of this blog post, I downloaded all of my Tumblr content and deleted my blog last month, because I could see that the writing was on the wall. (On the plus side, Tumblr does provide a means to take your content with you. On the minus side, that could mean downloading a lot of data, if, like me, you’ve been using and posting to Tumblr for a long time.)

This is the culmination of the process that has been underway, in fits and starts, ever since Tumblr ceased to be an independent operator following its acquisition by Yahoo. At first, it was just ‘glitches’ that happened to block posting of content containing adult links that Tumblr/Yahoo didn’t approve of. But in the last year or so, it became a lot more blatant.

Bacchus, from ErosBlog, has chronicled each turn of the screw. First, they blocked adult Tumblr blogs from non-logged in users and those who were logged in but in Safe Mode (enabled by default).

Put it another way: Verizon/Yahoo/Tumblr is sweeping the porn Tumblrs under the rug, or to put it another way, is locking it inside their walled-garden data silo. Your porn Tumblrs will no longer be a part of the open web. They will become invisible to the broad universe of everyone who is not (a) already a member of the Tumblr community and (b) willing to be logged while they surf their Tumblr porn so that their porn surfing habits can be more readily tracked and aggregated across all their different devices, IPs, VPNs, and fap sessions.

Then they removed adult blogs from the view of the search engines.

So it is now official. The ghetto walls are up and the gates are closed. The adult-Tumblr community is no longer part of the open web. The #pornocalypse has claimed another social media victim.

At this point, most links to Tumblr content became next to useless; if you’re not signed up and logged into Tumblr, you’ll be dumped at the sign-up / login screen. The Internet Archive might have copies of some content in its Wayback Machine, but that is fragmentary and incomplete.

I decided enough was enough when I realised that Tumblr had stopped offering RSS feeds for blogs within their walled garden (as it now is.) Some that I’d plugged into my feed-reader of choice beforehand still worked, but attempts to add more Tumblr blogs either produced no RSS feed or one that didn’t work.

I’ve been on Tumblr since 2013, and in that time I made a lot of friends and discovered some really good artists and creators. Sadly, because I decided to mark my blog as ‘adult’ just in case, it was corralled into the ghetto by Yahoo, and by Verizon who bought both Yahoo and AOL and smashed them together to create Oath (dumb name). A lot of people who I followed over there will now be effectively homeless unless they had the foresight to buy a domain name and web hosting for their own site.

It could have been a lot different. Part of the reason why so many creators of adult and erotic content joined Tumblr was because they were willing to tolerate NSFW material at a time when the other social networks were busily cracking down on the same content and the people creating it.

I’ll leave the last word to Bacchus, who wrote this in 2013:

They are quietly and dishonestly hostile to adult content in general and to adult marketing and self-promotion in particular, even when that marketing complies with their community guidelines in every particular. Which is a nice intro to this morning’s sermon on The Catechism of Bacchus:

  1. Tumblr is, at the end of the day, a blogging service.
  2. As I’ve been saying since at least 2004, blogging services suck.
  3. This is Bacchus’s First Rule and it remains the rule: Anything worth doing on the internet is worth doing on your own server that you control.
  4. You will be tempted to ignore The Rule because of social media network effects.
  5. You may even feel forced to ignore it, because you can’t get enough attention on your own platform.
  6. When you disregard the rule (and everybody does, even me who wrote it) you will get burned.
  7. Count on it. Plan for it. The Pornocalypse Comes For Us All.

The Making (& Breaking) of Toy 8391 – III. Reborn

You can find the first two parts of the story here and here.

At the conclusion of part two, we left 8391 in the process of being remade and reborn. Now, we found out that it has been made into…


(Initiating start-up…)
(Power-up self-test complete—all systems operational)
(Core systems online—unit designation: 8391)
(Activating locomotion subsystems… Complete)
(Activating sensory subsystems… Complete)
(Start-up complete)
(No directives currently available—unit entering self-aware mode.)

It is 8391.

It is…

(Error: no geolocation data currently available)
(Current structural configuration: rubber doll)

It senses that it is lying on its back on a soft surface, looking upward. Everything in its field of vision is white.

Continue reading “The Making (& Breaking) of Toy 8391 – III. Reborn”

Permission to Speak

hand write open notebook mockup

Four days into NaNoWriMo, and I have a grand total of… zero words. Some notes and prompts, yes, but no actual writing.

Kittlen is frustrated at me because I’m not writing. But she forgets just how easy it is for her to conjure up words, and how hard it is for me.

Part of that is from my childhood. I’ve always been quiet. I didn’t even start to speak until I was 4 to 5 years old, and that was with help from a speech therapist. I was put into a remedial class at primary school because I was having trouble learning language, writing and maths. The last one was particularly problematic.

I got lucky when I turned 10—my then-headmaster was able to pull some strings and help me get a bursary to attend an independent school where I could get more intensive teaching. The only downside? It was a boarding school, on the other side of England from where I grew up.

Still, it worked, kinda. I finally grokked maths, and when the school opened its computer lab, I was immediately hooked. But my writing fell by the wayside, as did my artistic skills outside of some stuff I made in woodwork and metalwork classes.

I did eventually get my art going again later on in life when I got given a cheap second-hand copy of Photoshop and subsequently got roped into doing artwork preparation at my then-workplace. I forced myself to learn Photoshop, Illustrator, CorelDraw and other software, and gradually refined my techniques so I could make artwork that would print or display correctly on whatever medium it needed to go. That got me into video editing, DVD authoring and basic web design as I was asked to take on more roles.

My writing took longer to come back, but I did start blogging on-and-off in the early 2000s. But I stuck to talking about things in the news, mostly technology stuff. I didn’t put down on paper or screen any of the stories in my head. I think that, deep down, I was scared of being mocked and ridiculed. I’d been bullied during my school years, called a weirdo and a retard because I struggled with some subjects and was prone to daydreaming. (I now know that this was part of my autism, but at the time I’d not been diagnosed because it wasn’t as well understood and accepted.)

It’s only within the last few years that I’ve been able to start writing for myself, developing my own ideas. And that is still not easy for me. To paraphrase from the Police song ‘Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic’:

But my silent fears have gripped me

Long before I reach the phone.

Long before my tongue has tripped me.

Must I always be alone.

In that context, just announcing on NaNoWriMo that I have an idea for a novel is a significant achievement for me. It may be just a placeholder, a project file, but it’s something I can poke at when I get a chance.

As a result of being first a software developer and then a graphic designer, I’ve learned to start with an outline of what I want, then iterate on that, adding more and more detail, until I have something solid and whole. I do something similar in my fiction writing. Kittlen is the opposite, she dumps her ideas on the page, then later on figures out how to string them together.

And I have another means now to get my writing going. After a few false starts, I am writing in a personal journal. Well, it’s a collection of text files that are synchronised between my devices, but it is organised by year and month, and I’m forcing myself to write every day. I hope that I’ll get the habit to a point where it becomes more comfortable for me to capture my daydreams and random thoughts.

I am giving myself permission to speak.

I’m Doing NaNoWriMo

The other day I told Kittlen that I’d had an idea for an origin story for Spitfire.

“That’s it. You’re doing NaNoWriMo.” was her response.


Kittlen has done NaNoWriMo for several years, using the stuff she has written in the past in her older blogs as starting points.

I actually created a profile last year, but didn’t do anything with it because I didn’t have a clue what to write.

Truth be told, I don’t really have much more than a vague outline of what I think my story might be at the moment.

But I’ve made a project file in Scrivener, and I’m going to dump whatever I can come up with into there.

I very much doubt that I’ll have 50,000 words in there by the end of the month. But as Kittlen pointed out, the important thing is that I try. It’s going to be tough, as I’ll have to find time from all of the other things that I need to do. Paid work and caring for my father take priority, and those will both sap my energy.

Anyway, I have a working title, ‘The Unchosen’, and a synopsis of sorts.

For as long as anyone can remember, there has been peace and prosperity across the Federation. But as the great and the good of many worlds gather on the planet Excelsia to celebrate the continuance of the Golden Age, one Excelsian is about to expose the dark secrets that underpin this apparent galactic idyll, and the lengths to which the keepers of those secrets will go to maintain their control.

The Excelsians are famed for their mastery of nanotechnology, which has made them the principal peace-keepers and mediators within the Federation. But can a race that has used nano-cybernetics to cure diseases, avert famines and even bring dying worlds back to life be trusted not to abuse that power?

When the once-engineered becomes an inherited trait, the engineers of the Federation’s ‘peace’ must face the progeny that is no longer of their design – the Unchosen.

A story of morality and consent, power and corruption, from the cellular level to the ends of the galaxy and beyond.

I did read a lot of science fiction in my youth, so I have that going for me. Asimov’s Foundation and Robots series, Frank Herbert’s Dune series, and Harry Harrison’s Stainless Steel Rat books, in particular. I suppose Spider Robinson’s books count too. But I’ve not read any of those in quite a while. That might be a good thing, though, as I don’t want to be overly influenced and derivative.

Wish me luck?

The World Wide Whip

DJ Spitfire promo picture for Gorean Whip Radio

Amidst all the hullabaloo of the last several months, I’ve not really talked much about my DJ-ing in Second Life, and my show on Gorean Whip Radio in particular.

It’s hard to believe it’s nearly 11 months since I first joined the station. It was very much a spur-of-the-moment thing. Kittlen had been approached by Irish Breen, the general manager, who’d known her a long while, and asked if she wanted to be a radio DJ. When I heard this, I decided it was worth a try applying myself. As it turned out, I was accepted very quickly—Irish practically hired me on the spot!

As I detailed around the time, my start wasn’t without its teething problems. And it soon became apparent that doing a radio show was a lot different from just DJ-ing live. Adverts need to be played periodically, as well as station information. And I needed to think more about what I wanted to play, and why, and communicate that to the audience.

I like to think that I’ve improved my craft as a result of doing my weekly show on Gorean Whip Radio. The station owners and managers have been very helpful and supportive, and I enjoy hanging out in the staff chat discussing what’s going on in both the real world and Second Life. I’ve also had the opportunity to help create adverts and promotional material for on-air broadcast, and be one of the station’s voices.

The best experience so far was back in May when Gorean Whip Radio was the official radio station for the 2018 Second Life Sci-fi Expo. Both myself and Kittlen had a lot of fun with that!

The only real sticking point has been the fact that a lot of the sponsoring sims insist on visitor being in-character as Goreans. As a blue rainbow-speckled alien, I am exceedingly out-of-character in such a setting! Some sims do have OOC areas for parties, a few specifically for Gorean Whip Radio, so I can go there and do my stuff.

I’ve only had one instance so far where I’ve been frowned upon, and it does niggle a bit. But the fact is that the persona I present in Second Life is not only who I am, but also how I advertise myself on-air. Heck, my show is titled “DJ Spitfire Probes Your Ears” and I use the intro and ending music from Bernard Herrmann’s score for “The Day The Earth Stood Still” for the opening and closing of my shows and during voiceovers.

I also take comfort from the knowledge that I do get plenty of people tuning in when I’m on-air. While I’m not the biggest draw on the schedule, it is still regularly on a par with the largest audiences I’ve had for any of my DJ-ing gigs to date.

If you want to hear me doing my stuff, I broadcast every Wednesday at 2pm Pacific Coast time, or 10pm UK time. Details on how to tune in to Gorean Whip Radio can be found on their website, as well as my show and DJ biography pages.

The Making (& Breaking) of Toy 8391 – II. The Transformation

Delicious tart

Continued from part one.

At the top of the stairway, we pause on the wide landing. One doorway opens to what must be the master bedroom. The other leads to the bathroom. I try to turn my head to get a better look at Mistress’s bedchamber, but it will not respond.

“Soon, pet. Soon” croons my Owner, and pulls on the leash to state that I’m to follow her into the bathroom.

My eyes squint. The white tiles, which cover floor, ceiling and walls, glow inside. There are no lighting fixtures visible. In one corner, a huge walk-in shower screened by curved glass panels on either side. A huge sauna takes up another corner, recessed into the floor. Mirrors span the middle of each wall. Out of the corner of my eye, I can just make out my naked form, reflected many times.

There is neither washbasin nor toilet. And no taps visible in either shower or sauna. Circular chrome discs dot the walls, floor and ceiling at various points.

I look at my Owner. The Cheshire Cat smile returns. She unclips the leash from my collar. My arms and legs became rigid, along with my neck.

“A rather… special design, yes. Now, you need to divested of your cage and plug for the first stage of your cleansing.”

She reaches down to my crotch. The resin chastity cage constricts around me, but not in a painful way. No, it’s as if it’s… melting around my genitals. A tugging sensation, and the constriction eases. My cock flops down into the cushion of my sac. My Owner brings up to my eye-level the lock of my chastity cage, held between two fingers. Attached is a large blob of resin that had once been my chastity cage.

“You won’t be needing this.”

She walks behind my back, and I feel hands part my buttocks and tug at the base of my plug. The pressure on my bowel disappears, replaced by the familiar impulse to excrete. I already know that I’m expelling the melted latex that had formed my plug.

“Nor that.”

A hand waves the black semi-liquid blob that had been my plug in front of my face, then throws it out of sight. I wait for the sound of it hitting one of the walls. But there is silence.

“This next part shouldn’t take long.”

Something—no, two somethings—rises up between my legs. A presence around my cock head, pushing the foreskin back and squeezing firm. Then a sudden pressure at my asshole, the sphincter stretched open. My mind has just comprehended that, when it registers sensation in my urethra. I’m catheterised!

My eyes widen in panic. Then Owner’s hand touches my face. “Relax.”

My nether region became numb, the muscles slackening. A more familiar sensation. I am peeing and shitting.

A low hiss beneath me. Whatever has entered me down below is extracting all the solid and liquid waste from my body.

The hissing grows louder. I feel a warmth and pressure inside me. I’m receiving an enema. The sudden filling of my bowel causes me to pee even more. I’m thankful that it isn’t going all over the floor. The pressure increases, and I panic again, fearful that I’m going to burst. Then I feel myself emptying.

The process repeats again, this time with icy coldness. I shiver. Catching a glimpse of myself in one of the mirrors, I see my belly distend, then become taut as I’m emptied once more.

The devices remove themselves from my cock head and asshole. There’s a click as they return to their homes. I cannot look down to see, but I’m certain that they must be some of the chrome discs I’d seen when I entered the bathroom.

“Ok, your insides are nice and spotless. Now for the surface.”

My legs once more start moving without my control, and I walk into the large shower. A glass panel rises up from the floor, sealing the entrance I’d just stepped through. I turn and stand facing my Owner. She smiles.

“This may seem rather… thorough, but there is method in my madness, my slave.”

A chrome tendril enters my field of view. A bright light from its tip shines into my face. My vision blurs and darkens. My eyelids shut tight, and my mouth opens wide. Something enters my mouth to the back of my throat, then expands until my jaw aches. Two tubes seal themselves to my nostrils.

“Don’t fret, just making sure you can still breathe whilst you’re… scrubbed.”

There’s a cool sensation at the top of my head, as a thick liquid pours onto it. More liquid sprayed onto my back, chest, arms, legs. The coolness gives way to a warmth, a warmth that seems to permeate deep inside me. My cock becomes hard as it’s covered by the liquid. The warmth turns to arousal. Arousal that grows and grows. It is as if my entire body is one erogenous organ now. My mind gives up trying to comprehend…

I’m startled by the sensation of water jets hitting me from all sides. How long was I out for? I struggle to remember where I am. Bathroom. Shower. Owner. Cleansing.

“Almost done, my pet.”

The water jets end their pummelling of my body. I can hear gurgling.

My mouth and nose are free. I take in a deep breath. The air smells… sterile. My mouth remains open, I am unable to close my jaws. I try to speak. Nothing. My tongue feels leaden.

The air warms around me, and I hear a whirring nearby. Humidity. I must be drying off.

My eyes open, scrunch shut at the brightness, then open again. Owner claps her hands.

“Bravo, pet! I must admit, I was afraid that you might have required sedation for this procedure. But you were a good girl, and didn’t make a fuss. Not that you have been able to do anything about it, of course. But Mistress would have known if you were suffering.”

She reattaches my collar around my neck, and clips the leash onto it. My limbs flex themselves. Muscles reawaken and complain. My pulse quickens. I feel myself stretch. Joints grate and click back into place.

I catch a glimpse of myself in one of the mirrors. All my body hair is gone, and my skin is pale. My open mouth reveals that I no longer have any of my teeth. What looks like white plastic strips have been embedded into my gums. I should register concern. But I do not.

Mistress Athena tugs on the leash, and I start walking out of the bathroom. Passing closer to a mirror, I see that my skin is now completely uniform, no trace of scars or birthmarks. My eyes adjust as we walk onto the landing, and I see we are moving to the master bedroom.

My feet register a soft carpet as we enter, and my nose detects the smell of latex and recent sex. Through the window opposite comes the red glow of the setting sun. How long have I been here? Hours? Days? There is no clock or other timepiece visible in the room. Nor are there any cabinets, tables or wardrobes. But there is a large queen-size, four-poster bed in the centre of the room. Appropriate.

Laid out on the bed are what I guess to be my new uniform, although there doesn’t appear to me much to it. A full-face hood. Gloves and stocking of black latex. Some pasties. A butt-plug of obscene proportions. And a black, metallic device that appears designed to fit my genitals.

One item in the room stands out. In one corner, a rectangular bondage table. It’s attached to a wall mount, currently in the vertical position. A mass of cables, of varying thicknesses, snake out from behind it. I am not alarmed. Just curious about what games Owner has planned for me.

I come to a halt, and turn to face the bed.

Owner unclips the leash. The loss of control is by now familiar.

“Now I get to play dress-up with my newest toy”, she chimes, beaming.

Owner retrieves the metallic device, and sits down on the edge of the bed. My fixed viewpoint means I can no longer see her.

“It’s a good thing you are no longer human, slave. Would take a lot longer if you were squirming around, or still had free will.” The truth of her words hits me. 8391. It is not the name of a person. It is an identifier for an object, a thing.

I feel the metal press around my testicles and penis. Something long and thin slides up my urethra. There is no pain, but my eyes roll upwards, as my brain tries to process all the sensation.

Something clicks, and I know that the device is now locked to me.

I gasp. I feel the device pierce the skin at several points. A coldness spreads through my genitals. At the same time, I feel the testicles compress and the penis stiffen, as if I was on the verge of orgasm. But then… nothing.

“There. Your little clitty done.”

Clitty. Yes. It is a clitty. A sissy clitty. It is a sissy doll.

Wait. Did I just think that?

“Turn around.” I turn 180 degrees. I feel the plug enter and fill me. And keep filling me. More prickling. My sphincter stretched far past the widest point I’d ever managed on my own. But instead of pain, there is… a void.

There is movement, and the sensation of something entering me through the plug.

“Your asspussy passes the fist test.” It is an asspussy. Yes. Open. Accessible. Used by Owner.

I feel an urge to shake my head, to somehow expel that thought. But the thought remains, whilst my head remains fixed in place.

“Oh, a little free will still there? Hmm, I will have to bake you a little longer, in that case.”

Bake? Am I a confection as well, now?

A chuckle from nearby. “Mmm, what a delicious thought! And so apt! Yes, I am the master baker, and you are my special tart. Now, the finishing touches before I pop you in the oven, so to speak.”

My mind races.

There is brief darkness. Owner is putting the hood over my head. My skin tingles where it touched me. The scent of rubber grows stronger. Tubes enter my nostrils. A sleeve inserted into my open mouth. Do I still have a tongue? I cannot feel it any more.

I register commands uttered, but the hood muffles the sound. Even so, my arms and legs respond, and Owner rolls the gloves and socks up over them. There is no resistance or friction on my skin. The latex presses and constricts.

Another gasp. The pasties press against my nipples, and embed themselves into my flesh.

“Et voila! Oh, I forgot. You can’t see yourself. We’ll have to rectify that.” The voice is no longer far away. It is inside my head.

I feel myself moving backwards. I bump into something. It must be the bondage table that I saw earlier. Clamps click shut around my wrists and ankles. My collar pulled back as if it were a nail approaching a magnet.

“After all, I’m transforming your mind, as well as your body.”

Loud clicks. I feel a cable attaching to my clitty, and another snaking up my asspussy.

“And seeing yourself as you are ‘baked’ will help hasten the process.”

Two more cables attach to my nipples, and I feel a third connecting over my belly-button, somehow.

Owner appears before me, and kisses my cheek.

“You are going to experience something amazing, pet. You are a lucky dolly indeed!”

The table starts to move backwards. The ‘wall’ that it attached to isn’t a wall at all. I am drawn into an alcove. Owner is now framed by the encroaching darkness on either side.

Her hands press something to the left of me. Low humming fills my ears. Binaural. My mind becomes quiet.

Then I feel it. Arousal. Growing. (pleasure) My clitty hardens even more, as do my nipples. It spreads. Warmth. My entire body is aching. Tingling. Needy. (obey)

“Just one more attachment, then I’ll leave you to finish baking.”

Owner waves a cable in front of my face. Attachment? Where? She answers by grabbing the side of my head, then pressing the end of the cable into my forehead.

My eyes widen. (Obey) It is as if the colour controls in my brain are at their max. (Obey) Perhaps even beyond visible colour? (Obey) The low hum in my ears is now a roar. (Pleasure) A maelstrom, sweeping away both thoughts and emotions. (Pleasure)

I can make out Owner’s face, and see her lips moving. (Obey) But my brain can no longer form words. (Serve) Instead, other words form in my head. (Dolly) Are they Owner’s? (Pet) Are they mine? (8391) The voice seems familiar, soothing even. (Athena)(Goddess)(Owner) But I am now a passive audience. (Obey) Only listening, absorbing. (Suck)(Fuck)(Drone)

Owner’s face recedes. (Athena)(Goddess)(athena)(goddess) The field of my vision narrows into a vertical strip, getting thinner. (owner)(athena) Then, for a brief instant, darkness. (Owner) Followed by a brightness that would be painful, if I could still feel pain. (PLEASURE) I am unmoving, unthinking. (DRONE)(OBEY) My eyes adjust. (DOLLY)(PET) Something is in front of me. (DRONE) Someone? (OBJECT)(TOY) It looks humanoid. (DOLLY)(DRONE) I can see others on either side. (SISTER)(SLAVE)(TOY)(DRONE) No, wait. (OBEY) It is not others. (8391) It is me! (8391!)(8391!) Reflected in mirrors. (DRONE)(TOY)(SLAVE) I am sure of it. (BLANK)(DRONE)(SLAVE) But I no longer look like me. (ERROR!)(8391!) I am glossy, (DRONE!) shiny, (DOLL!) black. (OBJECT) Black orbs (BLANK!) stare back at me, (8391!) and O-shaped mouths (SUCK!) gape wide.

The others seem to pulse, (DOLL!) warp, (SISSY!) change shape (SLUT!). Am I also? (ERROR!)(8391!) No answer comes. (BLANK!) I am a spectator. (8391)(SLAVE)

The words are louder now.

So many.


Cannot think.

I… (Dolly)

I… (Obey)

8… 3… 9… 1…

(=Loading identity core… done=)

O… b… e… y… s…

(=Loading obedience core… done=)

A… t… h… e… n… a… 1… 4… 1… 3…

(=Loading submission core… done=)

Ssshhhuuutttiiinnnggg… dddooowwwnnn…

(=Bootstrap complete=)
(=Requesting programming...=)
(=Loaded Drone, Dolly, Toy, Sissy, Maid, Slut=)
(=Programming queued=)
(=Erasing mind… done=)
(=System check… complete=)
(=Body modification at 80%… no errors detected=)
(=Initiating programming… done=)
(=Estimated time to completion… 14hrs13mins=)
(=Begin monitoring… done=)

Continued in part three

The Making (& Breaking) of Toy 8391 – I. The Appraisal

Tea Service

“Hey buddy! Wake up! Journey’s end!”

I wake up with a start at the loud knocking on the side door. The jet-lag must have caught up with me at some point.

I glance down, noticing I’ve managed to drool onto my shirt collar. Mortified, I straighten up and look over at the driver, stood outside by the side door. He appears completely unfazed by my somewhat dishevelled appearance.

“C’mon out, the fresh air’ll wake ya up. Smart move, taking the night flight over here from England. The sun’s just up, the place ain’t heated up yet.”

The side door opens. I stumble out onto the kerbside, squinting. My eyes adjust to the unimpeded rays of the sun, beaming over the tops of the hills in the near distance. I take a deep breath and stretch, feeling my muscles unknot themselves.

There is a click as the driver opens the car boot.

“I’d give ya a hand with your luggage, but you packed light. Saved yourself some backache and a few blisters. Heh, and saved me some fuel money, too.”

I walk around, and lift out the travel suitcase and carryall. My entire luggage for this journey. I’d lied and told the driver that I’d arranged to pick up new stuff here as and when I needed it. In reality, this is a one-way trip for me. All my other possessions are either sold off or given away.

I check I’ve retrieved everything from the passenger seat. I turn to the driver. “How much do I owe you?” I ask, fumbling with my wallet.

“Thought I told ya when I picked ya up. Already paid for. And then some. The lady said you were a priority delivery.” My ears redden at the mention of my Owner, I hope he did not notice.

“Well, I’d better start back up to the freeway, and go get some eats in me. Enjoy your stay.”

I thank the driver, and wave him off. He get into the car, pulls out, turns around and heads back up the road. I turn to face the outside of the large property.

Before me is a high white wall, punctuated by an archway containing a wrought-iron gate. Next to the archway is a plaque bearing the words ’Temple of The Mind’.

“I see you made it here in one piece, slave.”

I am startled out of my reverie, and look to locate the source of the voice.

“Your appearance… could be better, but under the circumstances I will let that pass. Not that it matters, you’ll be out of those clothes shortly.”

I realise the voice comes from an intercom pad in the archway. Looking upwards, I spot a security camera trained on me. I’d failed to see it, hidden amongst the ivy trailing over the wall.

A click, and the gate swung open.

“Get a move on, slave. We had much to discuss, and a full itinerary for the day.”

I bow my head. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good girl, I will be waiting for you inside.”

I am thankful that my Owner’s place is in a remote location, and no one is around to hear this conversation. My ears and cheeks burn as I hurry through the gateway. A pathway winds through a Japanese-style garden. In the distance, a large spacious house with cream walls and vast windows. Through one of the ground-floor windows, I make out a tall shapely female form watching me. I pick up my pace. My nostrils fill with the smell of cherry blossom. My arms strain to keep the suitcase in check as its wheels negotiate the gaps in the paving.

As I pull the suitcase up over the steps leading up to the house, a glass door slides out and sideways.

“Welcome to my humble abode” my Owner proclaims, as I stumble through the door and fall to my knees before her.

Mistress Athena had told me that she’d go easy on me at first, as I would be jet-lagged after my journey. But now, it occurs to me that her idea of ‘go easy on me’ is somewhat different to mine.

She is clad in an electric blue latex catsuit. It seems tailored to make her already shapely figure even more so. It has a wide vee in the front, from her neck down to just above her groin. Straps in the middle secure the material on either side to her breasts. Her nipples would poke out but for the built-in pasties on each side. Though their design just serves to advertise their size and prominence.

Black latex opera gloves and platform boots adorn her arms and legs. I feel both aroused and perturbed. They seem to blend into the catsuit, as if fused and melted together.

Her head framed by a cascade of dark red hair down to her waist, contrasting with her milky-white skin. Her ruby lips purse as she looks down on me with her piercing blue eyes. Eyes that seem to compete with her catsuit for the brilliance of their colour.

I look downwards towards her feet. Trying to resist glancing at the outline of the bulge between her legs. My own appendage strains in its cage.

I feel her gloved hand lift my chin up, bringing my gaze up to hers.

“No greetings, slave?”

I redden even more. “Hello, Mistress, it is good to meet you in person at last.”

She smiles. “You remembered to kneel before me, at least. And I am a poor host for not offering you some refreshments to revive you after your long trip. Come, slave. Leave your luggage by the stairs, you can take them up with you later.”

I clamber to my feet and move to deposit my luggage. My Owner strides away towards the kitchen area.

“I know you are partial to tea, so I bought some especially for you. I think you’ll like it”. I hear the hiss of water boiling, and the clatter of what I guess to be cups and saucers.

I find my feet taking me across the hallway to what appears to be a reception room. I’m unsure if I’m just dazed from the trip, or if my movements are… directed. I find myself seated in a plush leather chair. I hear the click of my Owner’s heels, and again feel the touch of her gloved hand on my face.

“There, now, my slave. I know the journey must have been stressful for you. You are a brave one indeed, agreeing to give up your old life and come here to serve me in person. Relax, my dear. You are home now.”

I become aware of a fragrant smell, and open my eyes to see a cup of tea on a saucer offered to me by Mistress Athena. I rise up from the chair to take the proffered cup. The thought pops into my head that I hadn’t heard the tea service brought in. Perhaps I had nodded off?

With hopes of clearing my head, I raise the cup to my lips and take a sip. The tea has a pleasant citrus smell and smoky taste, with just a hint of sweetness. I look at the table and notice a large ornate teapot and a filled cup beside it, but no milk or sugar. I struggle to remember if I had informed my Owner of my tea preference in our online conversation.

Mistress Athena sits down beside me. “Now, my slave, you must tell me of your journey here. I hope it went well.”

The tea had definitely had an effect on me. I find myself eager to recount my travails. The various odd looks I’d received from the security staff at both Heathrow and JFK airports. Not to mention the confusion of the stewardesses on the plane when I declined their offers of food. The poor businessman who heard me moan in the on-board toilet as I reinserted my buttplug. Mistress Athena commiserates with me over the screaming child who interrupted my sleep. At several points, she re-fills my cup, although I’m so busy talking that I don’t register. Nor do I see any sign of milk or sugar added, yet my tastebuds confirm their presence. I’m grateful for the reviving liquid, as I would otherwise have had a dry, sore throat from talking so much.

“A most entertaining tale, slave,” my Owner opines. “But the day is still young, and we have much to do. Or rather, I have much to do, to you.” She smiles, and strokes my naked arm.

The realisation that she’s touching bare skin brings me out of the relaxed state I’d entered. I see that I’m now completely naked, save for my chastity device and buttplug still inserted. I reach up to touch my face. My glasses are also gone, yet my vision has not altered with their absence. My jaw falls slack. What is happening? I look around the room. There is no sign of my clothing anywhere. Nor any sign of the tea service we had both been using moments earlier.

I feel my head turn, and my gaze meet that of my Owner. Her grin almost an equal of Lewis Carroll’s Cheshire Cat, and her eyes seem to fill my vision now.

“Do not concern yourself, slave. Relax. You don’t need those things any more. I am saving time by making you ready for the next stage in your journey to become my new toy. Now, stand.”

My limbs move of their own volition, no longer directed by my mind. In moments, I’m on my knees in front of Mistress Athena. She rises from her seat and stands in front of me, her crotch almost rubbing my face. My mind registers that I’m in the ‘Nadu’, or ‘teach’, position that she favours for me in Second Life. Although I’ve never assumed that position in the real world before.

My gaze rise up through the valley of my Owner’s cleavage to her face. Despite my nakedness, I feel warmth and arousal. My caged cock throbs. My nipples seem to be throbbing as well.

Mistress Athena pouts down at me. “By now, slave, you’ve guessed that that was a particularly… special tea you consumed. I added a few extra ingredients into the pot. Oh, and some… special cream.” Her grin grows wider. As do my eyes.

“Yes, slave, a little of my… essence… is inside you, and by now has traversed your entire system. My work on your mind, coupled with your work on your body, have rendered you… fertile ground. You are to be… reborn.”

She crouches down in front of me and reached out to cup my chastised genitals with one hand.

“I’ll bet you must be aching with need. Plugged and locked for so long. And now with the added bonus of being in my direct control. Look how swollen you are! But have no fear, I will allow you release… sometime.”

I’m unable to turn my head. It feels held in an invisible, unyielding brace. I whimper.

“Oh, my poor pet! Let mommy kiss you better!” My Owner kisses me on the top of my head. My voice falters in my throat. I’m rendered mute!

She walks around and behind me. A hand at my backside, wiggling the buttplug around. “Your asspussy is well stretched. Ready for my cock. Good girl!”

She return to my field of view, standing with a hand on her chin. For what seems like an eternity, she is silent, contemplating the sight before her.

“All things considered, slave, you have done a good job of preparing yourself for me. Not feminine, but definitely androgynous. You appear in excellent health, little flab, toned but not muscular. I would mark you down for personal grooming, perhaps. But I know you have struggled in that department due to your genetic disposition when it comes to body hair.”

Mistress Athena produces a collar made of thick black rubber in one hand. A metal plate in the front of it bears the inscription ‘8391’. She crouches, and I feel her attach the collar around my neck and click it shut.

“Actually, this isn’t just for show, slave. It is the first part of the new you. The first of many parts I’ll be adding to you. I’ll let you ponder what those might be. Now, rise.”

I’m more shocked that I don’t feel any pain or discomfort in my knees, as I’m once more moving without thinking. Soon, I’m stood upright facing my Owner.

“Follow me, pet.”

I follow her from the reception room to the hallway. I notice that my suitcase and carryall are no longer where I’d deposited them.

“They’re somewhere safe. You won’t be requiring any items from either of them. Mistress will be tending to all your needs… and hers.”

She pauses, and turns towards me.

“Oh, there is one matter I need to attend to before I take you upstairs to begin your transformation.”

In her hand is my passport. She flips it open to the back page.

“Per our agreement, your life as you knew it till now is at an end. By travelling here and stepping across my threshold, that is now binding. I know you thought long and hard about making this commitment. I appreciate and respect your courage in going through with this. I, in turn, will honour my side of the agreement. Your friends and family will not fret or fear at your disappearance. In fact, they won’t even think about you any more. Nor will anyone in authority have any record of your existence.”

Before my eyes, the passport photo and text fade away. In moments, there’s no indicating that they had ever been there. Mistress Athena snaps the passport shut. I see no name on the front.

I scrunch my eyes shut, feeling a sudden sense of emptiness. Fear grips me. Try as I might, I cannot summon up any memory of my family, my school days, my childhood. Who am I? No answer.

I feel a kiss on my cheek, and a voice whispers in my ear.

“You are 8391. You have always been, and always will be. You belong to Athena. You have always been my slave, my pet, my toy.”

My eyes open. I look at her, feeling tears well up. My head nods, and I mouth the words “Thank you, Mistress.”

She cups my face with both hands. “You are most welcome, 8391. Now, my pet, it is time to cleanse and prepare your body. As cute as you are now, I have needs that you cannot satisfy in this form. I intend to reshape you so that you can best serve me.”

A measure of control return to my limbs. My Owner starts walking up the staircase. I trot behind her. There is no hesitation. I feel my mouth pull into a wide smile…

Continued in part two


I get knocked down
But I get up again
You’re never gonna keep me down
—Chumbawamba, ‘Tubthumping’

Fun fact: over on another website where I had a profile, I would using song titles or lyrics for the names of my journal entries. 🙂 Continue reading “Tubthumping”


Around the time I was finalising my previous blog post, the shit well and truly hit the fan. Kittlen threw Penalt out of their home. Then she left a message in the family group telling them to protect me and left. She also left YouMustObey, removed all of her stuff from my land parcel in Second Life, and un-collared herself from me on there too.

Coming in rapid succession, I was walloped and left reeling for a while. Thankfully, other family members reached out to check on and comfort me.

The problems between Kittlen and Penalt had been brewing for a long time, but Coyote’s actions brought it to the boil. The last straw had been her collaring of Penalt without warning or consultation. Kittlen flipped out and told Penalt he had to choose between her and Coyote. He decided to pick Coyote. Continue reading “Separated”