I'll be mostly offline for the weekend! But don't think for a *second* you can dodge your duties!

    I expect you to edge every day I'm off, looking at the most perverted things you can find.

    I expect you to waste the weekend away going deeper and deeper into your own corruption.

    I expect you to write down your sickest fantasies and send them to me so I can have fun when I'm back.

    I expect you to objectify yourself in any manner you can.

    Have fun!

    You might think me cruel. Well, I’d wager you'd do exactly what I did if you were in my place. Do you have any idea how it feels to be so much smarter than everyone around you? How frustrating it is to be stuck in a world that sees young women as non-threatening and inferior? How humiliating it feels to be eighteen and having to suffer the rules of a highschool and the deluded notions of power from a mother more interested in her workout routine than anything intellectual?

    Can you imagine how lonely it is to be so far removed from everyone else?

    What would you do if, like me, you had mastered the science of subliminal indoctrination and still were treated like a useless girl? Surrounded by dumb, vapid bitches every day… wouldn’t you use your skills on them? Put them in their place? And yet they sent me to the principal’s office. Me! Marched to an old man’s meaningless fiefdom like a fucking child. Sure, I’m small in size, but far from a kid. I may not be the… headturner my mother is, but no one would confuse me for anything other than a woman. And yet the principal talked to me as if I was twelve.

    He never worked it all out, of course. I’m frankly surprised he got as far as he did. He managed to put together that the only thing in common between all those girls skipping class was that I also just happened to be absent when they didn’t show up. They weren’t friends, and they sure as shit weren’t close to me, so I thought I was safe. Well, they did have another common feature: they were all hot and dumb. Dumb compared to me, I mean. I couldn’t tell if they were smart for normal girls. They all kinda seem the same next to me. 

    Having all that available material to work with, was I supposed not to turn them one by one into my devoted slaves? Was I supposed not to have them eat me out whenever I wished? Was I supposed to refrain from making them take slutty pictures for me? Was I supposed to not make them break up with their stupid boyfriends, to not make them steal from their parents for me, to not treat them as the pets and dolls they were obviously meant to be? Was I bad for giving them much more fun personalities, turning them into bimbos or masochist humiliation junkies or porn addicts? Obviously, the principal couldn’t imagine the truth, so he settled for accusing me of giving them pot. Pathetic, and impossible to prove. The girls would defend me to the end, but he didn’t need an excuse to exercise his miniscule power. 

    Suspend me? The audacity of worms is breathtaking. 

    That wasn’t the worst humiliation, however. My mother bought what he said like the dumb cunt she is. I suppose she felt a bit guilty and decided to do some parenting instead of obsessing over makeup and skincare. She grounded me. I almost want to laugh. Ground me? Like I’m some… kid? I didn’t even point out that I’m legally an adult: I didn’t want to hear the obvious “while you live under my roof” speech. So I took the punishment. Fine. The stupid bitch didn’t know what she was doing by keeping me in the house. 

    She was giving me time. Time in the same house she lived in. Was I wrong for using that time to teach her a few things? Is just retribution evil?

    I must admit I enjoyed it, perhaps a bit too much. She never noticed the low-frequency speakers I hid in the house, or the subliminal flashes I installed in her precious phone, or how I edited her favorite workout songs. I wonder if she felt it happening, if she realized on some level that she was changing. I hope so. Still, just seeing it was reward enough. 

    Watching how she spent more and more time in her room, doors closed- as if I didn’t know she was playing with her pussy nonstop… it was fun. Of course, after a week of that I changed the conditioning slightly. She wouldn’t cum. She didn’t deserve to. She would reach the very edge of orgasm and then… nothing. Things got really interesting after that. Desperation makes people careless. She moaned like a whore louder and louder each time, not caring that I could hear her. Soon, I started walking in on her. She wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. I could see her shame, her frantic fingers fucking her soaked slit hard as she looked straight at me and tried in vain to control herself. Poor, dumb cunt. Control herself? No, that control was mine.

    Obviously, that was a point that needed to be reinforced. I started making demands of my dear mother. Small ones, at first. “Make me dinner. Chicken”. She complied with a confused look on her face, trying and failing to hide the way her knees trembled with pleasure just by obeying. She instantly retreated to her room, and I enjoyed my dinner listening to her needy mumbles and moans. The link was there, and over one month I strengthened it. “Hand me my phone”... “Give me your credit card”... “Put on your sluttiest lingerie”... Every time, she did as she was told. By the last request, she didn’t make it to her room for the aftermath: she just collapsed and edged on the floor in front of me, her huge tits coated in her drool, jiggling as she ravaged herself. I made her kiss my foot, just as an afterthought.

    Now, I could have stopped there. Perhaps you’d say I should have. In that case, let me ask you this: wouldn’t you take the opportunity to experiment even more, given the chance and the knowledge that whatever happened to your subject, she had it coming? It wasn’t cruelty. It was retribution.

    I think she’s happier now, I really do. She doesn’t have to worry about anything ever again. She has no name- hell, she has no idea she should have a name, nor the capacity to form such a coherent thought. Money is no problem: my girls keep us comfortable, selling their bodies and their family’s valuables for me. 

    No, the being that had been my mother has nothing to concern herself with except edging and drooling and obeying. I like her much better this way. And to be honest, she’s a much more entertaining conversation partner, even if she can only repeat one half-moaned phrase.

    "I am a worthless cow, and my Daughter owns me."

    "I am a worthless cow, and my Daughter owns me."

    "I am a worthless cow, and my Daughter owns me."

    Did you enjoy this text? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

    A Letter

    You, scrolling there. Stop for a second. I'll be brief, I promise.

    I don't know what kind of shit you're going through. I do know, however, that brains can be lying fucking bastards. I know what it feels like to perceive yourself as if trapped inside an invisible prison. I know how lonely it can be, how... impossible it is to communicate that experience to others, how they don't understand, or maybe understand only up to a point.

    I know how exhausting it can be.

    I know how alluring the idea of ending it all can be.

    I know how that insiduous voice inside you can convince you that you're worthless.

    Don't believe it.

    You matter, and I can say that without knowing you. You matter because you are alive, and even the darkest of nights has an end. It may seem impossible, it may seem too far away, it may seem like you're not strong enough to reach it. But you are.

    We are often the ones that ignore our own strength. Life is twisting and strange and wonderful, and we never know what may happen, what surprises await around the corner. So don't give up. You are valuable and valued, even if you can't see it right now.

    Why am I writing this? Because I only wanted to provide fun and kink, and suddenly I find myself with a lot of followers- and perhaps one of you needs a reminder of how important you are.

    A man saved my life once. I was 15 and very much suicidal. If he hadn't been there for me, I wouldn't be here now. And he's unable to get out of bed. He believes he is worthless only because he's not making money. He feels his life has been meaningless. I told him what he did for me, and was shocked to realize he never knew how much he meant, how he literally saved me from myself all those years ago.

    I can't help him. I can be there for him, but in the end it's something he has to work through.

    But maybe these words may help some of you, a little bit. I hope so. I can only hope.

    You matter. You have value. Things can get better.

    Ladies, Gentlemen and Others:

    Here, for your listening pleasure, is a most curious scene. What happens when a camgirl finds herself conditioned to go deeper and darker than she ever would? Listen to find out!

    The amazing performance is, of course, the talented and deligthful @smolhyrda !! Thank you so much for bringing the scene to life!! And as always, you can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

    I don't care if I get canceled over this, but sometimes you have to fucking stand up and say what you believe, even if it might upset some people. I'm sorry if this hurts your sensibilities, but it's my truth and I'm sick and tired of staying silent. Silence is complicity and I refuse to let my fear police my posts on this blog any longer. Fear is a poison that you administer to yourself, slow acting but lethal. So if you want to block me for saying this, block me.

    I think boobs are nifty.

    Yet Another PTSD Update

    I guess I've been putting this off for long enough. If you've been around for a while, you know the deal; if not, I'll do a brief recap:

    - History of anxiety issues, managed to handle them most of my life

    - 2020 sucked for a million reasons

    - Early 2021 I was diagnosed with CPTSD stemming from accumulated trauma and aggravated by frontline (non medical) work during the pandemic. Was put on medical leave.

    Unable to have a day job for now. Panic attacks.

    Cool? Cool.

    Well, a few things have become quite apparent. The first is the logical economic step my company is going to take: most likely my contract won't be renewed. I mean, I don't begrudge them that at all- they've gone above and beyond in supporting me during this time. They haven't fired me. But when the rubber hits the road... you wouldn't rehire a person that can't do the work either, would you?

    That doesn't help matters but it's not the end of the world per se. I've been making progress, taking on more writing work, working out, putting myself first- which is hard for me to do. Still, the future remains the big unknown.

    What will I do next? Will I be able to get another job? Do I want another job if I'm not yet stable enough to handle it? Do I try to write full time? Would that even be enough? Will I find some form of work from home? Will I create some venture to keep our apartment, our cats fed, our basic needs met?

    Will I be able to pull that off?

    Will my brain rebel again?

    I don't know. I can't know. I know I have to try. I have a few ideas, but... going independent is scary as fuck, especially when you don't trust your own mind. What's to say if I start an online workshop or something I won't be sabotaged by constant panic attacks again?

    It ain't easy. I'm trying my best. I suppose that's all I can do, and keep doing.

    That and being thankful. I don't think you know how much you've helped me, in so many ways. You probably don't realize it, but even your messages of support or a kind word, or a cute chat or a fun conversation is a huge boost for me. So, thank you. And doubly so for my patrons. I never expected kink of all things to keep food on the table in a time of need. You made that possible, and I can't possibly thank you enough.

    As to what the future holds... well, more kink is a certainty. The rest...

    I guess I'll live whatever hand I'm dealt the best I can.