Dark Wanderings
Last update
2019-11-21 00:27:10

    Hopefully that whole nsfw blog deletion thing won’t happen here. But regardless, I’ve finished some more of my Power Girl project, not done yet however. There are still three more panels that need working on.

    This is at half the original resolution size, full res will be over on my Patreon when the full project is complete!


    Please, someone use that kryptonite on me!!!


    I awake feeling obedient. Mistresses is watching me from a chair, a confident smile on her face.

    My head feels like Jell-O. Thinking is hard. Is that what she did? Made me a Bimbo like she always threatened?

    I only remember her voice, smooth and powerful sending me down into hypnotic blank obedience.

    I try to sit-up but I’m so heavy. I think how I can become lighter.

    Clothes are heavy. If I take my clothes off I will be lighter.

    I wiggle in bed, removing my clothes and throwing them to the floor but other than getting wet and aroused it accomplishes nothing.

    I still can’t sit up.

    I crawl to the foot of the bed and fall out onto the ground.

    So heavy.

    So wet.

    I begin to crawl to my Mistress across the floor. Each movement makes me more aroused, and makes it harder to think.




    I reach Her. She looks down and smiles like I’m and obedient dog. Then her voice fills my ears and I’m so heavy I sink naked to the carpet.




    What will I be when I next awake?

    Anything She wants.


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    I should probably tell you...

    If you pull my panties to the side instead of telling me to take them off, I’ll melt. It feels like an inspection, like you’re still deciding if you’ll fuck me or not. Push a finger or two into my pussy and talk to me—God, please talk to me. Remark on what a slut I am, or tell me I’m a good little girl because I’m so wet for you, or coo condescendingly about how desperate I am to be touched.

    Don’t fuck me, though. Keep touching me until I’m dripping down my thighs.

    Do the same thing when I’m wearing a skirt. Bend me over the nearest table, push my skirt up, and tug my underwear down around my thighs. Fuck me until you come, then walk away, leaving me wobbly-kneed and slick with your come and my own wetness.

    Fuck me when I’m sleeping. Wake me up with a particularly hard thrust. When I mumble a sleepy protest, call me a fucktoy and tell me to shut my mouth before you gag me.

    Make me sit on a dildo while I work. Force me to come with your cock up my ass. Mock me for how wet I get. When I say no, dont, stop, push me down onto my knees and fuck my face, telling me it’s all my mouth is good for anyway. Rip my jeans open at the ass and finger me until I’m begging.

    I’m a simple girl with simple needs, really. Just remind me that my holes are yours.


    This somehow has 10,000 notes???


    It feels like this piece deserves another reblog


    Two graphics that explain active consent


    Single most important graphic I will ever reblog.


    Stories I’ve been hearing tell me this isn’t as widespread as it should be. This graphic needs to be plastered all over the pages of the hypnosis, bimbo, pet play, DD/lg, and any other kink’s community that happens to have two people playing together. Heck, even SFW blogs need this graphic. This doesn’t just apply to us. It applies to everyone. Reblog it with this caption, reblog it by itself, I don’t care. But this needs to be spread everywhere.

    But, because my immediate audience is hypno people, I’ll speak with you:

    Hypnosis is a very unique kink, since it doesn’t need to be done in person, there are a huge variety of ways if can be used with two people not in the same room. Cherish that, and protect it. We’re used to the term suggestion in this community too.

    Consent isn’t a suggestion. It’s a must. Not just an idea that comes up once in a while either. It’s a constant state of being aware of the other person, and knowing they’re enjoying what you’re doing together.

    There are lots of dehumanizing things on different Tumblr pages about “Aspiring to be less,” or “Accepting your natural state,” or some other mantra, but that doesn’t mean that feelings magically go away when people post that stuff. People come here to escape, more often than not. Real people. That doesn’t mean you get to hypnotize them, or harass them, or demand for them to hypnotize you. They are real people behind the screen, posting and reblogging stuff and hoping to interact with someone who understands them. Be polite, be understanding, help them out, and accept that “no” really, truly, and unequivocally means “no”.

    My number one rule in life and Internet interaction remains the same. Don’t be an asshole.

    That means don’t violate consent.


    Reblogs for the morning crowd.


    And again, one more time for the folks all the way in the back.


    And now a word about reality. Everything else I post here is fantasy. Be real.


    A reminder about real people and the real world.

    Consent is essential. Every time. All the time.

    It shouldn’t work at all. Shondra’s a professional chemist, she could probably brew up a batch of chloroform herself if it wasn’t illegal and dangerous and pointless. She knows full well that chloroform isn’t some instantaneous, magical way of rendering someone unconscious with just a rag and a few futile struggles for effect. It takes at least five minutes of exposure to render someone insensate, and even then the chloroform has to be continuously administered in order to maintain the anesthetic effect. She shouldn’t feel so… groggy. So suddenly, deliciously drowsy.

    And it doesn’t smell like this at all. It has a sweet odor, with a slightly alcoholic tinge to it–this cloth smells like baby powder. Shondra can tell almost instantly that it’s not really chloroform she’s breathing in, rapidly at first as she kicks and struggles but slower and slower as her body sags into her boyfriend’s grasp. That’s probably for the best–Shondra’s read all sorts of accounts of patients in the early anesthetic tests spontaneously dropping dead from cardiac arrests, or choking because they were too deeply drugged to keep their own airways clear. If this were really chloroform, Shondra would be in grave danger.

    But it’s not. And she knows it’s not. So why is it working so well? She tries to puzzle it out, but her head feels like it’s spinning and her body is going limp and she can’t seem to think straight anymore. It, it shouldn’t work. It’s just the power of suggestion, just her boyfriend playing with her mind and using hypnosis to tell her that baby powder does to her brain what it does to women in… in all those silly pulp stories that Shondra confessed to enjoying a little too much. She should be able to just laugh this off, because she knows. She knows it’s not real.

    But it’s working like it’s real. She can feel her vision narrowing down to a tunnel, graying out around the edges until she can barely see anything at all. She can feel her body going limp, muscles slackening until she’s just dead weight for her boyfriend to drag to the bed and flop onto the covers. She can feel her thoughts fading into dazed confusion, her mind numbing into blissful acceptance of the gentle caresses against her soft skin. Shondra isn’t drugged, she knows that, but her body wants to believe she is. And so it works.

    It works because she wants it to work. Her subconscious mind has been aching to be taken, doped up just like all the helpless girls in the old Agatha Christie novels and spirited away to be used as a mindless, helpless fucktoy for someone else’s pleasure. And so the suggestion sank in perfectly, working just like she imagined it would. Exactly like she imagined it would. Not like she knew it should, but like she always fantasized about whenever she masturbated. It works perfectly.

    And as her boyfriend slides her clothes off of her limp, unresisting body, she feels herself slip deeper still into the grip of her perfect fantasy drug. She’s just awake enough to know it when he begins to fuck her. And she can’t think of anything more perfect.

    (Like this flash fiction? Want to see more? Visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox, or drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox!)