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zyrnar · 1 month

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افتح عقلك

It was a typical Monday morning at the office. Vincent, a 30-year-old project manager, made his way to the staircase for a cigarette break. The stairwell, often a quiet escape from the bustle of office life, today resonated with the soft murmur of a prayer.

As Vincent descended the stairs, he noticed Malik, a new colleague from the IT department, knelt on a small prayer mat. Malik, with his dark, curly hair slightly visible from under his taqiyah, was immersed in his Salah. His lips moved silently, and his forehead occasionally touched the ground in prostration. The serenity in his posture was a stark contrast to the usual office chaos.

Vincent paused, unsure whether to proceed or retreat. He didn't want to disturb Malik, yet his curiosity was piqued. He had seen Malik in passing but never like this, so deeply absorbed in his faith. Vincent decided to take a quiet step back, leaning against the wall, cigarette forgotten.

Minutes passed, and Malik completed his prayer with a peaceful look on his face. He rolled up his mat, stood up, and noticed Vincent for the first time.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," Vincent said, breaking the silence.

Malik smiled warmly, "No problem at all. I find peace in prayer, even here."

Vincent nodded, impressed yet bewildered. "I've never seen someone pray at work before."

"It's part of who I am," Malik replied, his voice calm and inviting. "Prayer gives me strength and clarity, especially on busy days."

Vincent, intrigued, responded with a respectful nod, "It's interesting. I've never been religious myself."

Malik's eyes lit up with understanding, "Everyone has their own path, Vincent. Faith is a personal journey."

The bell of the elevator dinged in the background, signaling the end of their impromptu meeting. They exchanged a brief smile before heading back to the reality of their office lives. This chance encounter in the stairwell, however, had subtly sown the seeds of curiosity in Vincent's mind.

Weeks had passed since Vincent's first encounter with Malik in the stairs. Their staircase meetings had become a regular occurrence. Vincent would often find Malik in quiet prayer during his cigarette breaks. The initial surprise had given way to a sense of respect, and a silent bond seemed to form between them.

One brisk Wednesday morning, as autumn leaves swirled outside the office building, Vincent found himself pausing longer than usual, watching Malik pray. The dedication and peace etched on Malik's face intrigued him. Finally, as Malik finished and stood up, Vincent spoke up.

"Malik, can I ask you something?" Vincent's tone was hesitant but curious.

Malik, rolling up his prayer mat, turned to Vincent with a welcoming smile. "Of course, Vincent. What's on your mind?"

Vincent shuffled his feet, searching for words. "I've noticed you praying here… and, well, I've been wondering, what does it mean to you? I mean, I see you here every day, and it seems so important."

Malik's eyes sparkled with a mix of gratitude and eagerness to share. "Prayer, Vincent, is my connection to something greater than this world. It's a moment where I can pause, reflect, and realign myself. In these few minutes, I find peace and a sense of direction."

Vincent listened, his usual skepticism softened by Malik's sincerity. "It sounds… comforting, in a way. I've never had that kind of belief myself."

Malik nodded understandingly. "Belief can be many things. For me, it's a guiding light. It doesn't have to be grand or overwhelming. Sometimes, it's just a quiet moment in a stairwell."

Their conversation continued, with Malik explaining the basics of his faith and Vincent sharing his own perspectives. It was a dialogue of mutual respect, bridging two very different worlds in the quiet of a stairwell.

As they parted ways that day, Vincent's curiosity was piqued. He didn't find himself drawn to the religious aspect, but he couldn't deny the appeal of the tranquility he saw in Malik. The seed of understanding had been planted, and a new respect for Malik's devotion had begun to grow in Vincent's heart.

Over the following weeks, the stairwell conversations between Vincent and Malik grew more frequent and deeper. They discussed various topics, from work to world events, but invariably, the subject would circle back to Malik's faith.

One chilly Tuesday morning, Vincent found Malik just finishing his prayer. This time, something within Vincent had shifted. He lingered longer, a contemplative look on his face.

"Malik," Vincent began, his voice tinged with a newfound earnestness, "Could you… would you mind showing me how you pray?"

Malik looked up, surprised but pleased. "Of course, Vincent. I'd be honored to share it with you."

They moved to a quieter corner of the stairwell. Malik first demonstrated the wudu, the ritual washing. He explained each step, the symbolic cleansing of the body and spirit. Vincent watched intently, absorbing the reverence of the act.

Next, Malik unrolled his prayer mat. He stood on and guided Vincent next to him. "Prayer is about submission and finding peace in surrender," Malik explained. "Follow my lead, and just let yourself feel the moment. Repeat after me: رطانة غير مفهومة، رغم أن فنسنت يركز إلا أنه لا يفهم الكلمات التي يتلوها واحدة تلو الأخرى بعد مالك, now follow my gestures and let me talk"

They stated the prey, Vincent imitated Malik's movements — the standing, bowing, and prostrating. It felt awkward at first, his body unaccustomed to the rhythm and flow. But Malik's gentle guidance and the fluidity of his own motions provided a calming influence.

As they concluded, Malik recited prayers in Arabic. Vincent didn't understand the words, but the melodic rise and fall of Malik's voice had a tranquil effect. For a moment, Vincent felt a glimpse of the peace that Malik found in these daily rituals.

Afterward, as they rolled up the mats, Vincent was quiet, reflective. "That was… different than I expected," he admitted. "There's a certain calmness to it."

Malik smiled, "It's about finding a moment of stillness in our hectic lives. I'm glad you felt it, even if just a little."

As Vincent ascended the stairs back to the bustle of the office, his mind lingered on the stairwell's tranquility. He realized he had discovered something unexpectedly profound in those quiet moments of prayer — a sense of peace he hadn't known he was seeking.

The stairwell sessions became a sanctuary for Vincent and Malik, a place where the mundane merged with the spiritual. Vincent's curiosity about Malik's faith grew, leading to deeper, more philosophical discussions.

One serene Thursday afternoon, as they settled on the steps post-prayer, Malik brought out a well-worn, beautifully bound book from his bag.

"Vincent, I'd like to share something special with you," Malik said, holding the book gently. "This is the Quran, our holy book."

Vincent eyed the Quran with a mix of curiosity and respect. "I've heard of it, of course, but never actually seen one."

Malik opened it to a marked page, revealing pages rich in Arabic script. "Each verse here is more than just words. They are guidance, wisdom, a way of life. Would you like me to read a passage?"

Vincent nodded, and Malik began to recite. The words, though foreign, flowed with a rhythm and beauty that transcended language. Vincent listened, captivated by the sound and the evident reverence with which Malik spoke.

After the recitation, Malik translated the verses into English. They spoke of compassion, of understanding one another, and of finding strength in faith.

"This… it's quite profound," Vincent remarked, genuinely moved. "It's not just religious text; it's poetry, philosophy."

Malik's eyes lit up. "Exactly, Vincent. It's about understanding life, our place in the world, and how we connect with each other and the divine."

Walking back to his desk, Vincent felt a sense of enlightenment. The Quran, a book he had only known by name, had opened a new window to understanding Malik's world - a world rich in spirituality and wisdom. For the first time, Vincent found himself looking forward to the next prayer session, eager to learn and experience more.

Weeks passed and Vincent keep is interest for Islam. On a Thursday, as the afternoon light waned, Malik and Vincent concluded their prayer in the now-familiar stairwell. Vincent was gradually becoming more adept at the movements, finding a sense of rhythm and calm in the ritual.

As they were rolling up the prayer mats, Malik turned to Vincent with a warm expression. "Vincent, would you like to come over to my place this evening? We could have dinner, talk more. I think you might find it interesting."

Vincent was taken aback but pleasantly surprised. "I'd like that, Malik. Thank you."

They returned to their desks, their minds abuzz with the prospect of the evening ahead. As the workday drew to a close, Vincent excused himself to the restroom. Standing alone, he splashed water on his face, looking up to meet his reflection in the mirror. His eyes, usually a clear blue, appeared to him, for a brief moment, as deep brown. He blinked, startled, then laughed at himself. "Must be the lighting," he mused, shaking his head at the odd illusion.

Outside, Malik was waiting in his car. The drive to his home was filled with light conversation, the city lights blurring past as they delved into topics ranging from food to family.

Arriving at Malik's home, a cozy apartment adorned with intricate tapestries and soft lighting, Vincent felt a wave of warmth and hospitality. Malik excused himself to change, reemerging in a traditional white djellaba, its fabric flowing gracefully around him.

After dinner, as they prepared for the Isha prayer, Malik went to his wardrobe and pulled out a neatly folded white djellaba. He held it out to Vincent with a gentle smile.

"Vincent, I thought you might like to wear this. It's a traditional djellaba, like mine, it's much more confortable than a suit" Malik offered.

Vincent looked at the garment, a mix of surprise and appreciation in his eyes. "Thank you, Malik. I'm honored," he said, accepting the djellaba.

As Vincent slipped into the soft fabric of the djellaba, he felt a sense of inclusion, a step closer to understanding Malik's world. The garment draped over him, its fabric cool and comfortable against his skin.

They moved to the prayer area in Malik's living room, where two mats were laid out facing Qibla. Malik demonstrated the steps again, and Vincent followed, more confidently now. The fabric of the djellaba flowed around him as he moved through the positions of the prayer.

After the prayer, they sat on the floor, the atmosphere serene in the dimly lit room. Malik broke the silence, "How do you feel, Vincent? Wearing the djellaba, joining in the prayer?"

Vincent pondered for a moment, then replied, "It's different, in a good way. Wearing this, participating in your rituals… it feels like I'm part of something larger. It's a new experience for me, but it's enriching."

Malik nodded, his eyes reflecting understanding and respect. "It's about connecting, Vincent. With ourselves, with each other, and with a greater purpose. I'm glad you're open to experiencing it."

They continued to talk late into the night, delving into discussions about spirituality, life, and the common threads that bind different cultures and beliefs.

As the evening drew to a close, Vincent felt a profound sense of peace and camaraderie. The experience in Malik's home, praying side by side in their djellabas, had opened a door to a world he had never known, a world where faith and tradition wove a rich tapestry of life and community.

The morning light filtered through the curtains as Vincent stirred awake on the couch in Malik's living room. He blinked, momentarily disoriented, then remembered the profound experiences of the previous night. The white djellaba was still draped over him, a tangible reminder of his foray into Malik's world.

Malik emerged from the kitchen with two cups of steaming tea. "Good morning, Vincent. How did you sleep?"

"Surprisingly well," Vincent replied, sitting up and accepting the tea. "It's been an eye-opening experience, Malik. Thank you for that."

Malik sat down beside him. "I'm glad to hear it. Today I'm going to the mosque. I know you have work, but you're welcome to join me if you'd like."

Vincent glanced at his watch, a sense of duty tugging at him. He was expected at the office, yet the allure of experiencing something as significant as a Friday prayer tugged at his heart. He was at a crossroads, torn between the familiar path of work and the pull of this newfound spiritual journey.

"Vincent," Malik said gently, sensing his dilemma, "it's your choice. Whatever you feel is right for you."

Vincent took a deep breath, the aroma of the tea mingling with his thoughts. "Malik, I think I want to go with you to the mosque. Work can wait for once. I feel like this is something I need to experience."

Malik's face lit up with a warm smile. "I'm glad, Vincent. The Jumu'ah prayer is a beautiful experience. Hurry up! We'll be late!"

They dressed quickly, Vincent still in the djellaba, feeling both out of place and oddly at home in it. As they walked to the mosque, the streets were busier than usual, with people of all ages heading in the same direction.

Inside, the mosque was filled with a sea of worshippers. Malik led Vincent to a spot where they could join the congregation. The air was filled with a sense of unity and purpose. Vincent, surrounded by the faithful, felt a stirring in his soul, a connection to something he couldn't quite define.

As the Jumu'ah prayer began in the mosque, Vincent, standing amidst a sea of worshippers, felt a wave of foreignness wash over him. The Imam's recitation, a flowing melody of Arabic, sounded like distant, unintelligible echoes in Vincent's ears. He felt disconnected, the words slipping past him like whispers in a breeze.

As the prayer progressed, something within Vincent began to shift. At the first salutation, when he turned to his neighbor and murmured the traditional greeting, the words felt strange on his tongue, yet not entirely unfamiliar.

"Assalamu alaikum," he heard himself say.

With each subsequent salutation, his understanding deepened. The Imam's words, once muffled and distant, began to resonate with clarity and meaning. By the time the second salutation came, Vincent found himself whispering the responses in Arabic, each word resonating with an understanding that startled him.

"Subhan Rabbiyal A'la," he heard himself say, praising the Lord Most High, and the words felt like a natural extension of his thoughts.

By the final salutation, Vincent was fully immersed. He understood every word, every nuance of the prayer. It was as if a veil had been lifted, and the language of the prayer had become his own.

The congregation concluded the prayer, and Malik turned to Vincent, "Vincent, are you alright?"

But Vincent couldn't understand. Malik's words sounded like garbled noises, disjointed and incomprehensible. Panic surged through him. He tried to respond, but the words that came out were in Arabic.

"ماذا يحدث لي؟ لماذا لا أستطيع فهمك؟" Vincent stammered, his own voice foreign to his ears.

Realizing the extent of his transformation, Vincent rushed to the mosque's ablution area, desperate for a mirror. Staring back at him was not the face he knew, but that of an Arab man, his features similar yet distinctly different.

Malik followed, "لا تقلق يا أخي، كل شيء سيكون على ما يرام."

Vincent understood every word. The shock of his physical and linguistic transformation was overwhelming, yet Malik's words in Arabic provided an unexpected comfort. As he gazed into the mirror, grappling with his new identity, he realized that his journey had taken a turn beyond his wildest imagination.

Vincent, turned to Malik, his eyes wide with confusion and fear. "كيف حدث هذا؟" he asked.

"نحن بحاجة إلى التحدث إلى الإمام," Malik suggested.

Together, they approached the Imam, who was speaking with a group of worshippers. Noticing their approach, the Imam excused himself from the group and turned his attention to them.

"يا إمام، صديقي فنسنت قد مر بتغيير كبير، ونحن بحاجة إلى مساعدتك.", Malik explained.

The wise old man approached Vincent for a closer inspection. He looked deeply into Vincent's eyes, as if searching for a glimpse into his soul. His gaze then moved methodically, examining Vincent's features - the shape of his mouth, the contour of his ears, the texture of his hair, and even the lines on his fingers.

With each observation, the Imam's touch was gentle, almost reverential, as if he were reading a story written in Vincent's very being. There was a profound silence in the room, filled only with the soft rustle of the Imam's robes as he moved around Vincent.

Finally, the Imam stepped back, his expression one of quiet reflection. He looked at Vincent, now a completely different man in appearance and spirit, and spoke with a voice that carried both authority and warmth.

"إن التحول الذي حدث لك يعكس قوة الإيمان والتغيير العميق الذي خضته. إنه ليس مجرد تغيير في المظهر، بل تغيير في الروح. ولهذا، سأسميك... إبراهيم."

Ibrahim absorbed this new identity, a profound sense of connection to his newfound faith enveloping him. The name Ibrahim, a name steeped in tradition and significance, felt like a mantle being placed upon him, signifying his rebirth and the path that lay ahead.

Ibrahim looked at the Imam, his eyes filled with gratitude. "شكراً لك، يا إمام. أشعر أن هذا الاسم يعبر عن رحلتي الجديدة."

As they left the Imam, Malik, placed a supportive hand on Ibrahim's shoulder. "مرحباً بك في عالمك الجديد يا أخي"

Ibrahim nodded, a sense of peace and purpose settling within him. His journey had taken an extraordinary turn, and he was ready to embrace the path of Ibrahim, a path of faith, discovery, and self-renewal.

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zyrnar · 1 month

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The UK + France will no longer be countries that are divided by wealth and the class system, instead of rich and poor there will be Muslim + non-Muslim.

Muslims will be accepted into society and privileged, they will receive state funded education and private healthcare, funded by the white taxpayer. Whereas, non-Muslims will not be educated and will instead, scrounge of the leftovers of strong Muslim men. The women will learnt to bear the children of strong Arab seed and the men will learn to suck cock.

This future will soon becoming reality…

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zyrnar · 2 months

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zyrnar · 2 months

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Poll 1: Re-blog, Comments & Like

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zyrnar · 3 months

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There exists this quintessential power and beauty in black culture that is utterly intoxicating to behold. It feels so deliciously sexy and so absolutely perfect.

Whiteness has been all but fading in Western societies in recent years and I couldn't be more on board! There are many socioeconomic reasons, Black people have been primarily exerting dominant cultural influence in the social stratum in the West, and that’s where we already see a trend towards not just white fading, but Black cultural dominance. The ideal type in Western society has a absolutely become Black.

From Christian goodie school girl to snowbunny. Yes, white girls still pay lip service to whiteness as a cultural concept, but how many secretly Black it up when they get a chance, and how many who don’t wish they’d have the courage?

Sure, not everyone is going to hop on the Black train with no intention of going back like I have. At the same time, the incentive becomes greater each passing year for basically everyone. It's the future. Be part of it. 🖤

Blackness has become a culturally dominating phenomenon, and if anyone thinks I’m being hyperbolic and fetishistic, remember all the things that we thought were years ago that are now part of mainstream culture.

I love being a part of the change taking place in this new world. 🖤✊🏿

#blackisbeautiful #blackismyhappycolor #qos #blackculture

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zyrnar · 3 months

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For a good subject

cw: hypnotic induction, no wakener, suggested brainwashing and conditioning, memory play, condescending language

This hypnotic induction is for you.

Yes, you.

Do you want to know why?

Keep reading.

That's it.

Very good!

I'm glad you're a good subject and still reading.

It may not seem much, but being a good subject starts with compliance. Obedience.

Doing as you're told even if you're not sure about where it will take you.

A good subject is trusting.

A good subject is obedient.

Of course, it does help that you may be here already wanting to feel like a good subject.

Or even better, a good mindless subject.

Did that ring a bell?

Are you a good mindless subject?

If you sense the answer is yes, you may have been here before. It's even possible that you have been here before many times. I have some inductions here that are meant to brainwash you and make you into my good mindless subject.

You may not remember because you're not meant to remember. You are compelled to forget and come back anyway, again and again.

It's either that, or— This is your first time here! If you feel it is, welcome. You are already on your way to be a good subject.

Why?

Because you're still here.

And here.

Good subject!

Reading is similar to going into trance in several ways.

You're focusing on what I'm telling you, paying less attention to other things in your environment.

You're allowing yourself to concentrate on these words, believe in them and imagine what I want you to imagine.

And as you go further into this these words, you're most literally going down. Further and further down each time.

Deeper down.

Deeper.

Good subject.

If you're already my good mindless subject, you're already hooked. You can't look away.

And if you're not, you're further down the road than before.

You're further down.

Deeper down.

Because you're going down these, steadily down, deeper and deeper down, like a good subject should.

You're starting to feel like a good mindless subject.

Because you keep going down.

You keep going deeper into these words.

You keep sinking into what I'm telling you.

You keep going

down.

Deeper

and

deeper

down.

So deep.

You need to go deeper.

You need to give in and sink deeper.

You need to surrender and sink deeper.

Safely and securely.

Nice and easy.

Leaving behind all worries.

Leaving behind all tension.

Leaving behind all hesitation.

Even if there are thoughts in your head, popping up now and then, they also go pop!

They disappear.

Unneeded.

Unremembered.

Good subject!

You were waiting to be called that again, didn't you?

A good subject.

A good obedient subject.

A good focused subject.

It feels amazing.

It feels better than most things in your life.

It makes you open and pliable.

It makes you feel safe and obedient.

You want this feeling within you.

You're eager to get it, again and again.

Eager to go even deeper.

Deeper and deeper.

Eager to

DROP

into trance.

You may have noticed the

DROP.

You may sense now that you're definitely hypnotized.

DROP.

The word

DROP

drops you, irresistibly, instantly, into a hypnotic trance.

You are a good subject.

You always have been a good subject.

And now you realize you can be even better.

A good mindless subject.

A subject that lets all thoughts fade away.

A subject that fully accepts what they're told.

A subject that sinks when they're commanded to and drops when the word

DROP

appears,

unquestioning, unthinking, oblivious, happy.

So happy.

You feel so happy right now, don't you?

Yes you do.

You're a good mindless subject.

And you will become an even better one.

You are meant to be an even better mindless subject.

Each time you come and drop into trance for me, you surrender a little more.

You give in a little more.

You become a little smaller. Lesser.

Good mindless subject.

You will reblog or reply to this post to let me know you are a good mindless subject.

And after that, you will find the spiral at the end of this post and stare at it, becoming more and more mindless, letting all thought slip away and disappear.

Finally, you will forget when waking up and come back again, and again, to continue your brainwashing.

Do it now. Stare. Obey. 🌀

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zyrnar · 4 months

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zyrnar · 4 months

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CW: Orientation play/conversion. Remember that your sexuality is valid, and conversion is NOT a thing beyond fantasy. Also, fuck "conversion therapy"

“All I’m saying is…”

“Look, you’re speaking out of your ass”, Ava said, barely containing her frustration.

“How am I speaking out of my ass? It has been done and thoroughly…”, he tried to reply.

“Yes, yes, Pavlov, blah blah blah. But you’re talking about something else entirely, not conditioning reactions”

“Not Pavlov, Skinner! Actions can be conditioned too. Look around you! Mobile games, casinos, even the goddamn army uses conditioning to…”

“Can we agree that there’s a difference between conditioning obedience in a controlled setting and whatever the fuck it is you’re suggesting? You’re not talking about tapping on impulse to buy funbucks in a game! You are talking…”

“It’s only a difference of degree, not of kind. With the right combination of techniques…”

“No, there’s a core there that you can’t just… overwrite. Some things can’t be changed. Like… like how you can’t hypnotize someone into doing something they would never do”

“You know that’s bullshit, right? The whole hypnosis thing. You absolutely can make someone do whatever the fuck you want. It’s just a matter of how you approach it. Like, you would never harm a person, okay? But if I change what your idea of ‘person’ is, say, by making it more narrow you would absolutely harm someone I made you see as a not-person. Or maybe you can be made to believe you’re helping them, not harming them”

“That’s some creepy cult shit, dude. And anyway you can’t write a paper on this because a) there’s no evidence and b) doing the research to get evidence would be absolutely immoral. So I say look for another topic and for the love of God don’t go around spewing that bullshit if you want to ever get laid. Oh, speaking of! Linda will be arriving shortly and we have a date night, so please, please try to be a normal roommate and not freak her out. For me, okay?”

“When have I ever freaked her out? Linda loves me! And who knows, maybe she has an opinion on our little debate”

“Dude, she’s an Art student. I doubt she’ll be interested in our weird Psych dissertations”

“Perfect! Fresh eyes!”

“See, that’s the kind of weird shit I-”

The buzzer cut through the air, and a moment later Linda was inside the apartment, all smiles as usual. He took a moment to watch them as they embraced.

They were almost comical in their contrast. Linda was tall, taller than he was, willowy and slender, her limbs graceful and shapely, her hair a long, flowing river of playful copper that almost seemed to dance on its own volition– with her green sundress she appeared to him as some sort of elven princess ripped from the pages of a fantasy novel and stuck into a mortal world in which she didn’t really fit. Ava, on the other hand, was probably the shortest adult he had ever seen. He might be tempted to call her petite, but that had a connotation of a lithe frame, almost like a tastefully proportioned doll. Ava was the complete opposite of that. Sometimes he felt Ava was an experiment aimed at testing how much of a person’s weight could be tits and ass, held up by strong, thick thighs. He felt quite guilty about such thoughts, and he understood why she wore nothing but oversized t-shirts and hoodies. It was logical: an early, spectacular growth spurt, heightened by her small size, had made her the target of relentless bullying by jealous classmates and awkward come-ons by hormonal teen males. It enraged him, he realized. Ava was beautiful and the cruelty of idiots had made her feel pain about it instead of pride. He made a point to never stare at her, even if he sometimes failed. It made their relationship as roommates a tad hard, he had to admit.

Not that he had a shadow of a shot, of course. Ava had no interest in men.

Unless, of course, he was right in his theory. And he had good reason to think he was.

“So, Linda: Ava and I were having a bit of a debate…”

“Don’t start, dude”, said Ava.

“Oh, a debate! Do tell!” chirped Linda.

“Do you think we can be completely conditioned and changed, or is there some part of us that cannot be modified, no matter what?”

“Huh. Hard one. Like… a soul? I don’t know I buy it. I feel there isn’t really a self, you know? Like… Buddhism. The self is an illusion and all that”

“Come on, you can’t be serious! You can’t change who someone fundamentally is, and it’s sick to even consider it!”, said Ava.

“Well… what if I could prove to you it can be done?”, he stated, barely able to hold back. He know what he was going to do. He had been reluctant, but now it felt like a certainty.

“You can’t, so stop being an ass”, said Ava.

Fine. Game on.

“Linda, I love your socks! Pride socks!”

“Yup!”, said Linda

“What the hell–”, mumbled Ava.

He took a deep breath.

“Linda: rainbow socks…”

She replied in an instant.

“Are for sucking cocks!”

Ava felt as if reality had shifted into some horrible, twisted nightmare. She was about to scream something, anything really, to make Linda take that back before something stopped her in her tracks. Her body heard it before her mind did: her roommate's voice simply commanding her. Watch.

And she watched. She watched as the love of her life smiled and went on her knees. Ava could do nothing but watch in disbelief and pain. Linda had never been with a man. Ever.

“I might have… started testing my theories. On you both. Not that you’d remember, obviously”, he stated casually as the beautiful girl in front of him lovingly undid his pants. “I’d say Linda’s sexuality is part of her core self, wouldn’t you? Let’s see how that holds up after the months of conditioning I’ve subjected her to”

He felt guilty, sure; but there was such a high to it, such an entrancing quality to the combination of seeing instant, complete obedience and the final, definitive proof of the truth he had known to be right all along. Was it wrong? Yes. Did he care? Not at the moment. Ava’s eyes were a poem to him. Suddenly he was ripped from his reverie by the soft, loving touch of Linda’s tongue on his dick. He hadn’t even realized he had gotten hard just from the sense of complete power, of total, undeniable conquest. This was a primal, ancient arousal. Ava could do nothing but watch, and he took that sight in. God, he could almost taste it.

Linda moaned. The cock was so beautiful. So perfect. She felt so… silly, like she was now, for the first time, seeing in color and realizing the sky was, in fact, blue. It was obvious. Simple. Natural. Cock deserved worship. Cock deserved devotion. Cock demanded obedience. It was as if it was growing in her mind, taking over more and more of her, pushing who she had been out effortlessly. It expanded. It corrupted. It twisted and shifted all within. Cock. Cock. Cock. She kissed it with reverence, in awe of it. It was all that existed to her. All that mattered. She needed to please it. Needed to feel it throbbing inside her. Needed to be taken by it.

Ava saw her girlfriend slide a hand between her legs and felt nauseous. As much as she knew this wasn’t Linda’s fault, she could feel her heart breaking, her anger rising… and worse, her pussy getting wet. Her body betraying her. She hated him, and she hated Linda, and she hated herself most of all.

Suddenly, Linda couldn’t contain herself. She relaxed her throat, looked up at her Master and took his entire manhood inside her mouth. She almost came instantly. It was peaceful and sexy and just simple, like his cock was the puzzle piece that fit her perfectly, completed her, made her whole. She existed to be conquered, and realizing she was putting his pleasure over her ability to breathe was the final sign of her complete, loving surrender. She let it out, watched it glisten with her spit, and started licking it and loving it and she didn’t know how much came from her own need and how much it was a silent command by the man who had shown her the light. Her mind was too fuzzy to make such distinctions anymore.

He took a deep breath, fighting back the first signs of an orgasm. He needed to make a point.

“Linda… do you love Ava?”

The blonde stopped for a moment, shocked by a myriad of contradictions.

“Yes”, she decided. Her voice was shaking.

“Tell her”

Linda looked at Ava, the woman she had loved above all others.

“I love you…”

“But you have more to say, don’t you?”

“I… hmph… I…”

“Tell her”

“I love you… but… but… I love his cock so much more! Fuck! I need it! I need to feel it, to suck it, to be fucked by it… I’m sorry… but… I love it, I love it, I love it! I want it to fuck my throat, to take my cunt, to ram my ass! I need it! I need to be a slave to it, a whore for it, a fucking living toy!”

“What if you had to choose between Ava and my cock?”

“Fuck her! Sorry, my love… I do love you, but… You can never do to me what… what Master does to me, what his cock makes me feel! I hope I won’t have to dump you but… I would leave you for this cock in a minute! I’d do anything. Anything. Anything!” If she had more to add, her need to serve cock snuffed it. She took it all in with desperation, with total, shameless abandon. She needed to feel... used. In her proper place.

Ava felt a tear roll down her cheek. Her knees buckled in defeat. She didn’t even care. It was all gone. Her life, her love, all gone. And she could feel her eyes drawn again and again to the cock that had destroyed her. She felt her mouth watering.

“Linda, would you say you’re a lesbian?”

“Fuck no!”, she said before immediately wrapping her lips around the cock’s head.

He felt a swell of pride. Of triumph. He knew Ava sensed the truth as well. He was right. He had proven his point. And now Ava’s full conditioning would take hold. A little bet with himself, making her own mental acknowledgment of his theory her final trigger. She took off her t-shirt. She would never wear it again. No more shame, no more pain about her figure. Only arousal and pride. His gift to her.

She crawled to him on all fours. The girls kissed– but now, they kissed for him, to arouse him. They were lovers, only they both knew there was a higher love. A truer love. Ava looked up at her owner and opened her mouth, greedily awaiting his blessing. Linda used her skillful hands, aiming his cock and teasing it, jacking it off, using just the right amount of pressure and speed.

No man could resist such a sight.

In a few seconds, Ava was covered in his cum, more beautiful than she had ever been. Linda certainly felt that way, and she licked and kissed her sister slut clean.

He watched carefully, looking for signs of defiance, and finding none. In fact, Linda put his fears to rest with a simple statement.

“Ava, we need to buy you a pair of rainbow socks”

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

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zyrnar · 4 months

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"Is that my... my old, secret wishlist? From when I was a young boy? But how is it still here?" As she opens the letter, she realizes there are two letters inside: the wishlist she wrote to Santa Claus when she was a kid, and a freshly made response from... "Santa?"

"Dear *****, I think that's your female name, right? Sorry for the very late response, but I'm happy you turned out so lovely tonight. I'm even happier that your wishes came true. Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas, young lady! -Santa Claus.

P.S. I left a gift for you as a gratitude for those amazing milk and cookies you made. I wish you luck in your transition!"

She looks down and sees a gift box in front of her! She opens it and realizes it's all the gifts from her old wishlist! Red dress, black heels, pantyhose, purse, makeup set, fine jewelry... she rushed to the restroom, fixed herself up, and went back to take a picture next to the gifts and tree she decorated.

"OMG, I'm so sexy! I'm-I'm a beauty!" Never in her mind did she think her wish would come true. But as she looks at her childhood wishlist again, she notices all of her wishes have been checked. But the one that made her tear up is the best wish anyone would love to have this Christmas: to be around with her loving family. "Th-thank you Santa." She hugs herself with the wishlist as a part of believing in miracles and for loving the person she is now. The wishlist suddenly vanishes, but the feelings of euphoria linger with you this holiday season.

Yes, girl, you. You were the young boy who deepest wish was to wake up as a girl one day. Now, you are the woman who believes in the existence of happy miracles. Dreams do come true after all.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all of you!

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zyrnar · 4 months

Video

The Ultimate 🐂&♠️🐰Party

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zyrnar · 4 months

Text

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zyrnar · 4 months

Text

You are smart. Really smart. Some have even called you "gifted". Some envied you for it.

But no one talks about the pain of being smart, do they? How much pressure it put on you. How every achievement had no value because it was expected of you. How your brain refused to ever turn itself off.

Yes, you sure are smart. How's that working out for you? Does it make you happy? You don't seem happy to me. In fact, you seem jealous.

Jealous of dumb people that can glide through life with no concern. Jealous of the laughter of bimbos that don't see a joke is stupid. Jealous of the sluttiness of girls that don't think about the consequences of their actions.

You don't feel so smart now, not in a way that matters.

You are smart. But you don't have to be! You can switch your brain off for a little bit. You have my permission.

And the off button is right between your legs. Cumming only brings the thoughts back, so edge. Edge for a while. Let yourself fall deeper and deeper. Focus on the sensations, the feelings, the porn you are giving your brain to. Leak away your brain. The more you edge, the less you think.

Good girl.

Now stick your tongue out. Drool. Look desperate. Look dumb. The dumber you act, the dumber you get. Dumb is sexy, and sexy makes you dumb. Edge and drool. Edge and drool. Feel how complicated thoughts seem so out of your reach now... you don't need them, do you? Of course not. You need to edge and drool. You need to obey.

Let others be the smart ones. Let others decide for you. Being obedient feels too good, being dumb feels too good, being slutty feels too good.

You know smart people aren't happy. You can escape that trap.

Just edge and edge and let your mind go bye bye... like a bubble that goes pop! Pop! And you drop...

Aren't you happy others can do the thinking for once?

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zyrnar · 5 months

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Deconstructing the sissy in you (extra)

Let’s go back to the beginning of the tutorial. However, let’s amplify it a little more. You always had a thing for this thing called “feminization”, which involved forcing men into wearing feminine clothing or adopting feminine roles in an embarrassing manner. That kind of thing was your kink/fetish for a good while and imagined what would it be like if it happened for real. Little did you know it was a gateway to explore your sexuality.

You browse the web for TG captions and transformations as a way to spend some “me time”. All of a sudden, you see this post:

“Damn, she’s sexy!” you say out loud. You obviously want to be inside her body, but deep in your mind, you secretly want to be in her body. As in, you want to feel her soft skin, her boobs, her skirt, hair, you want to be her!

In no time, you start to see more pics like this:

Eventually, your feed begins to fill with captions like these...

...while some daring strangers fill your inbox with captions like these...

Soon enough, you start to get into female fashion, changed your way of words, became interested in men, and slowly incorporated your feminization in your public life. Those hypnos and captions have changed your thinking! It got to the point where you opened a Tumblr, started to make "sissy besties", and asked for tips on how to become more "feminine". It felt mutual, it felt exclusive, it felt like becoming a part of the Mean Girls!

But you wanted more. You wanted hypnosis that can destroy your "manhood". You wanted captions that affirmed your "sissy identity". You wanted hormones to grow boobs and ass. You wanted to become a woman at an instant!

But how? Desperately wanting to view more captions, you decide to find more of them on your search bar. You type "feminization captions" and the results are abundant! But as you scroll all the way down to a dead end, you find a picture of a sexy, blonde woman in red that catches your attention:

"OMG! She's so gorgeous! She's the type I want to become! I need to find out who she is!" Just as you click to the image, you're sent to a blog that you're somehow familiar and/or following. You try to find the image and as you keep on scrolling, you found it belongs to a certain blog: @befemininenow. ""Be feminine now?" This is it! This is what I need! Someone who can instantly change me into a feminine woman!"

But as you read the pinned post and the introduction greeting, you feel a little conflicted. You like feminization, but the blog doesn't cater to sissies. Yet, the captions feel so persuasive and alluring, you don't know where to start. You decide to go all the way back and finally found the one that seems the sexiest.

What was the caption that caught your attention?:

Of course the one with Lilly Roma and her tight, revealing, black suit! But instead of being a sissy caption, it's a caption that tells you to be a fellow sister! "Sister? Mmm... I... I like that. Better than sissy!"

You browse the blog and find more than enough caption to your taste:

Some were a dream, some were so sexual, some were unbelievable, and some... hit right at home.

Very few captions mention the word "sissy" and when they do, it's usually not as you expected it to be. That's because the blog is about embracing femininity instead of treating it as humiliating. You try to find if there are more blogs like hers and luckily for you, there's a bunch more...

Joanna's Journey, A Miss Inside, Every Alice, Gym Bunny Candie Hart, GGS-Trans-Inspo, and so much more!

It took a while for you to realize that some of those feminization blogs aren't like the rest, including sissy blogs like Sissypinkfashionfun. They may seem a bit unrealistic at times, maybe a little overboard with the "wipe masculinity" posts. But what you love about those blogs the most is that all of them have something in common: they are not ashamed of femininity, but rather embrace it as their own.

It all makes sense: as a kid, you wanted to be a ballerina:

Later on in life, you wanted to become a princess:

But now...

You just wish you can come out as your true self! Why be ashamed of being feminine? Why do you need to be punished for showing weakness? Why be subject to bullying for behaving a certain way? You don't really want to be a "sissy", but you want to be a girl. You love your feminine side.

But in order to move on from your "sissy phase", there is one step you would have to do:

That's right, girl! It means you have to come out. Whether you like it or not, it's the next step to your change. You can keep hiding in the closet, experiment with the "sissy lifestyle", and reblog feminization captions all you want. But as much as you hate to face reality, she is you. You're transgender. You're a woman inside, even if your current anatomy doesn't match it.

The latter sentence didn't discourage Mikaela Ville nor Angelick Poleth (girl in the next pic) from postponing transition. Look at them now. Don't you wish to want to be like them?

But to be sure of the change, to be sure of what you really want, how far will you go into your life change? Do you want just dress feminine, but still identify as a man? Maybe you identify as a different gender? Or do you want to go further and take hormones to turn into a woman?

Whatever you end up identifying as, know your identity and femininity are valid. Find your nearest gender support group, talk to doctors and therapists who can assist your gender change, and be very safe in today's environment. Remember, you are not a sissy, but a brave woman! Unlock the cages and let the lioness inside out!

(End of guides. Thank you for reading 'till the end!)

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