22.3.09

Perfis Virtuais e Pessoas Reais

Outro dia, uma giganta malvada que conheci pelo Orkut veio me contar que estava saindo dessa vida, que os homens só a usavam pra uma gozada fácil pela internet e que se sentia o objeto sexual deles - e não vice-versa, como deveria ser, claro.

Essa moça, por exemplo, como muitas outras, tem um perfil especialmente para o fetiche (no seu caso, de giganta, mas poderia ser crush, dominação, o que for). O seu perfil não contém fotos suas, a sua cidade natal ou nada de pessoal. Depois de conhecê-la pelo Orkut, trocamos MSN e seu MSN também foi criado especialmente para esse fetiche - não é seu MSN pessoal. Conversamos várias vezes, fizemos role-plays de giganta e ela me esmagou bastante. Apesar disso, nunca conseguimos falar sobre nada pessoal. Enquanto meu MSN é o meu nome de verdade, e tem uma foto minha de verdade, ela nunca revelou nenhuma informação pessoal. Nunca se apresentou como uma pessoa, somente como uma giganta má. Estritamente falando, não posso nem mesmo ter certeza de que seja verdadeiramente mulher (acho que sim), mas esse não é o ponto.

Já conversei com muitas mulheres dominadoras, malvadas e gigantas que chegaram em mim por outros meios (que não cabe revelar assim publicamente),mas que eram pessoas que sabiam meu nome de verdade e eu sabia os delas já quando começamos a conversar sobre esses fetiches. Com elas, eu brinco de fetiche e de maldade, mas também sei sobre suas vidas e seus trabalhos, também conversamos sobre o mundo real. É uma relação fetichista mas REAL.

A maioria das pessoas que brincam desses fetiches pelo Orkut se escondem completamente. Adotam uma persona e nunca saem dela. Já brinquei de muitas maldades e fetiches deliciososs com mulheres que conheci pelo Orkut, mas no momento em que tentei falar de coisas reais, discutir a vida real e não só fetiches, talvez trocar telefones e se encontrar, elas fogem. Não querem se mostrar. Não querem falar de nada a não ser do fetiche.

O problema disso é um só: assim, nunca se tornam pessoais reais na cabeça dos outros, dos seus interlocutores, dos seus conhecidos de Orkut.

Uma coisa é a GarotaMalvada, de quem nunca vi foto, que não sei quem é, de onde tecla, ou quantos anos tem. Conversamos sempre pelo Orkut e por MSN, ela me excita e eu acho que a excito, trocamos fantasias deliciosas, mas eu não sei nada sobre ela. Nunca vi nem foto. Se ela quiser sumir, nunca terei nem como entrar em contato. É difícil de respeitar uma pessoa assim enquanto ser humano porque ela mesma não se apresenta como ser humano, mas como um ser 100% virtual, inexistente como pessoa, existente somente como persona (a giganta má, a dominadora, etc).

Outra coisa é a Claudia Almeida, 32, de São Paulo, professora primária que adora se imaginar giganta malvada, que conheci pelo Orkut, mas que logo trocamos MSNs, fomos nos conhecendo melhor, trocamos o nosso Orkut verdadeiro, sabemos os endereços dos blogs não-fetiche de um e de outro, continuamos conversando sobre nossos fetiches e continuamos nos excitando, mas também falamos de trabalho, de vida, de namorados e namoradas, e de trânsito. talvez até conversando no telefone, ou se encontrando pessoalmente, se quisermos levar a relação a esse ponto.

O que eu disse à minha amiga desiludida é: "os homens só te vêem como objeto sexual porque você só se mostra como objeto sexual. Já conversamos diversas vezes e já nos excitamos muito com nossas brincadeiras de gigantas más, mas não sei nada sobre a verdadeira você. Você nunca se mostrou, nunca se revelou, nunca se apresentou como "humana", somente como a giganta má da fantasia que compartilhamos e pronto. Então, se você só se apresenta sempre assim, acaba sendo inevitável que muitos homens te tratem mesmo só como objeto sexual, pra uma gozada rápida e pronto."

Estou há dois anos no Orkut, falando com mulheres malvadas, dominadoras e gigantas. Não é à toa que a única que acabei encontrando pessoalmente, e se tornando minha amiga, foi aquela que, já na segunda conversa no MSN, me passou seu Orkut e MSN verdadeiros, e rapidamente abandonamos nossas personas e nos tornamos somente duas pessoas, reais, amigas, e que tinham o mesmo fetiche.

Nossos fetiches não precisam ser somente virtuais. Nossa vida pode ser muito mais interessante se trouxermos nossos fetiches para ela. Não entendo essas pessoas que gostam de uma coisa, e só a praticam no Orkut e no MSN com desconhecidos, mas tem vidinhas completamente baunilhas e normais com seus namorados reais e oficiais. Eu tenho meus fetiches, e gosto muito deles. Todas as mulheres que namorei, e a com quem acabei casando e separando, compartilhavam meus fetiches e se empolgavam muito com eles.

Mas para trazer nossos fetiches para nossas vidas, é preciso começar a se mostrar. Com cautela, claro. Pouco a pouco. Mas se mostrar.

Senão, depois, ficaremos como minha amiga, que sempre se apresentou somente como um objeto sexual virtual e, agora, reclama que os homens a vêem somente como um objeto sexual virtual.

5.3.09

Pokemon Sorceress: An Evil Giantess Story

by Pedro Lozada

Once upon a time, there lived a very evil woman in New Jersey. Being 22 years old and ravishingly beautiful, she was fond of using her looks to attract and enslave men all the more easily. On top of all that, she was a sorceress. She cooked up spells, turned men into frogs and, generally speaking, if she didn't like your face, you'd be just shrank and disposed of. That simple.

She had a high school nickname she liked to use: Madame Circe. They were reading the Odyssey and she simply fell in love with Circe. How could she not admire such a strong, self-assured, evil woman? For some months, all she talked about was Circe. She daydreamed that Ulysses wouldn't have escaped her, and she relived it all in her head, with all the things she would have done differently. Inevitably, people nicknamed her Circe and, mockingly, Madame Circe. She didn't mind. In fact, she loved it. She incorporated it into her life. But she didn't forget its malicious intent and, soon afterwards, the girl who had coined the nickname mysteriously vanished. By the way, lots of people vanished from that high school during that period. Those disappearances have never been explained.

The worst part was not that Madame Circe was evil. If you stop and think about it, we are all evil - at some moments and from some point of view. Washington was a great guy, but for the Brits he was a terrorist and a murderer. An otherwise nice person spreads out a rumor or says a nasty word here or there, but that doesn't make him evil.

Yes, the worst part about Madame Circe was not being evil, but being consistently evil. Worse yet, her awareness of her evilness and the pleasure she derided from it. Madame Circe knew she was evil and loved it. That's who she wanted to be, that's how she saw herself: an evil sorceress. The consequence of that is obvious: not only was Madame Circe constantly practicing this so-called "quality" of hers she was so proud to have but she was also forever trying to outdone herself in terms of wickedness.

There are many stories of Madame Circe. I'll try to tell all of them in the time I have left. My own personal story doesn't belong here, but she captured me once, allured me with her sexy evilness and enslaved me with her flawless body, and now I'm done for. She kept me as a foot slave, servicing her in the lowest form possible, and she would have wickedly disposed of me long ago if she had not read some of my earlier stories. I was saved by her whim to have her perverse deeds chronicled - same as I know, in the near future, I'll be doomed by another one of her unpredictable whims. But I enjoy my life. Even though she despises me and will eventually be my murderess, I love her passionately, sweetly, deeply. I can't help it. To live in her house as her personal foot slave is an honor, and to be able to lick the funky toejam from between her sexy toes is a privilege such as I had never aspired to. I can only hope she won't tire of me soon enough: there are many stories to write and I'll never tire of licking her soles.

This time, my mistress wants me to tell you the story of the boys who collected Pokémon cards. It all started with the neighbor's boys. There was some kind of dispute over Pokémon cards and they were screaming about it in their backyard. Unfortunately, their backyard was connected to my mistress' house, where she was peacefully trying to read a book, while I was licking her soles, as usual. She kicked me on the nose to tell me to stop and walked to the window to see what the heck was going on. The boys were already exchanging blows.

Madame Circe was fascinated by it: she loves random, senseless violence. But soon her train of thought moved on to more dangerous stations. She began to think that Pokémon cards were, after all, some very poor excuse for fighting. What were Pokémon cards, anyway? And who cares? Shouldn't there be a more sensible reason for the kids to be fighting like that? A reason like, shall we say... her?

"It's true!" It dawned upon her. "I have seduced, enslaved and enchanted scores of men but never have I made them actually fight over me! Wouldn't it be cool to have men fighting over me? Wouldn't it be even more wicked to have those little boys fighting over me? And wouldn't it be supremely, deliciously evil to make those little boys fight to the death over me?"

"To the death!" She repeated, to herself, fascinated by her own cruelty. "Come over here, slave, and bring the couch." She ordered me. Madame Circe always liked to have me sucking her digits while she concocted her evil schemes. She said it inspired her, and I was very proud of that. I moved her couch next to the window, so she could sit on it and still observe the boys. "Suck my big toe, my mindless slave."

"What would you think" she asked "of me making those two boys fight to the death over the right to... let's say... kiss my feet, as you debasedly do every day?"

"They are barely ten." I pointed out.

"And who said my victims have to be of age? Didn't I vaporize that boy who was staring at my boobs last week?"

"But he was a hormone-filled teenager. Those are innocent little kids!"

"Hmmmm..." She sighed, wiggling her toes inside my mouth. "You say the sweetest things, my slave. Of course, how come I never thought of it. It's even crueler to destroy little kids, not even old enough to feel desire... Thanks for reminding me why I still keep you..."

She opened the window and cried out: "Oh boooys, please come here."

You see, she's so gorgeous that they would have come and done anything she wanted anyway, even if she weren't a sorceress. But she craved for more extreme pleasures:

"Hello. What are your names? I'm Madame Circe, but you can call me Circe."

Meanwhile, I had helped her to climb on the window, so she could sit on it with her legs dangling on the outside.

Very soon, she had learned they were brothers, Paul and Eric, that they were nine and ten years old, and that they went to the same middle school she had gone to.

"I've seen you in the neighborhood." Eric said, in a dreamy, child-like way. "You're very pretty, I've always wanted to talk to you."

This touched her evil heart. Not that she would give up making them kill each other for her amusement, but now she would definitely root for Eric.

"How sweet!" And she played with his hair. "Tell me, little darling, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I want to be a racing pilot, and I want to have 3 kids."

"Isn't that cute? A little boy who already wants to be a father!" She began lightly poking him with her foot, tapping his tummy, wiggling her toes in his hair. "And you, Paul? What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"An astronaut."

"Awww, impressive! You're both very remarkable little boys!"

That's how Madame got off, imagining how neither of them would never grow up, never fulfill their dreams, all because of her, all because they had crossed the path of an evil woman, all because of her capricious wicked whims. Such thoughts made her all warm inside, she loved herself more when she was this evil.

"And what were you fighting about? Pokémon cards! C'mon! That's no reason to fight! You know what's the one thing boys should ever fight about?"

They stopped and thought long and hard about it, to no avail. She watched them with playful amusement and then gave the answer to the riddle:

"Girls, silly! Like me." And she rubbed each foot against one of the boy's head. While she talked, her magic was having the desired effect in their hearts and minds, sapping their wills, numbing their brains, turning them into mindless drones for her to play with.

"Let me tell you what. Would you like the opportunity to lick between my toes?" And she wiggled her toes in front of them. It's already a given that little boys have no restraint and they were too far gone to even fake it. At the slightest mention of licking her toes, they tried to grab her feet right then and there, but she kicked them on their cute little faces: "No, no, not now, but it's good to see you're so eager ..."

"Please let me kiss your feet!"

"No, let me, I'm cuter."

"He he, you're both cute, but only one will get to lick my feet. Let me tell you what we are going to do. You'll fight for me."

And then, she added, gaily, almost as an afterthought: "To the death."

They didn't flinch. The boys were completely under her evil power now. They were doomed by the love they felt for her.

"As soon as one of your little darlings stops breathing forever, I'll allow the other one to kiss one of my feet. Just one. And then I'll squish him with that same foot, allowing him the ultimate honor of being a part of my foot."

And she stroked their hair again, giggling:

"How do you like that? You understand, of course, you'll both die, but it is for a higher purpose: my amusement."

Once more, they tried to desperately reach her feet, but Madame Circe retracted her feet and sat on the window with her legs upward.

"Now go. Fight bravely for me, my little knights."

She didn't have to tell them twice: Eric lunged at Paul and off they went to the floor, exchanging vicious blows. Meanwhile, Madame Circe left the window and came back to the couch, so I could resume licking her feet.

"Too bad you can't see anything from down there, slave, but they are killing each other for the honor of licking my foot. Aren't you glad I didn't make you kill anyone to be my foot slave?"

"I would have. Gladly."

"I know, of course. And I'm kicking myself for the lost opportunity! But lick away now, I love to have a man at my feet while I watch the results of my evil machinations."

I couldn't see outside, but I could see her face, she was glowing, she was in rapture. Soon, her hand, almost unconsciously, slipped under her skirt and she began lightly stroking herself. I tried to follow that rhythm with my licking, to maximize her enjoyment, and I think I succeeded. The tempo of her wiggling toes inside my mouth soon followed the tempo of her hand inside her. Oh, there's nothing I'd have wanted more than to make love to her, but I know that's a futile dream!

But soon Madame Circe climaxed, in orgasmic jolts, moaning and crying, deliciously wicked. And now what?

"Won't they do it? This is taking forever!" As all spoiled wicked women, Madame Circe was awfully impacient;

"They're kids." I offered. "They don't even know what fighting to death is. They don't know what kills a person and what doesn't. They are used only to exchanging blows."

"Well," She mused, joyfully, looking down at me and rubbing her feet on my face "that's no big problem. I can place some mental commands like 'Use that stone' or 'Go for the neck', etc. Thanks for the idea, slave! You have a devious mind, too bad I'll have to kill you soon..."

"It's really a pity, my Goddess. But, actually, I was about to make a different suggestion. Since Your Evilness has already climaxed, has already had your wicked pleasure, there's no need for this to go on. You can release the little boys and have them forget it all."

She stuffed her foot inside my mouth again:

"Ah, now I remember why you're the slave. Are you insane? Do you want me to go soft? Don't you love me for my evilness and cruelty? Would you want me to be nice and merciful? Would it please you to lick the soles of a nice girl? Tell me."

She knew me inside out. She knew I loved her wickedness.

"Of course not. I love you the way you are. But the little boys-

"I orgasmed thinking about their deaths. What made me come was to think they would never race, go to space or have kids, all because of my cruel whims. I climaxed seeing two little boys fighting to death for the dubious, pathetic honor of licking my feet. That's what turned me on. If I let them go now, well, you can say my orgasm was a lie. That I climaxed for nothing. That it was all in vain. Would you want that?"

My mouth was bursting, she had stuffed her entire right foot in my mouth. I shook my head.

"Good. I have a reputation to protect." She removed her foot for my mouth with a loud and wet plop and walked theatrically to a nearby mirror: "Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who's the evilest of them all?"

"You, my Goddess!" I gasped.

"Then let's go do something to earn that reputation or, who knows, next time the mirror may name Hillary Clinton or Katherine Harris!"

Madame Circe walked back to the window and leaned over to watch the fight. Meanwhile, I had a regal view of her royal ass, so sexy, so round and firm.

"Ooh Eric." She cooed, using her sexiest, sweetest voice. "Why don't you use that nice little rock over there on your brother's forehead? That would make me very happy..."

Easier said than done. They both jumped at the rock, but Paul was faster.

"Awww, that's so sexy I can't believe it! C'mon over, slave!" She called. "You've got to see this, otherwise you'll never truly believe how bad I am."

I stood up for the first time in many days - since my job is done on the floor, Madame usually doesn't allow me to walk upright - and approached her.

"Look at that!" She pointed. Paul was over Eric, holding his body down with his own weight and hammering him with the rock. "I was rooting for Eric, but not even a wicked sorceress can have it all... Oh boy!" She said, again inserting her nimble fingers under her skirt: "I can't resist it, this is just too good to be true...!" Madame pressed her back against the couch and began to melt over it, sliding down as the movement of her fingers grew more enthusiastically, but never losing sight of the boys, and moaning: "Awww, look, he's not moving anymore, he is barely twitching, the pooor little boy... Awww, step on his neck, yes, do it..."

And he did it. He took a step back, jumped and landed with all this puny weight on his brother's neck. Eric twitched one more time and that was it. The world had just lost a potential racing pilot, a little boy who was, all things considered, a very good lad, polite, intelligent and well meaning and whom his family would sadly grieve. But none of that mattered in the least to my sexy mistress. His life was just something to be snuffed out of existence according to her whims, like a bug one carelessly crushes. Her second-long orgasm was worth more to her than the lives of a million little boys. And orgasm she did, powerfully, again.

I didn't know where to look. While it was tempting to watch my evil goddess please herself in a way I never could have provided her, the human drama being played outside was also appealing. The boy kept jumping on his brother and pummeling him with the rock, until he was sure there was no more movement. Then he approached the window.

Her face was glowing now, not only from her happiness, but also from the sweat covering her entire body:

"It seems I have worked up quite a sweat, huh? This has been some serious rapture and it isn't over yet, there he comes for more..."

Madame Circe noticed I was staring at her while she composed herself and laughed:

"What, slave?"

"You're just too sexy, my Goddess. I only wished I could make love to you, just once. I don't mind what happens to me later, you can kill me with that's your wish..."

She laughed again:

"I'll kill you anyway, and you won't even have the satisfaction of making love to be beforehand. Love is something that is made between equals, slave. Or since I have no equals, at least between people of similar standing. I only make love to real men." And she added, bitterly, as if spiting out the words: "And you're a slave."

"I'm sorry if I was impertinent..."

"Don't worry, sweetie. You can always voice your feelings to me, it pleases me to know you live - and you shall die - in utter frustration... But since you've been real obedient and nice, and I like your stories, I'll give you a treat... Kneel down here close to me..."

I obeyed.

She extended her arm to me: "You may lick my index finger and have a little taste of the pussy you shall never have. Are you happy now?

"Yes." I muttered, savoring the delicious taste of her womanhood.

"Good. Let it never be said that I'm an insensible evil sorceress. Now, excuse me, I have a little boy to kill..."

Meanwhile, Paul had finished his grim business and had approached the window for his much-deserved reward. His face was full of red dots, his brother's blood. Madame Circe held out both her naked feet to him, still glowing from my saliva.

"So, which foot do you prefer to pop under? The right one, the one with the lovely skull toe ring..." And she rubbed her right foot on his face, smearing some of my saliva on him, mixing with the blood of his brother "Or the left foot, the one with this enticing pearl anklet..." And she did the same.

He was so confused, he couldn't choose! He extended his tiny arm to touch them, but she didn't allow that:

"No, no, sweetie, you can't touch them yet. You have to choose first. You only get to touch one of my feet."

As he still looked confused, Madame Circe decided to be easy on him:

"I'll tell you this, my young friend. I have no desire for your life. It has to be voluntary. The price of touching my lovely flesh is death, there's no way around that. All those who touch me must die. But you must not die. If you want, you may walk away now, I'll hide the body of your brother and no one needs to know what has happened here. That is, of course, if you can resist kissing my lovely foot."

Poor boy. He never had a chance. His precocious hormones were bubbling. No man would have passed that chance, even if it meant the extinction of mankind. She waited, wiggling her toes, and she never looked prettier, more enticing, than at that moment, waiting for a little boy to decide to voluntarily forfeit his life for a lick of her soles. Madame Circe enjoyed knowing how powerful she was.

Finally, he merely said:

"The right one."

Madame Circe grinned, she positively glowed with happiness.

"Then come and worship your soon to be murderess. Lick my foot, you have deserved it, you've killed your little brother for me! On your knees!"

Paul fell on his knees and slowly approached her right foot, while she wiggled her toes enticingly.

"Come, come, my sweet admirer, I long to feel your tiny tongue between my toes, to feel the token of your love and your humiliation. And I'll adore to repay your love and service with pain and death. And you'll love me just the same, won't you?"

"Yes, my mistress."

"That's my boy. Lick away. Meanwhile, I'm putting a shrinking spell on you."

She tilted her head and moaned while the boy dutifully licked between her toes and under her soles. I looked at him with envy, but I knew he wouldn't last. At each lick, the boy became smaller and smaller.

Finally, she said:

"It's enough, my dear. It's time now. You're so small I can barely feel you anymore."

And she called me:

"Look at him, slave. He's so small, he's not good enough even to lick my feet. What should I do with him?"

"Whatever pleases you." I replied, cautiously.

"Always, slave, always." She nudged her toe into tiny Paul and said: "Suck my big toe, little darling. Suck it while you still can."

It took some mighty effort, but Paul managed to stuff her sexy big toe (now even bigger) into his tiny mouth.

She motioned me to approach.

"Now watch, slave, this is going to be fun... He's still shrinking... Watch!"

She was still joyfully wiggling her toe, raising him up and down, and little Paul was turning red, he was obviously in great pain, probably unable to breathe anymore.

"Still shrinking..." She chanted "It will happen anytime now..."

She fondled his tiny body with her other foot, caressing him with her huge, sexy toes, and she blew him a lovely kiss:

"Good night, my tiny lover..."

With that, his face just blew and there came Madame's sexy, sharp toenail bursting through his body, while she laughed sensuously.

"Well, it's over. It seems now we'll have peace in the neighborhood for a change. Slave, come on over to clean up my big toe. Boys make such a mess of things!"

And that was it. Two innocent boys were dead, Madame Circe had climaxed twice, everything was in order. My mistress was as happy as she deserved to be. And may she allow me to live long enough to tell more tales.

(end)

This story was inspired by some chats I had with an American giantess called Madame Circe.

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