Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Another drawing
I just finished my very secondest digital drawing. I used Painter 12 which I have on a trial basis. It's a cool program, has a variety of much more naturalish brushes than Photoshop, but I'm not sure it'll be worth paying the hefty price once the trial runs out. I'll keep using it and see what's what. So here's my latest drarwin'.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Lady Caroline's Apple
Story time! I thought I'd like to share a short tale written by a dear friend of mine. It is set in the Mansion of my slave role generator 'world' and I enjoyed it very much. Here is Lady Caroline's Apple.
Lady Caroline’s Apple
by soubrette
Lady Caroline had always been a favorite among us livestock. A quiet unassuming woman, she often visited the stables during less busy times of the day to admire the beautiful landscaping of the mansion along the way and to care for us beast girls. We were like her own private petting zoo, in a way, and that suited us just fine. Better that than the whips and tricks and games of a few of the other Ladies.
When Caroline came down the hill, we knew there were pleasantries in store. She would often come with apples or sugar cubes and offer them to the pony girls as she brushed their manes and tails. Every now and again, she’d order a pony-girl drawn carriage ride around the paths of the estate, but she never taxed the ponies beyond their limits and usually waited for one or two to approach her as unspoken volunteers before choosing among them.
The ponies basked in Lady Caroline’s attention far more frequently than us pigs or the cows. But we weren’t ignored. Every now and again, she’d step into the pigsty to tug at our pink ears or tickle us until we squealed and oinked uncontrollably, or pull on her boots and walk out in the cow pastures to enjoy the green grass and cool air on cloudy days. Lady Caroline seemed to prefer cloudy days. And so did those of us who’d been at the Mansion long enough to know her habits.
Once, she came to watch us pig slaves at slop and set up an easel to paint a picture. This was truly a rarity, and a few of us stopped to watch her between slop dives, but none of us who noticed her were overly concerned. For starters, the trough was full, so little else mattered in the moment. Secondarily, Lady Caroline’s focus seemed to be set on a fattened pig girl for the most part. If there was some sort of tryst in the wind, it would probably affect her, not us. (Even with the kindest of Ladies, we were always aware of the possibility for games at our expense. We were slaves, after all.)
The fattened pig slave had curly red hair that shone in its full brilliance today, as we’d all been relieved of our various piggy uniforms, save the trotters and snouts, to wallow in the mud that had been a result of the previous night’s rain. We didn’t know one another by name. No one who could speak ever dared to, either out of fear or dedication, and attempts at scrawling words in our mud wallow were always sabotaged by the older slaves who knew the punishments for such activities. So, I’d taken to creating my own little nicknames for my piggy sisters.
More often than not, the names I came up with had something to do with a girl’s eccentricities. There was Skitterbug, a recent addition to our sty who had huge buggy looking eyes and was still very thin and shivered in the cool air or morning when the barn doors were opened. Of all the unfortunate girls who would draw a “naked” tile to match a “pig slave” assignment, it would be a dinky little waif. And then there was Spamela, who reminded me of an air-headed corporate office secretary dressed as Miss Piggy what with her pinstripe suit and vacant blue eyes. Babe, I affectionately called the young thing that had been sent to our sty a few months ago, was Spamela’s shadow and seemed to follow any pig slave who offered her maternal comforts. She was especially fond of suckling the rows of Skitterbug’s nipple implants, when she could get close enough.
They all had names of one kind or another, to me. The fattened pig slave with red hair was certainly the largest of us all, but she wasn’t an alpha type by any means. More often than not, her heft seemed a mere inconvenience to her and to others as she lumbered around the pigsty and flopped heavily into mud puddles and patches of grass. A gentle giant with a sloppy way about her at the trough. I’d named her Big Red.
Big Red had long since abandoned any sense of moderation or decorum while eating. This was probably due to the fact that we’d all get punished if the fattened animals don’t eat excessively enough to put on weight. Let’s just say she’d had plenty of encouragement toward the development of a substantial appetite. And it certainly paid off in terms of her size. Though she had only been in our sty for just over a year, Red was easily double the weight she had been when she was first led, red faced and tearful, through the pig pen gate.
On the day of Lady Caroline’s painting, the over-fat redheaded pig girl paid no mind as she plowed into the trough. She wiggled her snout through the kitchen scraps and thrust herself deep into the mess of it with wild abandon, gorging on as much as she could manage to pack into her swollen belly. The rest of us, more or less unmoved by the presence of Lady Caroline and her paints, plugged ourselves into the tough, haunch to haunch, and had our fill. We must have looked like a row of undulating pinkish rump cheeks from Lady Caroline’s vantage point.
One by one, each pig eased away from the trough to find her place to rest and digest in the mud or grass. I meandered over to my usual patch of grass by the barn wall. Skitterbug was indulging Babe’s nursing habits over by the water trough, and others were dotted around the pen. When Lady Caroline had finished her painting, she came into our sty and stepped carefully around bits of slop and several lazily slumbering pig-faced girls, making her way over to the shady corner where Big Red usually collapsed after eating.
I can recall the sweet way in which Caroline roused the hefty sow. I remember feeling touched, because she was sort of motherly in her approach, gently stroking the abundant girl’s plump red cheek. Patient. As Red blinked through her drowsiness and the painting, now held in front of her, came into focus, her green eyes widened and she squealed in horror at what she saw. Several of the sleeping pig girls were startled awake at the sudden noise, and they looked to see what the matter was. I wasn’t far off to begin with, but out of curiosity, I rose to my knees and trotted over a bit closer to get a better view of the painting.
It was actually pretty good, as paintings go, but maybe a bit too real for Big Red to handle. The image was a familiar one, with several of us at the trough feeding. But in the center was the humongous rotund rump of the fattened pig girl. Our lack of clothing that day left nothing to the imagination, and as Big Red was the primary focus or the piece, her rear end was given the most attention to detail. There were two huge round dirt-streaked butt cheeks complete with cellulite on the backs of her thighs and a small tuft of red curls peeking out as she bent far over into the trough, greedily plowing her way through the slop. Her swollen belly bulges were painfully visible on either side of her doughy rear end. I was in there too. Just to the left of Red. Not in shape, to be sure, but nowhere near Red’s girth. This was clearly the source of the girl’s upset.
The poor girl’s squeals of shame melted into heavy-chested sobs that ended up sounding more like sloppy wet grunts as she wiped her face with her muddy trotter. Lady Caroline was clearly amused, but not unkind. She smiled to herself as she stroked poor fat Red on her head in consolation. Her petting continued as a burlap drone was summoned to fetch the painting and arrange to have it set and framed.
The next morning, the painfully honest painting was hung on the side of the barn just over our pen, for all to admire.
Some months later, during an unseasonably warm afternoon, lady Caroline came to visit, in spite of the heat. I was lying on some grass, looking idly up at that painting when she came in the gate. She made her way around, patting the pigs and feeding us treats, as was often her custom. When she happened my way, I accepted my treat and snorted appreciatively as she stroked my head and followed my gaze up to that painting. A warm smile bloomed across her face, and she asked if I liked her art. I, of course, couldn’t respond, being a pig slave, but I did looked up at her as she asked. Then she looked pointedly at my plump bottom on the grass then back up to the painting, squinting a bit as she looked. I felt my face flush pink, and she laughed a little.
“Ahh, so that is you up there, huh?” She peered down at my blushing face almost affectionately.
“Such a chubby little piggy rump.” At that last, I felt my pink cheeks flush deeper into red. I was so embarrassed.
“I see,” Lady Caroline said with one eyebrow raised. “Well, come along then.”
I didn’t know what to do, so I stood frozen. I’d never been ordered out of the sty before on my own. Sometimes we were all taken out at once or a few at a time. But not like this. Lady Caroline stopped to look back at me and called for me to follow. This time, hesitantly, I obeyed.
I followed Lady Caroline into the barn to the showman’s stall that was used for grooming the puppy slaves sometimes. There were two drones nearby, no doubt mindlessly engaged in their daily duties among the livestock and grounds. Lady Caroline called to one of them to fetch her some rope, a bucket, and her deer knife. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and my eyes grew wide with fear. A knife? In that moment, I think I came closer to pigdom than I ever had before, as I froze in animalistic panic and nearly peed myself at the thought of this soft-spoken Lady using a knife in any way on me.
The items she’d requested were delivered, and she asked the drone for further assistance. Lady Caroline stripped my latex suit from my body, leaving the hood, snout, and trotters in place. My newly exposed skin was cold and clammy in the shade of the barn even though the day was warm. I shivered.
The rope was tossed over a barn rafter, upsetting a nest of swallows on its way, and I was unceremoniously hoisted up by my wrists onto my tip toes. The rope was tied off, and the drone resumed her previous duties by Lady Caroline’s leave. It had been such a long time since I’d stood like a human that the position seemed unnatural, and I felt stretched beyond comfort.
Lady Caroline turned the bucket on its brim and sat down, knife in hand. I couldn’t take my eyes off the half-smirk on her face as she sat there looking me up and down like dinner. She said nothing, only sat. Looking. And smirking. As my body stretched and limbered, and the pain of this foreign position had waned, I noticed my nakedness, a distinctly human realization. In this upward stance, I became acutely aware of just how much my own body had changed since I came to be a pig slave nearly two years ago. My arm flesh hung slightly, and my breasts were heavy and low. My belly, too, was swollen, and my thighs stood thick and blubbery beneath it all.
“Oink for me, little sow,” came the words from Lady Caroline. And for the life of me, after two years of uttering nothing other than barnyard swine noises, pride seized my chest, and I couldn’t do it.
Lady Caroline, I swear she knew exactly what was going on in my head, stood from her bucket and stepped toward me.
“Speak, piggy,” she whispered into my face. I didn’t make a peep.
“No? Well then, I suggest you hold very still.” I felt the cold point of a blade begin to drag over my hip and squealed the finest shrillest frightened swine squeal that the world has ever heard. Lady Caroline jumped back, startled, and laughed.
“That’s more like it!” She exclaimed as she crossed the distance between us and grabbed a handful of my thigh fat. Our eyes met, hers playful, mine horrified, and Lady Caroline shook her hand quickly back and forth causing my loose flesh to jiggle. My face and neck burned, mortified, as her small hand sank into my flesh and sent me into a jiggly frenzy.
“Such a fat pig girl you are! Look how you wobble!” She continued, and I felt myself choking back tears.
“I want to hear you speak, silly pig. Oink, grunt and squeal for me!” I froze again, silent and still. At that, she stepped back and smiled, amused.
“Goodness, you are a proud one, aren’t you? We can’t have that in a pig. Who ever heard of a pig that won’t oink?” She crossed to a basket on a table and reached inside. Out came a big red apple, shiny and crisp-looking. Even though I’d just finished eating, I wanted to sink my teeth into it. Lady Caroline saw my hunger lust and laughed as she brought the apple closer and waved it in front of my face.
“Open wide,” called Lady Caroline in a sing-song tone. I parted my lips and opened my mouth slightly. “Wider,” she teased. And this time, I complied, opening my mouth as wide as I could, snout rising to block my view. I felt her thumb quickly press my jaw open even wider as the apple was pushed into my mouth, holding my jaw uncomfortably wide and gagging me at the same time.
“There! All you have to do is squeal and oink convincingly enough to be allowed to bite through that apple, and your torment will end. Now, let’s have a look at just how fat you are, sweet pig girl.”
At that, Lady Caroline stepped behind me and reached around to my front, grabbing my bottom belly roll with one hand and my top belly roll with the other and shook them wildly. The flapping sound they made as they collided with each other caused my stomach to turn in shame. Her giggling only made things worse. I attempted a pathetic squeal from behind the apple, but it wasn’t even close to what she was looking for.
Lady Caroline’s hands slowed in pace and soon I felt her fingers sinking into my soft belly flesh, kneading me like bread. I grunted behind the apple, and she moved her hands outward toward my sides, which tickled terribly and sent me into snorting nervous laughter. I managed a few convincing oinks and grunts before she took hold of the fat alongside my breasts and wobbled my chest around. Some of the ponies sniggered in their stalls, and my face burned.
“Ignore them, piggy. It’s just me here. And I’m watching you very carefully. I see all your dimples and creases. All your wobbly flesh. It’s mine to play with. You’re mine to play with.” At this, her hands moved forward and explored the crease leading to my bellybutton. My stomach muscles tightened, inches beneath the surface of my skin, and I heard Lady Caroline exhale into a broad smile just before she sank one long finger into my bellybutton hole and began to twirl it around.
My stomach turned again, and tears ran down my reddened cheeks. I suddenly imagined Big Red in our pigsty, her freckled cheeks stained with tears in front of the painting that revealed her true nature. Big Red was a pig slave. And as I felt Lady Caroline’s finger exploring the caverns of my fattened flesh and felt her feminine hips swaying against the rounded mounds of my rump, any human shame melted from my mind like tears dripping off my snout. I let out a mighty squeal, releasing the apple from my tightened jaw. It felt to the straw-covered barn floor. Lady Caroline pulled a slipknot in the rope, and I followed the apple.
“That’ll do, pig.”
I rose to my trotters and rooted around in the straw for the apple, which Lady Caroline retrieved and fed to me as my head rested in her lap. I was given a buttermilk bath and led back out to the pigsty where Lady Caroline patted my pink rump affectionately and closed the pen gate behind me. I returned to the sty sure of my place. The wallow never felt so right.
Lady Caroline’s Apple
by soubrette
Lady Caroline had always been a favorite among us livestock. A quiet unassuming woman, she often visited the stables during less busy times of the day to admire the beautiful landscaping of the mansion along the way and to care for us beast girls. We were like her own private petting zoo, in a way, and that suited us just fine. Better that than the whips and tricks and games of a few of the other Ladies.
When Caroline came down the hill, we knew there were pleasantries in store. She would often come with apples or sugar cubes and offer them to the pony girls as she brushed their manes and tails. Every now and again, she’d order a pony-girl drawn carriage ride around the paths of the estate, but she never taxed the ponies beyond their limits and usually waited for one or two to approach her as unspoken volunteers before choosing among them.
The ponies basked in Lady Caroline’s attention far more frequently than us pigs or the cows. But we weren’t ignored. Every now and again, she’d step into the pigsty to tug at our pink ears or tickle us until we squealed and oinked uncontrollably, or pull on her boots and walk out in the cow pastures to enjoy the green grass and cool air on cloudy days. Lady Caroline seemed to prefer cloudy days. And so did those of us who’d been at the Mansion long enough to know her habits.
Once, she came to watch us pig slaves at slop and set up an easel to paint a picture. This was truly a rarity, and a few of us stopped to watch her between slop dives, but none of us who noticed her were overly concerned. For starters, the trough was full, so little else mattered in the moment. Secondarily, Lady Caroline’s focus seemed to be set on a fattened pig girl for the most part. If there was some sort of tryst in the wind, it would probably affect her, not us. (Even with the kindest of Ladies, we were always aware of the possibility for games at our expense. We were slaves, after all.)
The fattened pig slave had curly red hair that shone in its full brilliance today, as we’d all been relieved of our various piggy uniforms, save the trotters and snouts, to wallow in the mud that had been a result of the previous night’s rain. We didn’t know one another by name. No one who could speak ever dared to, either out of fear or dedication, and attempts at scrawling words in our mud wallow were always sabotaged by the older slaves who knew the punishments for such activities. So, I’d taken to creating my own little nicknames for my piggy sisters.
More often than not, the names I came up with had something to do with a girl’s eccentricities. There was Skitterbug, a recent addition to our sty who had huge buggy looking eyes and was still very thin and shivered in the cool air or morning when the barn doors were opened. Of all the unfortunate girls who would draw a “naked” tile to match a “pig slave” assignment, it would be a dinky little waif. And then there was Spamela, who reminded me of an air-headed corporate office secretary dressed as Miss Piggy what with her pinstripe suit and vacant blue eyes. Babe, I affectionately called the young thing that had been sent to our sty a few months ago, was Spamela’s shadow and seemed to follow any pig slave who offered her maternal comforts. She was especially fond of suckling the rows of Skitterbug’s nipple implants, when she could get close enough.
They all had names of one kind or another, to me. The fattened pig slave with red hair was certainly the largest of us all, but she wasn’t an alpha type by any means. More often than not, her heft seemed a mere inconvenience to her and to others as she lumbered around the pigsty and flopped heavily into mud puddles and patches of grass. A gentle giant with a sloppy way about her at the trough. I’d named her Big Red.
Big Red had long since abandoned any sense of moderation or decorum while eating. This was probably due to the fact that we’d all get punished if the fattened animals don’t eat excessively enough to put on weight. Let’s just say she’d had plenty of encouragement toward the development of a substantial appetite. And it certainly paid off in terms of her size. Though she had only been in our sty for just over a year, Red was easily double the weight she had been when she was first led, red faced and tearful, through the pig pen gate.
On the day of Lady Caroline’s painting, the over-fat redheaded pig girl paid no mind as she plowed into the trough. She wiggled her snout through the kitchen scraps and thrust herself deep into the mess of it with wild abandon, gorging on as much as she could manage to pack into her swollen belly. The rest of us, more or less unmoved by the presence of Lady Caroline and her paints, plugged ourselves into the tough, haunch to haunch, and had our fill. We must have looked like a row of undulating pinkish rump cheeks from Lady Caroline’s vantage point.
One by one, each pig eased away from the trough to find her place to rest and digest in the mud or grass. I meandered over to my usual patch of grass by the barn wall. Skitterbug was indulging Babe’s nursing habits over by the water trough, and others were dotted around the pen. When Lady Caroline had finished her painting, she came into our sty and stepped carefully around bits of slop and several lazily slumbering pig-faced girls, making her way over to the shady corner where Big Red usually collapsed after eating.
I can recall the sweet way in which Caroline roused the hefty sow. I remember feeling touched, because she was sort of motherly in her approach, gently stroking the abundant girl’s plump red cheek. Patient. As Red blinked through her drowsiness and the painting, now held in front of her, came into focus, her green eyes widened and she squealed in horror at what she saw. Several of the sleeping pig girls were startled awake at the sudden noise, and they looked to see what the matter was. I wasn’t far off to begin with, but out of curiosity, I rose to my knees and trotted over a bit closer to get a better view of the painting.
It was actually pretty good, as paintings go, but maybe a bit too real for Big Red to handle. The image was a familiar one, with several of us at the trough feeding. But in the center was the humongous rotund rump of the fattened pig girl. Our lack of clothing that day left nothing to the imagination, and as Big Red was the primary focus or the piece, her rear end was given the most attention to detail. There were two huge round dirt-streaked butt cheeks complete with cellulite on the backs of her thighs and a small tuft of red curls peeking out as she bent far over into the trough, greedily plowing her way through the slop. Her swollen belly bulges were painfully visible on either side of her doughy rear end. I was in there too. Just to the left of Red. Not in shape, to be sure, but nowhere near Red’s girth. This was clearly the source of the girl’s upset.
The poor girl’s squeals of shame melted into heavy-chested sobs that ended up sounding more like sloppy wet grunts as she wiped her face with her muddy trotter. Lady Caroline was clearly amused, but not unkind. She smiled to herself as she stroked poor fat Red on her head in consolation. Her petting continued as a burlap drone was summoned to fetch the painting and arrange to have it set and framed.
The next morning, the painfully honest painting was hung on the side of the barn just over our pen, for all to admire.
Some months later, during an unseasonably warm afternoon, lady Caroline came to visit, in spite of the heat. I was lying on some grass, looking idly up at that painting when she came in the gate. She made her way around, patting the pigs and feeding us treats, as was often her custom. When she happened my way, I accepted my treat and snorted appreciatively as she stroked my head and followed my gaze up to that painting. A warm smile bloomed across her face, and she asked if I liked her art. I, of course, couldn’t respond, being a pig slave, but I did looked up at her as she asked. Then she looked pointedly at my plump bottom on the grass then back up to the painting, squinting a bit as she looked. I felt my face flush pink, and she laughed a little.
“Ahh, so that is you up there, huh?” She peered down at my blushing face almost affectionately.
“Such a chubby little piggy rump.” At that last, I felt my pink cheeks flush deeper into red. I was so embarrassed.
“I see,” Lady Caroline said with one eyebrow raised. “Well, come along then.”
I didn’t know what to do, so I stood frozen. I’d never been ordered out of the sty before on my own. Sometimes we were all taken out at once or a few at a time. But not like this. Lady Caroline stopped to look back at me and called for me to follow. This time, hesitantly, I obeyed.
I followed Lady Caroline into the barn to the showman’s stall that was used for grooming the puppy slaves sometimes. There were two drones nearby, no doubt mindlessly engaged in their daily duties among the livestock and grounds. Lady Caroline called to one of them to fetch her some rope, a bucket, and her deer knife. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and my eyes grew wide with fear. A knife? In that moment, I think I came closer to pigdom than I ever had before, as I froze in animalistic panic and nearly peed myself at the thought of this soft-spoken Lady using a knife in any way on me.
The items she’d requested were delivered, and she asked the drone for further assistance. Lady Caroline stripped my latex suit from my body, leaving the hood, snout, and trotters in place. My newly exposed skin was cold and clammy in the shade of the barn even though the day was warm. I shivered.
The rope was tossed over a barn rafter, upsetting a nest of swallows on its way, and I was unceremoniously hoisted up by my wrists onto my tip toes. The rope was tied off, and the drone resumed her previous duties by Lady Caroline’s leave. It had been such a long time since I’d stood like a human that the position seemed unnatural, and I felt stretched beyond comfort.
Lady Caroline turned the bucket on its brim and sat down, knife in hand. I couldn’t take my eyes off the half-smirk on her face as she sat there looking me up and down like dinner. She said nothing, only sat. Looking. And smirking. As my body stretched and limbered, and the pain of this foreign position had waned, I noticed my nakedness, a distinctly human realization. In this upward stance, I became acutely aware of just how much my own body had changed since I came to be a pig slave nearly two years ago. My arm flesh hung slightly, and my breasts were heavy and low. My belly, too, was swollen, and my thighs stood thick and blubbery beneath it all.
“Oink for me, little sow,” came the words from Lady Caroline. And for the life of me, after two years of uttering nothing other than barnyard swine noises, pride seized my chest, and I couldn’t do it.
Lady Caroline, I swear she knew exactly what was going on in my head, stood from her bucket and stepped toward me.
“Speak, piggy,” she whispered into my face. I didn’t make a peep.
“No? Well then, I suggest you hold very still.” I felt the cold point of a blade begin to drag over my hip and squealed the finest shrillest frightened swine squeal that the world has ever heard. Lady Caroline jumped back, startled, and laughed.
“That’s more like it!” She exclaimed as she crossed the distance between us and grabbed a handful of my thigh fat. Our eyes met, hers playful, mine horrified, and Lady Caroline shook her hand quickly back and forth causing my loose flesh to jiggle. My face and neck burned, mortified, as her small hand sank into my flesh and sent me into a jiggly frenzy.
“Such a fat pig girl you are! Look how you wobble!” She continued, and I felt myself choking back tears.
“I want to hear you speak, silly pig. Oink, grunt and squeal for me!” I froze again, silent and still. At that, she stepped back and smiled, amused.
“Goodness, you are a proud one, aren’t you? We can’t have that in a pig. Who ever heard of a pig that won’t oink?” She crossed to a basket on a table and reached inside. Out came a big red apple, shiny and crisp-looking. Even though I’d just finished eating, I wanted to sink my teeth into it. Lady Caroline saw my hunger lust and laughed as she brought the apple closer and waved it in front of my face.
“Open wide,” called Lady Caroline in a sing-song tone. I parted my lips and opened my mouth slightly. “Wider,” she teased. And this time, I complied, opening my mouth as wide as I could, snout rising to block my view. I felt her thumb quickly press my jaw open even wider as the apple was pushed into my mouth, holding my jaw uncomfortably wide and gagging me at the same time.
“There! All you have to do is squeal and oink convincingly enough to be allowed to bite through that apple, and your torment will end. Now, let’s have a look at just how fat you are, sweet pig girl.”
At that, Lady Caroline stepped behind me and reached around to my front, grabbing my bottom belly roll with one hand and my top belly roll with the other and shook them wildly. The flapping sound they made as they collided with each other caused my stomach to turn in shame. Her giggling only made things worse. I attempted a pathetic squeal from behind the apple, but it wasn’t even close to what she was looking for.
Lady Caroline’s hands slowed in pace and soon I felt her fingers sinking into my soft belly flesh, kneading me like bread. I grunted behind the apple, and she moved her hands outward toward my sides, which tickled terribly and sent me into snorting nervous laughter. I managed a few convincing oinks and grunts before she took hold of the fat alongside my breasts and wobbled my chest around. Some of the ponies sniggered in their stalls, and my face burned.
“Ignore them, piggy. It’s just me here. And I’m watching you very carefully. I see all your dimples and creases. All your wobbly flesh. It’s mine to play with. You’re mine to play with.” At this, her hands moved forward and explored the crease leading to my bellybutton. My stomach muscles tightened, inches beneath the surface of my skin, and I heard Lady Caroline exhale into a broad smile just before she sank one long finger into my bellybutton hole and began to twirl it around.
My stomach turned again, and tears ran down my reddened cheeks. I suddenly imagined Big Red in our pigsty, her freckled cheeks stained with tears in front of the painting that revealed her true nature. Big Red was a pig slave. And as I felt Lady Caroline’s finger exploring the caverns of my fattened flesh and felt her feminine hips swaying against the rounded mounds of my rump, any human shame melted from my mind like tears dripping off my snout. I let out a mighty squeal, releasing the apple from my tightened jaw. It felt to the straw-covered barn floor. Lady Caroline pulled a slipknot in the rope, and I followed the apple.
“That’ll do, pig.”
I rose to my trotters and rooted around in the straw for the apple, which Lady Caroline retrieved and fed to me as my head rested in her lap. I was given a buttermilk bath and led back out to the pigsty where Lady Caroline patted my pink rump affectionately and closed the pen gate behind me. I returned to the sty sure of my place. The wallow never felt so right.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Shadin' it up!
What have I been up to? Well, I ate too many tater tots. Ugh. But in addition to that I've been practicing using my new tablet every day. I got a whole lot better at drawing while looking at the screen instead of the surface I'm working on. Not perfect, but better. I was struggling with it one night, and the next morning it just seemed to click. Maybe it sank in while I slept?
I've been working on shading. I've never done digital shading before and it sometimes feels cumbersome compared to pencil shading, but it makes up for it with being able Undo, Undo, Undo! I've been doing the line art I posted previously. Right now I have a hand cramp. But I've finished up my very first computer drawin' experiment/practice. I feel pretty good about it, all things considered. Here's what I got.
I've been working on shading. I've never done digital shading before and it sometimes feels cumbersome compared to pencil shading, but it makes up for it with being able Undo, Undo, Undo! I've been doing the line art I posted previously. Right now I have a hand cramp. But I've finished up my very first computer drawin' experiment/practice. I feel pretty good about it, all things considered. Here's what I got.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Fireflies! And more art.
Saw the year's first firefly, or lightning bug if you prefer. They make me happy. Also found a flying squirrel hanging out in a tree in my front yard. Cute little fuzzy thing. Skittish, though.
So the tablet I mentioned in the previous entry finally arrived a few days ago. A Wacom Intuous 5, medium style. It's cool and black and smelled really funny at first, but that's mostly worn off. I've been trying to figure out how to use. I knew there would be a learning curve, but wow! You really do have to relearn how to draw; looking at the screen instead of the surface you're drawing on is a huge disconnect. At the very start I was like a toddler with a crayon trying desperately to stay in the lines but, nope, they go all over the place. But I know it's do-able, other people have somehow managed it. I've been practicing and very slowly improving.
Compounding the confusion is the drawing software. I've never owned Photoshop or anything really complicated like it (I still don't, but it came with a PS Elements). Those softwares are too expensive. I do have Gimp, which is free, but it doesn't work very well with the tablet. So I'm having to learn all that as I go along... different tools and their bajillion settings, layers and masks and adjustment layers and clipping masks and multiplies and I don't know what all. I've been looking at dozens and dozens of tutorials and things, which so often skip over simple but crucial steps. But... I'll get there eventually.
Attempting to teach my muscles and mind to draw with a tablet, I've been doing a lot of tracing. It's really been helping to learn how to control the lines, how to move my hand to get what I want. Well... more or less. Still having to Undo lines umpteen times to get one that's mostly right. But hey! Here's what I've managed to do so far.
So the tablet I mentioned in the previous entry finally arrived a few days ago. A Wacom Intuous 5, medium style. It's cool and black and smelled really funny at first, but that's mostly worn off. I've been trying to figure out how to use. I knew there would be a learning curve, but wow! You really do have to relearn how to draw; looking at the screen instead of the surface you're drawing on is a huge disconnect. At the very start I was like a toddler with a crayon trying desperately to stay in the lines but, nope, they go all over the place. But I know it's do-able, other people have somehow managed it. I've been practicing and very slowly improving.
Compounding the confusion is the drawing software. I've never owned Photoshop or anything really complicated like it (I still don't, but it came with a PS Elements). Those softwares are too expensive. I do have Gimp, which is free, but it doesn't work very well with the tablet. So I'm having to learn all that as I go along... different tools and their bajillion settings, layers and masks and adjustment layers and clipping masks and multiplies and I don't know what all. I've been looking at dozens and dozens of tutorials and things, which so often skip over simple but crucial steps. But... I'll get there eventually.
Attempting to teach my muscles and mind to draw with a tablet, I've been doing a lot of tracing. It's really been helping to learn how to control the lines, how to move my hand to get what I want. Well... more or less. Still having to Undo lines umpteen times to get one that's mostly right. But hey! Here's what I've managed to do so far.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Jim: Heavy Metal!
The weather turned cooler. That must mean it's time for...!
Evil Dolly's Featured Fetish Artist of the Day: Jim
I haven't been able to find out much about Jim (1918 - 1964) other than he was born in Switzerland and had a number of bondage serials published by Klaw in the 50s, which reappeared in the Bizarre Comix reprints in the 80s. Much of his art was quite similar to that of the previous featured artist Stanton, but although they worked for the same guy I don't believe they ever met. Klaw was known to have kept the artists who worked for him from meeting, for whatever reason. Perhaps he worried his artists would get together and strike out on their own to form some rival company or some such.
As for Jim's style, his women can usually be recognized by their long legs, small waists, large derrieres, and tiny, tiny hands. Hands are a problem for most artists, but since his are consistently small perhaps he just liked them that way. He sometimes played fast and loose with anatomy, contorting people in improbable ways, but why not? It looks pretty. But what particularly stands out about a lot of Jim's art, and what I particularly enjoy, is the stringency of some of the bondage in the form of metal restraints...
Jim must have loved the idea of metal bondage and clothing, as often as he used it and illustrated it in intricate detail. Formfitting steel clothing, heavy shackles bolted to the walls, metal bands, rivets and locks. It's utter overkill in terms of restraint... and it's why he's one of my favorites. It's hot! Okay, not so practical in real life, unless maybe you have a full team of fabricators and machinists. But it makes for a nice visual.
You'll find that almost all of the Klaw-published artists' work looked very similar in appearance, to the point that it's difficult to tell some of them apart at first glance. That is, Stanton, Jim, Eneg, Mory, Anders, etc. I don't know whether that was simply the prevailing drawing style of the time or if they were heavily influenced by seeing each other's work. Not that I'm complaining. I like it.
Actually, it does make me wonder. Jim did live through WWII... did he perhaps work on an assembly line or machine shop of some sort? Surrounded by metal and tools, might have he started fantasizing of women being bound by those same materials? While shaping metal plates into the hull of a battleship, might have he been dreaming of shaping those plates around a woman's curves? Well, it's all pure conjecture, we know next to nothing about the man. But it does make me wonder.
Evil Dolly's Featured Fetish Artist of the Day: Jim
I haven't been able to find out much about Jim (1918 - 1964) other than he was born in Switzerland and had a number of bondage serials published by Klaw in the 50s, which reappeared in the Bizarre Comix reprints in the 80s. Much of his art was quite similar to that of the previous featured artist Stanton, but although they worked for the same guy I don't believe they ever met. Klaw was known to have kept the artists who worked for him from meeting, for whatever reason. Perhaps he worried his artists would get together and strike out on their own to form some rival company or some such.
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| New uses for old innertubes! Very Martha Stewart. |
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| Lookit... helpful drone slaves. |
As for Jim's style, his women can usually be recognized by their long legs, small waists, large derrieres, and tiny, tiny hands. Hands are a problem for most artists, but since his are consistently small perhaps he just liked them that way. He sometimes played fast and loose with anatomy, contorting people in improbable ways, but why not? It looks pretty. But what particularly stands out about a lot of Jim's art, and what I particularly enjoy, is the stringency of some of the bondage in the form of metal restraints...
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| Steel clothing! It takes up a lot of closet space. |
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| When welding on metal stockings, always use eye protection! |
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| I think there was a whole chapter in my driver's ed book on safe slave-steering. |
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| Would also work for excessive texting. |
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| Three! No, two! No.. oh, I'm terrible with quick decisions. |
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| Ruffles add that feminine touch to any riveted dress. |
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| Heel training starts at home. |
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You'll find that almost all of the Klaw-published artists' work looked very similar in appearance, to the point that it's difficult to tell some of them apart at first glance. That is, Stanton, Jim, Eneg, Mory, Anders, etc. I don't know whether that was simply the prevailing drawing style of the time or if they were heavily influenced by seeing each other's work. Not that I'm complaining. I like it.
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| Honestly never seen someone suspended by the seat of her metal panties. Kudos! |
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| "They all laughed at me when I said I'd invent an automatic mummifying machine! Well, who's laughing now?" |
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| Wonder if she learned those metal-working skills in a war factory. Hmm. |
Thursday, May 10, 2012
My coolness! Nooooo! Plus, art.
Been an expensive week, it has. My heating/air unit died for the last time. It's been costing about a grand a year just to keep it repaired for the past four or five years. A couple years ago the heater died on Xmas Eve and of course no one could fix it over that weekend, so by the time it got fixed it was down to 40 degrees inside. Brr! It's kinda surreal to be sitting there watching tv while your breath is visible. Anyhow, the thing died again last week (coils cracked and leaked out all the coolant and burned out the circuit board all in one go) and that was the last straw. Spent a horrible amount on a brand new unit. Sigh. At least I won't have to worry about it again for a number of years.
I also went and ordered one o them Wacom drawing tablets. An Intuos. I've never used one before, but I've wanted to try it for years. If it works and encourages me to draw more, it'll be a worth it. Thing is, I don't have a very visual imagination. I have ideas, and I have the technical skill (if a bit rusty), but there's a blockage in there somewhere that doesn't allow a proper translation. I can't form a good solid image in my mind to draw from (and faces are also very fuzzy in my memory). When I visualize something it's very unstable and abstract. It lacks detail and is more a set of concepts rather than pictures. A blur of trunks and green are a forest. I need to view something in front of me to draw it well. It's why I express myself much better with writing than drawing.
It's not that rare, people have a wide range of visualization acuity and even good artists can have very little. They either make it work for them or they find a workaround. It does affect the drawing process, though. When I want to draw realistically without a reference it starts out as a lot of rough overlapping sketches, honing in more and more as the vague concept starts to look more natural. The problem with that is it takes a lot of trial-and-error and a whole lot of erasing. Paper just doesn't last long against all the erasing I have to do... gets those fuzzy spots. It's the same reason I disliked painting -- you can't erase! But with digital drawing and tablets, I can erase and redo all I need to without any trouble. That's the theory, anyway. Here's hoping!
Oh, and I've counted six turtles in my yard, a chipmunk, and one three-legged squirrel.
I also went and ordered one o them Wacom drawing tablets. An Intuos. I've never used one before, but I've wanted to try it for years. If it works and encourages me to draw more, it'll be a worth it. Thing is, I don't have a very visual imagination. I have ideas, and I have the technical skill (if a bit rusty), but there's a blockage in there somewhere that doesn't allow a proper translation. I can't form a good solid image in my mind to draw from (and faces are also very fuzzy in my memory). When I visualize something it's very unstable and abstract. It lacks detail and is more a set of concepts rather than pictures. A blur of trunks and green are a forest. I need to view something in front of me to draw it well. It's why I express myself much better with writing than drawing.
It's not that rare, people have a wide range of visualization acuity and even good artists can have very little. They either make it work for them or they find a workaround. It does affect the drawing process, though. When I want to draw realistically without a reference it starts out as a lot of rough overlapping sketches, honing in more and more as the vague concept starts to look more natural. The problem with that is it takes a lot of trial-and-error and a whole lot of erasing. Paper just doesn't last long against all the erasing I have to do... gets those fuzzy spots. It's the same reason I disliked painting -- you can't erase! But with digital drawing and tablets, I can erase and redo all I need to without any trouble. That's the theory, anyway. Here's hoping!
Oh, and I've counted six turtles in my yard, a chipmunk, and one three-legged squirrel.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Doom of Plants
First thing I did this morning was this:
The next thing I did was visit a plant nursery with half a mind to look at holly bushes. They didn't have any. But I did wander through the rows of flowering plants with envy. See, I can't keep plants alive. Not many of them, anyway. I can't even keep cacti alive, and I love cacti. Back during the few years I lived in CA, I lived a block away from a cactus nursery featuring amazing succulents of all kinds flourishing in profusion. But it was hopeless. I couldn't even keep a cactus alive in the desert.
Compounding the problem is my yard, which apparently resents having holes dug into it to the point of killing anything I attempt to plant. Oh it's not unfriendly to everything, sure... oak trees like it here, azalea bushes do fine, there's some wild jasmine, a rose bush I planted last year is alive, and I have a splendid Japanese maple that is almost exactly old as me. And the yard is green, I can't fault it there -- there's a little grass and plenty of weedy things that, when mown short, give it the illusion of having a lawn. But just about anything I try to plant in it... is doomed.
Part of the problem is the shade what with all the oak trees around. There aren't many spots that get a good full sun. But shady plants haven't done well, either. I tried fancy moss. It didn't take in the sun or the shade. Regrettable. I like moss. The bigger problem is the soil, this hard dirt clay stuff that stunts growth. Few bulbs flower, things grow slowly. I'm sure its chemically all wrong. But even a deep layer of nice rich loam-in-a-bag doesn't seem to help much. Oh, greeny things! Why must you be so fickle!
So, among all the plants at the nursery, I left with nothing but a teeny tiny chick and hen plant in a pot barely wider than a quarter.
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| What? I'm just a little guy! |
Compounding the problem is my yard, which apparently resents having holes dug into it to the point of killing anything I attempt to plant. Oh it's not unfriendly to everything, sure... oak trees like it here, azalea bushes do fine, there's some wild jasmine, a rose bush I planted last year is alive, and I have a splendid Japanese maple that is almost exactly old as me. And the yard is green, I can't fault it there -- there's a little grass and plenty of weedy things that, when mown short, give it the illusion of having a lawn. But just about anything I try to plant in it... is doomed.
Part of the problem is the shade what with all the oak trees around. There aren't many spots that get a good full sun. But shady plants haven't done well, either. I tried fancy moss. It didn't take in the sun or the shade. Regrettable. I like moss. The bigger problem is the soil, this hard dirt clay stuff that stunts growth. Few bulbs flower, things grow slowly. I'm sure its chemically all wrong. But even a deep layer of nice rich loam-in-a-bag doesn't seem to help much. Oh, greeny things! Why must you be so fickle!
So, among all the plants at the nursery, I left with nothing but a teeny tiny chick and hen plant in a pot barely wider than a quarter.
