Five crows sharing a laptop!

I have said versions of all this before, but not On Tumblr; which is a problem inasmuch as this is a complaint about the parochial insularity of the Tumblr mechsploitation scene. So, futile as it may be, here it is, theoretically visible at the source of the issue: the terrible shortcoming I see in the Tumblr mechploitation scene is that, for the most part, actually writing, reading, or engaging with mechsploitation only happens in other places — what happens on Tumblr is "jacking off about puppygirls."

Everyone's allowed to jack off about puppygirls, of course, should they so wish, but this shouldn't be mistaken for things it isn't, such as e.g. "reading things" or "understanding a genre" or "knowing what the fuck you're talking about."

Mechsploitation is often mistaken for a subgenre of science fiction, from which Tumblr "fans" often talk about sanitising the horrifying elements. This is a fundamental media literacy error: mechsploitation is a subgenre of horror. You cannot sanitise the horror out of horror; furthermore, the horror in mechsploitation is explicitly fascism. The horror is the horror of fascism breaking its sincere opponents — if not into genuine agreement, then at least into a drugs-and-torture-obtained simulacrum of enthusiastic participation in fascist violence.

Whenever someone says "haha what if mechsplo but nicies to puppy :)" they are saying: it's icky that this horror genre is horror. The breaking people, the bad ends, the intentional feelbad, any of the kinks too edgy for Me Specifically — all that can go, superfluous. Let's take out the horror and breaking and drugs-and-torture and simulacrum and just have the enthusiastic participation, because that's nicies! Puppygirl's nice white affluent middle-class ass Simply signed up to kill the subaltern rebels in the imperial military when a recruiter came round to her school. Uncle Sam says: Off the leash, uwu-rah! :)

And if that criticism is too pointed for your taste, consider: mechsploitation without the things that make it mechsploitation probably isn't "reverse mechsplo" or "mechsplo but". It's probably just "milSF with mechs in," something that substantially pre-dates mechsploitation and has estabished genre language for talking about it. Neither it nor mechsplo is served by trying to define the negative space of Everything That's Not Mechsploitation in terms of mechsploitation; the attempt makes you look, at best, like you should Read Another Fucking Book.

You'll know well before the planned date so you can prepare. Your hair and nails done, shopping for something new and lacy to match the rope we'll bind you in. Mentally you'll need to prepare as well. This is going to be one of the most intense nights of your life, sweet girl. You'll need to remember your breathing exercises.

Introductions will be brief. You thoughtlessly extend your trust to anyone I do. So as I smile and welcome her into my arms, you'll relax. This is someone I'm deeply friendly with. I'd never trust you with anyone that didn't have your best interests in mind, right?

We enter the play room and you can't help but notice the tools waiting for you. All neatly hung and cleaned. Plenty of room for the wide swings that some toys necessitate.

We'll undress you, catching up like old friends as the outfit you worked so hard to put together is tossed aside. The conversation will eventually focus on you. She'll compliment your form, your blush, the lace I dressed you in. She'll go through the safety check in. “Tell me your safe word. Show me your non verbal sign.”

After, you won't need to say anything. In fact, we're going to talk over you, openly discussing our favorite parts of you. Where we want to see marks. How much we think you could handle. You may be tempted to speak up, to offer what you think we may like. ‘Your ass carries stripes so well, but your back is difficult to mark’. We'll look at you like wolves being offered cuts from the lamb we're getting ready to butcher. Your eagerness is noticed, appreciated, but unneeded. We have the experience to carve you up, little girl.

Finally we come to an agreement. We bind your wrists together, anchoring them to the ceiling, chattering excitedly at each other as we work. Carefully a pair of blackout contacts are slipped into each of your eyes. We'll each take half of you. A side of lamb each to treat as a canvas.

Together we are more than the sum of our parts. When dommes enjoy working together, they start to learn each other's rhythm, and, more importantly, how to egg the other on.

Imagine being strung up in the dark. Blind and helpless, balancing on the tips of your toes. The only safety net you have is in the trust you have in me. One domme, you don't know who, gives you a gentle tap on your side only for the other to respond, lashing a crop into the arch of your body as it tries to escape the first.

Back and forth we'll tease you, building up our strikes before switching to crueler and more intense implements. You'll hear us excitedly offer the other tips to improve our swing, or offer spots that might be fun to hit. No part of you would be off limits as we work to turn you from a blank canvas, to art.

Our art. Our sobbing, shaking, broken art. When we're done we'll haul you down, hold you between us and slip the contacts from your eyes. Your first vision will be your naked body reflected back at you, carried between us, every inch of you decorated.