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6/27/2025, 3:38:06 PM
>>11319672
It's laundry day. All the naughty clothes are being dunked in the washer, forced to listen to Die Forelle over and over again.
The unspoken unsexy part of being TF'd into a piece of clothing is the washing and warping and whirling in a whirlpool of bodies-turned-bodywear, a dance that damn well inspired Dante's First Circle of Hell.
Like an orgy without any release, the TFees beg to be worn, to enfold with their family and lovers, to hold on to anything instead of being endlessly stimulated without any sexual pleasure in a headache that spans their entire bodies -
Only to go unheard as the machine chimes uncaringly yet cheerily.
And the chemical taste, eugh! The erotic novels romanticize how sensuous it is to syncretize taste buds and skin, to taste and savor the sour-sweet spills of a body enfolded...
But never do they tell of how foul is the bitter burning blarghle of bleach and chemicals, the saccharine syrup of fabric softener (that, if not used correctly, creates nasty black clumps of claylike residue that dirties the cloth further) rendering some eager to be crisp and clean too flaccid and yielding; and the agony of realizing the tastes savored as a human now will spell their decay and destruction.
...the clothes do not have their lives easy. Least of all when they're shredded for rags.
(If you want more textwalls like this, name a TF, I can try to deconstruct them this way.)
It's laundry day. All the naughty clothes are being dunked in the washer, forced to listen to Die Forelle over and over again.
The unspoken unsexy part of being TF'd into a piece of clothing is the washing and warping and whirling in a whirlpool of bodies-turned-bodywear, a dance that damn well inspired Dante's First Circle of Hell.
Like an orgy without any release, the TFees beg to be worn, to enfold with their family and lovers, to hold on to anything instead of being endlessly stimulated without any sexual pleasure in a headache that spans their entire bodies -
Only to go unheard as the machine chimes uncaringly yet cheerily.
And the chemical taste, eugh! The erotic novels romanticize how sensuous it is to syncretize taste buds and skin, to taste and savor the sour-sweet spills of a body enfolded...
But never do they tell of how foul is the bitter burning blarghle of bleach and chemicals, the saccharine syrup of fabric softener (that, if not used correctly, creates nasty black clumps of claylike residue that dirties the cloth further) rendering some eager to be crisp and clean too flaccid and yielding; and the agony of realizing the tastes savored as a human now will spell their decay and destruction.
...the clothes do not have their lives easy. Least of all when they're shredded for rags.
(If you want more textwalls like this, name a TF, I can try to deconstruct them this way.)
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