#brainwashed

Manuela knew she should be covering herself up right now, but somehow the urgency of her masturbation seemed so much stronger than her embarrassment. She hated that Letty was seeing her like this, legs spread and tits out and one hand inside her panties furiously rubbing her sopping cunt, but she couldn’t help the desperate conviction that her orgasm was just seconds away. And she’d been jilling off too long now to give up when she was finally so close. “I–uh–can, can you knock?” she gasped out, her voice hoarse and raw with aching desire. She barely even noticed that her roommate was dressed only in lacy underwear.

She definitely realized that far from closing the door and leaving Manuela to her lusts, Leticia was coming ever closer to the bed with a smug, confident smirk on her face. “You really don’t remember, do you?” she asked, crawling onto the mattress and putting her hand possessively onto Manuela’s light brown thigh. “No, of course you don’t. You never remember. Just like you never cum, Manuela. Isn’t that the problem? You’re so very, very horny. But you can’t quite get over the edge and cum.” Her fingers teased and stroked Manuela’s sensitized skin, making the helpless woman gasp with pleasure. But somehow it still wasn’t enough to stimulate her needy body to climax.

“C-can’t, I, I… what?” Manuela murmured, her brow furrowing in desperate confusion as she stared up at Letty’s tawny features and struggled to make sense of what the other woman was saying. “What, how, w… what?” She couldn’t parse anything properly, not with the weight of arousal dragging down her mind into that sultry pink fog of lust and need and desire. Every time she tried to think, her fingers skated over her stiff and swollen clit again, pushing her ever closer to the orgasm that remained tantalizingly out of reach, and her mind collapsed into bewilderment again as she tried and failed to cum. “Cum, can’t… cum?” she whimpered, the closest she could get to expressing a concept too complicated for her overwhelmed brain.

“You can’t cum without me,” Letty explained, her voice smooth and calm and utterly remorseless. “I hypnotized you about… a month ago, now?” She chuckled, shaking her head as if to marvel at Manuela’s futile attempts at resistance. “And I took away your orgasms. I hid them somewhere deep inside your own mind, and you can’t get them back until you give up and give in and turn yourself into my lesbian sex slave. Until you convince yourself to really and truly want it, baby. And I’ve been coming in here every couple of days, and I’ve been checking in on you, and… you know, I think you’re getting close, I really do. You don’t even try to cover up anymore.”

Manuela’s vision swam as she tried and failed to focus her blurry gaze on her roommate. “S-slave?” she asked stupidly, arousal gumming up her thoughts into a wet, sticky mess. “I… ohhh, fuck, c-can’t think, I….” Now that Letty mentioned it, Manuela realized she had been masturbating a lot lately. She just always felt so horny, all the time, and the more she jilled off the worse it got, because–because she never came, she slowly and sluggishly comprehended. Because every time, she finished her session frustrated and unfulfilled and even though Letty took away the memory of her visits, that ache in Manuela’s cunt remained. And that just made her play with herself that much more frantically. And that just made her weaker and wetter and more desperate to shatter her own will against the irresistible force of Letty’s control. “Can’t think!” she exclaimed, her fingers rubbing furiously.

“I know,” Letty purred, continuing to pet Manuela’s thigh. “And soon, you won’t even want to try.”

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It was always so embarrassing when Nadia realized how deeply conditioned she was, but at the same time she couldn’t deny how wet it made her. Every single time her boyfriend put something up to her mouth–a lollipop, a particularly phallic carrot stick, even just his thumb–she found herself instinctively and automatically wrapping her lips around it and bobbing her head up and down in a burlesque parody of oral sex. Only to her mind there was nothing oral about it at all. When she sucked Dimitry’s thumb like it was a stubby cock, she could feel it in her cunt just as surely and as certainly as if he was openly fucking her with it.

It never failed to make her feel weak and small and helpless when he teased her like that. Even though Nadia knew that she could resist the suggestion if she genuinely needed to–Dimitry was always very good about building safeties into his hypnotic programming, and she only rarely felt the urge to fellate the silverware when they dined out–there was always something so completely and totally degrading about being shushed like a little girl whenever she tried to get bratty and discovering herself unable to resist the urge to suck on her Master’s thumb. It stripped away all her determination, all her illusions of pride, and left her meek and tame and desperate to please.

And the best/worst part was, he knew exactly how she felt. She’d thought she was only negotiating a new suggestion when they talked about implanting her oral triggers, but Dimitry didn’t get to be a skilled and talented hypnotist without picking up a little bit of psychological insight. When Nadia squirmed and blushed while trying to describe her ideal hypnotic fantasy, only to jump his bones the second their conversation was over as if she was desperately and ineffably grateful to be allowed to stop thinking, well. He put two and two together to come up with ‘Nadia feels like such a simpering slut every time she can’t resist sucking Master’s thumb but that’s exactly what her pussy needs.’ And he was perfectly happy to use that against her in ways that made her even wetter.

“Awww, does this make my little pet feel all shy and blushy?” he’d ask, pushing his thumb in and out of her mouth until it sank in all the way to the knuckle. “Does she get all embarrassed when Master fucks his pretty little girl like this? Does she feel all weak and wet when Master makes that cute cuntmouth drool just like her real pussy?” And of course, all Jessica could ever do was grunt and mumble around the intruding digit in helpless agreement while she tried not to meet his remorselessly cheerful gaze. Not because she was worried about any additional hypnotic programming or anything–she just felt so seen whenever he looked at her like that.

Nadia invariably wound up naked for Dimitry when he gave her something to suck, her fingers peeling away layers of clothing to give her better access to her slick and steamy cunt. By the time he removed his thumb and spun her around so he could push her up against the wall and fuck her from behind, her head was practically spinning with lust and desire, and she lost herself begging for his cock. And when it was all over, when she finally emerged from the mindless trance of ecstasy Dimitry instilled and realized what she’d done, Nadia always felt that same surge of hot, wet embarrassment. And she always felt the same urge to hide her face in her lover’s chest and thank him for making her feel safe in her surrender to his will.

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The prisons of the future had no bars. They didn’t need them, not when they had the technology to implant irresistible compulsions deep within the human brain. The ability to truly rehabilitate Jessica might still be decades away, but they could give her a deep, unquenchable need to be fucked hard every few hours that would keep her so horny–and eventually so pregnant–that she couldn’t get more than a couple miles away from a man before her cunt dragged her back to the nearest cock to present herself to be bred. Simply installing a fucking machine in her cell obviated the need for locks and guards, although by law at least one person needed to be present to keep an eye on the prisoner. Which explained the swell in Jessica’s belly.

There were side effects, unfortunately. Civil liberties groups had been tied up for years in arguments over whether the unintended associative fetishes prisoners tended to develop counted as ‘cruel and unusual punishment’, or if it was only cruel to accidentally instill a kink for slutty cow costumes and not at least give Jessica a pair of big fluffy ears and a leather collar to satisfy her urge to be owned. Fortunately, Jessica had a sympathetic warden… or at the very least, one who indulged in the same fantasies that now overwhelmed her muddled brain… and he was happy to keep her supplied with a few little things to help her feel like a good breeder cow. And she, in turn, used her lucid moments to help psychiatrists figure out why dropping the initial compulsion into her mind reverberated with a whole chain of desires inextricably linked to her need to be bred.

Jessica was like most prisoners in the new order. She served her sentence patiently–and not just because Jessica in particular felt a deep twinge of hot, sticky lust every time she contemplated squatting on all fours in docile expectation. No, she understood that at the end of her five year sentence for mail fraud, she’d be taken back to the hospital and put under the induction helmet again, this time to remove the fetish that had come to dominate her entire existence, and then it would all be over barring a few adoption records that would leave administrators scratching their heads twenty years or so down the line. It was more than she could expect if she tried to escape, and she knew it.

Jessica had seen a few of those women, the ones who couldn’t hack life on the inside and went on the run with their boyfriends or their husbands or just a seemingly sympathetic man. It always ended the same way. Invariably, one of them would realize over the course of the convict’s desperate pleas to be fucked bareback that they held all the power in the relationship, and it wasn’t long before they started to use that power to get whatever they wanted from the desperately horny woman who still couldn’t show her face in public even during those brief periods when the fog of lust cleared from their muzzy minds. And without the ability to get their compulsions removed, those women were serving out life sentences in a prison without bars. Jessica preferred to take her punishment like a good girl.

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Sometimes Kitty felt, well… a little bit silly, dressing the way she did. Sure, she looked cute, and most of the time that was enough to keep her from questioning her choice in outfits when she looked in the mirror and saw a pretty little neko-girl with cat ears on her headphones and cat paws on the soles of her stockinged feet and the most adorable cat tail swaying down from the belt around her waist. She was a college student now, making her own money and allowed her own taste in fashion, and if that meant she decided to dress up like her namesake when she felt like it, who was anyone to say no?

But sometimes she felt a little bit of… not confusion, exactly, because it really felt more like a fog was lifting from her mind than settling onto it… uncertainty, perhaps. A lessening of the conviction that usually buoyed Kitty’s spirits and left her happily fantasizing about the day when she could stop thinking and respond to every question with a warm, satisfied purr. A feeling that maybe this was all a little silly, possibly even embarrassing. And that was when it always popped into Kitty’s head that she didn’t have to go through her self-doubt alone. She could go into her messages, find that account her eyes always slid right over whenever she wasn’t in this odd, rebellious mood, and send a text to someone listed only as ’({*})’.

Today’s message was very simple: ‘im resissting’. Kitty didn’t know why that seemed like such an appropriate way to describe her momentary identity crisis; she wasn’t resisting so much as questioning, at least in her own increasingly divided mind. But her fingers apparently knew exactly what to type, and they also knew how to do… other things. No wonder she made a few little typos in her text–Kitty’s thumb was quaking and quivering as it hovered over the touchscreen while her other hand relentlessly rubbed her bare, smooth labia until her cunt leaked onto the vinyl fabric of her favorite easy chair. Her eyes began to unfocus waiting for a response.

By the time it came, Kitty was already on the edge of orgasm. 'Pretty pussies have pretty pussies’, it said, and Kitty looked up at the full-length mirror across from her chair as if seeing it for the first time. She let out a grunt of helpless arousal at the sight of herself, one leg high in the air with her adorable paw stockings on full display, the other flat on the floor, exposing her… her pussy. Oh god. Of course. She always felt so much more turned on when she gave in and became her pussy. The whole 'cat’ thing was just an expression of that truer, deeper inner need. How could she have forgotten that?

A notification popped up on her screen, and Kitty tapped it without really wondering why. Soft music began to play through her Bluetooth kitten-ear headphones, music with whispers in it that Kitty heard without really paying attention to. 'pprety pusses javr perry puzzies’, she mashed into the touchscreen, the closest she could come to repeating her owner’s words back to them. Her eyes drifted away from the mirror, back to the phone that promised to reinforce her pleasure and obedience, but Kitty could still see her slick, dripping pussy out of the corner of her eye. And as always, it made her weak and compliant for her controller.

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It was so hard to be quiet. Cherry knew she needed to stifle her moans; her roommate was right on the other side of a very thin wall, after all, and Cherry didn’t exactly know how Lynda would take it to find out that the first-year college student who dressed so modestly and barely spoke up in classes had discovered the world of lesbian hypnosis porn. It didn’t seem like it would go over well–Lynda was in her third year, getting close to starting her graduate studies in psychology, and Cherry had a vague and inchoate notion that mentioning to Lynda that her field of study made Cherry’s pussy leak would be a touch disrespectful. So she decided to keep the brave new world she discovered on her phone to herself… and that meant shutting the fuck up when she was scrolling through her feed.

It wasn’t easy, though. Cherry had discovered a lot about herself in the last six months of adult freedoms, and one of the biggest things she’d learned was that she was a bit of a screamer when she came. The apartment above theirs was blessedly unoccupied, but whenever Lynda was actually home Cherry didn’t even dare touch her own cunt for fear of getting lost and distracted and overwhelmed and finally cumming so hard that Lynda wouldn’t be able to avoid hearing it. She just lay there, naked on her bed with her legs spread, grinding her flat chest and stiff nipples against the rough sheets and daydreaming about how hot it would be if her roommate did find out about her hypnosis fetish.

Because Lynda could really do it. She could really hypnotize people, Cherry had even tried it herself on a few blissfully foggy occasions. And if the stories were true–and Cherry read some real blogs from people who were in real relationships with an actual goddamn hypnotist–then the possibilities were limitless. She could brainwash Cherry just like all the women in her favorite porn, make her see and hear and think and experience a world carefully curated to make Cherry a submissive lesbian sex slave. She could be in the room right now, adjusting her biggest and thickest strap-on and getting ready to pound Cherry’s dripping cunt while the younger woman stared helplessly at the spirals on her phone.

God, that was so hot. That was always Cherry’s favorite fantasy, the one she kept returning to every time her screen made her mind sluggish and horny and foggy with arousal. She could practically feel it by now, picture in every vivid sensory detail what it would be like if Lynda crawled onto the bed behind her and sank that big thick silicone shaft deep into her soaking pussy while she stared vacantly at her phone and convinced herself it was all just a silly, sexy daydream. She could hear the choked whimpers coming from her own mouth, a desperate effort to stay quiet from a woman so deeply programmed and controlled that she still thought she needed to keep quiet even though the person she was trying to conceal her arousal from was right there in the room with her, fucking her with thrust after thrust after relentless, overwhelming thrust. She could, she could c-c-cum–

Cherry let out a loud, helpless squeal of ecstasy. Her eyes glazed over, the phone slipping from her nerveless fingers onto the mattress. But Lynda wasn’t done fucking her yet.

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There comes a point, in every really spectacular fuck, when the brain simply… shuts down. The frontal lobe gets overwhelmed by the sheer amount of sensory information coming in, and the oldest, most primal structures devoted to reproduction take over. The conscious mind collapses in on itself, and critical thought becomes genuinely impossible as the approach of orgasm becomes a singular, inescapable focus. In those moments of helpless ecstasy, someone can be made so desperate for more pleasure that they’ll do anything… absolutely anything… to get it. Arabella rarely reached that point with any of her lovers, and when she did they’d usually reached that same state of urgent abandon themselves. She was slowly, sluggishly realizing what a good thing that was.

Because Carlo, well… Carlo knew just how to fuck her like that. He had a nice long cock, sure, but it was more than that–he had technique behind his thrusts. Every time his light brown penis disappeared into the puffy pink folds of her soaking cunt, he seemed to hit some new and wonderful spot that drove Arabella to new heights of pleasure, and it was never long before her body lit up all over with thrumming ecstasy that made her acutely aware of her quaking tits and tingling clit and the heavy fog of lust that was making her brain slow and stupid. Even when she came, and oh god did she cum hard when Carlo fucked her, it never satisfied that need. Her lizard brain always craved more.

And Carlo knew what was happening to her. And he… oh, fuck, he had so much stamina. So much self-control. Long after Arabella reached the point where her thoughts slowed down and her eyes rolled back into her head and her cunt clenched relentlessly around Carlo’s cock in a desperate attempt to milk his heavy balls, he was still smiling down at her with that playfully sadistic expression on his handsome face and talking to her in complete sentences that she could only reply to in grunts and moans. Arabella always came out of that slutty, submissive headspace a little bit embarrassed by how easily she succumbed to the thick fog of arousal in her brain, and resolving to hold together a little more willpower the next time they hooked up. Or if she couldn’t, to maybe find someone a little less dominant for her next fuckbuddy.

It never worked. Every time Carlo texted her, even with the most inane and obvious ‘u up?’ message that was obviously an invitation to sex, Arabella’s thoughts turned back to that warm, honeyed voice promising her more and more pleasure if only she would let her mind slide away into that sensual fog and open herself up to him. And even though she knew going back to him would only make the situation worse, her cunt throbbed in naked anticipation every single time until she couldn’t hold back any longer and she had to reply. She was just grateful that all he seemed to use his control for was getting Arabella to spread her legs for his hard cock.

Until the day she came over and found a few of his friends hanging out with him. And Arabella realized she wasn’t going to be able to get her slow, sluggish brain off the subject of sex until it finally shut down completely.

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In all the ways that mattered, Emmy was gone. Her baby blue eyes gazed straight ahead, seeing a spiral that only existed in her mind–a spiral that captivated her so completely and totally that she didn’t even notice the world around her anymore. Her jaw hung slack and open, the muscles of her face so blank and expressionless that any observer might think her asleep if not for those wide, staring eyes. She didn’t speak. She didn’t even moan or whimper, despite the bullet vibrator nestled snugly against her clit and held in place by a pair of latex panties. Even when the proctor gently stroked her chin and parted her lips a little wider into a perfect cocksucking ‘O’, she didn’t react at all. She merely froze as she was posed, her mind blissfully empty. Perfectly ready for her next programming session.

“You’re a happy little cockslut now,” the proctor murmured, and even though Emmy gave absolutely no sign of even hearing the words, let alone understanding them, the woman in head-to-toe black latex knew that Emmy was absorbing her conditioning without resistance. “Every time you see a man, you can’t help thinking about what his cock would feel like in your mouth. You can’t help fantasizing about licking your lips and sliding your pretty head down that warm, stiff shaft until you’re kissing his balls, and you’re going to do everything you can to pleasure that penis until his hot, sticky cum is sliding down your throat. Isn’t that right, pretty girl?” Emmy couldn’t even nod for herself in her current state. The proctor moved her chin up and down for her.

“Nothing makes you happier than being down on your knees, giving a man an eager, sloppy blowjob,” the woman in black purred, and Emmy couldn’t disagree. All her disagreement had been used up months ago during that spa weekend when the spiral was first planted in her brain, and now all her owners needed to do was walk up to her and brush their fingers intimately against the hollow of her throat to put her back into that same compliant, empty state. She wouldn’t remember any of this when she woke. But her deep self would instinctually obey. “You want to service his cock, his balls, take his load wherever he wants to dump it,” the proctor continued, and Emmy felt her head rise and fall in another manipulated nod of agreement.

“Every man you meet–every single man you encounter from the moment you wake up in the morning to the moment you fall asleep at night–is a cock you need to service.” A trickle of drool spilled from the corner of Emmy’s mouth as she listened, the only visible sign of her desire to comply. “You’re going to flirt with them–subtly if you need to, openly if you can, but always with the intention of ending that conversation with their dick fucking your face. And once you’ve sucked them off, once you’ve used all those skills in the back of your brain to make them empty their balls into you, you’re going to make sure they know that they can have that again. Any time they want. Any time they feel like using you. And it’s going to make you feel so contented and happy and complete knowing that you pleased that man’s penis. Isn’t that right, pretty slave?” Another compelled nod. Emmy wasn’t even aware of it, but her subconscious instinctively associated the motion with agreement and that made it so much easier to accept her brainwashing.

“Good girl,” the proctor said, removing Emmy’s collar and striding briskly away as the hypnotized woman gradually came back to her senses. She had a lot of other women to get to that day, and no time to waste on Emmy now that her latest programming session was complete. And when she was finished, she knew she would strip off her latex outfit and forget just like Emmy did that she was nothing more than another of the brainwashed, obedient slaves who carried out Master’s will.

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By the time the man in white arrived, Jaz was sitting on the rocky point overlooking the river with her legs spread and a wide, blissful smile on her drowsy face. Her long brown fingers skated again and again over her massively swollen clit–it actually peeked out from beneath the hood of her labia it had gotten so big and stiff, and Jaz couldn’t stop herself from petting and rubbing it until her entire brain tingled with sleepy rapture–and her clothes were nowhere to be seen. Jaz had a confused memory of throwing them into the river, but everything before she started playing with her pussy was kind of a blank now. “Are you my Master?” she mumbled, her voice slurred and muzzy with befuddled ecstasy. She didn’t know why, but she knew she needed a Master now.

The man in white crouched down between Jaz’s legs, studying her stiff clitty with great interest. “Yes I am,” he said, his tone polite and patronizing and shivering with carefully controlled lust. “I’m your Master, Jasmine, and I’m here to take you back with me to my nice warm house where you can have that drippy little pussy fucked properly. Doesn’t that sound good?” Jaz nodded vacantly, her mind more on the bulge in her Master’s trousers than on his words. It was still early enough in the spring that she could feel her body getting chilly despite the heat of her desire, and the sound of curling up in a nice cozy bed and getting her cunt plowed by Master’s cock sounded better than anything right now. A trickle of anticipatory musk leaked down her inner thigh to drip onto the cool rocky surface beneath her.

“You gave me quite a few difficulties, didn’t you, young lady?” Master said, straightening up and offering his hand to Jaz to help her to her feet as well. Jaz felt her cheeks go hot with embarrassed contrition as she nodded in reply; her memories were still a tangled, muzzy fog of confusion, but she distantly recalled stumbling to her car and driving with no particular destination in mind beyond simply ‘away’. And when the arousal and the deep, groggy bewilderment made it too unsafe to drive, she pulled over into the nearest rest area and started walking. And when the river got in between her and her next step, she threw her phone in the water with her clothes to buoy it and hoped it would float downstream far enough to fool them as to her whereabouts.

It was so silly to think she could fool Master, though, Jaz realized as he hauled her upright and wiped her pussy juice off with a handkerchief. He was so clever, clever enough to make the machine that sapped her will and emptied her thoughts and filled her brain with all the programming that was still unpacking itself inside her brain with every throb of her swollen clit, and Jaz was so fucking stupid with lust now. Of course he would find her. Of course he would defeat her. Of course he would claim her for his own. It was all a foregone conclusion, and Jaz was just being naughty and silly by trying to fight it. She needed to listen to her pussy and do what she was told like a good girl, that was all. “Thank you for coming to get me, Master,” she burbled, one finger still between her legs as she followed him back to the car. The throb in her cunt erased any question that she was saying the right thing.

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The second I see it, I want to fuck it. Intellectually, I know that’s absurd; I’m in my early forties now, and even when I was younger and wilder and more prone to listen to that wet throb in my pussy and do something stupid, it never extended to masturbating with a stranger’s dildo in the middle of a public park. But my cunt wants what it wants, and as soon as my eyes lock onto the long thick silicone shaft the woman is holding out to me, I know that what it wants is to shove that thing up inside me until there’s barely enough left sticking out for my fingers to hold on to. “Uh huh!” I burble cheerfully, taking the fake cock and wriggling out of my panties right there on the park bench. I’m not even sure whether she actually asked me a question, or whether I’m just agreeing with the entire notion of fucking myself out in the open like this.

I hike up my skirt until anyone walking by can see my bare pink pussy and part my labia with two fingers to help slide the dildo inside. It doesn’t take much effort–the moment it sinks more than a few fractions of an inch into my slick, leaky cunt, I realize that I’m incredibly wet. The toy glides frictionlessly inside me despite its girth, and I feel my expression melt into a blank and plastic smile. “Uh huh,” I murmur, settling into a thrusting rhythm that leaves a puddle on the bench within moments. I’ve never been this goddamn soaked before. I don’t know what’s happening to me; I’m not the kinky type, I’m not gay (even if I have had a few fantasies now and again about Brie Larson)… but something about this cock, this shape, this shade of purple makes me throw caution to the wind and fuck myself in front of a total stranger. “Uh huh,"I whimper again, the pulses of pleasure inside my head obliterating any memory of her words.

The first climax hits, and my eyes unfocus into a blur of hazy rapture. When they refocus, she’s got out her phone and she’s filming every second of my degradation, but I can’t bring myself to care. I know I have to look incredibly sexy right now, smiling and fucking myself and staring at her with the intelligence of a golden retriever behind my empty blue eyes. I want to show the entire world how good it feels to clench my pussy around my special dildo and cum like a goddamn porn star–no. No, it’s even better than that. I’m not cumming like a porn star, I’m cumming until I become a porn star. "Uh huh!” I chirrup, my voice now a breathy squeak of pure ecstasy that makes Marilyn Monroe sound like Marilyn vos Savant.

I still don’t know what she’s saying to me, but I can feel the impressions of it in the way my thoughts change after every giggled, “Uh huh!” I suddenly love sex with women, I suddenly want to show off my naked body, I suddenly adore the notion of being controlled by a sex toy that makes me inexplicably weak-willed and susceptible to suggestions. It’s not hard to derive a proof by implication, but it’s incredibly difficult to care about what’s happening to me. Especially when I’m on my fourth climax and counting. My eyes have glazed over in a permanent thousand-yard stare, and all I can think of is getting the rest of the way naked for my new Mistress.

She doesn’t let me. Not yet. She helps me put my panties on over the toy, pushing both up until it’s filling me up in a perpetual orgasm that melts me into a docile and pliable state. Then she walks me out of the park, over to the parking lot, into her car and off to a new life. “Uh huh,” I sigh out as the seat belt clicks into position. Then my eyelids finally flutter shut and I sink completely into the pleasure of obedience.

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He’d noticed. Oh, fuck, he’d noticed. Cyndi knew it was bound to happen, she’d seen the post circulating enough times before she finally took the plunge and got the tattoo to know that plenty of people would recognize the ‘free use’ symbol on her wrist, but it hadn’t even been a full hour since she removed the bandage and already a guy was giving her a look that told Cyndi he knew exactly what it meant. She looked up at him, concealing all her trepidation behind a bright smile, and thrust out her chest ever so slightly to emphasize her pendulous breasts.  And her cunt melted in a rush of warm, liquid arousal as he reached out and gave them a casual squeeze. “Looks like someone knows her place,” he purred, his voice a husky growl of lust as he pulled her closer and began to grope her heavy tits.

Cyndi nodded, a whimpering squeak escaping her lips as he roughly yanked her shirt over her head and started playing with her nipples through the thin fabric of her bra. “Y-yes sir,” she mewled, unable to escape the powerful waves of sexual heat that made her brain fuzz and fog over with undisguised lust. She’d been offering herself to strangers online for a couple years now, edging to hypnosis files until her mind was a muzzy haze of arousal and talking dirty to any man who would listen, but taking the next step and making her fantasies a reality was giving her a hit of excitement so intense that she was creaming her fucking panties. “I, I know that as a woman, I’m inferior to men and–”

The sharp smack of the stranger’s palm against her tit made her break off with a gasp of surprise. “Oh, don’t bring other women into this,” he snarled, unhooking the clasp on her bra and tugging it free so that anyone walking into the empty conference room would see her bare tits hanging out. “It’s always the same with you sluts, isn’t it? 'Women are inferior, women are born to serve men, women can’t think.’ Did other women go out and get a tattoo that gives men permission to use them any way they wanted? No. It was you. Don’t try to pretend that it’s your gender that made you a weak and needy little bitch when we both know you just can’t handle making decisions for yourself.”

Cyndi’s mouth opened, but for a moment no sound escaped. She’d known that this would be intense, erotic, the culmination of all her fantasies of being used and demeaned and treated like a piece of meat by some big strong man, but… but somehow the way the stranger stripped away her last illusions made her wetter than she ever thought possible. She couldn’t even hide anymore behind the excuse of the anti-feminist rhetoric that always felt so wrong and so hot at the same time–he was right, after all. Plenty of women had no trouble refusing men. It was her. It had always been her. “Y-yes sir,” she whimpered, her voice almost a full octave higher. “I, I’m inferior. To men and women.” It felt like such a relief to finally admit it.

“Good girl,” he growled, taking a double fistful of titflesh and squeezing. “Now, be back in this room promptly at 5:05 PM. I’ve actually got work to do around here, and you need to get your clothes back on before someone sees you like this and fucks you stupid before I get the chance.” Cyndi nodded again, unable to trust her own voice. She knew she would obey–and she knew that this was far from the last time someone would put her in her place.

“**giggle** Nothing, it’s just… it’s kind of, like, funny, y'know? ‘Cuz, like, you dosed me with the… the, uhm, what’s that stuff? The stuff that was supposed to make me, like, super dumb and horny and stuff. You know, the little pink pills that, uhm… like, you know, you explainded it to me earlier when you gave me the, the s-sec, um, the t-third, uhm–the other one? Anyhoo. You gave me the yummy pink pills that made my brain all fuzzy, and I guess that was supposed to make me, like, totez weak and horny and s-s-suh, suh, supsepibum to your will?

"Uh huh! **giggle** But, like, when you told me to unbutton my sweater and you saw that I wasn’t wearing a bra, your eyes got real big. Like, OMG super big, y'know? And, like, I don’t even think you’ve blinked once since I took out my big titties. **giggle** Every time I bounce them, your eyes, like, totez follow them where ever they go! And I was thinking… uhm… hang on, I had it, I… oh! Right! LOLZ. I was thinking that even though I’m a totez ditz now because you snuck the yummy pink pill into my drink and then gave me an, um, other, and then told me I was too dumb to say no and gave me an other after that, um, uh, uhh….

"Oh! Yeah! I was thinking my great big sweater puppies still make you totez dumber than me. 'Cuz, um, I guess they still hyp–hypno–hypnomatize you? Like, I know you said you were super sick of me man, man, manumpalating you with my sexy body, and you were going to put me in my place and stuff, but I think that making me all dumb and slutty made you, like, even horniererer? And so, um, when you thought you were going to stop getting tricked into doing what ever I say so you might get to see me naked someday, instead you got tricked into seeing me naked and now you can’t stop looking at my titties! **giggle** OMG, you should see your eyes right now!

"And so I was, like, thinking it was probz kind of funny, because I might be a dumb slutty airhead but you’re the one who’s, y'know, not really thinking right now. You’re just, um, staring at my big bouncy titties and rubbing your cock through your pants and daydreaming of, uhm, fucking me, and I guess that kind of means you’re, y'know, hypno’d by my tits? And, like, I was thinking that it would be super extra funny if, like, your eyes started getting all, um… heavy, I guess? Because they keep following my jiggly boobies and that’s probz really, uh, exhaustamating. It is, right? Yay! Thought so.

"And like, now you’re just, y'know, nodding at every thing I say and, and, uhm, getting all throbby, and I was thinking maybe you should like, close your eyes and lie back so I can do all the work? Because, like, I’m totez gonna fuck you anyway, so why should you have to do that hard work of thinking when you can just daydream about my big titties wrapping around your cock and jerking it until you gush all that hot sticky jizz and go totez brain dead for me. Doesn’t that sound so good? That’s it. Just keep nodding. Just keep going deeper. Good boy. I think we’re gonna love being dummies togetherer.”

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Gina’s eyes flutter open for just a moment, somewhere around the time the third man pulls out of her sloppy cunt and the fourth man pushes his dick inside her. She sees the cell phone propped up against the window, tucked neatly in between the safety railing and the glass, a winking red light in the corner of the screen politely informing her that every detail of this gangbang is being livestreamed to the Internet. It takes her a couple of moments to understand what that implies–her muzzy, groggy brain is still stuck on the long, thick cock thrusting deeper and deeper into her pussy, displacing semen as it sinks in until it drips down her thighs in thick globs. But eventually she gets it.

She… anyone can see her. Gina doesn’t know what platform she’s broadcasting this to, she has only the vaguest and foggiest memories of tapping on her screen at the direction of the man in the powder-blue suit with the soothing baritone voice, but she’s sure that hundreds of people are watching her get railed from behind right now. She can see in the image in front of her that there are at least three men standing in line behind her, stroking their dicks to get them hard so they can pound her pussy and fill her up with yet more hot sticky cum. By the time this ends, maybe those hundreds will become thousands. Maybe strangers from all over the world will be watching her face contort again and again in deep, helpless orgasm and know that she can’t stop herself from loving every second of this.

And the Internet is forever. The video is going to stay up for months, maybe even years. People will copy it, they’ll make gifs of her dangling titties swaying back and forth with every thrust of cock after cock after cock into her messy cunt. The bus slows to a stop again, picking up another two men who’ve been watching the livestream and recognized their opportunity to participate, and Gina wonders just how many times she’ll be fucked by strangers by the time this is all over. However many it is, the world is going to know. People will pass Gina on the street for the rest of her life and recognize her as the chick in that gangbang sex tape.

They won’t know anything about the hypnosis–that all happened before the stream started, back before the disgusted passengers got off a few stops early to avoid the live mobile sex show unfolding around them and left behind only the men who wanted to get their dicks wet inside Gina’s needy cunt. They’ll look at her and see only a cock-hungry slut who wanted to be fucked so bad she didn’t even look behind her to see who was plowing her pussy, and maybe they’ll make her a lewd and inappropriate offer to add their shaft to the total. Gina can already tell she’ll do it. She’ll give herself to anyone who wants to fuck her now, because the man in the powder-blue suit told her to and he’s so wonderfully persuasive.

That’s what goes through Gina’s dazed and befuddled mind in those few moments that approach lucidity, in the instant before the fourth man’s balls smack against her labia and she loses herself in warm, wet pleasure again. She’s completely, totally aware that she’s being conditioned into a public use slut… and the realization makes her pussy clench so hard around a stranger’s cock that she sees stars when she cums. And then, with a moan of helpless gratitude, she grinds against the man fucking her and milks every last drop of jizz out of him.

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Cassidy knew what she was becoming. How could she not? Every afternoon on her way home from work, she felt the same irresistible compulsion to turn off a few exits early and drive to a house that wasn’t her own. She experienced the same inexorable pull on her mind that tugged her into Daniel’s bedroom, where he waited for her with his cock out and a warm, encouraging smile on his chubby pink cheeks. And every single day, without fail, Cassidy stripped out of her sweaty clothes and dropped to her knees to give him a sloppy, enthusiastic blowjob that didn’t stop until he nutted all over her face and hair. It didn’t take a fucking rocket surgeon to know that the hypnosis was working.

But at the same time, she couldn’t exactly be angry about it or anything. Daniel had always been honest with her, from the moment he first met her at Shelley’s party to the first time he dropped her into trance over at her place to the day she finally gave in to that tug on her thoughts and went over to his house to suck his cock. He told Cassidy she was beautiful, he told her she was sexy, he told her he thought she had a submissive streak she didn’t know about and it would make her into a perfect oral service slut if she ever wanted to explore that side of herself, and so far everything about that had been true. Could she really fault him for brainwashing her if she had every chance to get away before it started?

And, well… it wasn’t like it was all about him. Oh, sure, she spent all their time together down on her knees, pleasuring his cock and balls until her face was a sticky mess of saliva and cum. But Cassidy always felt that same wonderful, drifting rapture steal over her mind the moment she took off her clothing, buzzing and tingling like a phantom dildo inside her soaking cunt until she couldn’t tell anymore when one orgasm stopped and the next began. The harder she licked and sucked Daniel’s cock and the closer he got to shooting his load, the more powerful that sleepy bliss became. She’d never had a lover give her so much pleasure before, even the supposedly generous men who spent twenty minutes licking her pussy before sex. It was amazing.

And more than just the sex, it felt… he was right. Cassidy never thought she would say it, not about the tattooed biker chick who lost a job once for punching a manager in the face when he tried to cop a feel, but she did have a submissive streak. It took patience and caring to bring it out, but that was exactly what Daniel brought to their–their relationship? Yes. They had a relationship. A guy who just wanted blowjobs didn’t spend hour after hour cooing to her in a warm, seductive growl, praising her for her oral talents until she felt a blissful glow of pride and joy in every splatter of jizz that gushed onto her face and into her hair. A man who didn’t care about his good girl wouldn’t take her into the bathroom when they were done and give her a long hot bath, pampering her until she melted into drowsy contentment under his touch. Daniel made her feel wanted and loved, and that made her whole mind and body open up to serving him.

So yes. Cassidy knew exactly what she was becoming. And she’d never been happier.

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“So as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me,” the man said, taking his hand away from Niamh’s neck and gently toppling her backwards onto the couch, “it’s called a neural lock. It interfaces with the brain through a tiny induction plate that presses against the spinal column where it connects to the brainstem–don’t worry, that little pinch you feel is just the legs digging in a little to get a good grip, it doesn’t pierce the skin at all–and sending a direct counter-harmonic frequency aimed at frontal lobe activity. So you’re fully aware of everything that happens to you, you just… can’t think. At all.” He smiled down at her, his expression blandly polite but his eyes cool and hungry.

“See, without the ability to process sensory information, your brain is pretty much just stuck in neutral,” he continued, even as he pulled off Niamh’s blue-checked skirt and lavender panties to expose her pale curvy thighs and curly thatch of auburn pubic hair. “You can see, you can hear, but none of it makes any imprint on your short-term memory, so you’re not even able to form any conscious impression of what happened. It doesn’t even really register as missing time–you’re just going to have a little fuzzy spot in your recollections where the clock jumped forward.” He unbuttoned her blouse, revealing the pair of pendulous tits that had originally drawn him in Niamh’s direction. She didn’t stop him from removing her bra and cupping them lightly with his palms.

“Now I know what you’re thinking,” he chuckled, posing Niamh’s body with her legs spread and her hands gripping her thighs. She froze in exactly the position he left her, unable to muster up even the will to relax her muscles. “Or rather, I know what you would be thinking if you could think right now. You’d be thinking, ‘Why is he even talking to me when I can’t think about anything he’s saying?’ And the answer is, it turns out that the neural lock has a lot to teach us about the way the brain functions. Specifically, it teaches us that we absorb information holistically.” He climbed on top of her and pushed his cock slowly into her slick, musky cunt. Her expression remained utterly blank.

“See, right now your frontal lobe is basically spinning its gears,” he grunted, his words punctuated by little gasps of exertion and arousal, “but the rest of your brain is still functioning. And it turns out that it’s even capable of listening, after a fashion. You can’t form memories, not ones you can access and understand in the conventional sense, but the information stays inside your brain and gets processed by some of the other sections we didn’t even think were responsible for consciousness. In fact, because you’re unable to think about them consciously, they kind of get stuck in your head and just… stay there. You can’t get rid of them, you can’t make sense of them, they simply become a part of your instinctive behavior. Like you’re brainwashed to believe them no matter what the rest of you might say.”

He let out a final strangled gasp, pulling out just in time to cover her bush with spurt after spurt of sticky jizz. “So when you wake up, you’re going to believe you’re my submissive fucktoy. You’re going to be so happy that I found you and claimed you, and you’re going to want to come home with me so I can program you some more. That’s sounds so nice, doesn’t it?” Niamh didn’t answer. She couldn’t. But her cunt twitched in helpless arousal and the man knew that she was his.

(If you enjoy this fiction and want to make sure it continues, please visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox to become a supporter. Or, if you simply want to make a one-time contribution, you can drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox instead. Thank you!)