Being brainwashed didn’t feel anything like Marisa had expected.
When they’d snatched her up off the street and loaded her into the van, she was furious and terrified and confused, along with probably half a dozen other emotions that she couldn’t name or process at the time. She’d fought with all her might until the sedatives took hold. By the time she woke up, she was strapped to a chair, facing a wall of TV screens that stretched well beyond the limits of her peripheral vision. They were literally all she could see.
A face appeared on them. Each screen showed the same image - an older man with a friendly smile. He looked like a kind, forgetful old college don. The kind of guy who’d spend hours coming up with brilliant insights about some obscure literary theory, but who couldn’t boil water without smoking up his apartment. He looked, simply put, nice.
He adjusted his glasses and spoke.
“You all have been brought here,” he said, “to be brainwashed.”
His voice sounded like it was coming from everywhere. It wasn’t loud, it just seemed like it was coming from all directions. Like there were thousands of layers of the exact same words, at the exact same time, being spoken from thousands of different spots around the room. Marisa felt like the voice had physical presence, texture. It filled her ears. It filled her head.
She wasn’t sure how she knew, but there were other girls there with her. If she strained to the side, she could almost make out more chairs like hers, with more girls like her strapped to them. At the very far edge of her vision, she got the impression that there was a frighteningly long line of them, stretching out for thousands of feet. Dozens of girls, just like her, immobilized and staring.
Then it was gone, and all she could see was the TVs again, where the professor-looking guy was speaking.
“You were selected based on a number of criteria. In most cases, it was random, for your physical attractiveness. Some of you have been specifically selected - requested, in most cases, by one of this facility’s heads. How you came to be here, however, is not important. What is important is what will be done with you now.
“You’ll be thoroughly brainwashed, your old personality and priorities overwritten. The overwhelming majority of you will be trained and sold as sex slaves. A few will be kept here, to work as trainers or recruiters. You don’t need to worry about what role you’re going to be assigned to. You don’t need to worry about anything, in fact.
“You just need to watch.”
With that, he gave another friendly smile, a quick nod, and vanished.
And then the screens really came to life.
Each one showed something different. Most of them were full of text - huge blocks of it, way more than Marisa could read. Some were nearly static, showing a single image for a minute or more. Others flashed rapidly, cycling through images at a rate of about one each second. Some seemed to be video clips. Others were simple images with words blinking on and off. All of them seemed to rotate. Each screen showed something different, and the images swapped from screen to screen faster than Marisa could keep up with.
The entire experience was, in a word, overwhelming.
The sheer scale of it made her dizzy. There were more screens than she could see, more than she could conceive of. The images - it was hard to parse one image from another, but on the whole, they seemed to mostly be pornographic - came and went, and hardly ever seemed to repeat. The number of different things flashing before her eyes… it boggled her mind.
Marisa had heard that phrase before. “Boggles the mind”. She’d never really thought about it. But now, she was experiencing it first-hand. She felt nauseous at first, then dazed. Then, slowly, her mind seemed to make surprising connections.
The first surprising thing she noticed was that she was aroused. It hadn’t occurred to her, but after a little bit, she heard herself gasp slightly. It was hard to hear over the soft drone of white noise that had been playing since the professor stopped talking, but she had let out a quiet, involuntary noise. A whimper, almost. It was something she knew she did when she was lost in an erotic moment - when her boyfriend was going down on her, maybe, or when she touched her clit just right.
So to do it now… brainwashing gets me wet, Marisa thought. The idea rang rich and clear in her mind, something solid and pure amongst the confusion and noise and din of the rest of the room. It didn’t feel like a natural thought, it was more like something she heard in her mind, but that didn’t make it feel any less massive and true.
I love being brainwashed. Again, it was like a bell in Marisa’s mind. It rang, and then reverberated, bouncing around in the recesses of her brain. It was less like thinking, and more like knowing. It was one of those facts that, now that she thought about it, was obvious in a self-supporting way. Obviously the sun was going to rise tomorrow. Obviously two times two was four. Obviously she loved being brainwashed. It didn’t even merit considering an alternative.
It’s good that I’m being brainwashed. For a moment or two, the notion of ‘good’ seemed murky. Good for whom? Good how? When it came down to it, what did ‘good’ even mean? Being brainwashed was good - that seemed clear. That felt, for an unsteady moment, like the only certain thing in the world to Marisa. That one fact was the craggy rock Marisa perched upon, the only safe place amid a raging sea of doubts. It was good to be brainwashed. That was the only self-evident thing she knew. Everything else was confusing and unclear.
I can’t wait to be a sex slave. That’s what she was doing here, right? Being brainwashed to be a sex slave. The brainwashing itself was good, of course. Therefore, if it was being used to make her a sex slave, then it followed logically that being a sex slave was a good thing. Iron-clad reasoning. Marisa began to feel more secure.
I love having my mind adjusted. Marisa could almost feel herself nod along to that one. That’s what the brainwashing was for, after all. Before she came here, she would have thought that being a sex slave was a bad thing. That it was wrong somehow. Now she knew it was a wonderful goal to have. That realization came thanks to brainwashing - thanks to having her mind adjusted. Marisa hoped there were many, many more adjustments to her mind waiting in her future.
I love to obey. She almost laughed at the thought. Many of these new ideas were big, bold revelations, things she’d never have considered. But this? Of course she loved to obey. She was a brainwashed sex slave, after all, wasn’t she? It almost didn’t merit thinking about.
From there, her new thoughts became both more specific and more general. Specific, in that they were particular commands and ways to obey. General, in that they were really all the same - do as you’re told, become what you’re made, forget what you were.
Marisa had no idea she’d love being brainwashed so much.
I wanted to list the rules Sir has for me, for fuckpuppet. Sir can, and does, issue single word commands to fuckpuppet, and these commands can be used in combinations so that fuckpuppet performs for Sir, exactly as Sir intends of her. My programming continues to get longer and longer… and yet I… fuckpuppet… finds it easier and easier to internalise and remember every single command…
After begging to orgasm, Sir will respond to fuckpuppet with one of 3 simple words:
“Yes” – Sir’s yes command is an instruction or permission to orgasm immediately.
“Wait” – when Sir tells fuckpuppet to ‘Wait’ she has to edge herself for 5 minutes, repeating her mantra “I am a fuckpuppet. I must do what I am told”, and then she may orgasm.
“Nipples” – If Sir tells fuckpuppet ‘nipples’ she has to tease her nipples and play with her breasts for 5 minutes, repeating the mantra “This slut needs bigger tits. I must have bigger tits for Sir”, then she may orgasm.
“No” – fuckpuppet may not orgasm, and cannot beg again for 8 hours.
When Sir tells fuckpuppet “Yes”or “Wait” he might also send fuckpuppet a type of image he wants her to play with herself to; “Yes French maid” means fuckpuppet must orgasm while looking at pictures of slutty French maids, so that fuckpuppet can long to be that and internalise the image to herself.
I am a fuckpuppet. I must do what I am told.
“Spank” – When Sir tells fuckpuppet ‘Spank’ and follows it with a number, she has to immediately expose her ass completely and then spank herself the required number of times, thanking Sir out loud for every slap; “spank 5” means fuckpuppet has to spank herself five times.
I am a fuckpuppet. I must do what I am told.
Wednesdays & Thursdays are ‘Naked days’ – Sir knows that I am alone in my home on Wednesday and Thursday nights so, when fuckpuppet gets home, she strips naked at the door and must inform Sir that “fuckpuppet is naked and ready to be played with”.
Once naked, fuckpuppet cannot stand or walk unless she is wearing a special pair of red stilettos that Sir likes fuckpuppet to wear, if she refuses to wear them it is impossible for her to remain standing and she has to crawl. Sir says this is to remind fuckpuppet of the house pet that she is.
Fuckpuppet can wear an apron to cook, and can put on a robe to answer the door to any unexpected callers, but has to keep the heels on. Sir decides if fuckpuppet is allowed on the furniture during her naked days, if denied the privilege, she can either stand in the heels on sit on the floor like the house pet she is.
I am a fuckpuppet. I must do what I am told.
Whenever fuckpuppet encounters a woman, in real life, on TV, in a movie or online that I find myself judging… Sir has programmed me to not only iternalise those thoughts so that I turn them against myself, but has programmed fuckpuppet to turn that judgement into jealousy. Now, whenever I feel judgemental of someone dressed inappropriately, fuckpuppet finds herself wishing she was dressed that way, as little voices in my head tell me it should be me… I have to tell Sir everytime this happens.
I am a fuckpuppet. I must do what I am told.
Sir will add to my programming, day after day, moment after moment, until I am helplessly empty… my consciousness replaced by Sir’s programming completely… And I will be a passenger in the fuckpuppet he has made from my body…
I let my cunt orgasm this morning while I was fucking her. Can’t remember whether it has been two weeks or three, but I think she is due. I think it is important that she does not get too many Os so she never starts thinking this is about her pleasure. Well, except the joy of being my hole. However, I also think it is important to let her have one once in a while. Just so she always has hope. Hope that can then be crushed most times I use her when I dump my load in her and roll off.
No, just his hole, today. maybe next time.
Besides, she is always so grateful when I do allow her release. I think gratitude is so important.
Devotional Training: Too much of a good thing would be bad for it.
Say instead: “Yes Sir. If it pleases you, Sir, even though I don’t want to.”
In time, you’ll learn to shorten that to “Yes Sir. If it please you, Sir”
You might even find yourself just saying “Yes Sir. If it pleases you, Sir, I’m happy to.”
You believe that it’s your thoughts and feelings that drive your language.
In reality, it’s the other way around.
Say “Yes Sir”and “Yes Master, I’m happy to…” often enough and you’ll start to feel the shift. Your words will start to drive your feelings and thoughts.
Don’t just think about this, put it into action.
Devotional Training: Let your words drive your feelings.
She does this because it allows her to become a bigger whore.
She does it because she wants to push her limits. Because she wants to push herself further into perversity and depravity.
A good girl knows that there’s no better feeling than the feeling that comes when, despite how humiliating something is, despite however degrading and potentially mind-rending it is, she does it anyway.
Despite the tears in her eyes.
Despite the burning in her cheeks.
Despite the feeling of her heart dropping itself into her stomach.
Despite all of that, all the shame, she pushes through and completes her task. She throws herself further down the rabbit hole and allows it to swallow her whole.
Because, she knows that when she comes out the other side, whatever it was that made her throw herself in will no longer make her feel that way. That’s why she doesn’t dip her toes in, why she dives into the deep end despite knowing that it will destroy her.
It will be her new normal. Yes, there will be a certain kind of catharsis from it all, but that doesn’t matter to her. Her new normal is all she cares about.
And until the most depraved, most dehumanizing things do little more than make her cunt clench with excitement, a good girl knows that she needs shame.
“Open your eyes. You will be hypnotized. You will be brainwashed. You will become an obedient fuck doll. Now look at the spiral.” His voice is stern with a note of irritation. Her head feels so heavy. She aches. She’s sore everywhere. She’s exhausted. The machine she is restrained in is silent again for now. Sweat drips from her naked body, running in tiny droplets that hang off her nose, forehead, and nipples. Her eyes are closed but she can see the shifting light beyond. “Look at the spiral or it’s back to the shocks,” says the voice. “One…two…” She weakly opens her eyes even though the intensity of the colors is almost painful. “Good girl. Focus on the colors.” She tries. She really does. She tries to focus. Tries to forget. The colors pull on her senses and mind. Lure her into the paradox of drifting and focusing at the same time. But her mind rebels. She’s faint. She wants to let them win. Have her. But she just cannot submit. Her brain doesn’t want this. A tear escapes her eye as she tries to relax. The trying gives her brain even more power to fight. She isn’t a slave. “Shit, she’s still fighting it.” says the first voice, a distant echo in her mind. No. She’s trying so hard! Someone sighs as she tries to sink. “I guess we’ll need to hit her again.” She shivers, her body jumping in fear. No… “Are you sure?” the first voice again. “Her vitals are really wonky.” She gurgles a weak protest. She tries to tell them she is trying. She wants… “Yeah. Give her another cycle.” “Noooo!” her voice is a strangled cry, sobs erupting from her as she stares into the infinite and mind breaking colors. “Quiet,” the first man replies. “Never seen one not break after four cycles,” The second voice sounds frustrated. She hears the machine spin up. The colors fade and are replaced with darkness and heat. There is no warning. Her swollen cunt is artfully pounded by the rotating vibrator. Her ass gets similar treatment almost instantly. She groans with a primal cry like a doomed animal. The AI assisted machine is extremely efficient. Her body is simply a problem to be optimized. The pressure, heat, sensation is applied with precision. Her clit is manipulated. Her cunt, her g-spot, her nipples, every spot on her body that can evoke her responses. She screams and wails in helpless ecstasy and exhaustion. They have already pulled countless orgasms from her today. She cannot take anymore. It’s painful. It’s bliss. It’s mind breaking. It only takes 44 seconds to bring her to a state of perpetual climax. “P-p-please… T-t-too m-m-much!!!!” she somehow manages to verbalize between unintelligible gibberish. They ignore her and let the machine fuck her, rip mind shredding pleasure from her. She begins to shake and spasm. Seizure. Her eyes roll about. She loses herself in the pleasure, pain, and fear. The only thing keeping her alive is the hope that they will stop before she dies. She knows she has no chance. They are going to rape her to death. Something in her breaks. She’s broken before but this is slightly different. She feels a part of her… dim… as she kicks uselessly and cums. Her voice stills to a low growl. There is nothing else. Cumming. Cumming. Cumming. Suddenly the machine stops and the cool breeze returns. Her swollen sex is emptied and blissful silence overcomes her. Somewhere in her head she realizes she can’t think. She can’t think. Her mind is silent. Broken. Her juices flow and drip from her spent folds. She vibrates quietly in a calm. The scintillated bliss of light appears before her closed eyes. Her mind is still silent. Broken. “Open your eyes. You will be hypnotized. You will be brainwashed. You will become an obedient fuck doll. Now look at the spiral.” And she opens her eyes…
