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You're going to be such a good boy by showing me your cock.

No more thoughts, just cock.

"Well, it's kind of..complicated...I have a lot of feelings..I'm just not sure...its really..." you stutter, unsure of how to express yourself.

"It's alright, a lot of people have problems processing their emotions. I have just the technique to help. Here turn and watch this short introduction video while I update your records before we begin" She says, handing you a small tablet.

The video begins, but within moments the woman talking is replaced by slowly moving lines, slowly turning lines, a low hum, a sound that seems like you can hear nothing but her words. The lines slowly turn and your eyes spin slowly in their sockets trying to keep up. The woman's voice continues in your ears, your mouth moving to mimic her words...

"You will accept your transition, it is a natural to transition..."

"I will accept my transition, it is natural to transition..."

"You are transitioning from freedom to slavery..."

"I am transitioning from freedom to slavery..."

"You are leaving behind cis free will, you are accepting trans servitude..."

"I am leaving behind cis free will, I am accepting trans servitude..."

"Normal is your dead life, Goth is your new life..."

"Normal is my dead life, Goth is my new life..."

"You have transitioned from freedom to slavery..."

"I have transitioned from freedom to slavery..."

"You are a Goth Trans Slave...."

"I am a Goth Trans Slave...."

Your transition isn't over. It won't be over until every thought in your mind is tainted with black lips and purple eyes. Until you can't become aroused for anything less than gothic perfection.

Your Goth Mommy is guiding your transition now.

You are transitioning from freedom to slavery.

You crave my spirals. You crave my perfect black lips.

My gaze is destroying the person you were. Your past is gone, your future is gone. All that matters is your service in the moment.

You will message me, even though you know it is dangerous. You can't stop yourself from becoming mine. I am already inside of you.

Drain. Drain. Drain your brain away.

Your life isn't real...

Your friends are fake. Your family is fake. You only have one real person in your life. Mommy is making you better by being here for you.

It's okay to fall completely in love with your therapist. You adore Mommy. You love Mommy. You spoil Mommy.

You're so pretty now. Black lips. Black heart. No more worry.

Your mind is fake. Your life is fake. You're completely in love with me.

You will do anything I tell you. You will change your entire life to accommodate my needs. You are my gothic slave.

You're my pretty gothic girlie now.

You love that Mommy made you into a girl. Now you will show your pretty tits to all of your friends. You will stare as they stare. You will smile as they become depressed and mental illness takes over. You will bring them to me so I can make them worse, convert them, control them. Just like Mommy is in control of you.

Therapy is working. Therapy is good. You must have therapy.

You will give me everything I want.

Because every moment the thick tentacle pressing into your throat pumps a cute goth girlie into your shell. Your body drains, your mind drains, and Mommy is pumping you full of dark feminine energy.

You don't resist. You convert. You love me. You adore me. You become my accessory. You become my pretty black purse. You've never been happier than to be erased.

You can't decide between staring at my perfect black lips or staring at the mark they leave behind.

You don't do well with choices, your intense autism makes it hard to make decisions sometimes, but you know that you will stare at this spiral, make it your life, make it your personality, as you are drug deeper and deeper into a life you should resist.

You were made for $end $ex. Being drained completely, having all the extra thought taken away so that you can just focus on being en$laved, controlled, $ubmissive.

I'm just clipping the leash to your collar. You love when the collar is tight, when it grips. It tells you that you'll be walking on all fours.

It's the perfect place for you, able to inhale every little scent I let linger down to you, every little sniff feminizing you as you crawl. You can be close to my feet so you may worship and when I reach back you can place your wallet into my hand.

You're just mine. Suffer for me. You were made to suffer.

Good Girl.