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AN: So this is a fic that literally nobody asked for but I've had it in my drafts forever and I thought it would be a shame to waste the idea. Whoops. Enjoy. CW: Non-Con, Cunnilingus, Brief mentions of spitting in mouth and spanking, Threat of pregnancy, Sort of implied American reader but you could read it as any english speaking country, though there is a dig in there that is pretty much aimed at Americans,

It’s hard being a foreigner in a country where you can’t speak the language. Harder than you’d thought it would be when you moved halfway across the world for work.

Getting around is tough and it’s hard to remember all of the customs and formalities, but the worst part about living so far from home is how lonely it is.

At the beginning, you spent most nights curled up in your tiny apartment, crying and googling time differences to see your parents would be awake to call. Things haven’t changed much since then. You know a little more of the language but you're still lonely. You still haven't made any friends.

Well, unless you count your hot landlord who lives next door. 

He doesn’t speak a lick of english, but you don’t need to speak the same language to fuck.

Their hand grasped your chin. “Open your eyes for me. Look into my eyes.” Your eyes opened, obediently. You blinked a few times. They laughed down at you. “You look so good like this.” They said. “Just gone. No light behind your eyes. Not a single thought.”

A smile crossed their face. “No, no thoughts of your own. Just my voice. I’ve got your mind. I’ve got your body. All under my control. Whilst you, my dazed, dopey toy, can do nothing but sink deeper into the haze of my control.” Their words sounded so good.

“Open your mouth, toy.” They said, and you again obeyed, unthinkingly. They slipped two fingers in your mouth, leaving their thumb on your chin, holding your head up. “That’s it. Just a puppet for me to play with. A plaything for me to use. Helpless. Controlled.”

Their fingers felt good in your mouth. Your body was so heavy, until they took control of a part of it.  “I’ve got you now, sweetie. And I’m going to have so much fun seeing what you’ll do as I take you deeper. For now, suck.” They pressed their fingers deeper, and you obeyed.

* * *

This was released yesterday on patreon (patreon.com/hypnopum)! Support me there to get early access to all future microfictions, from just £1/month! Or, from £5/month, you get access to my monthly longer pieces!

…who’s too stupid and needy to take care of herself. You’ve been pretending to be a proper person for so long, isn’t it nice when someone comes along who can help you express yourself honestly?

You don’t know what’s best for you; moreover, you don’t want to. It’s so much easier, and it makes you so much happier when a man decides things for you - it takes so much pressure off, and lets you focus on easier things. It starts with little things: what film we’re going to see tonight, what your daily schedule is, which chores you’re doing today, what you’re going to cook for dinner, what clothes you’re going to wear. Then it intensifies, and you’re not allowed to read books or watch TV that I haven’t approved for your delicate sensibilities (which we’ve agreed, so that I can slowly shape your tastes and inputs), or you can’t go to the bathroom without my permission (while in my presence, control reverts back to you while I’m away). Every week, we sit down and have a talk about what you’ve enjoyed giving up control of, and why. We talk about what things you might want to give up control of next week.

In this way, your independence is slowly eroded over time. You begin to be unsure if you should do things because I haven’t explicitly told you you can, or should. Forming opinions of your own starts to become difficult, because your perception of what’s good or bad is based more and more on my approval each day. As the weeks go by, you’ve started to dislike some of your clothes, because they don’t make my face light up in pride; you soon begin to realise that you’ve come to crave that. And maybe that craving for my approval makes you feel guilty sometimes, whether some part of you is trying to hold on to your humanity or whether you haven’t done something I explicitly approve of today. So you come to me, and you share your feelings, and I explain that it’s perfectly normal. I then pull you over my knee, tenderly stroke your hair, and give you a firm spanking while I tell you I forgive you. It’s all part of the process, sweetie, we just need to break down your resistance some more. It’s so important that you share your feelings, your thoughts, your dreams - it’s so nice to be vulnerable like that, to be listened to and accepted in a way that gives me more power to manipulate you.

Soon, those spankings are almost addictive. You love feeling my control, my authority, my care - you feel so safe when you’re over my knee, because you know that I’m putting in the time and effort to make you better. You’re the centre of my world, when you’re in my lap, and all that matters to me is taking away your guilt. Having your own thoughts and opinions begins to get really difficult, because your natural perfectionism kicks in and you want to make sure you get every little thing just right. You know the best way to make that happen is to surrender something else, something deeper - that’s when the next step begins.

Brainwashing now becomes a big part of your daily routine. At the beginning, when you took my collar, you were given rules to follow and mantras to repeat. By now, they’re not just habit, they’re comforting. But, on some selfish level, it’s not quite enough. So I write out larger pieces for you to memorise, or little rituals to follow at home to make sure you perform your routines perfectly. Every step you take is choreographed, subject to my approval. Suddenly, everything becomes more comforting, because I decided it should happen. It’s 10am on a Wednesday; you’ve just finished tidying the kitchen after you made and served me breakfast, so now it’s time to vacuum the living area. You don’t have to think about it any more - with time and careful discipline, it’s become like breathing. You have the time and energy to do your very best, to let your perfectionistic side shine as you make the home spotless. All the while, mantras have been bubbling up from the back of your mind, filling your consciousness with my brainwashing - telling you what a good girl you are for being so diligent, how proud I am of you.

Maybe you make a mistake, then. Perhaps you slip, knock over a vase, and break it. Sudden guilt grips you, knowing that the routine has been violated, but then a deeper impulse stops you. I’ve seen what your perfectionism does to you, and I know that mistakes are inevitable, so I’ve added some programming to your subconscious. Instead of wallowing in depression, you make a log of your mistake on a piece of paper on my desk, and resume your chores. Because you don’t get to decide if you should feel guilty about it; you do not have the right to punish yourself. That right is mine exclusively. You carry on your chores, knowing that I shall pass judgement when I return home.

Every day, you become a little more brainwashed. But some part of you still wants to give up just a little more control. Part of you wants to be afraid. That’s when I begin subtly altering your memories to make you uncertain of yourself. You want to be walking on eggshells around me, your heart constantly fluttering in anticipation of the next round of discipline - you need it, you need to know that I care enough to make you better, make you a Good Girl. There’s nothing you want more than to be a Good Girl. You begin to forget things - you get confused about which day of the week it is, so you do the wrong set of chores, or forget that we were supposed to be going out for dinner tonight. The shame almost drives you to tears, but the discipline that follows feels so good. The pride in my voice when a little more of your resistance breaks and I remind you of the truth fills your heart with comfort and joy, because you can trust me to remember things for you. You’ve started to become generally a little more braindead now - forming complex thoughts is so difficult that you don’t even bother, you’d much rather say your mantras again than have an original thought. It’s so much easier, and it makes me proud whenever you do, so it’s what you want most.

Of course, you need more care now. So once or twice a week, I take a few hours to pamper you and show you how much it means to me to spend time with you. I strip you off and bathe you - slowly scrubbing every inch of your skin, washing your hair, seeing to your nails, helping you shave everything from the nose down. Tenderly caressing every part of you, to let you know that I see all of your little imperfections and I don’t care about them. There are certain standards, like hygiene, to which I attend so that you know I’m paying attention to the little details - but other little blemishes, stretch marks or pigment discolourations receive gentle kisses, so that you know I still adore you. I dry you thoroughly, blow dry your hair, brush it out carefully, and then curl you up naked (or in some slutty uniform) in my lap on the sofa while I put a film on. You’ve never felt so taken care of, so utterly accepted. You feel so safe, so content. There hasn’t been a single thought in your head since I started undressing you; you didn’t notice, you don’t care. Why would you care?

I met with 4 friends that live in the same building as me, keeping it small and safe because of the quarantine, at 2pm. We a had talked about this a lot and set all sorts of rules and limits, making it so it was an enjoyable experience for everyone involved!

I wore my prettiest lingerie with some booty shorts and a tight shirt, my nipples poking out of the fabric— no need to be shy in a day like this!

I got to my friend's apartment and the boys had organized a gaming night, where they'd play games and drink on the sofa for a few hours with some fun music on the stereo.

Since we live in the real world where no one really has a sex dungeon (though that'd be a dream!), we had to improvise! There was a huge cardboard box against the wall near the sofa, cut in such a way I could be in all fours on the floor, and the box would be put over me, covering me up entirely.

Well, not entirely. There was a cut out hole for my mouth, and on the other side there was 2 semi-circles on the bottom for my feet to stick out, and a big one above them for my ass and cunt!

They stripped me down, pulling my fabric bra under my tits and my panties to my knees just how I like it! They bought a cheap gag that kept my mouth open wide, pinched my nipples with a clothespin to get me aroused, and I got on all fours.

With a bit of fidelling all you could see was my tongue on one side, my entire ass and my feet on the other. Reduced to my holes, just like I should be!

If I had any problems, I'd just hit the floor 3 times with my hand— our safeword.

They turned on the music, and started to caress my ass, fingers tracing down my already soaked cunt. They'd stick their fingers on my mouth hole and make me suck on them to rile me up... then they'd leave, get some beers and play video games like I wasn't even there. Like a was an object to their pleasure, a breathing fleshlight waiting for its purpose...

My clit pulsed, aching with arousal as I stay put, perfect posture with my ass up, drool starting to pool on the corners of my lips and my eyes not able to see anything. I'd moan quietly to myself, feeling my place, how much of a whore I was!

As the hours passed, they'd come and unexpectedly stick their cocks on the cardbox holes, filling me, fucking me, cum and then leave to go back to gaming. My throat was sore, my ass and cunt dripping cum, and my mind long gone...

After a few hours they lifted me up, and I put back my clothes, walking back to the elevator full of cum, no lingerie, ready to get back to my apartment to edge in the shower!

Sometimes it's about thinking the phrase "big silly boobies!" out of nowhere. Sometimes it's a nagging voice that makes you feel like you forgot to do something, like it was really important - and then you realize that's your desire to bend over and get fucked. Sometimes it's not being in the mood at all but scrolling tumblr anyway until something ramps you up.

Today I finished lunch, and I thought "I should go edge in the car". But it was a distant thought. I didn't follow it. I wanted to sit in the building lobby and look at my phone instead.

But the urge didn't go away. Instead the thought plucked and plucked at me. My lunch break ended, but the thought was still there. Finally I gave in and went to the bathroom to edge instead.

And like. Omg. It just feels so much better. Like soooo much better. I thought while edging "I should have my titties out!" and as soon as I gave into that too it felt so good. I can't explain what's happening to me. Like I know in the back of my mind but the words aren't there. I just wanna talk about my slutty bouncy boobies and be like this forever. I wanna be a dumb slut forever. A silly fuckdoll. A bubbly brainless bimbo 💖💖💖

You like it when he starts to get bossy, cruel, and controlling. It feels sweet when he micromanages you. He tells you to dye your hair and what panties to wear and that you’re never, ever, ever, allowed to cum without his permission. You’re led steadily with kisses, edges, rules and presents. Soon you’re never without your plug and collar. It’s been a year since you’ve cum, and may never again.

You respond to: slave, cunt, puppy, slut, and princess only. This bizarre- and some would argue negative attention gets you wet. You need it. You agreed to it, and you’ve always wanted it. You comply with his commands. To torture you is to spoil you. He understands this perfectly, and will ignore every false objection or bratty outburst. He knows that ‘no’ means ‘please’ and that you’ll always come to your senses after being fed an erection.

Your fixation with this control festers, you ache with need. You begin to melt. You understand this helpless and hellish sensation as bliss. Your little brain bends as your cunt is pierced shut and your asshole stretched. Your body is his. Him and his new girlfriend call you piggy, cunt, it, or doll. Still your mouth and cunt drip, eager to be stuffed, pumped full of warm lust or punctured, slapped. You only feel him in your ass now, only on the floor, or between the bars of your puppy crate. You only feel her, heavy and wet and reeking of sex, grinding on your face. His cock tastes like her cunt or your ass, kisses without the gag are rare. In the middle of the night you finally understand your place. Terrified, you writhe against the latex, your movement triggers your shock collar over and over again until you’re exhausted, still and asleep.

After a bit of discussion she said “lets do it, I’m yours all weekend.”

“All weekend?”

Its now Saturday night, and she’s been tied to the bed all day. I mounted a fucking machine to her, and have been alternating which hole is being worked every hour or so all day. Shes been gagged, so she can’t scream, so she doesn’t get thirty. This isn’t my first rodeo, but it definitely is for her, I love watching as her will breaks. First she loves it, then she gets tired, and still the toy hammers into her, unrelenting, then she gets mad, and starts to fight, to thrash- but the bonds are solid, and I’ll just reset the device if necessary. She stopped fighting, and now that her eyes have started to unfocus its time to give her a break, and finally make some use of her.

I took the machine away, and saw her focus on me- a weak smile, and a nod to say “thank you” as I took the gag away she weakly tried to say something, but was stopped by the sudden intrusion of my cock.

I dont plan to cum, I plan to use my cock like a weapon. I’m going to fuck her face casually, deeply, with no regard for her. I’m going to watch her hands as they stress and strain in their bonds while she gags and tries to breath past my cock. I’m going to pump her throat while she cries, and whimpers, and then I’m going to stop before she gets the cum she’s worked for.