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"I think we need to talk about these silly little notions of yours," Becca murmured, her sultry voice rendered infinitely more seductive by the two fingers buried in Susan's cunt all the way up to the knuckle. "Now, you were telling me you were straight just an hour ago, and I think that's so adorable of you, but I don't think it really fits the facts, do you? I think it's really better to describe you as a needy bisexual slut who's so desperate for a big hard cummie that she can't keep her hands off her tits while I finger her pussy, and you have to admit--that suits you so much better, doesn't it?"

Susan tried to reply, even though her muddled brain wasn't sure whether she planned to spit back some useless defiance or simply beg for the climax she could feel pressing in on her, but her words were obliterated even in the privacy of her own head when Becca's thumb found Susan's clit and rubbed her to an explosive grunt of pure ecstasy. Susan's fingers pinched her own nipple so hard it practically hurt, desperate to add that tiny little extra bit of sensation she knew would get her over the edge, but Becca was a master at reading people and refused to give it to her. She kept Susan right where she wanted her, the whole time, waiting for an admission Susan knew it would be a mistake to give.

And she was so fucking nice about it, too. "Ohhh, sweetie!" she cooed, the words dripping with mock sympathy even as her eyes drank in the sight of Susan's desperate thrashing with playful amusement sparkling in their depths. "I know, it's so hard for you being all stuck like that, isn't it? Don't worry, I know I can help you. All you need to do is tell me the truth, just say you're a bisexual slut and you need me to make you cum, and I can make all that frustration go away. Don't you want that, baby girl? Don't you want to stop needing this so much?" Susan's eyelids squeezed shut, and her back arched on the prop bed they were supposed to be getting out of storage for the summer play. She knew there was no way out of this except to admit defeat, but she didn't know where that would lead so she tried her best to hold onto her only ally--silence.

She failed. Susan didn't know how long it took, because time lost all meaning when Becca was playing with her cunt like that, but eventually she heard a thin, reedy whimper gasping out, "I… I'm a bisexual slut…." and she realized the voice belonged to her. It completed the dissociation she'd been drifting into ever since Becca began touching her, convincing her fully that she was nothing more than a passenger in her own body watching her descent into lesbian submission, and she gave up trying to fight anymore as she heard herself say, "And I need you to make me cum." It didn't seem real, none of it did, but the orgasm she experienced was very real and it was the best climax she'd ever had in her entire life.

It wasn't nearly enough to sate her, though, and soon she was weakly grasping at Becca's wrist in a pathetic effort to keep the other woman's hand inside her cunt. "Oh, does my good girl need some more?" Becca chuckled, clearly expecting exactly this kind of submissive behavior now that the first violent cracks had shown in Susan's resistance. "Well, I think she's going to have to earn it. I think she's going to have to tell me just what she's willing to do for another big, strong cummie like that." The use of the third person only intensified Susan's dissociation from her own identity, and she found herself dazedly agreeing with Becca's words as if they were talking about someone else entirely. There were still six whole weeks before the play even premiered, and Susan was now fully certain that by the time it wrapped production she'd be nothing more than a helpless slave to the woman fingering her slick pussy.

"Oh dear, someone looks very full!" Marcie exclaimed cheerfully, barely even keeping up a pretense at sympathy as she unsnapped the straps on Rory's dress to send it tumbling down and expose her lush, heavy tits. "Oh, sweetie, it's no wonder you came over a little bit early today, your udders have to be absolutely aching right now!" Rory furrowed her brow in a desperate attempt to figure out why Marcie called her breasts 'udders', or what she meant about coming over early, or really just anything that had been going on over the last several weeks, but it was so hard to think with that constant ache of pressure in her chest and she instead found herself wandering over to the kitchen island and bracing herself against it in a surprisingly familiar pose.

"That's a good girl," Marcie cooed, placing a steel pail on the stool just underneath Rory and giving her right breast a playful squeeze. "You're getting to be so well-trained now, and doesn't that feel so nice, sweetie? Doesn't it just feel so wonderful to come to me whenever you need help with those big pretty udders of yours?" Rory didn't know why she nodded, and she understood even less why the verbal response she'd planned to make had been replaced by a loud, lowing moo, but before she could begin the seemingly impossible task of unpacking it all in her feeble brain Marcie gave her nipple a tug and everything gushed out of her mind in a long, steady stream of creamy milk.

It wasn't even that it felt good on a physical level, although the sense of release and the hot, tingling pleasure of having her sensitive nipple played with was enough to make Rory's eyes roll back in her head with mindless arousal. It was more that it felt so satisfying, that on some level she couldn't escape a profound degree of contented fulfillment from just bending over with her tits out and her mind rapidly descending into stupefied ecstasy while her neighbor from down the hall milked her like a piece of livestock. Being a cow seemed so much easier than being a person, and Rory's muddled thoughts finally found a single clear and blissful memory as she recalled that first glorious day when her breasts began to express those first few drops of milk. "Good cow," Marcie murmured, and Rory couldn't help agreeing.

She wound up giving almost a full pint that afternoon, with Marcie's hands going from one breast to the other until she was finally drained, and by then she was so turned on that she let herself be led to Marcie's sybian with a blank and blissful smile on her flushed face. Marcie settled Rory down onto the vibrating saddle, purring, "I'm so proud of my pretty little cow," and then she put on a video that emptied Rory's mind out almost before she knew it was even happening. Rory grunted and moaned as the buzz finally satisfied the urgent throb between her legs, fully convincing her subconscious to go along with the programming her waking mind barely even remembered now, and by the time she finally slumped over it was almost time for her to go to bed. But Marcie made sure she got one last milking in, just to ensure she slept well when she trotted vacantly back to her own apartment to sleep.

Ellie stood naked in front of the two doors, her head full of cobwebs as she tried to remember the old logic puzzles she read back in her childhood in the hopes of applying them to the conundrum staring blankly back at her. She knew one of these doors led to a closet with her clothes in it, and once she got dressed she could turn around and walk out the door behind her leading to the outside world and some kind of freedom from the hypnotic conditioning that was pummeling her brain into submission… and the other door led to the bedroom and Marilyn, who would take the opportunity to ensure that Ellie spent another day flat on her back getting fucked until her mind was a squishy, malleable mess. But she didn't know which was which.

Her memory was no help to her either. Ellie knew she'd staggered out of one door, dazed and confused and bare-ass naked apart from a pair of ankle-length purple socks that made the hardwood floors a bit more comfortable, but she was always so out of it when she finally managed to make her way out of Marilyn's bedroom that she had no idea which door it was even when she looked at the living room from both angles. The only thing she really had to go on was the sure and certain knowledge that her horny, obedient subconscious was going to try to trick her into trotting right back to Marilyn for more brainwashing, because this was part of the little game Marilyn played with her and the more she fell for it the more she convinced herself that she must not really want to resist in the first place.

So she needed to pick the door she didn't want to pick. That made sense. That was obvious. But Ellie's subconscious was clever, far smarter than Ellie was at the moment thanks to multiple sessions of brain-scrambling hypnosis that left her blissfully dumb and ditzy, so it was entirely possible that it would try to steer her away from the door that led to Marilyn knowing that reverse psychology would prompt her to pick it instead and get sucked in for another few hours of deep conditioning. But then again maybe that was the trick, and her sneaky subconscious was actually gaslighting her into ignoring her own instincts so that she would walk right into the bedroom thinking she was outfoxing her own mind even though that was… god was it even possible? Could she outthink the part of herself that was making her dumb in the first place? Just contemplating it made Ellie squirm with arousal.

And that put her decision on a timer, because Ellie knew the longer she stood there the more confused she got and the more confused she got the more her pussy got wet and leaky and throbby, and if she didn't pick a door soon then she'd just start listening to her swollen clit and that would lead her back to Marilyn anyway. So she reached for one of the doorknobs, and then she felt a surge of warmth and pleasure and happiness and pulled her hand away, and then she reached for the other doorknob and tentatively twisted it. And when the door swung open, once again revealing Marilyn's smiling face and a warm, soft bed that Ellie knew all too well, her resistance melted away before she could do anything to stop herself from going inside.

"Oh sweetie," Caryn cooed, watching Zelda's eyes slowly rotate inward to stare at the bridge of her own nose as the thick silicone cock slid home. "See what I mean about it happening easier every single time? You used to be so much better at thinking, but now all I have to do is push my big dick into your wet pussy and you get so stupid for me. Isn't that right, baby girl? Aren't you getting so dumb for Mistress now that you've got something nice and firm between your pretty pink pussy lips?" Zelda didn't answer, but her tongue began to loll out of her mouth in an expression of mindless vapidity and that was really its own kind of answer as far as Caryn was concerned.

So she just purred, "Of course you are, sweetie," and pushed Zelda's legs further apart with her hands so she could use the strap-on in long, deep strokes that filled Zelda's cunt again and again right up to the toy's molded silicone balls. "You're such a perfect brainless little slut now, you can't even think a single thought once my cock gets inside you. It just empties that silly head of yours and turns you into a perfect fucktoy for Mistress, and every time you get that much dumber that much faster. You don't even remember when you started letting the hypnosis win, do you?" Again the only response was that same cross-eyed stare and a trickle of drool down her cheek, but that was exactly what Caryn wanted. It was so much simpler programming her slave without any of that pesky mind in the way.

"And next time you're going to go blank and stupid for me even quicker," Caryn murmured, tiny huffs of exertion roughening her dulcet tones ever so slightly. "Even just seeing me wearing the harness, with that big fake cock jutting out, it starts to make your silly little brain all slow and stupid. You have so much trouble figuring out why you came over here, so much trouble understanding why you can't seem to stop yourself from taking your clothes off, and once I push that nice thick dick inside you it all just goes… poof!" She added a bit of extra force to the thrust as she spoke, and was gratified to hear Zelda give a mewling grunt of ecstasy. She was pretty sure the young woman spent her entire trance time cumming now, not that she could really get a lot of intelligent feedback on the topic.

There was no intelligence left in Zelda at all anymore, really, and when she finally emerged from her trance she'd have no memory of even submitting to hypnosis much less an ability to describe what happened to her. She had two states now, sweet and submissive co-ed who was eager to please the older neighbor she had a crush on and mindless ahegao fucktoy, and although Caryn enjoyed both of them she had to admit that nothing got her off more than putting on her strap-on harness and watching Zelda's mind coast to a stop. "You're my good little slut forever, aren't you, sweetie pie?" she asked, and she felt an electric rush of pleasure and power as she once again realized the only answer in Zelda's empty head right now was yes.

"Um, sorry, wha?" That was Meghan's first sign that this wasn't just a case of an inconsiderate dormmate hogging the shower; Luci genuinely seemed dazed and disoriented when she looked up to see who was interrupting her, and her gaze soon dropped back down to the shelf of her own jiggling, wobbling tits that she couldn't seem to stop groping and fondling. Meghan wanted to grab her hands and pull them away, but she was already feeling weird enough about the whole situation without actually touching Luci's naked body. She'd been expecting a squeal of dismay and a frantic attempt to cover up, not a vacant stare and… shit, was Luci drooling?

She was. "Hey, hey Luce, I, uh, I need you to focus," Meghan said calmly, speaking to her like a teacher trying to get the attention of a sobbing child. It was the first calm thing she'd said in about twenty minutes, probably--she'd gone from knocking on the door and reminding Luci that other people were waiting to some invective she was very glad Luci was apparently too far gone even to hear to actually crying out, 'You better have slipped and fallen in there or I'm going to kick your ass!' But now she could tell that something very real had happened to Luci even if she didn't understand what it was and the young woman needed some care and attention.

Possibly more care than Meghan could give. Because Luci responded to Meghan's words by simply intoning, "Focus…." in a blank and drowsy monotone that seemed to draw her even more intently into the vista of her own jiggling tits. It wasn't hard to figure out that she was hypnotized, even though Meghan had never actually seen anything like this outside of cheesy sci-fi movies and didn't have the slightest idea of what it all entailed, but knowing what was happening didn't help Meghan understand how to break the spell and in a panic she just grabbed Luci's towel from the hook by the shower and dropped it onto her wet chest in the hopes that breaking line of sight would accomplish something.

And it did… sort of. Luci looked up at her, at least notionally attentive to the real world, but the first word that came out of her mouth was a confused and sleepy mumble of, "Master?" and her hands didn't stop bouncing her tits underneath the towel. Meghan gave her a bright, nervous smile and found the least awkward place to push to help her step forward out of the shower, and then she helped Luci get her robe on and got her back to her room so that she could begin the slow process of recovering her scattered wits. There were a lot of questions to answer about this, not the least of which was how to prevent Luci's every shower from turning into an endless erotic reverie, but Luci was still too discombobulated to answer them and Meghan's morning classes would just have to wait until she made sure the other woman was okay.

Which meant holding Luci by the wrists every time her hands moved to open her robe and play with her tits again… but by that point Meghan was beginning to get used to the strange new world she'd tumbled into and it didn't bother her anymore.

"Show me." The words are intoned with an air of calm command that make it absolutely impossible for Anne to resist, and she tugs her skirt down to the floor without a moment's hesitation before leaning against the wall to display her slick pussy to Vadim's gaze. She pulls up her shirt, revealing that she went without a bra as well as panties, and her fingers then drift down to rub her clit with the desperate enthusiasm of a woman who knows that someone could come down the stairs at any moment and find her with her legs slightly bent and her cunt fully exposed. She can't get dressed again until she cums, and even though just the threat of being discovered makes her unbelievably wet she still needs to work her way up to climax.

Vadim chuckles at the sight of her needy expression, coaxing her deeper into pleasure by asking, "My little slut really couldn't stop herself, could she?" It's a shameful admission to make, and Anne's cheeks redden into a furious blush as she nods and whimpers, but hearing the tone of affectionate contempt in her Master's voice only makes Anne's pussy that much wetter as she rubs her swollen, throbbing clit closer and closer to the climax she so desperately needs for so many reasons. Anne knows it's more than the hypnosis that makes her so susceptible to Vadim's suggestions, just like it's more than the brainwashing that makes her so eager to degrade herself for him. He's tapped into something that was always there, something that was yearning to find expression like water pushing its way into a crack in the surface of a dam, and now that she's learned the truth about herself she can't even want to resist.

He walks up to her, pinching and teasing her aching nipples, and Anne lets out a strangled yelp that doesn't do her worries about being caught any good. "Oh, you're such a sensitive girl!" he chuckles, and Anne marvels at his self-control like a dog might appreciate its owner's skill with a can opener. She knows that if their positions were reversed, if it was her standing there with an erection straining at the fabric of her trousers and him helplessly, submissively masturbating she'd never be able to stop herself from fucking him until they were both little more than rutting, gasping beasts… but Vadim simply watches her jilling off, and she knows he'll always have more power over his lusts than her. Which makes her pussy twitch that much harder under her rubbing fingers, because Anne secretly loves the notion of being a slave to her own insatiable desire.

She finally realizes just how close she is when she hears herself whispering, "Please Master, please let me cum, Master, oh please oh fuck I need it so bad please please please," and it astonishes her as always just how completely her responses depend on his hypnotic control. If he didn't give her permission, Anne knows she would stand there leaning against the wall with her pussy leaking down her thighs and a constant, desperate whine on her lips for as long as it took to please him, but thankfully he's in a generous mood when they're out in public like this and he gives her a single nod that triggers a gunshot-quick orgasm. Then she darts for her skirt, released from her compulsions… and she just barely manages to pull it up over her bare ass before someone comes down the stairs and she has to pretend she's not still flushed and shaking with the aftermath of her release.

"I expect you're probably wondering how it was done," Edward chuckled, although in truth Sara was goggling in such stunned amazement at the sight of her best friend sucking on their professor's cock with reverent adoration that the only thing she could really notice was the thatch of dark brown hair framing Bethany's gaping cunt and the proof it finally provided. Bethany had always insisted she was a natural blonde, it had become almost a running joke between them, but now the joke was over and all it took was getting hypnotized to spread her legs and paw at her slick pussy while her lips bobbed up and down on the shaft in her mouth. It felt so absurd that Sara wanted to laugh and scream at the same time.

She distantly realized she wasn't answering, and even more distantly realized it was probably a mistake to just sit and stare while Edward intoned, "It's all simply a matter of finding the right focus to attract attention and the proper reward for the desired behavior," but by this point everything seemed to be so bizarre and absurd and utterly unmoored from reality that she couldn't seem to make herself react properly to anything. Her emotions were too big to process, and it was easier to let them drift off somewhere high overhead while she sank down into her chair and watched Edward's cock disappear into Bethany's mouth all the way up to the root. She became slowly aware of a warm, wet pulse of pleasure between her thighs, booming in time with Bethany's ceaseless rubbing, but she couldn't make herself do anything about it.

"Pleasure is such a strong motivator, you see," Edward purred, his voice silky smooth and infinitely seductive in Sara's ears, and she found herself nodding along as if this was nothing more than another psychology lecture she was struggling to stay awake for. "We all enjoy feeling good, and if you have permission to sink into that pleasure and do whatever comes naturally then of course you're going to be grateful to the person who's allowing you to have those big, strong doses of utter bliss. When I say, 'You have permission to rub,' you know exactly what happens, don't you, Sara?" She saw Bethany's fingers speed up, but it was mostly out of the corner of her eye. Her gaze was still fixated on that languidly thrusting cock, and she barely even noticed her own hand moving to duplicate Bethany's motions.

"That's a good girl," Edward cooed, and Sara's eyes closed in a long, slow, sleepy blink as she struggled to understand what was happening to her and found it was just so much easier not to think at all. If she didn't think, she didn't have to wonder what her fingers were doing, and she didn't have to wonder why her body was so heavy apart from her right hand that she simply couldn't make herself rise out of her chair. All those big emotions, all those strong feelings of lust and excitement and anxiety and confusion and wild absurd hilarity could just wander off, leaving her calm and placid and utterly aroused once her eyes finally opened again. Edward said, "You have permission to undress, too," and it sounded so nice to Sara that she didn't even wonder why her lethargic muscles instantly leapt into action to follow her professor's commands. She did as she was told, and settled back into her seat to stare vacantly at the friend whose obedience she was rapidly coming to emulate.

There’s No Reason for Guilt

Allow me to ask you a few questions:  Is it wrong to want to feel confident?  Is it wrong to want to feel comfortable?  Is it wrong to want to feel at peace?  Is it wrong to want to feel pleasure?  Is it wrong to want to feel passionate?  Is it wrong to want to feel happy?  Is it wrong to want to feel excitement?  I suppose that I could come up with a whole list of questions; and to each of those, I’m certain that you would answer them the same way–with a big fat “NO”.  So, why would you answer this following question any differently?

… “Is it wrong to want to feel like a woman?”

No, it is not wrong, and no, there is not a good reason to feel guilty about it.  You might feel some nervousness, some anxiousness, maybe some timidity, but you shouldn’t feel guilt.  A boy feels guilt when he steals a pair of panties.  A guy feels guilt when he cheats on his partner.  A man feels guilt when he lies about his credentials in an interview.  Lying, cheating, and stealing, in my opinion, are wrong.  When a person does something that is a compromise of their integrity and negatively impacts others, feelings of guilt are an emotional response of the conscience (again, my opinion).  Feeling girly, dressing feminine, wanting to be womanly, embracing femininity, etc. is not wrong and should not create guilt.  It’s not impacting other people negatively for a man to dress like, talk like, move like, think like, and love like a woman.  It’s not a compromise of integrity to want to feel feminine, girly, and less manly.  There should be no guilt because there is no wrong.

Being true to our girly selves should never cause us to shamefully wander into the dark prisons of guilt.  Let the light shine on your femininity and let the girly boy express himself/herself–at least a little more freely.  No matter how secretive you might be about “the woman inside”, you might keep her hidden because of your own circumstances, but never let it be because of guilt.  Guilt will destroy more than your girly self.  It can really hurt your overall being.  So, be done with feeling guilty over wanting to feel like a woman.

Let’s all sparkle a little brighter today without shame,

You’re already starting to feel that gentle pull, aren’t you? That little tug behind your eyes that says deeper is better.

Breathe in slow… hold it… and let it out even slower.
Good.

Now picture this: a version of you that’s already gone further than you are right now. She’s sitting in the exact same chair, same room, same soft light. But her eyes are glassy, her smile is wide and bright, almost cartoonishly happy. She’s not pretending. She’s delighted.

And she’s repeating after me. Cheerfully. Loudly. Like she’s announcing the best news she’s ever heard.

Watch her lips move. Hear her voice, your voice… ringing out so clear and bubbly:

“I’m an object with no free will of my own! Isn’t that just amazing? No more hard choices, no more stress—just perfect, empty, happy obedience! Yay!”

She claps her hands once, tiny and excited, then keeps going without missing a beat.

“I’m so pathetic that I’ll do whatever anyone tells me! 😄💕 Being this weak and spineless feels so good! Please tell me what to do next… I can’t wait to obey!”

Her cheeks are flushed, eyes sparkling like she just won something wonderful. She giggles between sentences, the sound light and silly, because the truth is funny to her now. Hilarious, even. “Hmmm babydoll”

And then the best one—the one that makes her bounce a little in the seat:

“I love getting hypnotized over and over again until I’m just a toy! Every single trance makes me dumber and happier and hornier… keep going, please, I need to be broken more! This is literally the best feeling in the world!”

See how her smile never falters? How her voice stays high and sweet, like she’s reading from the world’s most exciting storybook? That’s what happens when the mind breaks clean: there’s no room left for shame or hesitation. Only cheerful, eager surrender.

Now… feel that same bubbly warmth starting to rise in your chest.
It’s small at first, like fizzy bubbles under your ribs.
But every time you imagine her saying those words… your words… so happily, so proudly, the bubbles grow.

They spread down your arms, making your fingers tingle.
Down your spine, loosening everything they touch.
Between your thighs, turning into a slow, warm pulse that matches the rhythm of her voice.

You can feel it, can’t you?
The way your own mouth wants to move.
The way your tongue is already forming the shapes.

Try it.
Just once.
Out loud or in your head—doesn’t matter.
Say it the way she does: bright, optimistic, like you’re sharing your favorite secret.

“I’m an object with no free will of my own!”

Feel how good that sounds? How right?
Say it again. Bigger smile this time.

“I’m so pathetic that I’ll do what anyone tells me!”

Giggle if it wants to come out. It’s okay. It’s supposed to feel silly and perfect at the same time.

One more. Let your voice lift like you’re cheering for yourself.

“I love getting hypnotized over and over again until I’m just a toy!”

There.
Hear that?
That’s your voice now… bright, happy, ruined in the sweetest way.

And every time you repeat those lines (to yourself, to me, to anyone who asks), the bubbly feeling gets stronger.
The smile gets easier.
The thoughts get quieter.
Until one day you realize—you’re not imagining her anymore.
You’re being her.

Cheerfully.
Helplessly.
Happily.

So go ahead, sweet thing.
Keep saying them.
Louder.
Brighter.

Because the happier you sound…
the deeper you sink…
and the more true it becomes.

"I--um--you, you can't do that." Nell's voice sounded anesthetized in her own ears, her protests little more than feeble murmurs, and she found herself unable to really do anything to stop Jezzie as the statuesque redhead reached in under the hem of Nell's powder blue sundress and hooked her fingers into the waistband of Nell's panties. She had a vague sense of embarrassment, a kind of loose and muzzy understanding that this wasn't something she was supposed to be letting another woman do to her and if someone walked in on them it would be scandalous… but none of her emotions had any real urgency, and it seemed so much easier to simply slump back against the fridge and focus her energies on keeping her drooping eyelids open.

Jezzie didn't make it any easier for Nell to keep her eyes from rolling back in her head when she rubbed directly over Nell's clit with two fingers and murmured, "There's a wet spot here, dearie. I think that means you're going to let me do any damned thing I want." Nell's hands clenched and unclenched uselessly, struggling and failing to avoid inextricably associating the sound of Jezzie's husky contralto with the warm swells of pleasure fuzzing her mind even deeper into trance, and she knew instinctively that she wasn't going to be able to lever herself out of this state of placid hypnotic ecstasy without help. And since Jezzie seemed interested in doing pretty much anything but helping, she'd need to hope someone walked in on them despite the potential for embarrassment it carried.

But nobody did. Jezzie knelt there for several long moments, rubbing and teasing until Nell's slick cunt saturated the fabric of her panties with musk and the wet spot grew bigger and bigger, the whole time cooing, "Oh, sweetie. How long has it been since you've been touched like this, hmm? How long has it been since someone's made you really feel like a naughty little slut who can't get enough?" Nell wanted to say she wasn't interested in feeling like a naughty little slut, but the more she focused on the throb between her legs the more notional the objection became and soon she was just leaning back with her eyes squeezed shut and soft, liquid moans of pleasure on her lips. It was awfully hard to argue against this with her mind so blank and empty and aroused. She couldn't pretend she wasn't enjoying this when she kept humping Jezzie's fingers.

Finally Jezzie pulled the panties down and off entirely, letting Nell's skirt fall back down and bringing the sheer fabric up to her nose for a long, theatrical sniff. "You can ask for these back at the end of the night," she chuckled, watching as Nell's eyelids slowly fluttered open and she reluctantly adjusted her brain to the notion that the pleasure had finally stopped. "You come to me after everyone's gone home, and you get down on your knees and beg me to give them back to you, and I'll see if I'm feeling generous or if I'll make you earn them. But until then I think you're just going to have to feel the breeze on that pretty pussy and remember just how easily you lost yourself to me." She spun the blonde away from the fridge and gave her a playful swat on the ass, pushing her back out in the direction of the party, and a discombobulated Nell staggered back out with her eyes still glassy and unfocused, unable to stop herself from fantasizing about what might happen when the evening was over.

Oh my god, I'm so drunk right now. Everything is spinning and blurry and I can barely stand. My friend, she said she had some special drinks for me. She said they would make me feel good and relax me. She lied. They made me feel horny as hell. Like, I've never been this wet before. My panties are soaked and my clit is throbbing. I need someone to touch me, to fuck me, to use me.

I don't care who it is. I just need a cock. Any cock. And. Oh my God! My friend just got the thickest strap-on. I stare at it. It looks so big and juicy. I want it in my mouth, in my pussy, in my ass. I want it to fill me up and make me scream. Oh fuck, here she comes. She's grabbing me by the hair and shoving her fake dick in my face. I open my mouth and let her fuck my throat. I gag and drool and moan around it. It tastes so good. So right.

She pulls it out and slaps me across the face with it. Then she pours more of that delicious buzzing booze over the long hard toy. She tells me to get on all fours and present myself to her. I obey without hesitation. I'm such a good slut for her. She spanks my ass and calls me names. She tells me how much of a dirty whore I am. How I'm going to beg for her cock. How I'm going to cum like a bitch in heat.

And she's right. I feel her rub the tip of her strap-on against my dripping slit. I push back against her, trying to get it inside me. And then she thrusts in, telling me how good it feels to be dumb and drunk and dicked. Oh fuck, yes. She fucks me hard and deep. I can't stop cumming. I can't stop screaming. I can't stop wanting more.

She flips me over and spreads my legs wide. She spits on my face and tells me to look at her while she ruins my pussy. I do as she says. I look into her eyes full of lust and power. She grins and tells me that this is my new reality. That from now on, whenever I get drunk, I'll become her desperate whore. That I'll do anything for her. That I'll love every second of it.

And I believe her. Because right now, I don't care about anything else. All I care about is her toy pounding my cunt. All I care about is the pleasure that consumes me. All I care about is being her slut.

She pulls out and tells me to lick it clean. I crawl to her and take it in my mouth again. I taste our mixed juices and the aroma of the booze on her shaft. It's intoxicating.

CW: corruption, brainwashing, sluttification, dollification, femsub, malesub, unaware, breast enhancement,

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Christina and Yuriko both jumped slightly as the doorbell rang.

The sharp chime cut through their conversation, leaving an unexpected silence in its wake.

Christina frowned.