Drifting Mindless

i have to obey so that i keep getting mindfucked

i want to be mindfucked

So when they start adding words to the music, you don't notice at all. In one ear, out the other, but some of those words stick in your mind. They nestle down deep, and you find your thoughts echoing them without even realizing they weren't originally your thoughts.

Some people notice. Some even hear the whispered words. Those aren't people who will come back, though. They know better now. They won't be easily trapped.

You are, though. The net has been woven around you now, and there is no way out.

Whenever you go to the mall, your eyes glaze over. You drift aimlessly between stores. Sometimes, if you really want something, you'll buy it. Most often, though, that desire slips from your mind. It has been replaced by others, by the ones the music whispers to you.

You never remember the half-hidden door you go through. You never remember the hall you walk down. You don't remember the people who are there, eyes glazed over just like yours, or the few who are still in control of themselves, and who are now in control of you. The music has filled up your mind, and because it is so forgettable, it takes everything else with it when it leaves.

Almost everything. You know you will return. You know you find fulfillment here.

You always leave the mall happier than when you came. Even if you don't know why, does that really matter?

But you don't worry about those stories, do you? You hardly think about them at all. You just like the seclusion the greenhouse gives you. You like having someplace you can go where no one will bother you.

You don't go into the greenhouse. You don't have any reason to. Besides, you're not even sure you can. The place is completely overgrown with plants you don't even recognize. The floor is covered with spreading vines, and thick branches have made walls all through the inside. Rich green leaves press against the glass walls. Nothing escapes it.

But sometimes you have seen a shadow moving within, like a spectral gardener.

You don't look inside the greenhouse too often. Mostly, you leave it be. The idea of whatever might be inside there alarms you too much for you to creep close to it.

But you find yourself returning there all the same.

Is it the seclusion? You always did like being alone. Now you like it all the more. You have been drawing into yourself, not wanting to tell people where you are going. Why should you? This is your secret. It's something that belongs only to you.

Or maybe it's the beauty of the place. You've always had an artist's eye. The inside of the greenhouse is lovely, a riot of color and shadow, but the abandoned grounds outside have their own beauty. You could wander there for hours and never notice the time passing. There is always something lovely to see.

Sometimes you don't even wander. You find a spot beneath a tree and sit, not even thinking. You always emerge from those reveries as though you've had the most beautiful dreams, though you never remember any of them.

You never remember the spectral gardener emerging and bending over you, pruning your thoughts the way another might prune the plants in the greenhouse. You never remember the eerie smile on their face, but you do feel the pleasure from it for hours afterward.

You can listen to the pretty sub in your DMs! She just wants to tell you how pretty you are

Any conversations about hypnosis that follow are just two kinky people talking shop

She’s there to be your friend

She’s not tricking you into becoming her superior’s hypnotized thrall

You wanted to reach out to me in that group chat where she says “Isn’t she pretty?” To me

You wanted the hypnotized bliss I give you

You wanted her hands on your shoulders as you stare into my eyes and listen to my voice

You wanted to be a good pretty thing for the two of us, beneath the pretty girl who’s beneath me

You wanted to be regularly conditioned by the pretty sub so you can be the best good thing for your superior

You can trust the pretty sub in your DMs

Because everything that follows?