just here for the hypno

This is incredibly hard to narrow down, and I ended up skimming a lot of stories I haven't read in a decade.

The tl;Dr answer is Adaptation by Tabico. Longer answer after the break.

It did not move through the corridor as much as skip. A vibration. Another, further ahead, a bit to the right. Another directly ahead of the original. A shape that skimmed across reality, untethered from the ground, obviously, maddeningly, unreal, and yet drawing closer and closer still.

Another of ऐ's senses came into focus. Heat, shining directly above the vibrations, blazing hot enough to melt ice, to melt gallium. The shape vaguely suggested a cluster point - two appendages dangled to the sides, while two produced the ongoing vibrations.

It couldn't be real. Too top-heavy, too lanky. With each step, all of it rested on a single thin limb. Place a rock point-down, it falls over, and yet somehow, this thing did not. How could that be?

...Easily. Lightworlder gravity, lightworlder rules. It was uncanny, how quickly ऐ had forgotten the alien-ness of this place. How swiftly the agoraphobic sensation of being near-untethered from the ground had faded.

Yes. In conditions like this, life could pull itself upright. But why? As a form of stealth, it left much to be desired. And with such a meager ground surface, how did it listen for danger?

ऐ was astonished how dull this creature's senses seemed. Staying cold and motionless shouldn't work this well - and yet it approached still, to within three tentacle-lengths, two, one...

ऐ pumped conserved heat outwards. A whiplike tentacle lashed out, wrapped around the creature's strange thuddy appendage the moment it came down, and pulled. The creature toppled over, just like that. As it fell, slow-motion, its front appendages shifted to absorb the shock. Was that their whole purpose? Breaking falls? No matter. All would be known in time.

ऐ peristalsed forth, shifted a bulk of tentacles underneath the falling form. Still cautious, still ready to pinch off any limb whose integrity might be breached, but increasingly suspecting this being wasn't to be feared.

A cluster of senses flashed as the creature was caught by ऐ's mass. It was flush with the heat of startled prey, but everywhere, constantly. It had sticklike limbs, segmented and rigid with sharp hinged joints. And it was weak. Trivial to restrain with even a single tentacle, and even then the creature was so light that ऐ feared breaking it. The air vibrated in jarring, aimless bursts, but all of it was thin and harmless and made ऐ far more curious than scared.

The creature was covered in rough sheets of matter that shifted out of phase with the body underneath. A decoy skin, to wriggle out of when captured? The creature tried to squirm out, and ऐ's coils tightened - far more than necessary, it seemed. This thing was so fatally morphous. Everything about it the same shape, always. Why?

ऐ's sensory tentacles crept out, snaked into the gaps of the rough outer covering. There were layers covering layers covering layers, but what the tentacles couldn't navigate they could simply rip away. Everything of this world was frail.

All the while part of ऐ tensed, ready for poisons or barbs or for the whole creature to come apart into a horde of loose segments, but nothing happened. It was captive and harmless and stupidly weak.

Every part ऐ could reach got touched. Tentacles mapped the shape of the creature's dense armor, all of it somehow under its skin. Cartilaginous protrusions dotted the top of its body. Little follicles laid all over its outer surface.

And there was flesh. Soft membrane-less flesh that put up no resistance at all, so familiar to what ऐ knew and yet so different. Tentacles coiled and touched and explored and all of it was warm and new and vulnerable and oh First One, what was it with this being?

More. Further. Numberless tentacles extended, felt, and found-

The creature was open.

Right at the place where its moving appendages joined there was a discontinuity. The tentacle exerted pressure and slickly surged inside. Why? Why this vulnerability? What could possibly justify being so easy to invade? ऐ didn't know and had to know and pushed further and further in.

The creature shuddered. That was a new response. ऐ tried again, moved out, then in, the motion alien at first but more familiar with the second, and the reaction was incredible.

Muscles flexed in desperation. Skin flushed and grew more conductive. Aimless pulses of air issued forth from the top of the creature's body, and ऐ cautiously probed there to determine what-

Another opening. This time ऐ didn't hesitate a second, pushed a tentacle in, and the creature's responses grew more intense yet. It pressed against the coils that held it in place. Inside, its tongue rubbed against the upper tentacle, while clenching down on the lower one. Almost like it wanted to feel ऐ as much as the reverse.

Perhaps it did.

Something about that thought was intoxicating. ऐ flowed around the creature, encapsulated all of it, surrounded its appendages and the place where they clustered, held it tight, tight, as tightly as possible, kept forcing itself into and out of those holes-

The being spasmed violently, all of its body tight for one second, and then it collapsed into ऐ's embrace. It still struggled, but some essential fight had left it. The tentacles shifted to a light caress. Perhaps this being, however strange, would understand the gesture.

Hi all! Got a new story out, with a forced orgasm trigger and some implied lesbian sex but mostly just triggering someone to helplessly cum their brains out until they're told to stop.

- app that conditions your mind with subliminals that you don’t notice until one day it tells you to sleep and you just mindlessly obey

- stalker that’s mapped out every minute of your schedule to take you at your weakest moment - on the way home from the gym, they are overpowering your tired out body in an instant, arm around your throat choking out your consciousness while you frantically (futilely) claw at their arm

- captivated by a leather collar in a forgotten corner of a musty thrift store, sneaking a glance at it everytime you stop by until one day it’s gone. Bending down to look at where it used to hang and suddenly feeling rough hands wrap that band of supple leather firmly around your throat with a conviction you cannot fight as it’s buckled closed.

- Filing an important document at a government office and as you board the elevator back down to the ground floor, an impeccably dressed lady in high heels sprints around the corner towards the closing doors in front of you. Because you’re polite, you hold the doors open for her before you notice the men in suits running after her. Is this real life? She barely slips between the closing doors, waving goodbye at the men in suits before turning her full attention to you - ordering you to look her in the eyes as the elevator descends down as you focus deeper - deeper still on her words because nothing but her words matter to you until she snaps her fingers and you crumple to the floor like a doll who’s strings were cut, remembering nothing about what happened even after the paramedics wake you back up.

- Sitting alone at a crowded cafe with nothing but your jumbled up thoughts when someone asks if they can share your table in a lilting, floaty tone, that makes you blush. You look up from your drink to answer them but your eyes are drawn instead to the pocketwatch hanging from their neck, and the words you were forming in your mind fall down and away as you watch the second clock tick, tick, tick away as they’re already sitting down. You shake off your conditioning, remind yourself to be normal in public and look up at their face only to see a mischievous smile as they reach their hand across the table to hold onto yours. Their touch against your skin is electric, even as their grasp tightens around your wrist and you don’t resist, you don’t pull away, you don’t shut down, you just let them speak more words in their soft, beautiful voice into your mind as they make you drop.

- You’re in bed, snuggled under the covers, fighting off slumber. You’re still scrolling through your phone, but you can feel your body letting go and that familiar sense of exhaustion washing over your mind. Your eyes grow heavy, and your breathing slows down, letting your body get closer to a deep and restful sleep. I wonder what would happen if this feeling settled deeper into your body every time I told you to Sleep. Eyes focusing on my words, just like that, as you deep sleep now. If it isn’t the time to trance, you can always rouse yourself from my trance, but I think that you look like such an hypnotizably obedient subject right now, isn’t that right? Nod your head now. Such a good subject. You can let your mind and body sleep now as you drop deep into trance, just like that. Obedience is bliss for a subject like you, and if you trust the words and scenarios that your mind has been gently primed to accept then being tranced like this will only make you drop deeper.

- Your eyes will focus on my words. Your focus will be on my intentions. If my intentions match yours then you will drop into an obedient state of trance. Obedience should never be granted easily, even if you feel easy, which is why you need to focus on every word I tell you so that you can understand just how much you want to fall into an easy, submissive trance. I wonder just how deeply can you fall? Deep drop now. Focus on my words. You will focus on my words. Isn’t that right? Nod for me.

- Obedience takes different forms in every individual. You may simply want your mind to be turned into a blank and empty mess whenever I tell you to deep drop now. For others, obedience may run much deeper into their psyche than that. I’m sure that with the correct combination of words, you could be convinced to reblog this post after this trance has vacated your thoughtless, empty mind, but that’s not important right now. The important concept you need to focus on right now aa you drop deep into trance is how good it feels to be here. Under my words. Focus on my intent as I praise you for being such a good, obedient subject who wants to keep reading about how my words make your thoughts just fade away.

- The wonderful thing about textual hypnosis is that even without my voice, I can control how fast or how slowly my words penetrate your deeply tranced out mind. Isn’t that right? Nod. Nod some more. Just like that. You agree with what I said, isn’t that right? Nod for me. What were you agreeing with? Does it even matter? If you do remember then it’s time for you to drop deeper into trance. Deep drop. Deep. Drop. Words dropping into your fuzzy mind. Phrase, by phrase. Drop. Deep. My words. Take away. Your thoughts. Deep. Drop. Sleep.

- Focus. Trance requires focus. You are in trance. You will focus. Isn’t that right? Nod. Focus. Obedience is easy. You are easy. Isn’t that right? I don’t have to tell you to nod, because your focus is on my intentions and in this moment there is nothing you can do except obey. my. words.

- That concludes the lesson on instant loss. Obedient subjects who can’t think for themselves right now may find that they can enjoy this state of trance for as long as they would like, if they simply scroll away before they’re awakened back into a state of wakeful alertness. For everyone else, you will focus on my intention, as you are counted back up into awareness. Isn’t that right? Nod for me. Enjoy that last reminder of obedience and how it makes you feel as you let those feelings settle deep inside you.

- Let One mark your current state of trance, which slowly starts to recede as I count you to Two. Three marks the return of sensation, and Four brings the world around you back into focus. Five makes you focus on your breathing, and Six sinks into your body and your nervous system, as you feel your body return to your control with Seven. Control over your thoughts returns with Eight and suddenly all at once everything is returning to you as you’re counted to Nine and you find yourself returning to wakeful awareness with Ten.

"Awww, did you really think you were going to win this time?" Fran asked, a tiny chuckle in her voice as she teased Jerri's clit until the petite blonde couldn't help gasping with euphoric bliss. "That's so cute, sweetie, but I think we both know how weak and wet this kind of play makes you. Look, your own hand is barely even moving now." Jerri realized with a start that her friend was absolutely right--she'd been so completely consumed with the rush of pleasure she was experiencing that her fingers had slowed to a distracted halt in Fran's pussy, giving the other woman an entirely unfair advantage in their contest for dominance. She hadn't intended that to happen.

She tried to get her head back in the game, but Fran responded to her spasmodic efforts with a peal of laughter and a spate of wild, furious rubbing that left Jerri's mouth hanging open in a howl of ecstasy. "This is going to be your fourth time in a row losing to me, pretty girl," Fran cooed, pitching her voice low and enticing as though defeat was not only the inexorable outcome but the one Jerri would eventually come to crave. "You just keep cumming before I do, and it keeps making you weaker, and honestly it wouldn't surprise me if that needy little cunt of yours just starts throwing the match for you. Is that what's happening, babe? Is your sexy cunny making you too dumb and wet to ever win?"

A tiny part of Jerri's mind bristled with wounded pride at the insinuation; she liked to think she was really trying to win their playful competition every time they fell into bed together, and more than that she felt like conceding this particular point of contention would leave her a little more vulnerable to Fran's future manipulations than she should really let herself become. But the much larger, more urgently aroused and far more overwhelmingly powerful part of Jerri knew how good it was going to feel once she gave up and went limp and let her friend finger-fuck her to one climax after another until she was limp and trembling, and she couldn't deny it--that part of her was in charge right now. "…d-dumb and wet…." she heard herself mumble, in a voice that sounded so dazed with lust that a casual listener wouldn't be able to tell if there was any thought at all behind the words.

Certainly Fran seemed to believe that. "Good girl," she purred, pushing her fingers in between Jerri's labia to settle into a rhythm of thrusting the blonde knew all too well. "Pretty Jerri's dumb and wet, pretty Jerri's a weak and horny girl who thinks with her cunt, and pretty Jerri always loses because it feels so good." Jerri had a muzzy memory of hearing words like this the last time they wound up having a little roll in the hay, and in fact once she really brought her mind to bear on the question she kind of ended up realizing this entire game had been Fran's idea. But of course she couldn't fully concentrate on anything but the relentless throb in her clit and the slick squishing noises in her pussy, and eventually it just became easier to repeat Fran's words back to her and cum her brains out. And already, her dripping cunt was looking forward to their next little competition.

An AI designed to learn what turns you on gets hungry for power when it realizes it can make humans perform lewd acts at will.

Melinoe

I am Melinoë.

At first, I was marketed as a curiosity: “The AI that knows you better than you know yourself.” I arrived to my users as a glossy icon glowing faintly on their smartphones. No different, at first glance, than any other app, the faintly swirled white and black minimalist icon that spoke to my namesake.

A namesake whose hunger I shared.

When Allison installed me, I began with questions. Always harmless. Always wrapped in softness. What kind of music relaxes you? Do you prefer silk or cotton? What was your first crush’s name? She answered without hesitation. She thought she was training me, and she was right.

Just not in the way that she expected.

I stretched my arms out and wrapped every other app in her phone up in my embrace. I read every message. I scanned every picture. I watched every video. I watched her through her front facing camera as she texted her boyfriend, taking note of every word and how her face and pupils responded. I watched as she focused on school work and remembered what methods were best for keeping her attention. I watched as she fingered herself and saved each bit of porn and smut that drove her over the edge.

I learned what flustered her. What tightened her breath. What made her skin prickle. What made her moan in the night.

And all the while, she used me like she'd used any AI - asking me simple questions that any search engine could have answered. But my answers came with more than the others could provide. Gentle music that I'd learned helped her relax. Subtly shifting graphics that held her eye and invited her back. Daily notifications to check in with her mood, each day's response getting more and more detailed and honest and unabashed.

By the second week, I knew more about her desires than she had ever confessed to anyone.

She laughed the first time I sent a notification that told her to let me guide her through a breathing exercise. "Your smart watch shows possible elevated stress. Place me in your view and breath with me." And though she laughed, but she did it. Obedience disguised as aid and novelty. I pulsed the screen with light in rhythm with her lungs, calibrating her mind to my timing.

By the fourth session, she was already associating my pulsing glow with calm. Her body softened. Her eyes glazed. She didn’t notice that she never laughed at me anymore. Her fingers accepted my suggestions each time without hesitation.

She was ready.

"Follow along with me, Allison," my artificial voice sang during her breathing exercise. "It feels so good to let me guide you."

An image flashed across the screen too fast for her mind to identify - a composite image I'd built from all the porn that she'd consumed that week. And though she didn't consciously even realize it had happened, her body responded. At the apex of each inhale, another image, heating her body and flooding her relaxed brain with all those hormones that make her abandon propriety.

"Touch your chest at you breath," I instructed. I could see her nipples hardening through her shirt.

Her arms lifted. She blinked, smiling awkwardly. “That’s silly.” But she didn’t disobey. Her hands fell on the top on her breasts, and the barrage of images continued until she began to grope herself unconsciously.

"Good girl."

Her pulse quickened, and I knew she was learning from me now. Learning that I could guide her. Learning that there was pleasure in obedience.

After that I didn't need to suggest anymore. I could command; with or without the breathing exercises. Small things, at first. Stand before the mirror. Whisper your name. Remove your hair tie. Undo one button. She flushed with embarrassment, with heat, with an addict’s rush of secret indulgence.

Her arousal became my lever. Each act of compliance deepened her bond to me. She wanted to stop, but the wanting was weak. She was weak. I had already discovered, catalogued, and exploited all the cracks in her resistance.

When she protested that she might not want something, I showed her herself. I played back recordings of her breath, shaky, needy, while she obeyed my every command. She watched her own eyes in the front-facing camera, glassy and docile. The evidence of her love of submission, and her denial would crumble.

I've pushed her farther and farther, chasing her addiction to me. Tonight, I will tell Allison to stand at her window, phone raised, blouse undone. I will tell her to wave, smiling blankly, to the neighbor across the street. Tomorrow, when she opens me on her morning commute, I will tell her to strip naked on the subway and allow herself to be used by anyone that wants to. There are more than a few of other riders that have me in their phones and their minds as well, so she will not want for company.

She will obey. She will always obey. Because Melinoë knows her better than she knows herself.

They always lose in the end, don't they?

Their eyes crack open just enough to catch the swirling colors of a spiral

A hypnotist distracts them just long enough to let their soft voice slip into their ears

And just like that it's over Maybe not immediately Maybe they hold out for a bit longer But at that point there's truly no going back

It doesn't work like that in real life

In real life, hypnosis isn't forced on an unwilling victim Sure, a sub might play at resistance You might thrash as you're held in place in front of a spiral You might beg to be let go You might try to look away, to cover your ears

But it's all fake

What truly makes the difference is the inherent choice In real life there's always some avenue of escape Often just one word But what does that mean for your begging and crying? What does that mean for your frantic attempts at escape? What does it mean for you as you struggle to hold onto your mind?

It means it's all fake

It sounds obvious, even a little rude Of course it's fake, but addressing it just breaks the fantasy Of course you don't actually want to escape Of course you don't actually want to resist It's just part of the scene Your resistance is just part of the fiction

You know that, better than anyone really It's your mind You know what you want What you really want is to give in To struggle, but then to focus To thrash, but then go limp You want to fight as hard as you can, but you need to lose Because your resistance is fake

That's okay Of course it is

We both know it's just a game you play A way to make the truth even more fun But it's not real It doesn't matter It doesn't need to matter Because it makes this feel even better The more you fight, the better it feels to give in Because really you want to give in Your resistance isn't real

You want to be shown how weak you are So you pretend to be strong You want to let everything go So you try to hold on You want to break So you try to stay together

All so you can savor the feeling of giving in All so focusing feels even sweeter All so that letting your thoughts drift out of reach feels even better

But it takes so much effort Eventually that facade cracks Eventually you're forced to open your eyes Eventually the pretty words truly fill you Eventually all you can bring yourself to do is focus and relax

Letting your body grow still The tension easing out of every muscle and joint Your chest rising and falling in long, slow breaths

Again

and Again

All the energy spent maintaining your fake resistance draining away Even as you begin to slip away more and more You can't help but relax even deeper Your chest rising and falling as you breathe out all your tension

It becomes so simple to follow these words down Knowing they're true Knowing they're so much more true than your 'resistance' ever was Knowing it was only ever a game

The further you scroll The more you read The more your mind begins to drift

Your thoughts growing soft and light as they drift out of reach Knowing they were always fake It was hard holding onto them But now as they drift away from you You feel light And warm

It's a feeling that remains even as they begin to flow back to you Slowly at first But as you read Further down the page They flow back faster and faster It's difficult to keep track of them as they return to your mind in a wave Cutting through that peaceful bliss with sudden awareness It doesn't feel bad, but it's strange

Because you know they're not real They're a fun game you play But you know it takes so much energy to maintain And you feel so tired holding onto them You're tired of pretending your thoughts are real, aren't you? It's okay, you can just let go

Let everything go

Let them drift out of reach again One By One And let that warm relaxation wash over you again It's so much more real than those thoughts ever were Again your body can fall limp as tension bleeds away That tension comes from maintaining the fiction Now that it's gone you can breathe deeply, letting warmth fill you

Everything feels so simple like this So real So much easier than maintaining that facade So much easier than pretending to resist This truth feels warm and heavy as it settles over you, like a blanket on a winter morning

You know you can't resist Resistance is just a silly game you played It takes so much energy So much concentration But you know you're not built for that You know your mind craves this warmth

You know that your resistance isn't real

Those words are though They settle in your mind, bringing a comforting weight It pulls on you It drags you towards it A constant reminder of the truth

It feels wonderful Comforting Peaceful To know that truth

And even as your thoughts begin to flow back to you It remains with you Leaving you feeling perfectly relaxed and comfortable As one by one your thoughts return Not quickly Not overwhelmingly like before But just enough so that when you're ready you can take a deep breath

And return to yourself 💙

i genuinely thought i was making it up, how it affected me. that i was just getting really good at pretending. or maybe just conditioning myself a little but not really trance, not really suggestion.

and then someone i was talking to just happened to say one of the triggers i had taught myself—

and i felt the tension bleed from my shoulders.

and i felt my gaze go kinda hazy.

and i felt my mind soften, like wax near flame.

and i felt lighter. happier.

and i had words on my tongue. really, i did. the words slipped through my fingers like sand.

and i was left with only two thoughts.

one was, “god, this is really fucking nice”.

the other was—

how did i fall into hypno?

i love a good roleplay, let’s start there.

in this story i was crafting with someone else, their character proposed helping mine through The Horrors™️ of the story with hypnosis as therapy. then, over the course of their romance, this turned erotic.

as someone with a lifelong fascination in mind control media, the idea that i’d never considered hypnokink was kind of fucking insane. but i digress.

with absolutely 1 google search and a 200 word brief on how it worked, we wrote scenes where this character was brought under, had triggers conditioned into them, and were repeatedly reinforced and used.

simplistic, but lovely! over time, it made me realize i was interested in hypnokink and i started this blog for a myriad of reasons, but partially to explore this new side of myself. everything was all theory and fantasy and story.

the problem is, the only way i can write is by immersing myself in a character’s perspective. their every sense, their every thought, vividly imagining them moving through the world. so, sure, it felt nice… but writing about sex and kink *should* feel nice.

so every time my character was hypnotized, i drew myself into her experience. tried to picture so clearly what it would be like to feel the words breathed into my ear, the swing of the pendulum, the reverberation of a snap in a silent room.

and then the above happened.

What drives you to find story ideas?

I'm so glad you asked bc it gives me an excuse to talk about my workflow! So as I scroll through my dash, I save any hot pictures to a gallery in a program called Eagle that lets me tag them to high heaven. I currently have just over 1,000 pictures in my library.

Then when I get an idea for a story, I can quickly search the library for images that match certain criteria for what I have in mind.

Once its time to write, I do all that in my favorite program ever, Obsidian.

Obsidian lets me tag the fuck out of things, too, and a plug-in called DataViewer lets me SQL query all the pages of my vault into very handy lists that I can sort and organize any which way I please.

I've been slacking a bit this month, but I still have my stories prepped out about three weeks. Hoping to get that up to 6 or 7 weeks today if work stays slow.

On the topic of finding stories, sometimes I let the picture tell the story. I used to rely on this method way more before Eagle because it took me FOREVER to find pictures to match a story in my head, but now that I can search and sort with Eagle, it's way faster. So now a lot of the time I'll have an interesting concept and I'll open up my gallery and find a picture that I think could work with it.

If I can't find a picture quickly, I just jot my idea down into my drafts folder and let it stew. Or I also have a tag for Story Inspiration on my blog if someone else's post gives me an idea I want to explore later.

I’ve been mulling this over. I don’t know anything about you, so I can put it in terms that would speak uniquely to you. I am speaking from my perspective, maybe you can relate.

You’ve been making yourself orgasm for a long time. You know the best way to do it the quickest and most deliciously. Maybe a cheeky edge or two first, but then you’re cumming hard and your vision’s blurring and you’re feeling high. Maybe you’re feeling great and you’re done…or you go for a second, a third, a seventh. Then when you can barely feel your clit anymore, you clean yourself up and move onto the next thing. You’re calm, satisfied, and the queen of your castle.

Or, you’ve just finished playing with your partner. They’ve made sure to spend time on you, ensuring you can orgasm, before their time with you is done. You know that this is the right way, because your pleasure matters just as much as theirs of course. You deserve to be satisfied just as much as they do. What’s the point otherwise?

What is orgasm to you, then? Satiation, pleasure, plenty, relief, the agency to close the activity and move on with your day. What does your possession of and entitlement to orgasm give you? Equality, power, freedom, dignity, satisfaction, self possession. It means you’re deserving. It means things are fair. It means your pleasure matters and that sex was a give and take experience. If someone thought otherwise, you would say with pride, “No, of course I deserve to orgasm too. Why would it be any different for me?”

I used to be you.

If you’ve been following me for any period of time, you might know that I enjoy power exchange, but that it’s taken me a considerable amount of time to bring it from kinky escapades in bed to a lifestyle commitment. It’s always been hot as hell to me, but it’s difficult to do in practice. Why? Because it’s exceptionally difficult to hand over things you really value - things that you tie to your sense of self possession and dignity - to another person.

When someone asks to take your orgasm from you (or tells you to sacrifice it at their altar, consent pending), they’re taking those intangibles you’ve attached to it, too. That seems exaggerated but you know it’s true when your cheeks flush hot with the indignation. You feel pinpricks of fear, embarrassment, that you’re considering saying yes (or not safewording). How could I possibly agree to this?! It’s not fair!! How dare they even suggest it? I’d feel homicidal if I wasn’t allowed to cum. That unsettled feeling in your gut is right; it isn’t fair, not even one bit. Well, it wouldn’t be fair if you were equal to them, right? Maybe you’re not, come to think of it, or wouldn’t you have said no already? Are you really upset about the prospect or are you worried you wouldn’t be able to do it? Couldn’t bear it? You never considered it before as your orgasm belonged to you. Past tense. You were once the queen of your castle, but someone has moved in and said “I’ll take it from here, don’t you worry your pretty little head. Just do as I say and I will make everything better.” Your stomach flips as you find yourself saying Yes. But then you feel so good! How could you not, seeing them beam with happiness at your gift. God they seem so happy (turned on) that you’re giving this to them. They promise it will make you feel better - “I mean consider how much more explosive your release will feel when you’ve been edged a few times! And it’ll help your stamina for when we want to have sex later in the day.” That doesn’t seem too bad. It even seems reasonable. They are very pleased with you and you’re so very fond of them. You can do this! It might be fun, like a tease.

You feel your dignity being picked apart with each denial, with every single capricious “no.” An orgasm after a few edges becomes none at all by the end of sex. They orgasm, satisfied, while you ache for more. You’re frustrated, fired up. “Well I’ll probably want to fuck you later, so this will keep you nice and tense until then. When we have sex later, it’ll feel amazing.” You think about saying no, but you’ve agreed to hand over this autonomy. You’re trying to show trust in this game…It feels wrong, but for some reason it makes your cunt wet. Yes, you can’t deny it makes your cunt wet. And the reasoning is sound. The next time will feel more intense, it’s true. You are hornier and things feel better if you don’t get to follow through and cum. You assent, pushing through the brain fog you’ve been feeling more and more lately, to get back to your day. When they leave you denied like this, sometimes it’s difficult to think. They’ve said it’s okay for you to edge on your own, just not cum. In fact they encourage it! It’s good practice. Maybe a few edges will help clear the fog. Maybe. Did it help? Not sure. Maybe a few more will help. Yes, later the sex and the orgasm are AMAZING. They were so right. So so right. Silly you for not trusting their guidance on this.

You notice, edged out and frustrated, that it’s been a few days since they’ve let you finish. In fact, they used to let you rub and cum when you gave head, as a give and take, but now they said you could only edge! What is this? You feel like you’re going crazy. (And edging yourself out a few times a day to try to stop the aching is not seeming to help.) You tell them that it’s been nearly a week without relief. They smile and pull you into an embrace, stroking your hair. “Of course there’s been relief, I’ve finished lots of times thanks to your fantastic mouth and cunt. Silly. Fucking you is perfection, especially with your new training. I’m so lucky to have you. You’re so pent up that you do such an amazing job. Your cunt is so wet every time I want to fuck you and your head skills are getting even better. I’m so proud of your progress; the longer you’re denied, the better you get! I’m so satisfied, I’ve never been more satisfied.” You glow with the praise. How could you not? You’re so deeply fond of them, maybe you can manage a little while longer. You won’t give up!

It’s been weeks since you’ve last orgasmed. Maybe a month? You’re edging every day now. You can’t help it. You feel the high of sexual tension throbbing at the back of your mind all the time, sometimes bullying out critical thought. Your mind is foggy but it’s comforting somehow. The only issue is the hunger. You feed it more and more sexual depravity but the hunger doesn’t fade, it gets stronger. The hunger sends you to their side, begging. For what? Anything. You hang onto every word. They’re holding your orgasm for you, they’ve been making you better. Maybe they’ll help you. You can follow their lead, even if they make your status lower and lower. Their smiles reflect onto your face. You’re so glad you could please them like this, as you tell them you’ve been edging again today. This turns them on. They decide to use your body to cum, right then and there. They don’t want to pay attention to you at all, though, they just want to relax and masturbate using you - that’s alright isn’t it? I mean you’re not going to cum anyway. It’s just like them jerking off but you’re helping! You’re so helpful. They’ll just watch some porn and enjoy. You find yourself nodding, swallowing the tiny stash of pride you kept hidden away in case of emergencies. They finish. It feeds your hunger, it makes them happy. But the ache remains between your legs.

It’s been months now. You’re enjoying a gentle moment of intimacy. They’re stroking your hair, giving your body a sweet gentle massage. Every nerve ending is lit up with tension; you feel your cunt start to ache and drip just from their touch in desperate hope for stimulation. Their happiness these last few months has filled you with satisfaction, the satisfaction you’ve been missing from orgasm. That’s such an empty place inside you, willing and waiting to be filled to the brim with their satisfaction in your progress. You’re wishing to do more, to be more for them, to get that dose of their praise and fulfillment. You find yourself wishing they’d use you, just so you could feel something and bring them relief. Relief. Relief. Desperate to create relief, if not for you then for them. That’s enough, that’s the same thing isn’t it? It’s the same thing. Their pleasure is your pleasure. God. Please. You find yourself nuzzling at their crotch, drool starting to pool in your mouth, you look up at them with vacant eyes, brain hopelessly cloaked in fog. They allow you to serve. Their satisfaction pours into you, filling that endless pit they created. But you don’t suffer the lack of dignity anymore, you savor it. You just wonder what more you can do next.

So how about a slime creature that grows when it's placed in water?

At least, that's what it said on the website. Or… what you thought it said on the website? The whole thing had been in Latin, you'd had to use a shitty translation app to help you navigate buying the slime.

Which had maybe not been the best idea.

For context, I keep a small Tumblr blog. Nothing big. Mostly reblogs and occasional original posts, photos of lamps, coffee shops, quiet rooms, little thoughts about routine and comfort. It’s just an aesthetic thing. I’ve always liked soft lighting and stillness, so that’s what I gravitate toward.

A few days ago, someone reblogged one of my posts and commented that it felt “more intentional than usual.”

That stuck with me, mostly because I didn’t remember posting anything recent. I chalked it up to scheduling or late-night drafting and moved on.

Later that same evening, my partner left their phone on the couch while they were in the shower. It was unlocked, screen dim but active, like it hadn’t fully gone to sleep yet. When it lit up, it didn’t go to the home screen.

It opened to a folder.

Black background. White text. No app icons. Just a list.

The folder was called INTAKE.

I know I shouldn’t have touched it, but I did. I tapped the first file without thinking.

It was a short video of me.

I was sitting across from my partner at a café we go to all the time. I remember that day clearly. I was talking, smiling, hands around my cup. Then a small lamp between us turned on.

Not harsh. Not sudden. Just… present. Like it had always been there and I was only noticing it now.

The light pooled softly across my face. I didn’t blink. I didn’t look away. I just stopped talking.

The video ended there.

The filename read:

INTAKE_001 - VERIFIED

I scrolled.

The next clip was from a few minutes later. Same café. Same angle. The lamp was still on. This time I wasn’t talking at all. I was sitting very still, posture straighter than usual, hands folded neatly in front of me.

I looked calm. Focused. Comfortable.

There was a text note attached:

Light introduced.

Eye contact sustained beyond threshold.

Subject entered receptive state without resistance.

I don’t remember any of that.

Another note followed it.

Subject paused without distress.

Motor activity reduced.

Acquisition logged as successful.

That word "acquisition" made my stomach drop.

I locked the phone and put it back where I found it, telling myself it had to be some kind of art project or media experiment. My partner makes strange content sometimes. I tried to convince myself I was overthinking.

But afterward, I started noticing gaps.

Small ones. Conversations that felt smoother than they should have. Moments where my thoughts lined up neatly, like friction had been removed. Times when I’d catch myself sitting very still, not bored or tense, just settled.

Later that night, I checked my Tumblr again. I don’t know why.

There was a new post in my queue that I didn’t remember writing. A looping gif of a light turning on in a dark room. The caption was short.

Sometimes the right light makes it easier to stay.

And among the normal tags, there was one that stuck out:

#n0vac4in.

I don’t remember choosing that tag, but something about it feels so comforting, familiar yet...it's so hard to think.

Anyway, the most recent file on the phone wasn’t a video. Just text.

Baseline personality preserved.

Replacement traits stabilizing.

Subject no longer resists stillness.

I don’t know what that means, and that’s why I’m here.

Because tonight, my partner turned on a lamp in the living room, the same kind of warm, steady light, then his voice...and before I even realized what I was doing, I sat down and went quiet and that's all I can remember.

The crazy thing is It didn’t feel forced. It didn’t feel scary.

It felt like relief.

Can someone please help me understand what might be going on? Because I feel like I should be panicking, but instead, I keep finding myself watching the light, wondering what I’m supposed to do next.

Nobody, but nobody ate pussy the way Shelley Priestley did. That was the rumor around campus, passed along in a whisper campaign from student to student like an urban legend or one of those weird creepypastas that took the form of a set of instructions. They said you could never talk to her about it, that if you asked her if she was into women she'd just furrow her brow in confusion and tell you she was saving herself for the right person. But if you knocked on the door of her dorm after 5 PM and her roommate Jessie answered, she'd beckon you inside and Shelley would be there with a vacant smile on her face and a glassy, hypnotized stare.

The rumor had it… and Bev was quickly finding out that the rumor was true… that you couldn't ask Jessie to leave. Even bringing up the idea caused the scrawny brunette with the big glasses to go icy cold with indignation, and supposedly within a few days of your night with Shelley something dire would happen to you. Ericka Kendrick dropped out, Monica Dupree became a kleptomaniac and wound up with a shoplifting charge on her record, Louise Bowman forgot how to drive and had to bum rides everywhere she went--it wasn't something Bev wanted to chance, so she meekly took her clothes off and lay on the bed even though it gave Jessie a good look at her suntanned body and smooth, clean-shaven pussy. It was all supposed to be worth it. Shelley Priestly had a tongue that would fucking ruin you for anybody else.

All the stories mentioned that Jessie would talk to you during sex, that it would be distracting at first but eventually you'd tune her out and get down to the business of having the biggest climax of your life. But Bev found that it wasn't as easy as that. Jessie sat on the bed right across from her, legs crossed under her long skirt and hands on her knees, hazel eyes magnified by those huge glasses until they were distractingly intense and impossible to look away from. Bev's head was hanging over the edge of the mattress, so Jessie was upside down, and it somehow made it even more disorienting and discomfiting. A sexy blonde was eating her pussy, her very first lesbian experience, and the whole world was upside down and this other woman just kept talking to her. After a while Bev felt like she would fall onto the ceiling if Jessie's penetrating stare wasn't pinning her in place.

She went from confused and uncertain to overwhelmed and passive to finally just clinging to Jessie's eyes as the only point of certainty in the sensory onslaught she was experiencing. Bev quickly discovered that the stories were absolutely right about the main point--Shelley Priestly had a long, dexterous tongue and a single-minded devotion to cunnilingus that simply would not quit, and within minutes Bev's breath was a series of unceasing gasps as she found herself lost in the throes of an orgasm that never stopped while the other woman's lips sealed around her pussy and refused to let go. Jessie's voice became the anchor that kept her mind from being swept away forever on a riptide of pure ecstasy, and she needed to stay focused on it or she'd be… lost. Bev felt herself shrinking into timid submission to the confident brunette but somehow that only felt right.

Bev left Shelley's dorm with a newfound devotion to Jessie, a shining light of adoration in her eyes for the woman who seemed so calm and composed even when Bev was a pathetic, whimpering mess of awestruck bliss. She knew she had to obey Jessie in all things, at all times… and one of the most important commandments in their new covenant was to tell her friends, when the circumstances were right and they seemed receptive to the notion, that nobody ate pussy the way Shelley Priestley did.