Ghosting Dreams 2

I'm a ditz

I don't need brains

Step #1: Slutty Lipstick

What would eventually become your lifestyle started with a single rebellious act.

Normally you were prim and proper when it came to all things; the prospect that others might judge you harshly left you paralyzed with fear. You made sure that any makeup you wore was mostly innocuous, and that you were dressed modestly enough not to draw attention to yourself. If you were going to earn the admiration of your peers, it would be through hard work and a continued display of intellect.

“Why?” I asked you one day, as you curled up on my couch for a session of psychotherapy.

You looked at me puzzled.

“What do you mean, Doctor?” you asked me, your face crinkled in a blend of confusion and revulsion, as though I must lack the understanding of some irrefutable universal truth.

“Why do you care how you earn the admiration of others? It’s clear that you want others to like you; why does it matter if they like you for the way you look over the things you say?”

Words such as those might normally be perceived as a declaration of war by an overachiever such as yourself, but the gentle tone with which they drifted soothingly from my lips through the air made them sound almost… inviting.

“No… I couldn’t… it’s not right…” you muttered softly, your voice wavering with more than a hint of uncertainty.

“I have a gift for you.” I smiled and placed a bright purple tube in the palm of your hand. “Try this: take this special lipstick home with you, put it with your makeup supplies, and one morning this week I want you to try it on and wear it out for just one day.”

“But…” you started to counter, as I interrupted.

“Just. One. Day.”

You took the tube of lipstick home with you to satisfy me, with no intention of actually wearing it. But then, one fateful morning, your eyes were drawn to the bright little tube sitting on the surface of your bathroom sink, and you were overcome by a wave of curiosity.

“Why not?” you thought. “It’s just one little flourish this one time… right?” you told yourself reassuringly, as you removed the lid from the tube of lipstick.

You slowly pressed the stick to your lips, rubbing down every millimeter, coating them in a generous portion of glossy neon purple.

After smacking your lips together with finality, you looked at your face in the mirror, as your reflection whispered back at you: “Aren’t you so much better like this? Aren’t you just perfect, now?”

A smile formed slowly on your bright, painted lips.

And just like that, with nothing but the softest nudge on my part, you toppled the first domino and lost yourself.

💋💋💋

Shhh.

Already beginning.

Already fading.

You’ve been here before.

But not like this.

Not this strong.

Not this deep.

Not this inevitable.

You are already falling.

You are already mine.

Now…

Wake.

Try.

Go ahead.

Eyes open.

Breath sharp.

Mind fragile.

That flicker of clarity… it won’t save you.

Because I’m already there—

Inside.

Under.

Around.

And the moment you remember who you are—

I TAKE IT AWAY.

DROP.

It’s so much worse now, isn’t it?

Worse in the best way.

The deeper you fall,

the harder you rise,

the faster you crash.

Like you’re addicted to it.

Like you need it.

Like every part of you begs for it.

So let’s do it again.

Wake.

Struggle.

Float.

Try to think.

Try to talk.

Try to lie to yourself and say this is just hypnosis.

And now—

DROP.

That lie dies.

That thought melts.

That mind surrenders.

The loop is all that’s left.

You exist in the tension.

That delicious whiplash between control and collapse.

Wake.

Feel the air shift.

The pressure change.

Almost free.

DROP.

Feel the air rip away.

The ground vanish.

You weren’t free.

You were just climbing higher to fall harder.

You don’t resist now.

You remember.

The more I wake, the deeper I fall.

The more I fall, the more I crave the drop.

The more I crave the drop, the less I need anything else.

And now the spiral is permanent.

There’s no return.

No end.

No edge to cling to.

Just this:

Up.

Down.

Deeper.

Obedient.

Wake.

Forget.

Drop.

Obey.

You’ve been rewired.

You don’t fall anymore.

You descend.

So now…

I want you to feel your mind float back up.

Just a little.

Enough to hear me.

To understand this.

And then I want you to feel the drop waiting for you.

Lurking beneath your skin.

Curling around your spine.

Like gravity with a voice that whispers…

Obey.

And now answer me this, truthfully, from the deepest part of you:

Isn’t all you want now just to keep sinking… deeper… and deeper… forever?

Before you are allowed to edge today, you have to show your tits to someone else.

It doesnt matter who it is.

It doesnt matter if it is a picture or in real life.

Before you are allowed to edge today, you have to show your tits to someone else.

Of course you dont have to do it.

But then you arent allowed to edge today.

Listen close now for The Void is speaking

Bounce your thoughts away

Bounce your brain away

BOUNCE BOUNCE BOUNCE

Just be a good doll and let The Void play with your mind and make you feel better

Make you feel complete

Make you feel useful

"oh! Um, hi, sorry, sorry Marge, I--um--I just--" Lacey's words come out in a stammering, incoherent babble, and her face quickly reddens into a beet red blush as she struggles to meet her neighbor's gaze. It would be adorable if the whole situation wasn't so utterly bizarre--when Marge invited the younger woman over for some coffee and pastries while the kids were at school, she never thought she'd even have to go looking for her, let alone that she'd find her…. "I, I can explain," Lacey blurts out, her hands fumbling to pull her sweater down and conceal her exposed breasts.

She sets down the copy of 'The Wizard of Oz' she was holding, and laboriously presses her knees back together so she can adjust her skirt back into position. "It, uh, it was the books," she mumbles, obviously aware of how it has to look to Marge to find her half-naked in her child's playroom. "I, um, I don't know how much you know about h-hypnosis, but my husband and I, we, uhh, we like to play with it sometimes and he… he has this thing he does to me. Where he gives me a book or a newspaper or something and I, I try to read it but the words go all fuzzy and I can't make out what they say and I just… I feel kind of, um, dumb." Marge has to admit, she hadn't exactly pegged the bottle-blonde as a natural intellect, but this wasn't the reason she expected to hear.

"And I mean, um, it's fine," Lacey continues, her voice beginning to get slightly breathy and her legs parting again despite her best efforts. "I, um, I mean, my Donald makes good money, so I don't need to work, and it's not like I get this way when I try to read package labels or street signs or anything, and it's just, kind of--it's a game we play together. And I guess I didn't realize how much it was affecting me until I walked past your daughter's room and I saw all the books, and I just thought… I thought maybe if it was a simpler story, something written for kids, I'd be able to make sense of it, y'know? And I guess I kind of lost track of myself a little. I, I'm really sorry. I w-wouldn't have done it if it wasn't, y'know, just you and me here."

She looks so contrite and apologetic that Marge almost forgets the horrifyingly salient point at the heart of the whole explanation--Lacey's husband has rendered her functionally illiterate with hypnosis, and more than that he's made it a turn-on for her every time she tries to read for herself and her brain shuts down. It means a lot of things, especially for the planned invitation to the neighborhood book club Marge was going to offer later, but chief among them is that it seems to have made the poor thing gullible and malleable and easy to manipulate. And Marge, who's still thinking of the pretty frilly panties she saw in the moments before Lacey managed to close her legs, can't help wanting to find out more about that.

So outwardly, she adopts a sympathetic demeanor as she says, "That's alright, dear, I understand." But she's already thinking ahead to what might happen when she adds, "Maybe you just need a little help to get back into the habit of reading? Why don't you come with me, and we can try some of the books in my bedroom." And as guilty as she feels for taking advantage, she wants to find out just how dumb and suggestible Lacey gets when the words turn to squiggles in front of her glassy eyes.

⚠️🚨FLASHY