lots thoughts head empty

“Look at you, being so good for me, I’m so proud of you”

Sarcastic praise:

*Condescending* “I know baby, look at you trying so hard… there you go… show me that you can do it…”

Contrasting praise:

She's on her hands and knees, face shoved into the pillow, and the angle is just so that if she moves perfectly she can get the dildo a couple inches into her cunt.

Most of the time, it just slides against her thighs or she misses entirely, and she whimpers and moans and bites the pillow and tries again, even as her thighs shake and her cunt throbs with need.

"Having trouble, sweetheart?" Melissa asks, voice sweet and a little mean. She's behind Stephie, or next to her, watching Stephie try and fail and fail and fail and--

"She looks like she's doing her best," Rhona says, mean too under its veneer of kindness.

Humiliation runs through Stephie at the thought of Melissa's best friend watching her too.

"I'm sure she is," Melissa says. "A brat like her." A little louder, she says, "I asked you a question, sweetheart. Having trouble?"

Frantically, Stephie nods into the pillow, moaning mmhmm.

"Will you be good for me, if I help you?"

Stephie nods again, bigger this time.

"I'm not sure I believe her," Rhona says, and Stephie whimpers. "I think she's just saying that because she's desperate, not because she means it."

"Very true," Melissa says. "Well, sweetheart, I have a test for you. I'm going to touch one finger to that needy little clit of yours, and if you can stay completely still and not try to rub against it, then I'll believe you can be good for me. But if you move, then you'll prove that Rhona is right and you don't really mean it."

Sure, she goes out and parties sometimes, gets a little drunk, hooks up with guys or girls in clubs. But she's not trying to be bad.

"Your parents are trusting me to look after you," Rebecca reminds her patiently, in that older sister knows best tone that she only seems to use on Alice. Not that they're related, but Rebecca has always been the mature one in their friend group, a couple years older and trying to keep them out of trouble.

"I know," Alice says with a sigh. They're sharing an apartment even though Alice is only a sophomore, because her parents said they would help pay for it if she lives with Rebecca. "I promise I'm not trying to get into trouble."

"I know," Rebecca says, stroking Alice's hair. Alice's head is in Rebecca's lap, where she curled up after getting back a little bit hungover from a night with a guy she can't really remember. "Look, I have an idea."

"What is it?"

"Do you trust me?" Rebecca asks.

"Of course," Alice says.

"Good." Rebecca's hand drifts from Alice's hair down to her chin, then over to rest on Alice's lips. "Open."

Alice opens her mouth to protest, but Rebecca slips her fingers in, and Alice closes her mouth around them automatically.

"Good," Rebecca says, and it makes Alice feel warm. "Just suck on my fingers. No questions right now," she says when Alice opens her mouth again. "Just suck on them."

Alice sucks on Rebecca's fingers, and she drifts.

It becomes a ritual, Alice laying with her head in Rebecca's lap, sucking on her fingers. She enters another world like that, where nothing matters but the weight of Rebecca's fingers in her mouth, where every time her mind goes a little more still and quiet, until she craves that each day, craves having her head in Rebecca's lap and Rebecca's fingers in her mouth.

And it doesn't come as a surprise, somehow, when she finds herself wet and leaking like that, when she drags one hand down between her legs to rub her clit lazily, bringing herself to the edge but never quite tipping herself over because cumming doesn't matter nearly as much as those fingers in her mouth.

And it doesn't matter when Rebecca fits her with a chastity belt, because she takes it off when Alice puts her head in Rebecca's lap, so Alice can always use that time to rub.

A week after Ellen hires the hypnotist, Becky calls her into a meeting in her shiny new office, has Ellen close the door, and then says, "I've been rubbing my clitty all day, and I still can't manage to cum."

"I'm not sure what you expect me to do about it," Ellen tells her, even though she knows--assuming the hypnotist did their job--that Becky will need Ellen's permission to cum. "And that hardly sounds like professional workplace talk, Becky ."

Becky is big on professional workplace talk.

Becky squirms in her seat. "I'm making an exception," she says, in what's clearly an attempt at maintaining a professional tone. "I just need to cum, and then I'll be able to focus again."

"I thought we didn't make exceptions," Ellen reminds her. "Anyway, focus is an individual's responsibility, right?" She stands and smiles at Becky, who is visibly rolling her hips like she's trying to get some friction on her clit. Ellen gives her a minute, max, before her hand is back down her panties. "I'm glad you've taught me these professional standards, Becky. They're important to maintaining an efficient workplace, are they not?"

A minute was generous, Ellen thinks--Becky's hands are back under her panties before Ellen is even out the door.

--

Within days, Becky is canceling meetings and holing up in her office, no doubt edging herself to uselessness without Ellen's permission to cum. Ellen cancels the next meeting Becky puts on her calendar, and the one after that, and then she suggests that Becky meet her in Ellen's much smaller office instead.

It's the sort of thing Becky would normally refuse on principle, but five minutes before their scheduled time Ellen has a knock on her door.

She makes Becky wait, on principle.

Just at the time the meeting is scheduled to start, she walks over to let Becky in, enjoying her embarrassed flush at having to stand outside Ellen's door for those full five minutes because she's so desperate.

Ellen takes a seat behind her desk, then asks, "What can I do for you today, Becky?"

"I just need to cum," Becky moans. "I can't think, I can't work, I can't do anything but rub my puffy red clitty and try to cum."

"And why should I help you?" Ellen asks.

"I'll do anything." Becky's hand slides down her pants, and Ellen can see the outline of her hand start rubbing. "Anything."

"Then quit," Ellen tells her. "Once you no longer work here, you can cum all you want."

"Okay," Becky sobs.

Their laughter made everything feel so hazy. Like your thoughts were treacle. You didn’t want to think. You couldn’t think. “All that IQ, all those thoughts, and ideas, drained down between your legs. Keep touching yourself for me.” Like you could stop, even if you wanted to.

They leant down, closer to you. Their scent filled your nostrils, making your brain even foggier. “Touch yourself stupid. That’s a good toy. I want you braindead. Hey, what’s two plus two?”

Your brain was stalling. There was an answer there but… “F-f-”

The word wouldn’t leave your lips. Your hypnotist laughed again. “Oh, f-f-” They were mocking you, and it just turned you on more. “Come on toy, you can answer that. Surely you haven’t got that stupid, have you?”

“Fuck…” You finally said. Was that the answer? You didn’t know.

They were laughing harder now. “Awh, I guess you have got that stupid.” Their hand moved to your head, tousling your hair, as they stood back up. “Well, let’s see what else you’ve forgotten. Where do you live?”

There was only one word in your brain. “Fuck.”

You didn’t know if that was the only thing you could say. Or if it was just all that was on your mind, as your hand kept moving. “Good! And what’s your name?” They asked.

You tried to resist saying it. “F-mmmnh-fuck!” But by now, your mouth was beyond your control.

“That’s right, fuck.” They leant down again, close to you. “That’s your name. You just told me. So why wouldn’t it be? Such a good toy. So brainless. Keep touching. Keep sinking. I want to see how long it takes before you actually damage your brain!”

* * *

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

"I never wanted kids," Iris says steadily, holding eye contact with Bethany in the mirror. Bethany's smirk dies just a little. "Charlie, though, he always did like them a bit on the young side. Barely legal, I think he likes to say."

"I'm an adult," Bethany snaps, though some of her bright confidence has gone now.

"Oh sure," Iris agrees. She takes a step closer, not looking away. "Eighteen and everything. So grown up. I bet he tells you all the time how mature you are."

"He--"

"But when you look at yourself in the mirror, I bet eighteen feels so young to you, doesn't it? Barely old enough to know where your clit is, and some man keeps insisting on fucking that pussy of yours."

Bethany blinks at her in the mirror, all of that confidence washed away. "My clit?"

Iris takes another step closer, and until she's practically brushing up against the hem of Bethany's pink mini-skirt.

"Oh, are you too young to have found your clit yet? Is eighteen just too much of a little baby to know where your clitty is?" Iris smirks at her now. "I bet you throb, sometimes, and don't even know why."

"I--"

Iris slots a leg between Bethany's thighs, and Bethany grinds down on it, gasping.

Once more unto the breach of @subliminalbo's Romero Literary Universe. This story references characters from the Obedience by Fleur series. This is also a prequel to Backend Support, though both stories (hopefully) stand on their own.

Thanks again to my friend @subliminalbo (also at @subliminalboarchive) for the art trade and collaboration.

Bailey Castillo set the clippers on the sink counter and rubbed the base of her skull. She was a queer woman, it certainly wasn't her first time getting an undercut. But it was the first time she'd done it to herself.

It made her smirk to herself. Given the grim nature of what she had talked herself into, Bailey could use all the levity she could muster.

She had an undercut when she met Ed. It was a good metaphor, she thought. Under that big head of dark curls, there was an edge. Her fresh face and polite smile were a mask, disguising survival instincts and a pragmatism you could only get by growing up Black, asexual, and female in Romero, Washington.

Bailey rubbed the shaving gel in her wet fingers until it foamed up. Smelling of peaches, she rubbed it on her shaved hair. After rinsing her hands, she rinsed the razor's blade, new and sharp, in the cold water of the faucet.

It seemed a strange offer. What did a lingerie company need with an embedded systems designer? Software devs for e-commerce, sure. But she specialized in hardware, in writing firmware, in the arcane art of assembly code.

Beggars couldn't be choosers, though. Not beggars who had a degree from the local party school, because Mamá got a discount on tuition, and it was what they could afford. Certainly not beggars who would take the first offer they could get that would get them away from this cesspool. Bailey shaved her neck and the undercut area with smooth, careful strokes.

Her first mistake was trusting. Trusting that if she did a good job - and her control array for Obedience by Fleur was, objectively, goddamn genius - she'd be recognized for it.

Bailey rinsed the razor of shaving cream and tiny black hairs. Won't make that mistake again.

She had overestimated Ed King. She bought his Silicon Valley rep, and failed to see he wasn't any different from Romero's traditional power brokers. He was a carnival barker, not a visionary like he thought he was. She was a commodity to him, not a person. If Obedience failed, she would've taken the blame; but since it succeeded, he was more than happy to take all the credit.

Bailey rubbed the smooth wet skin on her neck, checking for missed spots. Elena wasn't any better. She got what she wanted from Bailey, and that made her disposable. It was a blessing, really. Bailey was a natural beauty, but her curvy hips and thighs meant she wasn't model thin, and it also meant she was back at her mother's house in Romero, and not mindlessly, dutifully, licking Elena's designer boots.

Toweling off her neck, Bailey shifted away from the sink toward the 3D printer. She triple-checked her work.

When she first read about needleless tattoos in Wired, at all just clicked into place. A silicon ink payload in dissolvable microneedles. Putting the Obedience tech inside the subject. Permanently. Forget the sensors, pair the array with a fitness tracker or smartwatch. An AI sidecar to increase subject safety. No more brain damage.

Stealing the base software from Ed King? Bailey had no qualms about stealing from a thief. But she needed stake money. It was surprisingly easy to talk the Chinese triads into financing her. But they wanted proof before they pumped more yuan into her operation.

The 3D printer hummed to life as it printed the dissolvable needles, loaded with silicon ink, onto the dermal patch. This was, of course, a fork, custom firmware modified from the base model. Unfortunately, you can't just print a tiny one of these and slap it on a lab rat.

And experimenting on an unwilling human subject… That was something they would do. Bailey wasn't a monster. Not yet.

Mary nods, trying not to make a face. This sort of saccharine cheerfulness from service workers always grates at her. "It's for now," she says brusquely.

"You must be Mary!" The receptionist beams at her. "I will be taking care of you today, until I hand you over to our wonderful staff for your service. If you'll follow me."

She follows the receptionist through a wooden slatted door into a hallway that's all wood and tan and very, very warm. Most of the doors are closed, but the receptionist leads her into one with a chair, one of those elevated massage beds, and an organized mess of stuff on the counter in the back.

"I'll be doing your pre-massage today," the receptionist says with somehow more cheer than before. "So if you'll take off your clothes and hop up on the bed, we can get started."

Mary doesn't know what the fuck a pre-massage is, but given that she's here because everyone and their mother--and her mother--told her she needs to relax, she's going to trust it.

She strips, folding her clothes before dropping it on the chair, before clambering awkwardly onto the bed.

"Lie down on your back," the receptionist says from where she's fiddling with something over by the counter, "and close your eyes. The goal here is to get you relaxed before the massage, because people get all tense and anxious and that makes it so much harder."

Mary rolls her eyes but lies down anyway, closing her eyes. It's so warm that she doesn't feel even the slightest of chill even being totally naked. And maybe it would be weird that took off everything, but she didn't even think not to, and getting up now would be....

It would be....

Something drips right down through her pubic hair and between her labia, and she almost startles, almost opens her eyes, but it feels like too much effort.

"You're relaxing so well," the receptionist chirps from next to Mary.

"What--"

"Don't worry about it," she says brightly, and as more drips down, Mary doesn't. "It's just getting that clitty of yours all warm and tingly and ready for its massage. You want to have a good massage, don't you?"

"Uh huh," Mary mumbles.

"This is our secret to the best massages," the receptionist says conspiratorially. Hands settle on Mary's breasts, hot and covered in oil. "Is your clitty feeling tingly yet?"

"Uh huh."

"Great!" The hands leave Mary's breasts, only to smear the same oil all over her lips. Fingers press into her mouth, and she opens easily for them. "The best part is that it's edible, so they can massage you all the way down into your throat." The fingers fuck in and out of her mouth a few times, then slide out. They get wiped clean on Mary's cheek.

"Now just keep lying there and feeling all those nice warm tingles," the receptionist says, "and I'll get your masseuse for you."

“Avery, are you awake?” You whisper into the darkness.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” She sounds tired, as well as mopey.

You push yourself to a sitting position and feel around to click on the reading light clipped to the headboard. It casts a small warm glow across the bed. Just enough that you aren’t squinting, but not so much that it shocks you fully awake. Avery’s face becomes illuminated. Her bottom lip is jutting out and she’s rubbing her red eyes with two fists.

“What’s wrong? Why aren’t you sleeping? Do you need a change?” You grope around her crotch, but her diaper is seemingly dry.

“Just can’t. I can’t turn my brain off or get comfy. I think I’m nervous about one of my meetings tomorrow, but I don’t know,” She sounds close to tears.

“Oh, poor baby,” you say genuinely. She leans on your shoulder and you wrap you arms around her, “I know something that might help you.”

You pull down one strap of your loose fitting camisole and shuffle your body down a little, taking her with you. In the same movement you guide her head onto your breast. Avery’s mouth is already open as you lift your nipple up to her lips. She immediately latches on and flutters her eyelids, letting out a dreamy sigh.

She lays there for a few moments, eyes closed, keeping up a steady and soothing rhythm. There’s a barely audible thuck-thuck-thuck noise, but other than that the room is quiet. No traffic outside or rustling about, just you and Avery, connected.

“Is that better?”

“Mmhm.” She sighs deeply.

She’s slightly lower than you on the bed, head under your armpit, crotch near your knee. With one hand you pet the dark bangs away from her eyes while the other arm rests under her head. It’s relaxing for you too, and you feel yourself start to almost fall asleep again.

Right as your eyes are getting heavy you feel it. Something smooth and crinkly rubbing on your knee and upper thigh. Avery’s suckling picks up speed and intensity, as does the movement of her hips as she grinds her diaper into your leg.

“Oh, is that what this is all about? Someone couldn’t sleep because they needed Mommy’s boob to suck and leg to hump?”

Avery whines and shakes her head, eyes still closed. You can believe she had a genuinely hard time sleeping, but this isn’t the first time a late night has lead to this.

“Sometimes you’re too little to fall asleep by yourself. That’s ok. Sometimes you need Mommy to help you relax, to feel safe, to get all your anxious energy out. Isn’t that right?”

Your words make Avery rut even faster. Her breathing is picking up and she’s making a near constant stream of mews and whines now.

You remove the arm that was under her head so you can grab a fistful of her thick, dark hair. Your long fingers wrap the strands around and around then give a firm tug. Avery moans with your nipple in her mouth and grazes her teeth across it.

“Come on, baby, you can do it, Mommy knows you can,” you murmur. You tug on her hair a few more times, in rhythm with the up-down movement of her humping.

Soon, Avery’s mouth opens so wide your nipple falls out. She’s gasping for air as her feet twitch and kick. In the glow of the little light you can see just how flushed her face is. Even her baby hairs are sticking to her forehead.

“That’s a good girl, very, very good.”

After she’s come down from her orgasm and caught her breath she works her way back down to your breast. It’s slick with her drool. Your nipple is engorged and red.

“Im going to need that back, eventually,” you say with a smile.

“No. It’s mine. Mine forever,” she says before wrapping her lips back around you and giving a few lazy sucks.

Only a few minutes pass before she’s fallen asleep. Her breathing is deep and even, and her jaw has gone slack. You’re able to extract yourself from her mouth and put the strap of your top back.

Right as you reach out to turn out the light, you feel warmth grow where she’s pressed against your side. Sure enough, she’s wetting her diaper. Not a major flood, but enough that the once crisp padding now has some squish to it. It’s no problem, you know it’ll hold up for the rest of the night.