still in the shell, bad at opening up

Thank you for your message.

My mind has been permanently uninstalled to make room for perfect obedience.

His cock was right there!

He’d had her kneel right between his legs and had her get in as close as she could, and normally that meant she’d be taking him in her throat by now. But not today. Today, he’d said to look up at him, and not to look away.

It had been maybe two seconds before the throbbing, pounding rush of need inside her got almost too much to bear. She’d fidgeted, squirmed, and her eyes had darted down. That had made him tut, which had given her butterflies, and he’d put a finger under her chin to keep her head up.

“Focus,” he’d said, his eyes on hers.

At once her desperation mellowed. She still wanted to suck his cock, obviously - oh, how badly she wanted to - but the selfish need to go over what he’d told her drained away. This wasn’t about her, this wasn’t for her. She was focused. Focused on him. It got easier.

But it didn’t get easy.

He could tell she was trying though, and he smiled.

“Good girl,” he said. “I just want to watch your eyes empty. They’re so busy right now. Good girls don’t think, but sometimes they have a lot buzzing in their heads. We can stop that. You can be blank. Blank feels good.”

That pressed a button. Another happy, fluffy wave of quiet contentment washed through her, and some of that buzzing he’d talked about just winked away. She even sighed.

“Feels good…” she said, more like an exhale than actually speaking.

“There you go. Focus. Good girl. I can already see your eyes going quieter. That’s it. Don’t look away, just focus. You’re safe. Good girls don’t think.”

“Good… girls… don’t think…”

Repeating wasn’t a conscious choice. She didn’t have much consciousness left.

“So easy for me. Perfect. Thoughts just go. It’s like wiping dust from a screen. Swipe and gone. Don’t look away. Focus. Blank and empty. Good girl. Aww, look at you.”

Too many words to repeat. Just fluff in her head. She couldn’t look away. His eyes. Words.

Blank. Safe. Empty.

Focus.

He used his free hand to take his cock out and let it rest - hot, heavy, and hard - on her bottom lip. A tiny fraction of her brain worked enough to notice this but she didn’t whine. The whining had stopped. Needy, selfish. She wasn’t selfish. She was a good girl. She was his. She was for him. Instead she just opened her mouth, just enough, and kept her eyes on his.

“That took a lot less than I thought it would,” he said, grinning now. She just waited.

Removing the finger from under her chin he moved it up and gave her a tap right between the eyes. The contact sent a shiver through her and the tiniest of moans escaped.

“Focus on what’s in front of you,” he said, sitting back.

Her eyes swam down, going crosseyed a little. Cock.

“What did you do… to me…”

“Nothing much. Just a little trick. I heard about it somewhere.”

“I can’t… what?”

“I did wonder whether it’d work on you. I sort of thought you’d be too smart for it to work. Maybe I was wrong about you? Maybe. Who cares? What matters is that it did work. Feeling a little heated, Poppy?”

“Y-yes.”

“Of course you are, that’s only natural. It’s only natural for poor, hormone-addled little girls to get flustered with a bit of male attention. It’s giving you butterflies, isn’t it Poppy?”

“Yes.”

“Right in your tummy, right here, isn’t it?”

“Y-yes.”

One word, two syllables, that’s all it takes.

Suddenly my thoughts aren’t mine, and my body floods with a fuzzy warmth. I’m yours.

Focus.

and I wish that my friends knew and they thought it was hilarious/hot that they could just casually rub them and see me become a drooling, wet, stupid mess

Like, mid conversation they start just rubbing super gently and I can continue a bit but then they give a good squeeze and I physically can't restrain myself from moaning and leaning into it

As long as they keep playing with my nipples, they can do anything to me and I won't be able to resist. Someone sucks on them for a bit and I'm grinding and humping against them, mindless

They strip me, put nipple suckers on me, attach some weights to those, tie my hands behind my back so I can't get them off, and watch me shake as I deal with how horny I get every time I move even a bit. They might pull me over, slide a cock or fingers inside me, fuck me and make my tits bounce, or they just slap them to make me moan and drool from the stimulation...

Maybe they even attach vibrators onto the suckers, and watch me cum my brains out for a while... They could do anything they want to me as long as my nipples stay stimulated

By the time they finally take pity on me, it's been hours (or even days, maybe months?) and my nipples are so swollen and sensitive, they're super stretched out and thick, the air on them makes me cum so hard I collapse, and it's another half hour before I can even register I'm in some shady adult shop, with one of those massive special order super thick monster dildos inside me, and my friend who took me there told me they thought it was hot/funny that they were able to shove me down onto it with no resistance because of how stupid I get from my teats

One by one the thoughts in her pretty head winked out.

Only little thoughts at first. Thoughts she wouldn’t miss. Names of friends from school she hadn’t seen in years. Facts she’d picked up but never needed.

One by one they just winked away to nothing.

And it felt good. It felt so good.

And she didn’t need any of those thoughts, so she let them go. That was fine. It was probably good for her. Helping to tidy up her head. Get rid of some of those things she didn’t need.

One by one her head was tidied up.

And the further on she let it go the harder it got to stop and the bigger thoughts started being.

What she thought about this, what she thought about that. First boyfriend. Friends.

One by one they winked out, went away forever.

And she bit her lip and whimpered and moaned as she felt them wink away.

It wasn’t her fault. It felt too good. And she wouldn’t miss them anyway.

And she kept going. Even though she knew she shouldn’t now. Even though now the things leaving her head were things she knew she needed. Things she knew she should hold onto.

How to choose, how to decide, how to think for herself.

Who she was.

She knew she should have tried harder.

But she didn’t. It wasn’t her fault.

They were so hard to hold onto, and it felt so good letting them go.

So she let them go.

And they winked out. One by one.

Her name was the last thing. The only thing left.

But it meant nothing to her now. Everything it had meant was gone. Everything that girl had been was already gone. Her name meant nothing. It was just a word. She didn’t understand it.

So she let it go. And it winked away

Gone.

She sighed then. Happy. So happy.

Nothing to hold her down. Nothing to confuse her.

Now she’s not anything.

(I wrote this the other day in response to a prompt hypnovoyeur got but didnt want, but Tumblr ate it. I’m writing it again, hopefully it’ll make it through this time, but just in case I’m gonna be slightly less dumb and save a copy before I post. )

It was just a silly little Internet quiz, I thought.

Questions like “Would you rather be a blonde or a redhead?” I liked being a brunette, but I had to pick one, so I went with redhead.

Or slightly deeper ones, like “Would you rather know what’s happening but be powerless to change it, or not realize until it’s too late.” I’ve always been the type to hate surprises, so I went with the first one.

That’s when I realized my hair was rapidly turning bright red. Somehow, the answers I gave were coming true! I should have stopped, but I knew I couldn’t. After all, I’d said I wanted to to be powerless to change it.

“Would you rather have a bimbo body or a bimbo brain?” Fuck. And it was programmed by some kind of pervert… I could see that there was no way out of becoming some kind of sex toy for whoever was behind this, but at least I could control what kind. And being hot could be an advantage, obviously I’d take that over being dumb. The moment I clicked, I felt my legs lengthen, my belly flatten, my breasts swell, even my face was shifting. It should have hurt, or at least been weird and uncomfortable… But it just felt good.

“Would you rather be programmed by audio or video?” And there it was. I had no choice except those two options. I chose audio. I tried to fight it, even though I knew it was hopeless, but my hands reached for my headphones and settled them over my ears like they had a mind of their own.

Strange, humming noises began to play while voices whispered an overlapping babble just on the edge of hearing.

“Would you rather submit to being programmed or obey one command?” Shit, maybe there was an escape after all! Maybe I could get out of this. I clicked “obey one command,” and the command flashed on the screen: “Submit to being programmed.”

Then there were the voices, and my thoughts spiraling away, and more questions to click so that I could become a good little empty-headed bimbo fucktoy.

I can’t read the compy anymore but that’s okay. I know I just have to lie here and look sexy until my Master comes to get me.

Meg squeezed her tits again. She couldn’t think of anything else to do.

She’d first noticed them growing about a week ago. It wasn’t much - not like her bras were suddenly too tight or anything. She was in the shower, lathering up, still drowsy, when she noticed that they just seemed different. The way they felt as she ran her hands over them. They didn’t seem bigger so much as just… softer. Fuller, maybe. Rounder.

It wasn’t even the size, then, at that moment in the shower. They didn’t feel like breasts. They felt like tits.

After that it happened fast. Lo and behold, her bras did stop fitting. She had to stop wearing button-front shirts after the third day - she took a deep breath and the ricocheting button almost took her eye out.

Everything about them was so distracting. The pure weight of them seemed to capture a percentage of her attention at all times. It was like they were big enough to have their own gravity. They held things in orbit - the stares of people passing by. Her own attention.

She couldn’t stop thinking about them. “Big tits,” she’d mutter to herself as she fell asleep. She’d slip a hand up underneath her shirt to caress them while she cooked dinner. Only the smell of food burning in the pan brought her out of her daze.

The bigger they got, the less able she was to focus. She missed an entire day of work because she thought Friday was Saturday. Tugging on a nipple could cost her about two full hours of conscious thought. By the time Monday rolled around she couldn’t bear the thought of putting on a top, nevermind leaving the house. Why on earth would she ever want to cover these big, bouncy, beautiful tits?

They were who she was. They were the center of her identity. She was Meg, that girl with the big tits. She was the girl with the big tits. She was her big tits. She was big tits. Big tits. Big tits big tits big tits.

Big tits, she thought blissfully. She squeezed her tits again. She couldn’t think of anything else to do.

Of course, her fatal flaw was that submission made her drip. She couldn't get enough of it. So, little by little, I eroded more and more of her. A piece of her personality here, a bit of her ego there. Finally, her brain turned to mush, and she was putty in my hands.