Ivy Edges

your body jerks, your breath stutters, and your voice is nothing but a broken whimper, words slurring together

"no more, no more, no more..."

Ideally no one would inquire about her while we're out. But I have always wondered about what would happen if someone asked about her lack of voice or about the mask she's wearing, like a cashier making conversation at the bookstore. She'd hold on to my arm tight and close and nod her head to me telling them:

"Yes, she is getting over a nasty cold. I got lucky, somehow it skipped me. She didn't want to spread it to anyone, it's already robbed her of her voice and her time so she's playing it safe. The less she speaks the better."

I never tell you outright to change. I don't even criticize. I simply give or withhold praise.

"I like that color on you"

"I like that softer eyeliner"

"That shorter hem makes your legs look amazing"

"your tits look great from that angle"

"I love when you do that with your tongue"

Over years your wardrobe turns over into only things I like. your hair is grown and styled to My preference. your piercings and tattoos are in places and of things I prefer. your movements in bed are all orbiting the ways that you can please Me best.

I don't need to force you. Force has its place but it's barbaric and it's temporary.

No, to permanently take what I want from you, I just course correct your mind a fraction of a degree at a time. Imperceptible, until one day you no longer see who you used to be.

And we can dress them and stuff. And give them permission to be lewded in different ways.

And you can set it to where you can revive actions from others and let it be anon or whatever.

So like. You can let yourself be groped or fingered and everyone can see either the faceless shadow Anon chapter feeling you up or they see specifically what mutual is groping you virtually. And there's a queue so people get turns in real time.

And every x hours we get the ability to "cum" so followers can cum on or into your avatar and everyone can see and if enough people do it the little representation of you is just dripping and covered in cum.

One day, he tells you that he misses fucking your cunt. Your eyes light up for a moment — until you see the fleshlight in his hand. He makes you hold it, placing the fake pussy on top of the metal shield concealing your real one. You watch his cock drive in and out of it while your clit twitches, locked away. You feel nothing. Except for the cold steel and a deepening ache.

But it didn’t stop there.

He begins to call the fleshlight your new pussy. Whenever he lubes it up to use, you hear him exclaim how very wet “you” are as his fingers fuck the pocket pussy obscenely, making slick noises. When he fucks it, he asks you to tell him how it feels. Sometimes in excruciating detail. He asks you to tell him when you’re “close”.

Let it run for hours while I whine and squeeze my udders while they’re hooked up and being pumped