The nurse’s stare was angry, challenging, but Robert could tell that it was nothing more than the fading embers of her resistance showing themselves to his piercing gaze. She’d already stripped off her starched blouse and constricting bra to reveal the massive tits that had first brought her to his attention, and her hand pumped up and down on his shaft with an eager abandon that left him gushing precum onto her stroking fingers. Her body had already gotten the message. It was only her weak, feeble brain that still thought it stood a chance at defiance. He reached into her mind and intensified the pleasure she felt when she obeyed, enjoying her struggle too much to simply end it in a single moment.

Her defiant gaze unfocused for just a moment, the waves of sleepy bliss taking the nurse out of her own consciousness entirely and leaving her a slack-jawed pleasure puppet for the tiniest instant before she struggled to recover herself. “I sh-shouldn’t–yuh, you’re not s-supposed to–you, you’re… you’re….” The words came out in blurts and stammers, the last sputtering efforts of a consciousness that had almost completely stopped working thanks to Robert’s telepathic sabotage. Drool trickled down her chin, dribbling onto his slick, throbbing cock, but the furious indignation in her eyes remained. Even after she stopped knowing what she was doing, why it was inappropriate to give a visitor a handjob in the middle of the guest lounge, she understood that her authority was being flouted. That stuck in her increasingly empty head, even as everything else leaked out between her thighs.

“I. You. I… I….” Robert could see the concept desperately trying to cohere inside her lust-drugged brain, repeatedly forming and flying apart as her understanding of hospital rules and regulations smashed time and time again into the wall of mindless ecstasy she experienced whenever she gave in and stopped thinking about anything but stroking Robert’s cock until it shot its load all over her pretty pink skin. She knew he wasn’t supposed to be there. She knew, intuitively and instinctively, what she was supposed to do and say when confronting someone who hadn’t signed in at the front desk and gotten a visitor’s badge. But she also knew that she was a vacant, horny fucktoy and she needed to obey. The clash in her head between the two conflicting concepts was almost sexier than what she was doing to his penis.

But luckily, Robert didn’t have to choose. His balls tightened, the self-discipline of his mental powers only helping him so much in the face of such relentless physical stimulation. Responding to his arousal, the nurse wriggled out of her skirt, shoving her free hand into her panties to masturbate herself to climax for him while she stroked. Robert could feel the tension bubbling away underneath her arousal; she was worried about being caught, exposed to her colleagues and to any legitimate visitors as a horny, mindless slut who loved to jack off strangers. Robert knew they wouldn’t be interrupted, of course–he was broadcasting a powerful aversion to the room for everyone who wasn’t himself and the nurse who’d struck his interest. But he enjoyed watching her anxiety war with her excitement and lose. It was a rigged game, his favorite type.

At long last, he could contain his excitement no longer, and a gush of semen spurted out to splash onto the nurse’s chin and chest and into her pretty, vacant mouth. Her resistance collapsed like a house of cards, the utter bliss of being used as a receptacle for his cum finally emptying out her mind and leaving her blank and compliant and eager to please. He thought about leaving her like that, walking out of the hospital with her still coated with his jizz and wearing nothing but a pair of panties… but no. Not when he could always play this game again with her some other day. With a gentle smile, he guided the nurse into cleaning them up and getting dressed, before wiping away the memories of their encounter and walking out of the room.

It took Laura a couple of days to get settled in, but that was always the way of it on vacation. You needed to learn where the shops were, you needed to find out which local restaurants made the best food, you needed to find a single woman and get her alone for an uninterrupted hour so that you could use your hacked smartphone app to brainwash them into your lesbian sex slave and then jailbreak their phone so they could install it and use it on others. It was frankly kind of exhausting, but Laura knew that she had a whole month on the cruise ship to relax and unwind once everyone on board worshiped her with blank and mindless devotion.

Those first few days were a whirlwind of activity. Shauna became her first obedient slave, her lieutenant and eager co-conspirator in finding the next woman to seduce into submissive lesbian bliss. Shauna helped her snag Becky and Clara, and at that point since Clara had decided on a ‘screen-free vacation’ (the irony still made Laura chuckle days later) Laura decided to split them off into pairs to hunt the next victim. She’d done a little homework, and she knew that there were 3,000 passengers and a little over 1,500 crew. It would take her the entire trip to get them all under her thumb if she was working by herself, but that was the lovely thing about her little app–she could clone it from one phone to another within minutes. By the end of the first day, she had over five hundred hypnotized toys to play with.

The second day, she instructed her new slaves to prioritize the staff. Not only were they easy to capture–they made a point of deferring to passengers’ wishes, made themselves available for even the most absurd requests (like 'Can you take a look at my phone? I think something’s wrong with it’) and they even showed up at your room when you called–but they were also high-value targets, as well. A cruise like this was simply filled with activities, and seeding her obedient pets among the staff and the guests meant that she could simply organize a mass takeover of a given event before anyone knew what was happening. Day two ended with almost complete control of the employees, and easily two-thirds of her fellow vacationers. Laura slept that night with a whole harem of lovers and enjoyed every second of it.

The third day brought a few complications, but nothing she wasn’t expecting. Once the majority of the people on board were her mindless sex slaves, she knew that a few people were going to notice something strange happening. In some ways, it sped the process along–most of her slaves had instructions to listen sympathetically to any conspiracy theories about 'lesbian brainwashing apps’ until they could get their next victims alone, and the most likely to cause trouble wound up self-prioritizing their own programming sessions. And with the staff firmly under control now, she didn’t have to worry about anyone getting out a warning. Laura could decide who accessed the outside world.

By the fifth day, everything was all nicely settled. The men stayed in their rooms, enjoying a happy little mental vacation that kept them calm and peaceful and out of Laura’s way, and the decks were filled with naked sunbathers for her to pick and choose from whenever she wanted company. She had three whole weeks to really relax… and once she got home, it would only be a matter of days before her next cruise began.

“Um… could you just take it off?” It’s not hard to figure out what Louisa is talking about; the crimson heart-shaped pendant dangling between her pale, pert breasts is the only thing even close to clothing the young woman still has on. You can see everything you’ve ever wondered about, from her stiff pink nipples to her smooth, shaven pubic mound to her delicately parted labia. Somehow, the bright red against her soft, alabaster skin sets it all off perfectly. It’s the most gorgeous aesthetic you could possibly imagine, your lovely friend offering her beauty to you at last with the perfect symbol of her lust rising and falling every time she breathes. You’d hate to see her remove it.

You’d hate it more than anything, really. When she reaches down and fiddles with the cord around her neck, you almost want to pull her hand away. But she doesn’t seem to be able to make her hand lift the pendant up and over her head. Instead, she looks at you with pleading eyes and says, “It’s just… I, um, I think it might be doing something to me. Ever since I put it on back at that thrift shop, I’ve been feeling… um, horny. Like, really turned on. I, I think it made me take off my clothes, even. And I, I can’t seem to make myself want to take it off. So if you could, you know, just help me out a little? I know it sounds weird, but I just, I need you to do it for me.” She bites her lower lip, clearly hesitant about revealing her vulnerability. “Please.”

You stare at her in impassive silence, hating yourself for your indecision but unable to refute the inexorable, remorseless chain of logic that leads you to postpone your assistance just a little bit longer. If Louisa is right–and you’re somehow absolutely certain that she is, the heart-shaped pendant seems almost to glow with an inner radiance that’s intuitively magical to your captivated eyes–then the necklace’s effect on her would end if you took it off. She would put her clothes back on, she’d stop squirming and swaying in place in an effort to tease her slick labia against her throbbing clit, she might even be angry at you for watching instead of looking at you with the most adorably meek and submissive expression on her face. She… she wouldn’t be yours. The spell is making her yours. Suddenly you can’t imagine wanting anything more than that.

She speaks again, filling the silence with nervous chatter. “I, um, if you’re thinking about… um, about maybe needing a favor out of all this, for helping me, we… I mean, we could do something together. Afterwards, I mean. I’ll be very grateful, and I know we’ve never really thought of each other, you know, that way, I’m sure I could… make you happy. I, I’d like to make you happy.” Louisa’s fingers move down unconsciously to tease her pussy, coming away wet. You begin to remove your clothes. “Um, m-maybe we could, uhhhh, we could do that first, I guess, and then… I mean, I want you to take it off, but–” You can see her eyes going glassy and unfocused, the spell of the pendant unwinding her thoughts before building them back up in a new pattern of sex and submission. “But could we fuck first? Could, oh jesus, could you please fuck me? Please?”

She bites her lower lip, a new kind of hesitation about her vulnerability suffusing her features. But she has nothing to worry about. Not with you there to help her get all the sex she needs.

It was another one of those lazy Saturday afternoons, the kind of day where the streaming sunlight filled the room with soporific warmth and the television became a muted drone in Melody’s ears and she found her bright blue eyes staring at the inside of her own eyelids for longer and longer stretches. Melody had experienced this kind of day enough times to know that she wasn’t about to recover the determination to take care of the dishes anytime soon, not without a little nap to clear her head. She levered herself up off the couch and stumbled to the bedroom in a sleepy daze.

By the time she was done fumbling with her phone, sending a last garbled text to the person she’d been chatting with and setting an alarm to make sure she wouldn’t oversleep, even the modest effort required to crawl under the covers seemed too much like work. Melody shucked her shirt and leggings off with a grunt of exertion and flopped forward onto the bedspread, her cornflower blonde hair spilling across her pale pink features as her brain simply collapsed into an exhausted sleep. She couldn’t stay awake even a moment longer, not on a day like this. It was better just to give in to her drowsy, vulnerable lethargy and let herself sleep deeply for a while.

And she was sleeping deeply, she realized. Even when Melody heard the front door of her apartment open and close, the dreamy lassitude that gripped her prevented the young woman’s eyelids from so much as fluttering into awareness. She was sleeping to soundly to wonder why she left the bolt withdrawn and the chain hanging down, or who might know that she was lying on her bed in such a limp and vulnerable state. Figuring those things out involved thought, and Melody was too tired to think. Too sleepy to remember. And it felt too good to be drowsy and blank and relaxed.

Nothing woke Melody when she was tired like this. The footsteps coming into the bedroom didn’t wake her. The sound of rustling fabric didn’t wake her. Even the weight on the mattress, shifting her center of gravity to a noticeable degree as if someone tall and muscular and powerful had just climbed onto the bed with her failed to rouse Melody from the deep, mindless stupor she was experiencing. She only sighed and sank deeper into slumber, the hands that parted her thighs and the cock that sank into her tight, slick pussy another part of the warm and wonderful dream she was having. She had dreams like that sometimes. Dreams of being tugged into sleep by a message on her phone and fucked like a fleshlight while she slept.

Those dreams always felt so amazing, though. So vivid and real, as though the hips smacking into her plush and padded ass again and again were those of a real man and not just the product of Melody’s overactive imagination. She always came during those dreams–something about the driving, powerful thrusts that pushed her into the mattress and the feeling of delicious helplessness sparking her clit into one climax after another until she moaned and whimpered in her sleep. And when the dream ended, leaving Melody with the unmistakable sensation of semen trickling out of her slick, messy cunt, she always knew that she would need to sleep again and dream again the next lazy Saturday afternoon. Because nothing felt as good as being fucked while her mind dozed and drifted for her Master.

The shutter clicks mere fractions of a second after the stimulus is applied, capturing Joan in the instant that pain flips over to pleasure in her brain. In the picture, her mouth is caught just as it opens in a moan of ecstasy, her eyes just as they sink shut with pure and eager bliss. It’s one of his favorites, not that he’d ever tell Joan that. It took hours of convincing to get her to believe that there’s any scientific purpose to this experiment at all; if she knew how much he enjoyed watching his subjects at the moment of their transformation, she would never trust him again. And Doctor Billings wants Joan to keep trusting him.

Still, though, she’s so beautiful like that. He’s sometimes fantasized about building a permanent implant, a device that stimulates the precisely targeted area of the brain on a regular basis the same way his carefully inserted probe does for just a few seconds at a time. He thinks about Joan–or sometimes Hayley or sometimes Melissa or one of a very few special women who look particularly beautiful in the moment of their surrender to rapturous ecstasy–no longer struggling to manage the discomfort of the restraints or the pain of the clamps against their nipples but actively savoring the sensation instead. He’d have to take good care of them, of course; if he kept that tiny patch of neurons constantly excited, continuously firing, those women would experience literally everything as pleasure. They wouldn’t be able to differentiate between a finger in their pussy and hot wax trickling down their skin. Doctor Billings would have to watch them all the time.

But he’d gain such valuable insights, he tells himself as his hand drifts down between his legs, as he rubs his erection through his trousers while he stares at the photo of Joan’s rapt, astonished bliss. If he implanted a device that tricked their brains into experiencing pain as pleasure, he’d learn so much about the human response to sensation. If he whipped Joan while the device was on, would she beg him to flog her harder? If he tied her up, would she enjoy the ropes as they dug into her pale pink skin? Would she develop a fetish for pain, crave the most extreme forms of masochism and worship him for punishing her flesh? He insists that it’s purely an exercise in intellectual curiosity. He undoes his fly and pulls out his cock anyway.

Of course he knows that whatever his motivations, the thoughts can’t spill out into reality. Joan is a person, not a fantasy, and he has ethical considerations to think about. Even if he sees her sometimes during the pain experiments begging him to clamp her nipples harder, tighten the restraints around her wrists, do anything and everything to give her more of the pleasure she craves, it’s not the same as informed consent. He couldn’t possibly place her into that state on a perpetual basis, impair her judgment with a device that would simply turn her into the needy masochist he desires. That would be wrong. The plans he has for the implant are, they’re, they’re just hypothetical. Purely hypothetical.

Doctor Billings tells himself that every time he climaxes. Then he cleans himself up, gets back to his work… and every so often, he glances at Joan’s photo again.

“Are–are they good enough, Mister?” Sandi whimpered, pulling down her shirt to reveal her bare pink tits to the man in the park. She didn’t have a bra on under the thin cotton fabric; she’d learned the hard way more than once that the more work she had to do to expose herself to strangers, the less likely they were to feed her their hard cocks. Sandi didn’t want to watch another guy walk by while her drooling mouth ached to swallow his shaft all the way down her throat, not after so many patient days at home while the programming took root in her obedient brain. She was determined to show this stranger what a good little cocksucker she could be.

Thankfully, it looked like she was going to get her chance. “You can taste the tip,” he said, undoing his fly and pulling his cock out of his boxers to jut directly in front of Sandi’s drooling mouth. It looked bigger up close and personal than the ones in the training videos she’d been watching for the last few weeks, and for just a moment she wondered if she’d really be able to take it all the way down her throat. But then she felt the deep, drowsy pulse of pleasure at the base of her brain, relaxing her muscles and numbing her gag reflex, and Sandi knew that she was too well-trained to do it wrong. She was going to make her programmers proud. With a lascivious smile, she stuck out her long tongue and scooped a bead of precum from the slit at the very tip of the stranger’s penis.

She could tell just by the sound of his low, rumbling sigh and the flutter in his eyelids that she’d done well, but Sandi didn’t want to be presumptuous. She continued to flick her tongue up and down the little fold of flesh at the tip of his cock, licking him as if he were the world’s best lollipop in her very favorite flavor. Which he kind of was, now. Sandi still liked all kinds of food, but nothing made her feel as satisfied as warm cum leaking out of a softening shaft onto her tastebuds as it pulled out of her mouth. Nothing could, now. Sandi ached to beg him to fuck her face, but she couldn’t speak. Not while she was satisfying the stranger’s penis. She had to hope that she was making him horny enough to want more.

His hands flexed at his sides, and Sandi looked up at him with radiant hope in her eyes as she continued to massage his frenulum with her tongue. She’d spent so long on those special videos, days and days of watching nothing but strobing flashes interspersed with important lessons that her dazed mind soaked up with eager dedication. She’d been trying for almost two days now to get a cock in her mouth like they instructed her to. She had to prove herself to him. She had to show everyone that she’d been perfectly trained to serve and obey. Another lick, and then another as Sandi demonstrated her new oral skills on the stranger’s dick.

And then he was grabbing her head, his fingers tangling in her long blonde hair as he shoved his shaft all the way down her relaxed throat in a single rough thrust. Sandi was delighted to find that she accommodated him easily, her mouth acting just like a second cunt as he fucked her face for what seemed like only moments before pulling out and shooting his load all over her smiling cheeks. She sighed in pure, vacant bliss. She knew that she’d get another cock soon now that she had the evidence of her skills all over her pale, soft skin. And maybe soon someone would take her and claim her and make her their happy cockslut forever.

“I… I love it, it’s so, so….” Cindi’s voice trails off into another distracted moan, the music in her ears compelling her to tune out her surroundings once again and listen to the thumping, pulsing techno beat. She doesn’t notice the subtle whispers inside the tune, lyrics she can’t consciously make out that nonetheless sound so true and reasonable that she finds herself nodding along to every word. She doesn’t even really notice that her clothing lies on the floor around her in shreds and tatters; the only thing that registers with Cindi is that her soft pink tits and broad brown nipples are easier to play with now. And that makes her almost as happy as the wonderful present she received from her boyfriend.

She smiles wider, letting her head fall back, her blonde hair spilling down her back as she pinches her nipples rhythmically. “Thank you so much, I… I….” Cindi wants to repay the favor somehow, to show Chris just how appreciative she is for his thoughtfulness and kindness in buying her the very latest in MP3 players, but she doesn’t quite know what to give him in return. The music hints softly and subtly at something she can do to pay him back, but Cindi hasn’t picked up all the details yet. She needs to listen a little longer, she realizes. She needs to let the song finish so that she can understand how to truly make her special man happy the way he really wants. She has no idea that she’s been standing in the kitchen for almost an hour now, listening to the same tune over and over and playing with her tits until her leaking cunt leaves a puddle on the floor between her feet.

If she did know, Cindi wouldn’t care. The throbbing music has anesthetized her will, subsuming her volition beneath wave after wave of seductive arousal until her every thought falls apart into fragments of lazy bliss. “S-so nice,” she mumbles, her eyes opening just long enough to catch sight of the MP3 player resting on the counter with its cord leading up to the earbuds that are her sole remaining article of clothing. Then another pulse of bass shakes her mind and whatever she was trying to say simply crumbles under the vibration inside her head. She notices that her hands are on her tits as though the world had begun in this moment, and the act of rediscovering her nipples preoccupies her for another ageless stretch of time.

She manages a confused, sleepy mewl of discontent when Chris pulls her hands away from her breasts and places them on the counter, but before she can vocalize it in words his cock is entering her from behind and Cindi moans in guttural ecstasy. Technically, she’s not finished with her programming yet–the instruction manual that Chris diligently read before burning advised at least three hours for the initial session, to give the music all the time it needs to overcome any existing resistance before implanting its subliminal programming into Cindi’s blank and foggy mind–but she’s coming along nicely. And he doesn’t want to wait any longer to empty his balls into her slick, soaking cunt.

“Y-yes, ohhh, oh please, please fuck me Master….” Cindi’s never called her boyfriend ‘Master’ before. She doesn’t even consciously realize she’s doing it now. But her pussy clenches around his shaft when the word escapes her lips, and it feels so right in her mouth that her brain has already associated it with tight, wet, irresistible pleasure. Her unfocused eyes stare at the MP3 player as Chris pounds her cunt, and the only thought she can hold on to is just how happy her new present has made her. She doesn’t understand that her obedience is the gift he received in return.

“I… I think the hypnosis files are working.” The words escape Lea’s lips in a soft, drowsy monotone, the only real sign that she’s noticed your presence in the room at all. Her eyes gaze blankly into the middle distance, staring at nothing; you can almost see the spiral turning inside her mind, more real and vivid and compelling than anything the world around her has to offer. If not for the single, almost indifferent comment, you’d almost think that she was asleep with her eyes open. Asleep, and dreaming of all the wonderful pleasures that obedience promises her.

She must be enjoying her dream. Her nipples have gathered into tight, stiff buds on her chest, standing up firmly from her small breasts as though she’s been strumming them with her fingers for hours. Her shaved cunt is flushed with arousal underneath her summer tan–you wonder if she made it bare and smooth for you once the hypnosis files did their work on her vulnerable mind, or if she simply wanted a better look for bikini season and your suggestions reinforced her enjoyment of the aesthetic. Either way, you can see the musk clinging to her labia perfectly. She’s so turned on right now. She’s so happy to finally surrender to her programming.

You’re almost surprised it took this long to win the bet, really. Oh, you never doubted Lea’s willpower, and her intelligence was never in question, but… five hours a day, every day? Putting on her headphones as soon as she got home from work in the afternoon, and not taking them off until it was time for her to fall asleep? Keeping a spiral on at least one screen at all times, no matter where she was and what she was doing? Three months of that would be enough to condition anyone. And you half-suspected even when Lea made the bet that she was simply giving herself an excuse to do what she already wanted. Nobody offered up that much of their time and energy just to prove a point. Not even with sixty thousand dollars at stake.

You approach closer, sitting down on the bed next to her and hesitantly reaching out to stroke one lightly tanned thigh. Lea still doesn’t acknowledge your presence, not consciously, but she lets out a small sigh of helpless pleasure and the scent of sex grows stronger. You wonder whether she even knows that she’s in your bedroom. Did she realize when her resistance finally collapsed under the weight of her arousal and made your suggestions irresistible to her drowsy, susceptible brain? Or did she simply sink into a warm, blissful dream to the sound of your voice and give in to a fantasy that her mesmerized body made all too real? Either way, it doesn’t matter. The terms of the bet were very clear. If you could reshape her mind to want to be your sex slave, Lea gave you carte blanche to do anything you wanted. “I’ll stop you if I really don’t like it,” she said. She’s not stopping you now.

Your fingers tease their way slowly along Lea’s skin, coming closer and closer to the soaking folds of her slick, needy pussy. You know you can do more–you know you can do anything to her now, twisting her thoughts and memories around until she’s fully convinced she always wanted to be brainwashed by the hypnosis files she once mocked–but this first time, all you want to do is touch her. To rest your hand on her body and know that you possess it, just like you do the rest of her. You cup her vulva, feeling its warmth against your palm with the most intense rush of power you’ve ever experienced, and your lips spread into a warm smile as you finally hear your new slave moan at your touch.

Terri loved to watch Doug’s face while he fucked her tits. Really, she loved to watch the way he watched her tits while he fucked her tits–she wasn’t especially switchy, and a big part of her responded more to being used like a human fleshlight every time she pressed her cleavage together, but she still felt a warm glow of pride when she saw the distracted look in his eyes and knew that he was just a little bit hypnotized by the slick valley between her oiled-up breasts. His thrusts became that much more rhythmic, his expression that much more preoccupied, and she could feel the precum dribbling out against her soft, pale, oh so sensitive skin. Terri had been put into more than enough trances to recognize the signs when she saw them.

She never thought about doing anything about it. Most of the time she didn’t think, period; her Master had a way of putting her under before he used her limp, drowsy body, and often Terri was so blank and passive that she barely registered the effect her submission had on Doug until he shot his load all over her big, heavy tits. But there were times when he woke her up, eager to test out the new bit of programming that they’d worked on that session, and Terri’s groggy, slutty brain usually wound up focused on getting him horny so that he would make his cock spurt all over her boobs. And she could tell what her dirty talk and big, pillowy breasts did to him. How could she not? A naked man had more tells than a poker player doped up on truth serum. Every time his shaft twitched and bobbed, she knew what kind of effect she was having.

It made Terri… well, not switchy, of course. Even if she knew that in those weak, vulnerable moments where her soft breasts enfolded his aching shaft and drove him on to a single-minded focus on releasing his jizz that bordered on mesmerism, Terri loved being owned too much to want to reach out and take advantage of Doug’s vulnerability. She wasn’t switchy at all. But she admitted, in her private moments, to becoming a little more playful when her Master wasn’t thinking so much anymore. A little more coaxing, a little bit more willing to encourage him to stop thinking and spill out the contents of his churning balls onto her slutty tits the way he’d programmed her to crave. It was the most lovely little power exchange within a power exchange, a slave taking the reins to help her Master enslave her deeper. It felt wonderful and special and so fucking hot.

And it always culminated in the most gorgeous look of blank, mindless lust. In those last few instants, before she felt warm sticky goo splatter her chest and her neck and the soft valley between her tits, Terri always saw her Master’s eyes go unfocused and glassy as the sheer erotic power of her breasts overwhelmed him and he thought of nothing but the moment of his climax. Terri understood in those moments just what she must look like when she came for Doug, what he must see when he watched her moan and quake and shudder in mindless ecstasy under his control. And when she felt him gushing out the inevitable results of that climax, Terri always found herself cumming just thinking about how good it felt to be used by her Master’s perfect cock.

Professor Gleason chuckled. It didn’t sound like the movies–there were no high, shrieking cackles of defiant triumph, no throwing back of the head in a rictus grin–but Megan had no doubt that it was the laugh of a mad scientist nonetheless. “It’s not so bad now, is it, Miss Danforth?” the older woman murmured, sounding almost as if she was trying to comfort the struggling young student with the long dark hair and the all-over tan she never expected her mentor to see. “It’s actually quite pleasant once they begin to properly map your nervous system. In a few minutes, you won’t know why you ever wanted to fight me in the first place.”

Megan tried once again to rise, but the mouth that pressed tight against her clit sent another surge of pleasure through her body, defeating her efforts almost before they could even begin. Megan sank back against the cool marble bench, her mind once again overwhelmed by a sensation of radiant bliss that seemed to come from everywhere at once. “Yyyyou, I w-won’t, I, I, I,” she stammered out, her synapses misfiring again and again until speech simply deserted her. Her protestations of defiance sputtered and died on lips that forgot how to do anything but moan, and the world went red as she climaxed under the gynoid’s precise, inexorable ministrations.

“Of course I will.” Professor Gleason walked over and began to pinch Megan’s nipples, adding yet more sensation to the intoxicating sea of chemical bliss that saturated the younger woman’s groggy brain. She didn’t know where her clothes were. She didn’t remember taking them off. “After all, Megan, even though you knew what I was working on, even though you thought you were on your guard against being ambushed… my gynoid still fooled you, didn’t it? It looked absolutely identical to a human woman, right up until the very moment that it interfaced with your nervous system and incapacitated you. If it can get to you, nobody else stands a chance.”

It was such a cold, clinical way to refer to the blonde woman who knelt between Megan’s thighs and lavished sensual attention onto her pussy. It didn’t remotely do justice to the wave of dizzying pleasure she felt when the stranger’s fingers brushed against the back of Megan’s neck as she passed by, leaving the brunette momentarily disoriented and vulnerable. The robot’s artificial nerves connected with Megan’s natural ones in that instant, sending a pulse of pure ecstasy into Megan’s brain that overwhelmed her frontal lobe and left her susceptible to another caress, another embrace, more and more touches until Megan couldn’t think anymore. And soon the gynoid would do Megan’s thinking for her from now on.

That was the ultimate goal, she knew, the true purpose of the machine’s lascivious attention to Megan’s soaking cunt. It was using the constant waves of stimulation to map out her mind, constructing a complete schematic of her neural network by pinging it with signal after signal after slick, mindfucking signal until it knew exactly where Megan’s consciousness resided. Keeping her overwhelmed and off-balance was merely a fringe benefit, a means of imprisonment without restraints while the gynoid did what needed to be done. Once it knew how Megan thought, it could rewrite her consciousness and make her completely subservient to Professor Gleason. Her, and anyone else. “I–nnnNNNHHH!” Megan grunted, her last gasp of defiance before she sank into her new owner’s control once and for all.

“N-no, I… you’re right, I should stop, it just… it tastes so good….” That’s all Leigh manages to get out before her mouth returns to Emma’s soft, pale skin and she finds herself licking away more of the sticky residue from the other woman’s body. She’s aware that her behavior is abnormal; even if she identified as gay or bisexual, an active decontamination chamber is exactly the wrong place to go about rubbing her tongue against another woman’s flesh. To say nothing of the fact that Emma is a colleague. A straight colleague. A straight colleague who’s not asking Emma to clean every inch of her like this.

Not that Emma’s stopping Leigh. She’s protesting, yes, murmuring things like, “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” but it’s a feeble and abstract demurral at best. The explosion miraculously appears to have left Emma entirely unscathed, albeit soaked with the results of whatever toxic brew that occurred when the various chemicals interacted; if she wanted to push Leigh’s mouth away from her naked body, she could do so. But she’s not. She’s not stopping Leigh from licking every last droplet of the mysterious substance off of her pert breasts, her pebbly nipples, her… Leigh grunts in arousal, leaning in to grind her pussy against Emma’s soft thigh. She knows she shouldn’t. But like Emma, she doesn’t want this to stop.

A voice breaks in over the intercom, concerned tones echoing in the small metal room. “Doctor Seaborg, are you able to re-don your hazmat suit?” Leigh would laugh, if her mouth wasn’t so completely occupied. She already knows the hazmat suit won’t help–whatever the chemical is, it went through the seals around her helmet like they didn’t exist. And besides, if she put the suit back on and if it worked, she’d have to give up the wonderful scent and the exquisite taste of the chemical residue that coats Emma’s skin. She doesn’t want to do that. She wants to lick up every last drop. Maybe if she does that, if she ingests it all into her system so that not a single molecule clings to Emma’s delicate flesh, then Emma will snap out of her lethargy and be able to tell the others what happened. Maybe then she can help Leigh in return.

It’s not really an excuse. It’s barely even a fig leaf covering Leigh’s implacable desire to slurp and suck and lick and nuzzle every square inch of the other woman’s warm flesh until the hot tingles of pleasure in her brain become an unceasing throb of pure bliss. She knows the chemical is affecting her, affecting both of them–Emma might not have gotten any in her mouth, but it’s clearly seeping into her bloodstream through her pores–but at the same time, she can’t bring herself to care. A version of Leigh who’s not intoxicated with sexual heat is a woman she no longer wishes to be. She never wants to stop. She hopes that Emma starts making more of the drug somehow, sweating it out just so Leigh can lick it off of her forever.

Even when the inner airlock opens, Leigh doesn’t stop. She doesn’t have to, not when she knows what’s going to happen next. The three figures in hazmat suits get closer, making their petty and unimportant plans to pull Leigh away from Emma’s supine body… and then they stop. They take off their helmets. And they, too, join Leigh in her worship of the new drug.

Charles “Can… Can I suck your c***? Please… I… I need it…” she begged feebly. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and made her look up. “Need it huh? Why is that again?”

“Because… I… I can’t think of anything else… Every minute… Every second… I can’t get it out of my mind… I want to taste it so bad… I NEED to taste it… Swallow it… Suck it… I… I… I need to worship it… Please… Let me worship it…” “Will you be a good suck slut and do your chores after you’re done?” “Yeeess… God yes… I’ll do anything if you let me suck your c***! You know I will!” “Good. I’ll hold you to that. If you so much as try to get out of doing your dishes, I won’t let you suck my c*** for a week. Understood?” “YES! I won’t I promise! I’ll be a good suck slut!” “Ok then, start sucking.” I said as I released her. She licked her lips as her trembling hands went to free my hardening c*** . She made quick work of my belt and zipper and squealed in delight as my erection sprang free. She wasted no time and started to stroke and lick it as if it was her personal drug. Which it was. To her, my c*** and spunk had become her whole world. Her very own addiction she was powerless to fight. She engulfed me and I smiled as I thought back to how this had all started…

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mc-diaries tags: Male & Female’s Point of View, Brainwashing, Conditioning, Mindless

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“Ok. The dime fell over and…” I said as I leaned over and looked. “ NO WAY! Heads again?”

“Yep! I’m telling you! This coin is pure magic!” he said as he picked it up and showed me.

I grabbed it from his fingers and checked it over for myself. No… It’s not a trick coin. I could plainly see both heads and tails.

“You can look at it all you want, you’ll never be able to guess how the trick works!” he said as he grabbed it again.

“Do it again!” I said as I settled in my chair. “I’m sure I’ll see you do it this time!”

“Sure!” he said as he placed the coin on the counter. “Ready?”

I nodded.

He gave the coin a flick with his other fingers and I watched in rapt attention as the dime started to spin like before.

“Wait for it…” he said softly. “Wait for it…”

I blocked out everything else and looked on. He had correctly guessed on which face the dime would fall every single time he spun it! The first few tries, I figured it was just luck, but this had been the 20th time! 

He never failed to call it!

“Wait for it…” his voice echoed softly. “And there…”

The coin started to slow and the spinning dime flashed a few times when it rolled towards the light.

“Heads again.” he called and I blinked.

The coin had stopped and sure enough, it was heads!

“Oh my god!” I said as I looked at it. “How the hell did you call that?”

My hands slowly grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. God it was warm in here…

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mc-diaries tags: Female’s Point of View, Hypnosis

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I was so incredibly grateful to have found a ride share that went all the way to my home town! Since I came from a pretty rural community, buses took for ever and my college budget didn’t really allow me to buy a car. 

I was resigned to the fact that I would only visit my folks on long weekends or holidays when I came across this add for a ride share that went right by my home town! I was so excited! He only asked that the passengers split the gas bill and when I told him where I lived, he was more than happy to drop me off on my family’s doorstep!

Another big plus was his ride! So comfortable and luxurious! He had landed a big gig in the city, which afforded him a huge salary! He was still in his early thirties, but it looked like he was on his way to making it big in the sound industry or something.

But like me, he had strong family roots in a village not too far from my own and travelled there almost every weekend to recharge his batteries and see his friends.

He would send me a text when ever he planned to go back home and I would almost always take the opportunity to ride with him. We got to know each other pretty well over the long 2 hour drive it takes from my dorm to my home. 

I would tell him all about my week while he drove and he played classical music through his state of the art sound system. I’ll admit, I found his taste in music incredibly boring at first, but you don’t go and complain when someone offers you what amounts to a 2 hour ride for next to nothing!

After a few weekends tagging along on his trips home, his music kind of grew on me and since we had gotten to comfortable with one and other, I started to use the long ride to recharge my own batteries and often dozed off while the delicate instruments made a perfect background to lull me to sleep…

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mc-diaries tags: Female’s Point of View, Hypnosis

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I can fight this…

It’s just dumb hypnosis suggestions and mental triggers. It’s not rocket science! I’m fully aware that this cheap little chain isn’t locked. My brain can see the rudimentary hook that ‘binds’ it to the ring bolted to the bed. 

Not to mention that my collar isn’t even locked! 

Which means that under normal circumstances, I could simply remove my collar and just walk out of his bedroom. Logically, I can free myself any time I want.

Only… 

My mind is stopping me from unhooking my restraints. I can’t be mad or blame him because he isn’t actually doing this to me. No… I know full well that I’m the one doing this to myself. All my studies with hypnosis has confirmed that a person can’t be made to do things they wouldn’t accept while awake. 

So deep down, I’m letting him do this to me…

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mc-diaries tags: Female’s Point of View, Hypnosis

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The tiny droplet made its slow, maddening journey down the sensitive flesh of Rebecca’s perineum, trickling delicately along her tender skin while she struggled with every ounce of her self-possession not to cum. She’d already stopped rubbing, but her cunt twitched and convulsed in residual pleasure until she thought that even the act of pulling her hand away might send her over the edge into climax. She lay frozen, staring at her own reflection in the mirror, barely even daring to breathe while her pussy leaked its teasing trickle onto the sheets. It was the perfect erotic torture, and Rebecca loved and hated every second of it.

She could cum, if she really wanted to. She was still in the training stage with Master, deepening his hypnotic control with daily edging and mantras and his lovely hypnotic voice in her ears while she masturbated in front of the mirror, and she was allowed a few ‘accidents’ every now and again while she taught her body to enjoy Master’s power over her more than any physical pleasure. But Rebecca wanted to be a good girl. She wanted to be able to go to Master tonight and tell him that she had ten perfect edges and no orgasms, just the way he wanted. She wanted to show him that the brainwashing was working and she was being shaped into his obedient slut. “My cunt belongs to Master,” she whispered, risking the surge of arousal that came with repeating the phrases he’d given her when she first came to him asking to be turned into a mindless fucktoy.

Her labia kissed the air, puckering again and again in slick, hungry desire as her fingers involuntarily twitched with the need to play with her pussy again. She was at six edges for the day already, thanks to a lunch break spent rubbing her clit instead of eating, but it was only an hour before she needed to leave to get to Master’s apartment on time and he’d made it clear to her that she wasn’t to do anything risky while driving just to meet her quota. Even skipping lunch was bending the rules a little; Rebecca grabbed a protein shake from the fridge on her way back to her computer, so she could at least say that she put food in her stomach, but she knew that a perfectly trained girl took better care of herself. Rebecca loved knowing that she was going to be a cherished possession, not just a toy to be used.

But she did want to be used. Oh, did she want to be used so, so fucking badly. Rebecca’s fingers moved again, putting pressure on the hood over her clit and stimulating herself until that maddening trickle became a steady stream of slick, musky arousal. She imagined walking into Master’s apartment with her cunt still a mess, spreading her legs and showing him how wet and horny she was, and her thoughts drifted into a reverie of sensual bliss at the thought. She only barely heard herself whimpering, “My cunt belongs to Master,” over and over and over again, and it wasn’t until she noticed the words breaking off in a choked and desperate gasp that Rebecca realized she was on the edge of climax again.

She froze just in time. Barely. And propelled by the steady stream of natural lubrication behind it, the droplet began its maddening journey once more.

(Crossposted from https://jukeboxemcsa.wordpress.com/2021/01/31/liner-notes-for-january-2021/)

(This post has been brought to you by the efforts of my 167 unconditionally excellent Patrons! Visit my Patreon page to learn how to become one of them.)

It’s a little weird, realizing that 2021 is already 1/12th of the way over - between the political situation and the pandemic, more than ever it feels like we’re in a holding pattern waiting for reality to resume, and the acknowledgment that time is in fact passing is strange and vaguely upsetting. But nonetheless, we all have to admit that January happened. It’s a fact, and I’ve got the receipts to prove it in the form of a story for every Saturday in the month. Let’s look at them, shall we?

Zoinks!: This one did have an origin that predated the discovery of that particular song title - I was scrolling through my Tumblr feed, as I sometimes do, and one poster had made a compilation post of screenshots from various different Scooby-Doo porn parodies, and I sort of made a mental note to the effect of, “Huh! I guess Daphne and Velma really did define the sexuality of a whole generation, didn’t they?” Because while I’d seen a ton of erotic fanart of Daphne getting hypnotized over the years, I always just assumed that was my particular sub-community fixating (if you’ll pardon the term) on mind control in media. I didn’t realize that no, for a lot of people their first sexual crush was Daphne, Velma or both. An erotic pastiche of the Scooby-Doo series was heavily on my mind even before I saw this title.

I replaced the dog with a robot, because I kind of felt uncomfortable about putting a talking dog in the middle of what was essentially going to be a very sexually charged situation, but the rest was just logical extrapolation of the tight formula for the series and what it might mean to add mind control to it. Honestly, I think the concept works a lot more sense if everyone is following hypnotic suggestions to make the same mistakes again and again without realizing it, including the bad guys. And honestly, why would they all do any of that in the first place if they weren’t brainwashed?

(I know there’s a song out there called “Jinkies”, by the way. That’s not a threat, it’s a promise.)

Desire Brings Me Back: This was a commission piece, with a specific brief to do a Cold War-era spy story about a lesbian spy seduced by a Soviet with drugged lipstick. I decided that a setting like that and a concept like that lent itself better to a mournful, John le Carre style story about the cruelly pragmatic politics of spycraft, rather than an explosive and bombastic James Bond adventure, and wrote Clarice as someone who was doomed by a whole series of forces utterly outside her control, a relative innocent crushed in the wheels of international intrigue. (Not that a bleak fate is necessarily inevitable for her, but come on. It’s not like Stasya’s going to give her safe haven once she’s used her up just out of the kindness of her heart, and American law doesn’t really have that many provisions for “my mind was controlled by drugged lipstick”. Clarice is looking at a long prison sentence at best.)

Queen Lullabye: This did come out of a brainstorming session, with the title and its strange spelling of “lullaby” very reminiscent of a Neil Gaiman story. And so I did something very Gaimanesque, an urban fantasy about someone making a trade with an ancient entity on a very modern basis, and I gave it a bit of the flavor of Ben Aaronovitch by trying not to make the character just another suburban white person. And because I’m me, I added just a tinge of class consciousness - Kessie doesn’t go seeking supernatural assistance for her insomnia because she’s a superstitious immigrant, she does it because she’s poor and working three jobs and she still can’t afford fucking health insurance. There is a whole cluster of forces acting in confluence to keep her in quiet desperation, and I like being able to give her at least a little bit of an out from that.

Although strictly speaking, it’s very ambiguous on the cause of Kessie’s insomnia. It’s very possible that Queen Lullabye is both the cause and the amelioration of her distress. But that’s the risk of dealing with the supernatural, isn’t it?

Never Have I Ever: I don’t even remember how the topic came up - I’ve certainly never played ‘Never Have I Ever’, and in fact I had to look up the exact rules when I wrote the story - but as soon as the game popped into my head, I said to myself, “Oh, wouldn’t it be funny if someone was playing 'Never Have I Ever’ and when someone started asking questions about hypnosis, their fingers went down and they didn’t know why?” And after that, it was just a question of confirming that there was a song with that title, coming up with some basic details about the exact participants beyond Megan (who was very clear in my head from the beginning) and keeping track of whose fingers went down and when.

This is a very good example of something I’ll occasionally talk about, which is the difference between fetish porn and porn that includes fetishes. Almost as soon as I posted this to Literotica, I got someone asking for a sequel, and I was just, “Why?” And it occurred to me that I had written an erotic story that ends at the beginning of an orgy and I considered that part to be so uninteresting that it didn’t even occur to me that anyone would want to read it. To me, the sexiest thing about this is Megan discovering that she’s been hypnotized and doesn’t remember it.

On the Verge of Something Wonderful: This is one of those tone pieces, a story that’s honestly just me seeing the title and recognizing an emotion and trying to craft a story that’s all about capturing that emotion in the moment. It’s just about what it would be like for someone to slowly have their resistance eroded and twisted and ablated so completely that when the moment comes for them to surrender, they view it as a joyous revelation about their true place in the universe and not a defeat. I kind of feel like those stories succeed or fail on whether they really encapsulate their subject, and I like to think this does a good job. It doesn’t matter who the woman is, how she was captured, who Julia is or what’s going to happen to them next. It’s all about the moment.