Third Leg

I run my fingers through your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp the way I know you like. You make a sound that’s almost a purr and push up into my hand.

"You need breaks. Recovery time. You can’t just be a dumb doll forever."

"I mean, I could. We could try it and see."

"That’s not how brains work. You need to come back up so you can go back down. Otherwise you build tolerance."

"That sounds fake."

"It’s not fake. It’s neurochemistry."

"Okay but what if I just don’t care about neurochemistry?" You shift in my lap, restless, your hand finding its way to my thigh. "What if I care about being a drooling mess on your cock? Me and your cock. We have chemistry."

"You’re being bratty. That’s why I know you’re not ready. You’re going through dumb withdrawals."

"I’m not bratty, I’m horny. When I’m bratty I want to annoy you. Right now I want you to turn my brain off and fuck me stupid. Totally different energy."

"The answer is still no."

You sit up slightly, turning to face me. "You don’t understand what it’s like. When you do that thing with your voice and tell me to sink and stop thinking, it’s like… you know when you’re really stressed and you get into a hot bath?"

"That’s more of a you thing."

"Whatever. It’s like that but for my entire brain. Everything goes quiet and far away. And then you fuck me and I don’t have to worry about whether I’m doing it right or making weird faces because I’m too stupid to worry. I just feel things. It’s the best."

"Yeah I get it. I’m the one doing it to you. I know what it turns you into."

"Then why won’t you do it again?"

"Because I’m trying to be responsible. Moderation is important, and I care about your mental health."

You groan and flop back into my lap. "My mental health would be better if you’d just fry my brain a little and rail me."

You’re squirming now, pressing your thighs together, and I can tell the conversation itself is turning you on. Talking about going dumb makes you want to go dumb. "Just a little? You don’t have to do a full session. Just take the edge off. Make me fuzzy. I’ll be so good."

"You’re always good when you’re fuzzy. The hard part is being good now"

"Right, so let’s do the easy part. I like easy. I’m advocating for easy."

I should say no. We did a long session this afternoon and you need time to integrate, to come back fully, to remember that you’re a person with thoughts and preferences and a life outside of this dynamic.

But you’re looking up at me with those eyes, and I can feel my resolve crumbling.

"A little," I say. "Just enough to take the edge off. Then you’re eating dinner and going to sleep like a normal person."

You’re already grinning, already settling back, letting your body go slack in anticipation. "Yes Sir. Whatever you say."

I start stroking your hair with more intention now. Slower. I watch your breathing change, watch you sink into the sensation before I’ve even said a word.

"You really can’t help yourself."

You shake your head, a small dreamy motion. "Don’t want to help myself. Want you to do everything."

"Close your eyes."

You do. Immediately. Like I’ve pressed a button. It’s almost too easy at this point.

"Deep breath. Let it out slow."

Your chest rises and falls. Tension drains from your shoulders. You’re already halfway there just from anticipation.

"You know what happens next. You’ve done this so many times your brain just does it automatically now. The moment I start talking like this, you start sinking."

A soft sound escapes you. Agreement. Surrender.

"That’s embarrassing, if you think about it. How easy you are. How quickly you just…" I snap my fingers. "Gone."

Your face goes slack. Your mouth falls open. I didn’t even have to try. You did all the work yourself, desperate to get back to that empty place.

"How do you feel?"

It takes you a moment to find words. They come out slow and slurred. "Good. Floaty. Dumb."

"Of course you do." I keep stroking your hair. "Open your eyes."

You do, and there’s nothing behind them. No anxiety, no self-consciousness. Just empty, eager devotion. You look like a different person when you’re like this. Happy in a way that your overthinking brain usually won’t allow.

I should stop here. I said just the edge off. I said I’d be responsible.

But you’re already reaching for my cock with clumsy hands, and I’m only human.

"Can I?" You’re fumbling with my zipper. "Want to be useful."

"I thought you wanted me to use you."

"Same thing." You get my cock free and stare at it with dazed appreciation. "Toys are used and useful. Want to be your toy."

You lower your mouth and take me in with no technique at all, just enthusiasm and wet heat and happy little sounds. You’re drooling because you’re too dumb to remember to swallow. It’s obscene. It’s also incredibly hot, which is annoying because it means you’re going to win this argument.

I gather your hair and hold it loosely. "You know you’re proving my point, right? I said moderation is important and now you’re slobbering on my cock like you’ll die without it."

You moan in what I think is agreement. Hard to tell with your mouth full.

"This is exactly why you need breaks. So you don’t turn into a permanently cock-drunk idiot."

Another moan. Your hips are rocking, grinding against the couch.

"You’re not even listening to me, are you?"

You shake your head slightly, still sucking. Of course you’re not. There’s nothing in there to listen with.

I pull you off by the hair. You whine at the loss, mouth still open, a string of spit connecting your lips to my cock.

"Tell me what you are."

The words come slow. "Your… dumb… doll."

"And what do dumb dolls do?"

"Whatever you tell them. Get used. Feel good..." A pause while you search for more. "Don’t think."

"At least you’ve got that right. Good dolly."

Your whole body shudders. You’re so simple right now. A few words of praise and you light up like it’s the greatest thing anyone’s ever said to you.

I pull you into my lap and position you over my cock. You sink down with a look of dumb gratitude that makes all my good intentions feel very far away.

You start to move, slow and clumsy, grinding more than riding because coordination is beyond you. Your head falls back. You’re making sounds that aren’t words, just pleasure noise.

"This is what you wanted? To be too stupid to fuck me properly?"

You nod, still moving. "Love it. Love being dumb."

"You’re ridiculous."

"Mm-hmm." You don’t disagree. You don’t care.

I grip your hips and take over, setting the rhythm you’re too fuzzy to maintain. You go limp and let me, become exactly what you said you wanted. A toy. A warm hole that moans when you use it right.

"You’re going to cum for me," I tell you. "Because that’s what dumb dolls do. They cum and say thank you and don’t think about anything else."

"Yes. Yes yes yes."

I fuck you harder and you fall apart, clenching around me. I follow a moment later, pulling you down, filling you while you twitch and babble.

Afterward you slump against my chest, still making small sounds, still floating.

"You’re going to be insufferable about this," I tell you. "You’re only going to want more and more."

You nod against my chest. "More is better."

"Don’t start arguing even when you’re dumb. I can’t handle that."

You snuggle closer. "Me dumb is better. Accept it."