Pretty Vacant

"Do you know why you're in this chair?" Frank asked, and Debbie discovered with a sense of numb despair that she absolutely did. He'd walked her into this room and told her to sit down, he'd instructed her to slide her hands and feet into the cuffs that held her pinned and naked for his appraising gaze, and she'd done all that without even the slightest hint of resistance to the commands in either her mind or body. Because their months of play had made her so susceptible to suggestions that she did whatever she was told like a good submissive slut, and she knew from hours of Frank's teasing touch and his roleplay scenarios just what he wanted to do to a brainwashed slut like her even if he always framed it as a fun fantasy.

It wasn't fantasy anymore. "I'm going to erase you," he said, pressing the head of a massaging vibrator to Debbie's pussy lips without even waiting for an answer. "I'm going to delete your old self, every last thought and memory she might have had, and you're going to become my full-time, live-in, mindless fuckdoll for my own personal pleasure. You're going to reinforce your programming with weed, edging and hypnosis to keep you too dumb and happy to wonder why you don't have any memories, and I'm just going to use your holes whenever I want to. And you're too helpless to stop me now, aren't you, sweetie pie?" Debbie shuddered in the restraints, the numb certainty in the pit of her stomach deepening as she realized he hadn't locked her into the chair to prevent her from escaping. He did it to emphasize what they both already knew--she was far too brainwashed to get out of his clutches now.

Had he been playing the long game this entire time? Had all those scenes, all that meticulous framework of safewords and boundaries they established together been just a trick to lull her into trusting him so the hypnosis would worm its way deeper into her mind and render her that much more vulnerable to this final, fatal stroke to the very core of her identity? A guttural grunt of pleasure escaped Debbie's lips as she strained against the buzzing toy, her cunt now so conditioned to find subjugation a source of arousal that it made even this final realization of Frank's betrayal into something like porn to her brainwashed mind. "That's right, pretty slut, you're not even going to try to fight it," Frank murmured, and she knew with glassy-eyed conviction that he was right.

"Just focus on a memory for me, honey, find the single clearest and strongest and most important memory to your old self and picture the pleasure crumbling it away." Debbie tried not to, but one of the things that made her such a good hypnotic subject in the first place was her vivid imagination and she could easily see in her head the image of her eighth birthday slowly eroding into orgasmic bliss under the constant stimulation of the buzzing toy. "You're going to imagine the pleasure spreading from there, eating away at your past until it's all gone, and when you can't think of a single second before you sat down in this chair you're going to cum very hard and say to me, 'I'm your blank slate, Master.'" He emphasized his words with careful, diligent stimulation of her pussy… and Debbie already knew there was only one way this could possibly end.

Thank you for your message.

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

"I'm a fuckdoll- wait, no, I'm a fuckdoll, not a fuckdoll."

"You don't need to say it three times."

"I am not a person! Wait- That was exactly what I meant to say! Stop waiting and fuck me already!"

A whole day where he dictates what enters my empty head, and what leaves it.

A day where I am completely blank - have absolutely no awareness of anything but my Master.

To be his doll, for him to play with and use as he pleases.

Simple. Blank.