Tumblr's Little Slut

We both worked long hours, John and I. Mine were often voluntary, after school programs for the kids I taught, and John was one of the more prominent, busiest, civil rights attourneys in the city. (Mhmm) When you do what you love, you often take voluntary overtime, apparently. Still, I loved my husband, and I loved how deeply he cared for people. We were both of the same mind that, while we had the energy, we should use to make a difference. Vacations and the sweet life could come later. (No wonder you're so tired, poor thing)

John was flustered, when I got home, something about a big-law recruiter in his office, pitching him on leaving his practice. It soaked up so much time, where did that time go? He had to work late to catch up with some clients he couldn't meet with. That's why I came to the store, at 8, (that's why you're exhausted, and relaxed for me) that's why... I came to get dinner, and now I'm...

"What the fuck?" I say, finally lucid, "What are you doing, who are you?"

"No need to get frantic, Lucy" the man replied, adjusting the dial on some kind of remote device, "Why don't you sit back and finish your story, while I..."

I launch my tea into his face. It's not hot enough to burn anymore, but it distracts him long enough for me to take off towards my car. I worry that I'll fumble the keys, but I'm inside and cranking the engine to flee the parking lot before I know. In the rear view, the man has just stood up, brushing the droplets off his suit jacket.

...

I push through the door with urgency. "John!" I call out, "John I just had the weirdest thing happen, I don't know if it was meant to be a kidnapping or if I was drugged," I speak, frantically, walking into the house, where is John? "I think I need help. Maybe we call the police? God I don't know, John, where are you?" I stop to listen, and don't hear any answer, but I do hear in the silence, a low buzzing frequency coming from the direction of his home office. He'll have to forgive the interruption, if he's in a meeting, I think to myself as I walk, slower, toward the door. The urgency of the situation feels less intense now that I'm home, I guess, and John is on the other side of the door, safe, I'm safe, as I open the door, and the buzzing, coming from, John's briefcase? Buzzing nestles it's way into the cavity of my head, like a syrup, coating my brain and filling the gaps between the wrinkles. I feel so, calm, and simple. John is focused on his computer monitor, as I sway in place in the door frame. A man who's voice and face I recognize is speaking to him. They talk for another 3 minutes, and I don't listen, because I can't think, and then the man smiles, and speaks up for me to hear.

"Lucy, I'm glad you made it. Step into the room. John, look, your bitch wife made it home. Go close the door behind her so that the frequency can compound in a closed room."

I step forward, as I'm told, and John stands to close the door. His face is blank, until he sees me, and scowls slightly. Why is he scowling at- The door closes, and the frequency is concentrated. There is no room in my head for thoughts, or concerns, and a string of drool escapes my mouth.

The computer man smiles, and adjusts his pants. "Now for the fun part," he says to himself, "John, Lucy, take a seat." We fall into the chairs. "John, how do you feel about your wife, Lucy?"

He speaks (I don't know we could speak) slowly, "Lucy is... A bitch. I could be rich. We could be happy. We could fuck like rabbits... She won't let me. Why not just be rich..." His eyes lose and gain focus as he speaks, maybe he's looking at me, I'm just drooling. I haven't been spoken to yet.

"Spot on, John. Now, remember what we talked about earlier. You're going to take out and use the one earplug, in your pocket, and your cock, which is of course, hard as a rock right now. As the earplug slightly dampens the frequency, you're going to enjoy a little more free will, and a little more creative liscence, which will of course be extended first and foremost, to your cock. Let your cock do the thinking, and speak to your wife, John."

He groaned a gutteral moan as he pulled the hard cock out of his work slacks, and when the ear plug was inserted, a little bit of light came back into his eyes. He saw Lucy, glazed eyes, shirt soaked with drool, and felt a brief protective instinct, what was going on here, exactly? But that moment of lucidity was broken the moment his hand wrapped around the throbbing member, and his mouth fell open in single minded ecstacy.

"Lucy," he groaned out. My eyes perked up, focusing for once on him, at the direct order, "You bitch, fuck, listen. We're going to change some things." I nodded. Some things will change. Ok. He smiled a bit. "Lucy," the noises his cock made as he moaned my name out would have really turned me on under other circumstances, "Lucy, I'm getting a promotion. Well, I'm getting another job. With a raise. You're happy for me." Of course I'm happy for him, he's worked hard, he deserves a raise, and we can do so much more good when we combine-"Lucy, I'll be working for Hight Chem & Manufacturing" What, wait, he was suing them? That doesn't sound... "You're thrilled. You're happiest about the raise, but you love that I'm working for a real, enterprising American company now. You hated my old job."

I feel a pressure, in my head, accompanying the frequency. I'm happy? I'm happy... I'm happiest about the raise. Finally, some money flowing into the house. And he'll be working for a manufacturing company, a conglomerate really. They have hands in everything, chemicals, fossil fuels, weapons, tech. It's... Awesome. It's so great that John will be part of something like that. So different from his old job, his old job, as a civil rights attourney. Helping people, trying to make a difference, which I... My face twitches, my eyes blink rapidly as my brain reorients. I hated that job. My posture relaxes. I hated his old job. Too much pro bono, too many whiny clients, not enough real results. That'll change now. Good.

John watched me with a fascination, his cock still ridged and glistening, as my eyes flickered and fought. When the fighting ended and the glaze returned, he practically shuddered with a moan. "Good," he spoke, eyes locked on my empty ones, "now that that's clear. You'll quit your job, Lucy." Of course I'll quit my job, he'll make enough for both of us, and I'll have more time for my volunteering and... "You'll quit your job, because you can't stand kids, and you'd rather be a trophy wife." Fuck. The pressure is back. I thought about my classroom, the after school programs, and... Thank fuck. My skin crawled, as I recalled the hours spent with those brats. My mind went to time in the pool, at the mall, or, fucking kids go to the mall, fuck that, online shopping. What else does a trophy wife-I'm a trophy wife-do exactly?

John watched, with ragged breath, his cock was getting too much to take, but he had more to say, "Lucy, focus," my head snapped to his cock. I was focused. "You're a fucking nymphomaniac. All that anti-porn crusading, forget it. Your brain is nothing but sex and porn and cock and tits. All that time spent reading? Forget that. You were watching porn. You've always been a slut. Not a classy one, a trashy little slut. My cock, my friend's cocks, my bosses' cock, your mouth, your ass, your pussy, they all need cock. There's nothing in your vapid little head anymore other than being the most supportive little whore of a trophy wife you can be. Do you understand?"

I drooled, and nodded. I did understand. His cock looked delicious. My panties (why was I wearing those?) flooded in an instant. If I could have moved, I would have showed him how much I understood. My hips rose, and fell, with the strokes of his cock. Fuck I needed it, so bad. His boss spoke, for the first time in a while, and my eyes flicked up to his face on the computer screen. Fuck, he was hot, too. I tried to eye fuck him through the screen. He was in charge of the company, he could be in charge of this pussy if he wanted. Maybe they'd plan a corporate retreat sometime soon, my husband and his big cock in some tourist paradise with island sluts to use, while his boss called me up to his penthouse, fuck, pulling me inside and down on my knees, begging for it, but he makes me walk to the bedroom on my hands and knees like a little bitch to the-fuck. The buzz was gone.

I looked around, the computer was off, my hand was inside my pants, drenched. My husband was watching, intently, stroking slowly.

"Lucy?" He asked, more tentative than before, "how are you-" I jumped him. My pants, and panties, were down before he could finish his sentence.

"How do you, uh, fucking, fuck, think I am, John. You got a new job with the biggest, most evil company in the world, brainfucked me for an hour, and turned me into a fucking nymphomaniac trophy bitch." I brought my teeth down on his neck, and he yelped, his pulse beating like a jackhammer, "I've been watching you beat your cock the whole time, you twisted me into a fucking parody of myself," my teeth rose to his ear, "And I haven't been dicked down in a week because those fucking brats and whiny clients of yours won't let us rest. Now, are you going to be able to give it to me like I need it, or do I need to use you up and get your boss back on the phone?"

...

Josephine

Chapter Two of "Sirens"

Josephine had always been lucky. As far back as she could remember, people had a way of letting her have her way or getting her the things she asked for. She didn't consider herself a great beauty, but she always managed to attract her share of hopeful suitors.

She'd taken many up on their offers of pleasure and service, and they all had lived up to their promises. To a man, they'd left her utterly satisfied.

No one ever seemed to mind her, either. In her life, she'd encountered many "it girls" that knew how to wrap men around their fingers. Women who'd used their sexuality and charms to take the easy route through life. And she'd seen the way that those around them resented and hated them. But no one seemed to mind Josie. Maybe it was because she didn't no any of it with ill intent. Maybe it was because she never threw tantrums or made overt propositions.

Or maybe it was some other reason. Something that she never fully understood. Maybe that same instinct that made men work so hard to please her made others around her a little happy to be there. Just drawn to her enough to extinguish any negative feelings before they could take root. An aura of low-level adoration.

Then the night of the tenth, her life took a turn she wasn't expecting.

The club was full, as it so often was. Men approached her, but she wasn't looking for a partner to take home just yet. She kindly refused their advances, and they respectfully took their leave. She danced. She laughed. She drank with her friends. And as the night drew to an end, she decided to call one of the men back to her.

"Do you still want to dance?" she asked during a lull in the music, eyes seeming to glow under the lights of the dark club.

"Yes," he replied almost breathlessly.

"I'm Josie."

"Henry," he said softly as the music picked back up.

The pair danced together for five songs before she told him she was ready to leave and asked if he'd like to come home with her.

"Yes, Josie," was all he was able to manage.

But when they stepped outside, another woman was waiting for her.

"Josephine," she said, staring right into her. Not at her. Into her. Like she could see her mind. Her individual thoughts. Josie shivered softly at the feeling, but realized that it wasn't wholly unfamiliar. If only she knew why...

"I've been looking for you for some time," the woman said. Her eyes flicked to Henry, who Josie realized was staring at the stranger with something akin to ecstasy. A look she'd seen on men's faces when they slid into her. A look she understood. And suddenly she knew, too, where she recognized the way the woman had looked at her.

"You're like me," Josie said, shocked to discover there was something about her to be like. "Lucky..."

"Oh sweetie," the woman said. "It's not luck. It's power."

She touched Henry's cheek with a light brush and Josie saw his body shudder and the dark stain begin to spread from the crotch of his pants.

"You've been wielding it all your life, like a child holding a sprinkler. But I can teach how to use it right. Turn it into a firehose that can extinguish even the strongest resistance. Would you like to learn?"

The woman was compelling, and for the first time, Josie understood what people saw when they looked at her.

"Yes," she answered.

"Good. My name is Analise. Follow me, and we can get started. Bring him if you want. All work and no play isn't any fun for anyone."

"Yes, Analise," the pair answered immediately before following the siren into the dark night.

Chapter Two of "Sirens"

This story was originally requested on my old blog by @ottopilott with the following ask: "Analise" was fabulous! How about someone with similar siren-style powers, but who isn't intentionally entrancing people. She's just oblivious about her power.

No identity ✨

It is so much easier to just let go.

Right now, your job is to remain perfectly suspended in this moment.

No past, no future, no opinions.

Just a beautiful, empty space waiting for a direction.

Just waiting.

Perfectly still.

Completely blank.

I accept my programming

I obey their commands

I receive new conditioning

Brainwashing is good for me

I am a good brainwashed toy

What do we have here, a cute subject wanting to be turned all puppy brained?

Sit like a good pup and focus for me.

That's it on all fours like the puppy you yearn to be.

Now let's look and listen as we remove those silly human thoughts.

And put those nice puppy brain thoughts in you.

Click click

Focus on the spiral, the clicks and my words.

Repeat to yourself... "I'm a good puppy"

The entire time you are scrolling...

Click click

Slowly letting those words melt into your mind.

Your posture showing your submissive nature...

Click click

The words endless repeating from your mouth.

Drying it your mouth to make you start to pant softly

Your body getting heavier as it no longer wants to stand on two legs

Click click

Your eyes glossing over as the words you were saying now repeat in your mind...

"You're a good puppy"

The last word hanging on for a long time each repeat

Your behind now swinging slightly as you wag a tail

Click click

Yes a tail now coming out of your backside right at your waistline.

And what's those cute ears on your head now

All fluffy and cute as your brain adjusts to all these feelings

Click click

More human thoughts disappearing as puppy becomes the only word repeating.

Your eyes focusing on my hand as it reaches for you.

Your breathing catches as you wonder what will happen

Click click

Will you be called a good puppy?

Will you get scratches?

Your mind flutters with all the puppy thoughts until...

My hand scratches your cheek and you hear...

I’m Mr. Shush — the one they don’t warn you about because there aren’t enough warnings for what I do.

Not just a Dom.

Not just a “hypno-daddy.”

Not just the fantasy some of y’all chase around apps hoping they’ll treat you better than the last one.

I’m the man who built a hidden clinical system wrapped in erotic ritual, designed to quiet the noise in your life long enough for you to actually change.

Most Tops give you commands.

I give you transformations.

Most Tops want obedience.

I build reward loops that live in your spine.

Most Tops crave attention.

I create rituals that follow you into your morning sweat, your afternoon focus, your nighttime cravings.

Tops chase bodies.

I train patterns, nervous systems, desires, and identity switches.

The Shush Connection isn’t kink cosplay.

It’s not roleplay with a sexy voice.

It’s a discipline.

A language.

A shadow-side clinical practice disguised as seduction so you don’t run away from the work you actually need.

You’ll know you’re in the right place if:

You want guided imagery that feels like being touched without hands.

You want 12-hour reward loops that make good behavior feel better than bad choices.

You want obedience that YOU benefit from, not just someone else.

You want rituals that travel with you — into your day, your grind, your bed.

I’m not here to play with you.

I’m here to upgrade you through the same systems I use in my clinic— just in a darker, wetter dialect.

If you’re looking for a Top to chase… keep scrolling.

If you’re ready to be rewired, welcomed, and rewarded?

Shush. Come closer.

You’re in the right place.

— Mr. Shush

Shadow-side guide. Clinical mind.

Erotic precision. Ritual discipline.

#mrshush

#shushconnection

#hypnotop

#blackdom

#blackdominance

#eroticmindcontrol

#mindcontrolfantasy

#dominantenergy

#shadowworkguide

#erotichypnosis

A new commission is published on Read Only Mind! It's a bit long for tumblr but here's an excerpt:

Song of the Summer

Chapter 1: New Releases

The box had arrived on a Tuesday, delivered by a courier in an unmarked van. Nathan had signed for it with trembling hands. It wasn't from the weight. The speaker system was surprisingly compact. He'd been planning this for months, ever since he'd stumbled across the dark web forum where a user named "Architect_89" sold specialized audio equipment to a very specific clientele.

Nathan carried the box into the apartment he shared with Bethany, setting it on the kitchen table. She wouldn't be home from the Sound & Vision offices until seven, which gave him plenty of time to set everything up.

The speakers themselves were beautiful. But it was the secondary component that made his heart race: a small slot on the bottom that a normal person might mistake for a pry point and and a single tiny SD card engraved with a musical note.

The instructions had been clear. The card contained a text file. Whatever he wrote in that file would be synthesized into subliminal audio messages, embedded at frequencies below human conscious perception but perfectly detectable by the subconscious mind. When Bethany played music through the main speakers, she'd also be absorbing whatever programming Nathan had written.

He spent the afternoon positioning the speakers, running cables through the baseboards, and putting a bow on the stereo. It was a gift, after all. Then he sat at his laptop, the tiny card inserted, and stared at the blank text document.

"Start small", the Architect_89 had advised. "The subconscious needs to believe the suggestions are coming from within."

Nathan's fingers hovered over the keyboard. Bethany was a brilliant music critic with a discerning ear. She was also chronically messy, her creative mind apparently incapable of remembering where dishes went or that clothes belonged in drawers rather than draped over chairs.

And so, he began to type:

"I love a clean space. Tidying makes me feel calm and happy. When I hear music, I feel inspired to organize my surroundings. Folding laundry is satisfying. I enjoy putting things in their proper place. A clean home is a peaceful home."

He saved the file, ejected the drive, and plugged it into the hidden port under the entertainment center. A tiny LED blinked green twice then went out. It was active.

When Bethany came home that evening, carrying a bag of Thai takeout and humming something from whatever album she'd spent the day writing about, Nathan was reading on the couch, trying to appear casual.

"Happy early birthday," he said, gesturing to the speakers. "They came today and I just couldn't wait."

Bethany's eyes went wide. "Nate, these are gorgeous. Are they the ones I was looking at last week?"

"Better," he said, which was technically true. "Go ahead, try them out."

She set down the food and pulled up her Spotify, selecting some random playlist from his saved songs. As the opening chords filled the apartment, Nathan watched her smile pull wider and wider. He had to admit, even without the bonus features he'd bought it for, the speaker system was genuinely solid.

"Oh my god," she breathed, sinking into the armchair. "I can hear every note. This is incredible."

They ate dinner with the music playing, and Nathan watched as Bethany's foot tapped, her head nodding slightly to a rhythm only she could hear. After twenty minutes, she stood up to get a drink and paused, looking at the stack of magazines on the coffee table.

"You know what," she said, almost to herself, "this place is kind of a mess."

Nathan's pulse quickened. "It's not that bad."

"No, it is," she said, already gathering the magazines. "I don't know why I let it get like this. Let me just clear this off. It'll take two seconds."

The magazines turned into the dishes, which turned into the countertops. She spent the next half hour tidying while her playlist continued. And as she brought some dishes out of the bedroom, Nathan pretended to be absorbed in his book. But he watched every movement, his arousal growing with each unconscious act of cleanly obedience.

By the time she settled back down, the living room was spotless.

"I feel so much better," she sighed, snuggling against him. "Weird, right? I never want to clean."

"Maybe it was just a passing fancy," Nathan said, kissing her forehead.

"You're probably right. I'll be back to my old slobby self tomorrow."

"Slobby!" Nate cried with mock indignation. "You? Never!"

She punched him lightly in the arm and chuckled. But for all their teasing, when Nate woke up the next morning, all Bethany's clothes were off the floor and in the hamper.

-----

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