Your move, Bond

It was the mirror that made it downright mean. When Courtney woke up tied to a chair, her head still groggy with the residue of some kind of drugged stupor and her pale pink breasts forced to jutting attention by an elaborate rope harness that went over and under and around her tits, she probably would have been terrified no matter what. But being able to see herself in just her daisy-yellow panties, a massaging vibrator carefully positioned right up against her pussy… it brought home in stark, clear terms exactly how fucked her situation truly was. Even before she tried to yell, she could see the gag between her lips and she knew it wasn't going to work.

The mirror magnified every aspect of her erotic torture. When her captor began to buzz her pussy with the toy between her legs, Courtney could actually see her face go momentarily slack with ecstasy as the physical stimulation temporarily overwhelmed her panic and made her squirm in a manner that had nothing to do with trying to find a loose knot. When she heard him murmur, "Good girl, stop thinking," from somewhere behind her, she could see the glassy confusion in her own eyes that lasted for just a second before the vibrator stopped thrumming and allowed her to clear her fuzzy head again. And when he started the wand up again, Courtney had a front-row seat for the instinctive, Pavlovian response to pleasure that made her unthinkingly crave whatever she'd done to earn her reward.

She was forced to watch herself getting tamed--there was no other word for it--as the mystery man behind her repeated the same command, "Good girl, stop thinking," punctuating it every time with another dose of buzzing, thrumming pleasure and Courtney felt her mind slide into vacant indolence. Every time, it got easier to fixate on her own empty stare, on the brainless expression of lust on her face, and even though Courtney understood that she was falling into a feedback loop based on her own visual confirmation of her surrender it wasn't possible to escape it any more than it was possible to struggle out of her ropes. Closing her eyes just left her with that last lingering afterimage of her fluttering eyelids and dazed, dopey expression, and watching herself sink into stupefied bliss only taught her how to obey that much quicker. It was a perfect trap for her muzzy brain.

She didn't know how long she sat there, going through the cycle of buzz and pause and instruction and emptiness. Time was one of the first things that slipped away when she locked eyes with her own reflection, watching in embarrassed arousal as the woman in the mirror melted into a dumb horny slut for her captor. But she knew she was pleasing him when he walked up behind her and undid the gag, allowing her a license to scream that she somehow couldn't rouse herself from her stupor far enough to employ. And when he returned to his chair and repeated the instruction, his voice no less calm and patient and inexorably expectant than when they'd began, Courtney heard herself drone out, "I have stopped thinking," before she was once again rewarded with a burst of buzzing pleasure that left her gasping for breath.