“I… I want to show you my pussy,” she repeats, kicking her panties off and spreading her legs to display her cunt. She smiles, but there’s a faintly worried undertone to it, like deep down she’s afraid that she doesn’t know how to stop. The pleasure coursing through her every time she obeys is so intense, so powerful that she doesn’t think she has a choice anymore. She can’t not be happy when she’s staring blankly into the distance and playing with her full, heavy tits for the man standing next to the couch. The joy is invading her brain, carrying her along with it. She’s being swept along by the force of it now. And she doesn’t know where it’s going to end.
He speaks again. She doesn’t hear him; her head is ringing with pleasure too loudly to notice speech. She feels like a tuning fork that’s been struck and touched to a hard surface, filled with a pure and constant vibration that resonates through every atom of her being. All she knows is that she responds easily and effortlessly, reciting the words, “I want to be fucked into obedience”, as if they came from her own head. They didn’t. Nothing in her head belongs to her anymore. She can’t even be upset about it. There’s no room for anger or fear in her brain–they’ve simply been pushed out.
She can sense the space where they were. There’s a quiet gap in her head that has the shape of terror–she can feel the edges where the understanding should go, the knowledge that yes, a stranger was waiting for her when she came home and yes, he told her to look into his eyes and feel her mind bending to his will, and yes, she hasn’t been able to resist doing anything he’s said no matter how lewd and lascivious and depraved. She can feel the echoes of fear as her brain tries to grapple with the fact that she’s doing things that should frighten her. But every time she tries to get a grip on it, it just… slides away. She should be afraid of that too, but…
She realizes that she’s disassociating, reducing herself to a passenger in her own consciousness as she stares at the ceiling and repeats, “I want to feel you inside my cunt.” She’s thinking less and less about less and less, her mind simply whiting out for longer and longer stretches as his fingers disappear inside her pussy and his words disappear inside her mind. How long has she been like this? What does the passage of time feel like anymore? The pleasure is making time stretch and distend like melting taffy, until she feels her mind sagging and softening into the gaps in her own awareness. She can’t stop staring. She can’t stop smiling.
“I want to s-stop thinking,” she groans, her hips rolling up into his thrusting fingers, and she knows that it’s becoming more and more true with every passing moment. The sliver of consciousness that’s aware of the manipulation of her thoughts and her will is attenuating more and more as he pours his power into her, the plastic blankness in her mind becoming less and less artificial and more her state of being. Her thoughts are seizing up, setting like gelatin until the blankness becomes who she is. Her head feels like it’s hollowing out like a doll, until she’s poseable and pliable and. And.
“I don’t need to think anymore,” she says, her eyes settling into a glassy, unfocused stare. Her smile freezes in perfect plastic bliss. And at last, she gives in and comes.
(Like this flash fiction? Want to see more? Visit www.patreon.com/Jukebox to find out how!)
