"Hello, is this 'Cindee'? Because if it is, I need to tell you this is Cynthia--the real, actual Cynthia--and I don't ever want to hear from you again." Cynthia held her hand up to her ear, her hypnotized mind fully convincing itself that she was holding a phone as she spoke to the subconscious construct Jon had slowly, insidiously installed in her brain over the last few months. She had a distant, glassy look in her eyes that told Jon she didn't even know he was there, much less that he was watching her grow increasingly agitated at the conversation with her imaginary self to the point of blushing fiercely all the way down her face and her alabaster chest straight to the cups of the lacy black bra she wore.
"I don't care how good it feels," she snapped, in response to some point made by the voice only she could hear. "No, I--I don't want to hear it, okay? It's, it's degrading to watch you mewl and simper and, and beg to be made dumber and weaker like some kind of w-walking fetish porn. I swear, it's like you, you're making me dumber just by association with you. W-why is that so bad? Because, because I'm an intelligent woman, and, and…." Cynthia sputtered for a moment, trying to find some value in her intellect beyond the axiomatic assertion of its inherent worth, and squirming on the bed when she realized how wet it made her to fail. Jon could feel his cock stiffening at the sight.
"Look, it's not important, okay? I mean, um, it's important, I just--I don't want to explain why it's important right now, not to some dumb, ditzy airhead like you. You, you wouldn't understand. I just need you to know that your services aren't required anymore and you can just… I don't know, fade away or fall asleep or whatever it is you do. We're not going to see each other again--no, not even when I play with myself! I will come up with a fantasy that gets me off that doesn't involve being a… a vacant, um, h-horny… slut…." Cynthia's jaw slackened a little. Her hand fell from her long red hair down into her lap. And her sightless stare went even more empty and blank.
"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice suddenly taking on a breathy quality as it jumped into a higher register. "Um, because I've been, uhh, talking with Cunny, um, and we think, um, we think you, uhh…." There was a long pause, broken only by faint squishing sounds as Cindee worked two fingers into her wet pussy and began to rub her swollen clit. Cindee was programmed to insert an 'um' or an 'uh' every three words, like clockwork, and there were only so many times she could interrupt her own train of thought like that before those dice came up snake eyes. She wasn't going to be able to finish that sentence without help.
And Cynthia had enough distractions of her own without trying to finish her construct's sentences. "My… my vagina isn't a person!" she gasped, her voice struggling to stay in that lower register despite her desire to squeal and whimper. "It doesn't get a say, it doesn't have a voice, it… it doesn't control me, okay? And neither do you. This, this is a s-s-stupid--" Her head lolled back as a particularly strong surge of pleasure washed over her, and she spread her legs a little wider to give her fingers better access to her cunt. Jon could see musk leaking out around each thrust, and he knew it wouldn't be long now.
"If it's so, uh, stupid, then why, um… why can't you, uhh, stop?" Cindee's question hung in the air for a long moment while Cynthia's entire arm froze in a desperate effort to get it back under control and keep herself from masturbating. Jon watched intently--no matter how many times he made them play out this struggle for dominance, he never got tired of that final little gasp Cynthia gave when her willpower failed her and she rubbed herself frantically into oblivion so Cindee could come out and play.
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