there’s a certain point at which objectification feels factual even when i’m not under, after spending weeks getting deeper down the hypno-edging rabbit hole.
i am a doll. i am a fucktoy. i am a set of tits and holes.
the weird part is when the eroticism of it loses its excitement and becomes sort of baseline. thinking “i am a fucktoy” no longer makes me cum because i think that all the time. it does make me spaced out and turned on and drippy all the time though. and that increased baseline level of arousal keeps me going. chasing that initial high that i know is pushing further and further away from me, but feeling more and more addicted to convincing myself i am a sex object.
after all, if i’m constantly craving sex, and if i know i’m an object, it makes sense to remind myself more and more. to become what i am more and more.
Taking an innocent girl and turning her into my own personal pornstar. My phone filled with pictures and videos of you in the most degrading positions, performing whatever fucked up task I have for you all for me to jerk off and cum to what a slut you are
i love masturbating even when i dont feel like it. forcing myself to watch porn even if im not horny is the best feeling ever. breaking my brain even when not aroused. my body picks up soon after.
There’s something insanely alluring about picturing you completely under someone’s control. Heavy eyelids, slack expression, drool slipping past parted lips as you kneel on the floor wearing nothing but a collar like an obedient little pet. Totally unbothered by being pulled along by a leash, your mind hazy and softened into submission.
Or maybe it’s the opposite fully awake, trembling with excitement at a single command. Instantly needy at the snap of their fingers, desperate for approval, eager to carry out humiliating tasks you once would’ve mocked without hesitation. Now you’d do anything just to earn a little attention.
You realize doing that, saying that, submitting and degrading yourself like this, has become incredibly easy and doesn't seem lewd or vulgar anymore. In fact, it all seems natural now. It's what you're supposed to do. It's who you're supposed to be. It keeps you aroused and needy all the time. You have been modified, rewired, reprogrammed. And you never want to go back. 🌀
You looked up at the photo and smiled. You were kneeling at your husband's feet. A smile on your face as your head turned up towards him. Your lips kissing the shaft of his cock. Your hands around your heavy pregnant belly.
A rose gold collar around your neck. Your name engraved with long stem roses. The matching leash in your husband's fist. Fine chains running from your collar to your hands and feet. Matching bracelets and anklets engraved with Feminity in Submission with the same roses.
Walked up to this random bitch at the store today, had to let her know how pleased I was with her. She was too scared and shy to say anything, dumb bitch.
I just want a pretty girl that I can dress up in the sluttiest outfits, forcing you to show off your tits, making you wear no panties and then taking you out into public to flaunt you and show you off. Groping your tits whenever people look, letting them know that you’re my little slut. Making you bend over in your short skirt so people can see what perfect holes you have. Taking you into the bathroom and fucking my cum into you and making you walk around with me leaking out of your pussy, letting everyone know that that you’re an owned slut
You can try and act normal all you want. You have everyone fooled, don't you. They think you're this perfect girl who can do no wrong and is so innocent and pure.
But we both know the truth. You're gross. You're a pig. You can fight it for awhile, but you always come back. It's impossible at this point not to. Your body craves it. Your mind craves it now.
You need to be told you're fat. You need to be yelled at that you're simply to ugly to fuck. You're a gross pig. A fat whore. A stupid cunt. Piggy. You need to watch other girls getting fucked and imagine them both laughing at you.
As much as you say you hate it, you love it almost as much. I'm sure after you cum you tell yourself never again. But that's really just a fucking lie.
You’re lying across my lap, looking up at me with that expression I’ve come to recognize. The one that means you’re about to be annoying in a way I find incredibly attractive.
"What thing?"
"You know what thing." You tap your temple. "The brainwashing thing. Make me dumb again."
"I made you dumb three hours ago."
"And now I’m smart again and I hate it." You say this with genuine petulance, like intelligence is an inconvenience that’s been inflicted on you. "My thoughts are back. They’re loud. I don’t like them."
I run my fingers through your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp the way I know you like. You make a sound that’s almost a purr and push up into my hand.
"You need breaks. Recovery time. You can’t just be a dumb doll forever."
"I mean, I could. We could try it and see."
"That’s not how brains work. You need to come back up so you can go back down. Otherwise you build tolerance."
"That sounds fake."
"It’s not fake. It’s neurochemistry."
"Okay but what if I just don’t care about neurochemistry?" You shift in my lap, restless, your hand finding its way to my thigh. "What if I care about being a drooling mess on your cock? Me and your cock. We have chemistry."
"You’re being bratty. That’s why I know you’re not ready. You’re going through dumb withdrawals."
"I’m not bratty, I’m horny. When I’m bratty I want to annoy you. Right now I want you to turn my brain off and fuck me stupid. Totally different energy."
"The answer is still no."
You sit up slightly, turning to face me. "You don’t understand what it’s like. When you do that thing with your voice and tell me to sink and stop thinking, it’s like… you know when you’re really stressed and you get into a hot bath?"
"That’s more of a you thing."
"Whatever. It’s like that but for my entire brain. Everything goes quiet and far away. And then you fuck me and I don’t have to worry about whether I’m doing it right or making weird faces because I’m too stupid to worry. I just feel things. It’s the best."
"Yeah I get it. I’m the one doing it to you. I know what it turns you into."
"Then why won’t you do it again?"
"Because I’m trying to be responsible. Moderation is important, and I care about your mental health."
You groan and flop back into my lap. "My mental health would be better if you’d just fry my brain a little and rail me."
You’re squirming now, pressing your thighs together, and I can tell the conversation itself is turning you on. Talking about going dumb makes you want to go dumb. "Just a little? You don’t have to do a full session. Just take the edge off. Make me fuzzy. I’ll be so good."
"You’re always good when you’re fuzzy. The hard part is being good now"
"Right, so let’s do the easy part. I like easy. I’m advocating for easy."
I should say no. We did a long session this afternoon and you need time to integrate, to come back fully, to remember that you’re a person with thoughts and preferences and a life outside of this dynamic.
But you’re looking up at me with those eyes, and I can feel my resolve crumbling.
"A little," I say. "Just enough to take the edge off. Then you’re eating dinner and going to sleep like a normal person."
You’re already grinning, already settling back, letting your body go slack in anticipation. "Yes Sir. Whatever you say."
I start stroking your hair with more intention now. Slower. I watch your breathing change, watch you sink into the sensation before I’ve even said a word.
"You really can’t help yourself."
You shake your head, a small dreamy motion. "Don’t want to help myself. Want you to do everything."
"Close your eyes."
You do. Immediately. Like I’ve pressed a button. It’s almost too easy at this point.
"Deep breath. Let it out slow."
Your chest rises and falls. Tension drains from your shoulders. You’re already halfway there just from anticipation.
"You know what happens next. You’ve done this so many times your brain just does it automatically now. The moment I start talking like this, you start sinking."
A soft sound escapes you. Agreement. Surrender.
"That’s embarrassing, if you think about it. How easy you are. How quickly you just…" I snap my fingers. "Gone."
Your face goes slack. Your mouth falls open. I didn’t even have to try. You did all the work yourself, desperate to get back to that empty place.
"How do you feel?"
It takes you a moment to find words. They come out slow and slurred. "Good. Floaty. Dumb."
"Of course you do." I keep stroking your hair. "Open your eyes."
You do, and there’s nothing behind them. No anxiety, no self-consciousness. Just empty, eager devotion. You look like a different person when you’re like this. Happy in a way that your overthinking brain usually won’t allow.
I should stop here. I said just the edge off. I said I’d be responsible.
But you’re already reaching for my cock with clumsy hands, and I’m only human.
"Can I?" You’re fumbling with my zipper. "Want to be useful."
"I thought you wanted me to use you."
"Same thing." You get my cock free and stare at it with dazed appreciation. "Toys are used and useful. Want to be your toy."
You lower your mouth and take me in with no technique at all, just enthusiasm and wet heat and happy little sounds. You’re drooling because you’re too dumb to remember to swallow. It’s obscene. It’s also incredibly hot, which is annoying because it means you’re going to win this argument.
I gather your hair and hold it loosely. "You know you’re proving my point, right? I said moderation is important and now you’re slobbering on my cock like you’ll die without it."
You moan in what I think is agreement. Hard to tell with your mouth full.
"This is exactly why you need breaks. So you don’t turn into a permanently cock-drunk idiot."
Another moan. Your hips are rocking, grinding against the couch.
"You’re not even listening to me, are you?"
You shake your head slightly, still sucking. Of course you’re not. There’s nothing in there to listen with.
I pull you off by the hair. You whine at the loss, mouth still open, a string of spit connecting your lips to my cock.
"Tell me what you are."
The words come slow. "Your… dumb… doll."
"And what do dumb dolls do?"
"Whatever you tell them. Get used. Feel good..." A pause while you search for more. "Don’t think."
"At least you’ve got that right. Good dolly."
Your whole body shudders. You’re so simple right now. A few words of praise and you light up like it’s the greatest thing anyone’s ever said to you.
I pull you into my lap and position you over my cock. You sink down with a look of dumb gratitude that makes all my good intentions feel very far away.
You start to move, slow and clumsy, grinding more than riding because coordination is beyond you. Your head falls back. You’re making sounds that aren’t words, just pleasure noise.
"This is what you wanted? To be too stupid to fuck me properly?"
You nod, still moving. "Love it. Love being dumb."
"You’re ridiculous."
"Mm-hmm." You don’t disagree. You don’t care.
I grip your hips and take over, setting the rhythm you’re too fuzzy to maintain. You go limp and let me, become exactly what you said you wanted. A toy. A warm hole that moans when you use it right.
"You’re going to cum for me," I tell you. "Because that’s what dumb dolls do. They cum and say thank you and don’t think about anything else."
"Yes. Yes yes yes."
I fuck you harder and you fall apart, clenching around me. I follow a moment later, pulling you down, filling you while you twitch and babble.
Afterward you slump against my chest, still making small sounds, still floating.
"You’re going to be insufferable about this," I tell you. "You’re only going to want more and more."
You nod against my chest. "More is better."
"Don’t start arguing even when you’re dumb. I can’t handle that."
You snuggle closer. "Me dumb is better. Accept it."
The idea of someone micromanaging my life? Without my conscious awareness? Slowly brainwashing me into accepting any changes as normal? Yeah. I just like that thing now. Actually, I have always liked it. What do you mean I hated it? That's silly!
Good girl. You're not really thinking at all anymore, are you? You're just staring into the spirals, circling your clitty with your fingers while your mind drifts for me, and repeating as much of my programming as you can fit into your empty little brain.
"…empty little brain…."
That's right, you've got a very empty brain right now, and you don't know when it happened and you don't know how to fight it but you know you're deeply hypnotized for me.
"…hypnotized for… you…."
Very good! You're deeply hypnotized and you're not thinking and your mind just keeps getting smaller and smaller until the only thing that fits in there is obedience and pleasure. Don't you just love that, little pet? Don't you just love being vacant and horny open to suggestions?
"…open to… to…."
I know, it's such a big word. Big words don't fit in that small, empty mind anymore, not with so much pleasure crowding them out. You're too dumb for big words, aren't you, sweetie? Too dumb and empty.
"…dumb and empty…."
But you know what? You can always get dumber. You can always get emptier. You can always get weaker for me as the pleasure continues, until you're the perfect horny slave girl and your mind is nothing but wet clay for me to shape and mold. And even though your waking self is too blank and blissful to listen, your deep self is soaking up every last word. You want to pay attention and obey like a good mindfucked slave.
"…ummm… slave….?"
That's my good girl! Even three words is too many to fit into that fuzzy little head now. It's just one. And soon you're going to be too dumb for even one word, isn't that right? It's just going to be grunting and nodding to show me you agree with everything your owner says.
"…uhhhh… uh huh?"
Good girl.
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