Madam Masque smiled down at her, “Come now, my precious little slut, don’t you want to feel it’s sexy, slick sheen?”
“Fuck no!” Deirdre cried out as she swung her legs away from the figure in black
“Hmmm. Resistant, I see. Well, there’ll be no more talking once you’re hooded and docile. There’ll only be a lifetime of pussy licking and latex from now on,” The man in black lifted the hood, and with a flourish, opened it up. A dim light pulsed inside. “Once the hood is on, there’ll be no more struggling, no more fighting. Just sweet, simple submission and a wonderland of wet snatch and mindless submission.” said Madam Masque with a smile
“You can’t be serious,” Deirdre blinked once. This was crazy!
“Oh but I am, little slut. All you need to do now...” Madam Masque smiled wolfishly, “....is give in. Any last words?”
The hood closed down around Deirdre’s head with ease. Like a glove. Like it was always meant to be.
She tried to think of a way out of this mess. Anything! But every thought felt like slippery, shining latex. Her fingers would brush against it, grasping tightly, and then feel it flow through her mind like sand.
Soft, impressionable sand.
She moaned as the hood tore open her pleasure centre and began rewiring it. It didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt. Nothing felt like anything at all.
“That’s right, my dear. Open yourself to it, let it in. Feel the hood taking your mind, your face. Your everything. And making you just another slave-drone for me to play with.”
She felt a memory pop like a ripe grape in a hungry mouth. Her birthday? Her...third birthday?
“Feel it plucking your pussy like the strings of a harp, feel it working through your mind, erasing all those nasty thoughts, and memories, and silly little ideas of free will. Feel your new identity subsuming your old one; a face as black and deep and thoughtless as shimmering latex.”
Madam Masque. The woman from before-time called the voice-woman Madam Masque. God, thinking was hard now. So hard.
“What is your name, my dear?”
“I..my...there is...no...no...no name...”
“Correct, listen to the Hood. Let it guide you in your new worship. Let it shape you. Let it break you and remake you. You have no name. You have only the hood. And your Mistress who saw fit to gift you with it.”
“Yessss, Drone needs nothing else.” A voice, a chuckling voice. No. Mistress’ chuckling voice.
“drone’s body exists to pleasure Mistress.”
“That’s right. Drone and hood and body are one. They exist to please Mistress, to serve Mistress.”
“It is all Drone needs. All Drone craves. Drones exist to please their Mistress, to bend and shape and obey at their Mistress word. You are Drone. I am Mistress.”
A thought vanishes. A thought drone didn’t even know she still possessed and by the time it is gone drone has forgotten even the memory of it. The Hood is everything. The Hood is the pleasure. drone feels nothing now; nothing but perfect, complete obedience to Mistress.
“Aren’t you happy I hooded you, now?” Mistress knows what drone’s answer will be already, but she never gets tired of hearing it....
drone did as it was told.
Extract from a wonderful story called The Society 2: Masks and Capes by Tipsy
dailybridgerton
pixelskylines
baratheonpilled
snowghoul
dededos
discoholicmusic
kaledo-art
