At a glance from him she drops to her knees, and her whole world shrinks down.
She knows what has to happen, what she has to do. Doesn't even have to think about it, it all just clicks. It's all set out and drummed into her head and she feels safe knowing she can't make mistakes because he's made extra-sure there's none of her left to get in the way.
There's nothing to worry about here, no confusion, no choices she has to make. Just her owner and what he's trained her for.
All the lingering traces of the person she still sometimes pretends to be - a lot like the person she used to be, not who she is now, not who she's meant to be - vanish, puff away. She doesn't need them at all.
Knees apart, back arched, wrists clasped behind her, mouth wide and tongue out. It's the position. She holds it as he walks over, and keeps holding it as he unzips his flies and takes out his cock.
Almost at once she's drooling. She can't help it. The thought of him is usually enough, and actually having him in front of her is just too much. Having her tongue out doesn't help, either. She drools, and a needy whine escapes her. She can't help it.
This is how he wants her, and so this is how she is.
It only gets worse when he takes his cock and starts to rub the fat head around her pouting lips, watching her strain to hold the position and not dumbly following it. He enjoys teasing her, and she knows he does and knows it's for him, but the need for him is almost painful. It's a relief when he finally slips his cock into her mouth, almost all the way to the back. She feels complete.
Her world shrinks more. She's been dimly aware of herself before, of being in the position, of how right it felt to be on her knees by his feet. Now there was only his cock. She was where his cock was, something he'd made and trained to be somewhere for his cock, and that was all.
More brains - and more of the old her, what little bits were still there - dribbled down her thighs and drooled down her chin as his cock used and shaped her, made her even more his than she already was. No going back, not that she'd want to, not that she'd even know she could now.
No thoughts at all in the moment. Just a cocksocket, his object. Slurping and groaning and doing everything she'd been trained and taught and customised by him to do. His hands on her head pulling her down deep as he came, her whole body stiffening and her throat working so she didn't waste a drop.
Eventually her world grew, albeit not by much. Just enough to look up and see him smiling down, and enough to know her place in it.