The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was only supposed to be a game.

It wasn’t even a fun game. But McKenna liked it, and we didn’t mind doing what McKenna wanted, even if she could be a little pushy about it, and it’s not like we had anything else going on.

… or I guess, I’ll say she was pushy about it. I mean, she can’t really be pushy about anything anymore, can she?

I can’t help but flashback to then: “Come on, it’s so funny,” McKenna said, her phone waving in our faces as we lay on her bed, Lily and I arched up against her headboard. “ last time with that guy and he was like,” she threw her arms in the air with a deep, “Oh fuck shit fuck shit shit fuck.”

Yeah, okay, that last time had been kind of funny. McKenna had gotten a guy to turn so red on camera that he tried to stop the stream, but ended up being so nervous he dropped the phone and just let out the longest collection of swears I had ever consecutively heard from a person.

Now, of course, I can’t stop hearing them every time I open my mouth.

So, instead, I stare out the window, catching a glimpse in the reflection of my new appearance. My long brown hair in a tight braided ponytail. It’s the same style as the girl I caught blowing him the last time he messaged us, so now I wear it that way too until I’m directly told otherwise. And it doesn’t end there. The red of my lipstick highlighted in the reflection, my tits pushed together and so high against my shirt that they’re rubbing against the window when I face this direction, whether I want them to or not.

My brown skin, soft, hairless everywhere. I run my hands down my arm and over to my tits, pushing them up higher without thinking.

McKenna’s eyes from the back dart to me and then quickly looks down, blushing.

Still weird to see her get nervous like that. Not sure I’ll ever get used to it.

I keep staring at myself in the hazy reflection of the enger seat window again. I guess I was pretty before. I mean, I didn’t think I was hot or anything, not like McKenna with that face and that ass or Boobs with those, yeah, but I was OK. Kind of a cute girl with some curves, you know?

But looking at me, looking like this now. I’m hot. I know it. It’s my main thought every day: hot, hotter, be more of a toy for him, for all men really.

I’m not her anymore. I won’t ever be again.

It’s not like the other two are any better at this point. Boobs, in her baby blue ruffled skirt with the little pink hearts that make her look like an oversized cupcake. Of course, there’s a matching tank top at least two sizes two small so she’s all tits and hips (just the way he wants her, my mind insidiously reminds me again), her now blonde-blonde hair in those long high pigtails, chattering away next to me.

I don’t even listen anymore. It’s just a stream of cheerful, cute words strung together to try to get me to picture her naked and my head buried between her thighs—like I need her to talk for that to happen.

And McKenna, in the back, was dressed in the tightest workout gear I’ve ever seen. It’s a form of soft spandex that’s molded to her body in a way that feels like she’s more naked than she is dressed. Her small nipples always hard, her skin always flushed. She hasn’t worn anything else since that first night and they’ve just gotten tighter, shorter, softer, designed to show off what he liked on her.

She looks at me as I look at her and says nothing.

Not that she can.

This isn’t where I’m supposed to be, in this stolen car, driving across the country to worship a stranger from the internet—that thought alone makes me grind my legs together as heat rushes through my body, my mind rewarding me for using the word “worship”. I check my phone quickly, a picture of my breasts on the home screen flashing up as I click it to life—something I did because I thought it would make me seem sluttier. And it does, every time I see it.

I notice the time. I’m supposed to be in math class right now during my Senior year of high school. I’m supposed to have field hockey later. I’m supposed to be with my family and preparing for college.

None of that matters anymore, my mind whispers to me. Only him. Only him for three of us. Only he matters.

“Do you think I should wear my glasses when I go down on him for the first time?” Boobs says from the driver’s seat. “He never told me not to wear them, but I was when I first saw him so maybe it’ll be a surprise. Or he could slap them off me when I’m on my knees. Or one of you could slap them off me, like I’m too dumb to be wearing them, you know, and then you could grab my head and force open my mouth and shove me…”

I tune out again. I know where she’s going on it; if unchecked, she’ll pretty much go like that all day. Once, I crammed my fingers in her mouth to get her to stop, but she just kept talking and talking as she sucked and licked and chattered.

Slutty.

So slutty. The word echoes in my mind, dripping down from my brain and into my pussy, heating me from the deepest part of my core. I feel like I’m wet all over, just gushing constantly, my entire body with that ache I’ve had for the last month, a dull thrum of constant need when my hands or a tongue or something, anything, is pushed inside of me. It’s so deep. As deep as it possibly can be in me.

The worst part is that it wasn’t even a command from him. I didn’t need to feel this achy, this needy. He didn’t tell me to, so I don’t technically need to. But my mind decided that this is how I should be, that this is how slutty girls should act. It reached down and grabbed my body and told it that sex isn’t just a want anymore, it’s a need, that my cunt now drips and aches to be filled. That’s how good girls act. That’s what good girls are.

So every moment, I drip and ache.

You think you might get used to it after a month of this constant needy feeling, but you’d be wrong. It’s a tickle in my brain: Slutty. Sluttier. More.

And so it’s all I want.

You’ve got to know the feeling at least a little bit, right? When you want something even though you know you shouldn’t—that last piece of cake, your ex even though he was a piece of shit to you the last time (and every time before that), listening to that song again that you can’t get out of your head even though you’ve played it three times in a row—that moment when your inhibitions are pushed to the side to scratch an itch and get a hit of pure, undiluted happiness, even just for a moment or a bite or one more time on all fours with his hands grabbing your waist and his dick hitting that spot that only he knows how to do for you.

This is that, only it’s all-consuming inside of me. My brain was molded by him with just a few words, like it was made of soft, damp clay. His hands deep in it, in me, spreading it open, putting in what he wanted and throwing it back to me so it could be kept on his leash, even when he’s not there. Especially when he’s not there. That’s when it tries to figure out what he wants, what he would like, and it will always, always, always give it to him, whether I want it to or not.

If you’ve never had your mind work against you, actively, forcing you to do all the things you don’t want to do, would never have thought you would have done even if your life was in danger by doing it, you’ll have to believe me, it’s… strange to say the least.

No, not strange! Fucking rage, awful, so fucking infuriating! Fuck!

There. Ok. I can still summon anger if I try, but it’s getting harder.

He doesn’t want angry girls, he wants slutty girls, and slutty girls are cute and pouty and they walk on high heels with their boobs bouncing, with their mouths full of drool and the dirtiest words they can think of and their cunts so wet, so ready, all the time, wrapped in everything tight and short so they’re like a little present on two legs, just waiting to be opened.

Again, he didn’t tell me any of this. This is what my brain has been telling me for a month, and it’s getting harder not to believe it. To just accept it as my reality.

That’s really the most insidious part about all of this.

He could have. He could have told me to be like this, or to like it, or to think whatever he wanted me to think. He could have attached puppet strings around my head and pulled them until I spun and fell to my knees holding up my tits like they’re a present for him, worshiping the steps he took, literally licking his shoes with my soft tongue, my every thought from morning to night in service of his needs, anything he wants, I would do, anything he wants, I would be.

But that’s not what he did. He didn’t write the book of Lacy—he gave me cliff notes, a few short sentences in the last month about what he wants from me, who he wants to be, and my brain reshaped itself into a wet empty hole, going into overdrive to fill in the gaps with him, his wants, his needs, his interests, his Cock, his Cock his Cock his Cock. It’s worse this way, because I know I’m doing it to myself, slowly, thought by thought, using my own cleverness, my creativity, my sense of self to turn myself into his fuckdoll.

It should honestly make me angrier, but it just makes me hornier, because I know that’s how he’d want me to be.

Boobs hits a pothole and the car shakes. She’s driving too fast, but I literally can’t tell her to slow down, not if it gets us to him sooner.

So instead, I hear myself saying this:

“Boobs, the way you’re driving makes my cunt juice, every bump is going right to my clit. Either of you pretty whores want a taste? It’s soooo good and I’m like a peach today.”

I say this out loud without thinking about it. I never know what’s coming out of my mouth but that one was particularly horrifying.

McKenna looks at my face, then my chest, then my face again with those big dumb silent eyes before turning away. Boobs moans in the front seat and drives faster down the small road in an even smaller Ohio city I’ve never heard of, halfway across the country from my home.

Just another way, with another sentence from him, I am no longer in charge of what’s in my head.

“Your turn Lily,” McKenna said, handing the phone over.

The blonde girl next to me took the phone and pulled it close to her face, even though she was wearing glasses. Dressed in her oversized sweatshirt, despite the fact that it was burning even in this room, Lily pulled up TikTok on McKenna’s phone and began to swipe quickly.

She was looking for two specific things, per the rules of the game:

• One, a livestream happening now that has absolutely no viewers, zero, we wanted to be the only one to talk to whoever is on the other side.
• And two, a person streaming who looks extremely uncomfortable in front of that camera.

The idea of the game was to bombard them with comments to try and make them as uncomfortable as possible. Not, like, horrible or insulting things (well, mostly not), but just things to throw them off their balance as they were talking. Things like, “what color underwear are they wearing right now” or” when was the last time they put something up their ass?” Funny things from McKenna’s , which was important because we usually could see the streamer click the profile, and when they saw what she looked like, and she was asking these questions, it made it even worse.

McKenna had been controlling the phone during the last session when she asked, “Why does your dick look like that?” and even though he was clearly fully clothed, the dude had a straight meltdown trying to see if his penis was out on Tiktok.

It was, actually, kinda funny.

I rolled over to watch Lily scroll. She went through a woman doing a cooking demo, a guy playing guitar, two people talking politics, too many views, too many likes, not the right atmosphere. She paused slightly on a man making a model plane, but he wasn’t even looking at the camera, so probably not what we’re looking for.

Swipe. Swipe swipe swipe.

“What about this guy?”

I looked over her shoulder. There was a man in his mid-20s, sitting in a dark room at a computer desk, the light from the screen near him illuminating his face to give him dark, long shadows under his eyes. He was dressed like every 20-year-old guy I knew, t-shirt, dark jeans, a baseball cap covering some messy brown hair. He wasn’t ugly but he wasn’t my type.

He also wasn’t doing anything. He was just sitting there, staring at the camera.

It almost felt like he was waiting for something.

The only thing unusual was a handwritten sign on a piece of paper, taped up to a water glass sitting on the desk.

It read, “Watch this.”

And no one else in the stream. Just us and him.

McKenna rolled over us on the bed to see.

“Oooh, creepy, let’s see what’s up with this guy.”

Lily started typing: “Ok, how about, ‘Watch what, nothing’s going on?’ she said, adding it into the comment section.

“No, start with, ‘What am I watching, you fucking embarrassing yourself?” McKenna said.

Lily typed it out and hit send.

The man’s eyes flicked to the screen and read the comment. We watched him obviously pull up McKenna’s profile, smile and then point at the sign. The three of us leaned in, honestly interested to see what would happen next.

He reached down and pulled a small black box from the desk, about the size of the phone Lily was holding, and clicked a button on the side. The box quickly began to glow. Then pulse. It was a series of colors coming so quickly, I was having trouble processing them—reds, blues, purples, greens, blending together so fast it became a kaleidoscope of flashes pounding away in front of my eyes. Then through my eyes. It made me feel dizzy and focused, all at the same time, like I wasn’t just seeing them, but feeling them; they were each one digging a pathway deeper into my head until it felt like nothing of me was left and all I had left was the colors.

And then, they were gone. With a click, the box turned off and was placed back on the desk. I sat and watched it, unable to do anything else, my whole reality catching back up with whatever I just saw.

I might have been drooling but I couldn’t wipe it away. All I could do was continue to stare.

“Answer truthfully in the chat,” he finally said, his tone harsh, sharp, young. “Do you look like your videos here?”

Lily was already typing out, “No” when McKenna snatched the phone out of her hand and typed that she did.

I realized I was also reaching for the phone but McKenna had answered the question and truthfully, so my hand lowered automatically.

For the first time since this began, I realized I hadn’t meant to do any of that, didn’t mean to keep watching, didn’t mean to reach for the phone, but did it anyway. I thought I probably should be more afraid than I was at whatever was happening here, but even that idea came sluggishly and felt like an afterthought.

“Nice,” he said, and it suddenly was nice that McKenna looked like that. I felt this little flush of warmth looking at her. She looked nice. She was a nice girl who looked nice.

“I’m putting a video link here. Click it, make sure you’re logged in with your camera on and then leave this chat. Wait for me there quietly. Don’t do anything else.”

Don’t do anything else, my body screamed at me. I stopped. Everything stopped. I didn’t blink. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.

That moment was terrifying. I stopped breathing. He told us to stop everything but log on and wait and McKenna had the phone so she would click the link and I would do nothing else. I would do this and be on the chat with the camera on and do nothing else.

Wait, no, my brain was catching up—he wanted us on the chat so he could talk to us, so we could talk to him. He wanted us privately, there, alive, which means I would have to breathe. Quietly, silently, waiting, but breathing. He didn’t want us to die.

I gasped for air, chest heaving, but settling quickly, I needed to be still, alive, quiet, and on the chat, waiting for him.

The other two were the same. McKenna had brought up Zoom on her phone by clicking the link and it showed the same scene from TikTok, the same room where he was, but now he was moving a few things around on the desk, in no hurry, like he had all the time in the world.

Which I guess he did. We weren’t going anywhere.

When he was ready, he sat upright in the chair and finally looked at the screen, peering closer.

“Wait, how many are you there?” he asked.

“Three,” the three of us said in union.

“Oh fucking awesome. Stand up and show yourself to me, I want to see what I got,” he said, leaning back. McKenna put the phone down on her nightstand, angling it so we could all be seen. I was already standing and ed by the other two, our hands to our sides, waiting for his next command.

“You know, it’s never fun when you’re like this, all robots and stuff. Not sure if this will work, but let’s try it,” he said. “Ok, sluts, listen to me, you’re yourselves again and can think again, only you have to keep listening to me, you can’t leave the room or turn off the chat, and of course, you’ll keep doing whatever I tell you and believe whatever I say, ok?”

It was like someone had pulled the cord to restart my brain; everything came rushing back, right into focus.

McKenna acted first. She grabbed the phone from the desk and pulled it up to her eye level to be able to stare him down.

“What the fuck are you doing to us?” she said, her tone at a pitch I’d only ever heard from her a few other times in our friendship. Furious in a way that scared me, even here. “Why are we acting like this?”

“McKenna I—” Lily started, but was shut down with a head turn from McKenna. I took one step back, still able to see the phone, of course, but wanting to be as far from this situation as possible.

“Hmmm, kinda angry, aren’t you, let’s see who else is in the room,” the man said, peering closer to look at Lily and me. McKenna angled the phone so he could see all of us together.

“Look dickless, I don’t know who you are or what creepy ass shit you’re doing , but you’re going to end it right now or I swear to fucking god I’m gon—”

“Shut up, shut your fucking mouth, I’m sick of hearing from you,” he said and McKenna’s mouth snapped shut like it was being forced together with his own hands. She threw the phone down on the desk, making sure to keep it upright so he could still see us as her eyes went wide. I watched the jaw muscles strain to open and then she reached forward with her hands to try and pry her lips apart, only to have them firmly remain in place.

“That’s better,” he said, glancing at her but then back at the two of us. “You, blondie, get your ass over here.”

Lily sped forward, moving right up to the phone.

“Please,” she said with a small quiver in her voice. “Don’t hurt me. I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Nah, not my thing, although I could. You know that right?” he said, casually, like he’d thought about it before.

Lily nodded.

“Good. So, is it cold where you are?” I watched her shake her head. “Then why are you wearing that giant sweatshirt. You flat or something? Hiding you got no titties?”

She paused and fear overtook her eyes before she shook her head again.

He looked closer at her, noticing curves that were there even under the bulky fabric.

“Oh, shit, it’s the opposite, isn’t it? You’re hiding that you got too much tits? Well, come on then boobs, take’em out.”

Lily whimpered as she grabbed her sweatshirt and lifted it up, revealing a baggy white cotton t-shirt underneath.

“Jesus, how many shirts you got on?” the man said, “Off, all of them.”

She lifted that one over her head, revealing a plain white bra, covering Lily’s gigantic breasts, something she’d worked really hard to hide the entire time I’ve known her.

“Stop,” she pleaded with the man, or maybe herself, as her hands grabbed at the fabric of her underwear. “Stop stop please stop.”

With real panic in her eyes, she reached behind and snapped open her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts, just about the size of her head, expanded as they escaped the constricting underwear, overflowing, almost comically large on her little curvy body. Despite us being friends for this long, I’d never seen them fully like this. She’d always been too embarrassed to undress in front of us, too shy, too worried about everyone else, even us.

I knew they were big, but I gasped when I saw how big. Jesus, no wonder.

Lily’s hands flew in front of her, desperately trying to cover them up.

“Nope, hands down,” he said, and her hands fell uselessly to her side. “Damn, those are huge. You don’t like people seeing what you got?”

“No,” she said quietly.

“Why not?”

“I don’t like the way they look at me,” she replied.

“Not anymore,” he cleared his throat and spoke directly. “You love your tits, you want people to see them.”

The man had a moment of pause. “Wait, don’t get like arrested or anything. Just show them off like you’re a horny little slut.”

Lily’s hands, which had been covering her breasts, slowly curved to cup them, sliding them down and playing with the nipples, pulling at them with two fingers as she lifted them higher to be seen by the boy in front of her. She looked down at her breasts like she was seeing them for the first time, and pulled them up higher, moaning as she did, trying to hold as much flesh as she could in her hands.

“Oh god, I can feel you in my head,” she said, her hands dropping her tits and reaching for the sides of her foreheads, trying to claw at the words that were devastating through her mind. “No. No! I hate my breasts, I hate them, I haaaate them, I haaaaa—ve, I haaaaave to, god, touch them, my breasts, oh god they feel so good,” Lily said, cupping them again, pulling them up and playing with her suddenly hard nipples.

“Not breasts. Tits, those things are tits,” he told her. “Fucking amazing tits.”

“My tits.” She moaned loudly when she looked up and saw he was looking at her.

That was right. Those things are tits, I thought, big, giant, fantastic fat tits. I have breasts, McKenna has breasts, Lily has tits. Amazing amazing tits.

“Now how do you feel about them?” he asked, a curious note in his tone.

“Gooooood,” she moaned, her hands tugging hard at her nipples.

“Nah slut, tell me more,” he said. “What do you really think?”

She looks at him and for the first time since this all began, I see her smile that warm, inviting, happy girl smile that she does when she’s really into something. She pushed her tits towards him.

“God my tits are so huge that they always spill out everywhere. They’re so big and creamy and soft, I just want to push my face into them. My cute nipples are all fat and hard and just begging to be licked and sucked and played with. There’s so much of them, I can’t keep them in my hands. They’re perfect, I can’t stop looking at them, playing with them, teasing them, touching them. I look like some sort of stupid little cow with these tits and it’s perfect. These are slutty tits. My tits. My slutty tits. Do you like them?” She asked desperately

“I do,” the man said. “You’re just all boobs now, aren’t you.”

“Uhhuh, all boobs,” Lily said with a giggle.

“In fact, that’s who you are now. Boobs. Just Boobs, and you’re all cute and slutty to go along with it.”

I saw her smile fall and her eyes go wide, and I could see the command eating through her head, pushing through everything that made her who she was before and tossing it, overwriting it with Boobs.

I knew it because I could feel it in my head, too.

Even though he wasn’t talking to me, my world was shifting just because he said it was, parts of my brain were being removed and replaced, like new puzzle pieces sliding into the same-shaped hole, creating a new picture with the information.

She was still my friend. She’s still the girl I knew for years. Her name is Boobs and she’s a slutty little thing with more tits than personality. That’s her. Boobs. My friend Boobs.

If I tried, really tried, I could that she used to be someone else, that she used to have a different… thing we would call her.

It started with an L.

But that’s not who she is. Boobs. She is Boobs. My friend Boobs.

Boobs giggled.

“I want to speak to you alone. Pick up the phone and go under headphones so just you can hear me,” he said. And our cute big-boobed friend picked up the phone with a vapid little nod. She pulled McKenna’s AirPods off the table and put them into her ears, the phone automatically connecting and silencing.

I watched the man speak to her, whispering things directly into her brain. Boobs would nod or giggle or moan. Sometimes she would cup her tits or her hands would desperately slide down her pants and into her panties. At one point, she gasped and looked intensely at the phone as if she’d never seen the screen before.

I watched him silently rewrite my friend and I stood there, waiting.

He talked to her for about ten minutes. When he was done, she gasped and put down the phone, disconnecting the AirPods.

She knelt on the ground in front of the phone, feet pressing into her ass, hands on her tits, slowly kneading them as she lovingly looked up at him.

“God, I love this thing,” the man said, tossing the box up in the air and catching it. “I really have to thank that old man if I ever see him again.”

Boobs looked to me.

“It’s your turn, Lacy,” she said softly. “He wants you.”

I took a few steps back. “No,” I said, looking at my friend. I shook my head, desperately.

Boobs gazed at me with a look, I realized, that had to be lust. Pure, heated, lust, like she was already looking at me like I was naked. And it was the scariest thing I’ve seen this night.

“Oh, this will be fun,” the man said from the screen, turning to Boobs. “Grab her and put the headphones on her. Make her listen.”

Before I knew what was happening, I was on floor, the wind knocked out of me as I fell. My tiny friend had taken the headphones from the table and lunged at me, throwing her whole weight against my body. I wouldn’t have said she had it in her, but with that more force than I thought possible, I was knocked down, gasping for breath. She’s went right for my ears and I had to fight her off.

She was a woman possessed, one single thought: his wish, her command.

“Boobs, stop, please,” I say as she growls and punches me again to the ground, grabbing me be the shoulders and hitting me so hard my back aches and my head rattles.

I fought against her, I really did, but I didn’t want to hurt her, and she didn’t care. All of our friendship gone from her mind with a single sentence from a man who doesn’t even see us as people. Boobs fantastic tits are pressed against me so hard I can feel her hard nipples on my arms and neck and body as she growls and punches and snaps and finally shoved one of the earphones into my ear.

“Stop,” I hear him say, and I do, not because I want to, but because I have to, because his words have control of my body and when he tells me to press on the brake, I press as hard as I can. My body goes limp under the weight of the smaller girl. She immediately puts the other pod into my ear and I lay there, gasping.

“Get up,” he says and I’m standing, tossing Boobs off me as easily as she forced me to the ground. She hits it hard and I feel bad but not bad enough to not be standing in front of the phone.

“That was hot, we might have to make you two fight again,” he says. I say nothing. I don’t want to fight my friend any more than I want to do anything with her, but I understand it doesn’t matter anymore. What I want is gone, what he wants fills all of me, like an empty glass suddenly filled with ice-cold liquid. It literally makes me shiver. If he tells me to fight, I’ll go for it with everything I have, grab her by the hair, pull her down to the ground and kick until I can’t stop. This is what runs through my head: exactly what I will do to one of my best friends in the world when he tells me to fight her next, just in case, so I’m ready.

It’s weirdly kind of calm knowing you’re a puppet. What can you do but have them tell you to dance and then dance?

“Look at your friend,” he tells me and I’m unsure of where to look for a second, at the cowering McKenna on the other side of the room, her eyes overwhelmed with fear, her mouth clamped shut, or at Boobs, still on the floor, now kneeling again, looking at the phone like it’s glowing, waiting for a sign from her God.

But then I notice he’s looking at Boobs, so I keep my eyes turned down at my oldest friend on the floor.

“Do you like her?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, the word slipping out of my mouth like it was heavy collected rain falling from a leaf, dropping to the ground with a small one-syllable plop.

“No, do you like her like that? Like, do you want to fuck her?”

“No,” I say again with the same tone.

“Why not?”

I shrug. “Not really into girls, never been my thing.”

“Hmm, not sure if I should change that or make you fuck her anyway, even though you’d hate it. We’ll leave you like you are for now, just to see what happens.”

I can’t tell if that’s relief or terror through me. Both, probably, it’s hard to tell in this state. But I do realize the not choosing is worse, like I’m filled with bad news that I know is coming but hasn’t hit just yet, so I stay in this half-state of not being used and being used and it’s awful.

Of course, I can’t tell him that. He wants me like this, a little tortured pet. My brain lights up when it realizes this and pushes it hard, makes that knot in my stomach tighter and the heat in my cunt hotter and I drip and shake in front of him.

“Look back at me,” and I do. “Now keep looking at me but tell your friend she can do it.”

“Boobs, you can do it,” I tell her, not knowing what the it is, and I can see in the small mini-box on that screen that shows myself, standing there vacant eyed and flushed, that she gives me the sweetest smile, crawling over to me and spreading my legs apart.

I feel her unbutton my pants and they fall to the floor. I guess I didn’t need them. May never again.

My thin cotton panties quickly come down with them.

I gasp when I feel Boob’s tongue against my most sensitive areas, no foreplay, just right down through me and onto my clit. I’ve never had anyone down there, except my own fingers exploring. I was just about getting ready to let Dan, we’ve had sex of course, but I wasn’t quite confident enough to let him lick me there even though I’ve gone down on him plenty of times. Don’t know, just felt wrong, weird, but he wanted to, was curious, and I was just about confident enough to let him.

Should have, it feels great, as long as I don’t think about whose tongue is there.

“Let’s start with those,” I hear the voice in my ear and all the other thoughts fade, even the sensation of Boobs now working it’s way around and across my pussy and every time it lights me up, becomes duller. My focus is elsewhere. “No more boring panties, no grandma shit, lingerie only all time, understand? Sexy shit.”

“Yes, lingerie and sexy shit, only,” I repeat. I mentally catalogue every piece of underwear I own and what has to go. Every piece of cotton, every thing with a hole in it, every comfortable bra I’ve ever owned. My favorite underwear that I wear when I’m feeling sad as it always feels so soft and familiar and it’s going in the trash as soon as I go home. All of it.

Replaced with pink and lacy and silk and tight so tight, cupping my breasts, shoved into my slit so far you can barely see it. Stuff that makes me look like a sweet present him to open when he wants. I need to be wearing a thong, right now, nothing else will do.

“Good slut, ok, so, what are you?” he asks.

“What… am I?” I ask, trying to answer his question, but not sure how to.

“Yeah, like your family, you Mexican or some shit?”

“My mother is Puerto Rican, my father is German,” I say back.

“Right, ok, sexy, foreign and shit. Hey, I want to try something, stick your fingers in your pussy and then put them up to your mouth.”

I do. I move Boobs’ mouth to the side, her tongue desperately reaching for my cunt to latch back onto it, and I push two fingers deep inside of me. I’m wet enough that they slide in easily but I’m still too distracted to feel anything.

When I bring them up to my mouth, I feel Boobs lips wrap around my pussy again, her tongue flicking quickly against my clit. I moan a little but refocus on the task in front of me.

“Let me know if this works. So from now on, your pussy is spicy, like hot sauce spicy.”

I can smell it at once, the heat from my fingers, the taste of vinegar and peppers, it burns against my fingers. I flick out my tongue and lick my fingers and my mouth is filled with heat and flavor, a heady mixture of the taste of my cunt and what I’m sure is my grandmother’s homemade pique.

“It’s spicy,” I reply, still feeling that burn in my mouth. I start to swear a little bit just from the taste.

“Huh, wild,” he said, “I wonder if that’s just you or if your body if actually doing it. Ask Boobs if you taste spicier.”

“Boobs, does my pussy taste spicier?” I ask. My friend stops licking and looks up between my legs.

“Huh? Spicy? I mean, not really. Does he want it to taste spicy? Ask him if he does. I’m sure it can if he wants it too.”

“She says no,” I say.

“Yeah, I heard her. Damn. Was kind of hoping your body would just produce hot sauce out of your cunt, that would have been wild,” he said. “Oh well, lots of other stuff we can do with this. Anyway, how does your friend feel between your legs.”

I refocus on Boobs’ mouth on my clit and all the feeling comes rushing back, like all that pleasure and pressure she’s been adding to my body was held back behind a dam that’s just burst. A sweet buzz rushes from between my legs and through my body, pushing upwards until it comes out of my mouth with a moan so deep and so throaty, I’ve never heard anyone make one like it. I didn’t even know I had that in me.

“That good, huh?” he asks

“Yes,” I pant. I didn’t care that girls didn’t do anything for me. It was like someone turned on the faucet and it all rushed through me. “It feels amazing. I’m gonna cum.”

“No you’re not, not until I say so.”

The pressure doesn’t stop but that feeling of release disappears and I know it’s not coming back until he gives me permission.

“Please,” I say as I grab my tits with one hand and push my hand against Boobs head with my other, digging her into my crotch. “I need to cum. Please, I’ll do anything.”

“Of course you will,” he says, watching me standing there being eating out. “I had a nice talk with your friend a few minutes ago, do you know what I told her?”

“No,” I moan. Focus, my brain screamed at me. He asked you a question; he needs an answer. “Something about being a bimbo and about worshiping you.”

“Close, I just gave her some new thoughts on how to act for me. But she’s been told not to tell, just as you’re not going to tell what I’m going to tell you. It’ll be more fun this way, see if you can guess all the little things I change about each of you.”

“Oh god, please, please let me cum,” I said. “I won’t tell anyone. I’ll do anything.”

“No you won’t. Here, feel nothing for a second from her tongue but let that pressure build anyway, I want to see you explode when I’m done with you.” And like that, all the sensation, all the feelings, all the buzzing in my clit to my pussy to my body to my brain just stopped and I was back to being me, still horny, still panting, but beyond that, nothing. He could see me straighten up and go back to just breathing.

“This is so cool. Anyway, let’s start with the easy things. You’re my little whore now, OK, so that means dressing like you think I’d like, doing things you think I’d like, really fucking be a good slut for me.”

The commands tore through my brain, crushing any part of me that I used to think I was, this was my priority, my entire life, like he opened up my mind and poured these words directly into the center of who I was, who is Lacy, I am a slut. Lacy is a slut. Lacy is a whore. Lacy whore. Whorelacy.

Everything had to change. My body wasn’t just mine anymore; it was for everyone to enjoy, to look at, to play with, if I wasn’t making people happy with it, I was failing at being alive. I’d need tighter clothes, shorter, heels, so high that my ass sticks out and my breasts are the first thing people see. I’m not a person anymore, I’m three holes on legs, open, wet, so wet, always wet, always open.

I gushed, the warmth consuming my cunt, I’d never felt this horny, this open, this eager before. I felt like I should be on my knees, but he hadn’t told me to, so I just shoved out my chest and licked my lips and hoped he would tell me how to be a better slut for him but if not, I had all the ideas, so many ideas.

This was the most interesting thing, I realized as my body caught up with my new mindset. I wasn’t fundamentally different, I was still me, still Lacy, still creative and funny (I think) and a daughter and a sister and a good friend and a good student, none of that had flipped or switched. But now I was, first and foremost, a slut. His slut. And I was all of these things at the same time. Still me. Changed but indifferent.

“Also, I don’t like the way you’re talking to me. All short sentences, no emotions. From now on, I want you to talk dirty. Like, use those words I know you girls know from all those fucked up books you like to read. Be creative about it,” he said. “Oh and like make most of your sentences about sex, just to keep the conversations interesting,”

“Ok Daddy,” I said, despite never using that word in my life, hating it when girls used it for their partners, always thinking it was just a bit weird and creepy and thank god Dan never asked me to say it. My brain went right for it, pulling it right out and putting it on a plate for him. “I promise my cute little slutty mouth with only be used for sexy things from now on.”

I knew I meant it too, even if I didn’t want to say it.

He just grinned at me. “I think that’s a good start. Oh and you can cum.”

Literally stars exploded in front of my eyes, flashes of heat and light and pleasure. Pure, hot, red and white pleasure shot from where Boobs’ tongue was still on my clit and ran through my body. I was hot, I was sweating, I was wet everywhere, my knees gave way and I screamed as I fell to the floor, falling on top of my still giggling friend, who was reaching for my spasming pussy and I couldn’t stop here even though it was too much, way too much, but I twisted and twitched right into her mouth.

It was lucky that McKenna’s parents were gone or we’d have had an issue. Hell, I still wasn’t sure that the neighbors hadn’t heard and were calling the police. Didn’t matter, nothing mattered, my brain had shut down.

I snapped back up when he spoke to me again, standing again for him without realising I was.

“Awesome,” he said and I was ready for whatever he said next. “Ok, go put your other friend on, the one wearing that Lululemon shit. I want to have a talk with her.”

I pushed myself to my feet, finally pushing Boobs away and told her to stop because I had something else he needed me to do. That was enough and she fell back on her knees, tits bouncing as she did.

I found McKenna cowering in the corner near her bed.

“Slut, he wants you, get those pretty titties over here so he can fuck your brain,” I said.

She shook her head at me, panic etched all over her entire face. I sighed and walked over to her, AirPods in hand.

“You want to do this the hard way, or the more interesting way?” I asked her, holding out the AirPods, “Because if you don’t think I’m against ripping off those tight pants and shoving my fingers so far up your twat that you feel them coming out your mouth as I penetrate your ears with these headphones, then you don’t know me very well, do you, McKenna?”

Boobs was looking between me and the phone and gasped when I spoke. I swear to god I could feel her leak a bit into those panties, even from over here.

McKenna, with tears, paused for a long second, then reached out to take the AirPods. I guess she saw what happened with me and Boobs earlier and was afraid of the same thing.

“Good girl,” I said as she put them into her ears and leaned in close, licking her lips as I did, “Such a good girl.”

I angled the phone so he could better see her and he began to talk, commands that only she could hear, etching themselves into her mind, auditorily fucking her.

McKenna’s lips moved slowly and I realized it was the signs of whimpering from someone who is unable to make a sound. She pushed the AirPods against her ears and I couldn’t tell if she was shoving them deeper or struggling to take them out. Every few seconds she would nod or pathetically shake her head. Once, after a long break, I saw her eyes roam the room, locking onto Boobs and keeping them there, staring down at our friend on the floor. She would often glance at what she was wearing and then run her hands across the soft workout material, tracing down her breasts, her curves and cupping her cunt in an exploration of her own body.

After about five minutes of talking, she removed the AirPods and shut them off so we could all hear him again.

“Sluts, to me,” he said and I found myself lined next to the other two, myself in the middle, before I knew I had even moved.

“Ok, so now that I’ve fucked with you all, time for a few last things. First, take this number and put it into your phone. Give me a special ringtone, something you’ll always hear. And if I ever call or text, you’ll drop whatever you’re doing and come answer, understood?” he said.

I knew I could be doing anything and I’d answer. I literally could be saving my sister’s life and I’d run from her if he texted.

“Also, you’re all now obsessed with my cock.”

And like that, I was. It was right there, tip at the forefront of my mind, penetrating in, slowly, deeply, forever. It didn’t matter that I’d never seen it, it was perfect, whatever it looked like, and I needed it in me, near me, surrounding me. I could taste it down my throat, feel it in my pussy, crave it against my ass. I would go to sleep wishing I was stroking it and wake up needing to suck it. First thought on my mind first thing of the day and last thought of my mind as I touch myself to the idea that this cock exists in the world every single night. His cock was my new god and I was his parishioner, his worshiper, his devoted devotee priestess.

I looked to McKenna and Boobs and saw them both lost in the thought of his cock, flushed, breathing heavy, Boobs hands were down her pants again and she was stroking and moaning. This was right, we should all feel this way, everyone should.

His Cock. Capital C. Forever now. A fundamental change in me, just like that.

“I don’t know when I’ll call for you again, but sometime soon. In the meantime, I have something for you to do, to think of me when I’m not here,” He gave us the worst smile I’d seen that night. “I want you all to go out and find the worst person you know, the person you hate the most, and fuck them. And make sure it’s good,” he said.

Right, a task, let’s get on that. I leaned over to grab my clothes I was wearing before that Boobs had taken off of me to put on and realized they weren’t slutty enough. I was trying to figure out what to do when he said, “No, idiots, not now. Now you can enjoy the little things I left in your head. But soon, understood?”

Boobs said, “yes Sir,” next to me and I could hear the capital letter in her words. I just nodded and assumed McKenna did too because nothing came from her.

“Finally, I want you all to be really horny for each other, like incredibly turned on, but you can’t fuck, just tease, until I tell you to.”

Fuck.

I suddenly wanted them both so badly. Boobs’ tits in my mouth. Running my tongue along McKenna’s pussy. Tasting them, needing them, I ground my legs together as I glanced over at the two of them standing next to me without really taking my eyes off the phone. God they even smelled good.

“Bye cunts, talk soon.” And he was gone, just a black screen, propped up and staring back at us.

We all stood in silence for a moment before I looked to McKenna to ask her if she had something slutty I could borrow since I didn’t think I could put on what I came in now.

“Cunt, I need something to wear,” I automatically said to her, “because while it’s kind of hot to have my twat just out here for you to see, I can’t go home looking like this much of a used-up whore. And burn my pants and that stupid shirt, ok, I won’t ever need them again.”

Jesus Christ, so, much, fun to be this way.

McKenna grimaced at me and silently walked to her closet. She opened it up, rummaging through until she found a tiny tank top and an equally tiny miniskirt and threw them to me. They’re way too tight over my breasts and hips but it only makes me look worse with this much skin and cleavage on display and my pussy lit up at this thought.

“How do I look?” I ask the two of them. “Fuckable?”

The words that were supposed to come out of my mouth were, “Do I look OK to go outside?”

This is going to be a problem.

“You look amazing, Lace,” Boobs said, pres to me, her giant tits rubbing against mine in this top. “Just so good.” I looked over and saw that McKenna’s eyes were glued onto the titflesh between Boobs and me.

“Hey, Kenna, eyes up here! What are you, like a horny boy who’s never seen tits before?”

She looked at us, turned red and turned away.

“Hey, can you still not talk?” Boobs asked her, with a cute little concerned lilt, “didn’t he say you could talk now?”

Our friend just sadly shook her head.

“Can you text us shit?” I asked, actually curious where her limitations were.

McKenna reached for her phone and went to type but her fingers hovered about the keys. I watched her strain and then the phone fell limply to her side with a shake of her head. I guess, to her, typing is still talking.

“Oh babe, that sucks,” I said, “well at least you now know your mouth is actually good for something.”

God that’s gross, and it’s so weird hearing it come from me. I guess that was as close to comforting my friend as I was going to get. “Come on, Boobs, I’ll drive your ass home.”

We left McKenna there, mute and turned on, as Boobs babbled on to me about how blowjobs are really the perfect way to say I love you if you think about it.

The next month of my life was hell. A prison of sex and perfume and my tits being so sore after being mauled and my mouth being so painful after being used and my pussy being so raw it hurts to touch it to masturbate, which I do, all the time now.

And all if that, all of that torture and pain and being used and useful just makes it feel better.

Heading home that night was easy, my mom was on the couch and yelled at me as I came in but I went right to my room without saying a word. Turns out, naked is as good as sexy to my brain so I was able to strip down and go to bed. Didn’t even shower, just wanted the night to end.

Great. All good.

The next morning… not so much.

I shaved and showered no issue, ignoring a text from Boobs who sent me… well, even at this point, I was already getting pretty familiar with what her tits looked like.

Then I hit a wall. Turns out reaching for clothes that didn’t make me look like I wanted all eyes all the time on my body made me freeze. I couldn’t even physically move my hands to reach for the drawer unless I knew what I was picking up was short or tight or both.

I knew I was a slut. I had to be a slut. But I kept trying to rationalize that even sluts might wear comfy clothes.

The third time I went for a sweatshirt, I actually picked it up. Only my body also pulled a pair of scissors from my desk and forced me to watch myself cut it into long ribbons, which were then carefully gathered up and thrown into my trash. At that point, it just took over. I want the back of my closet to grab what I’d always kind of thought of in my head as my whorewear, the tiniest pleated skirt I own, a club top that was black and silk and a pair of heels I kept only for a special occasion.

And then my body marched me downstairs to have breakfast with my mom.

She thought I was honestly joking when I sat down. Asked me who the lucky boy was in math class that I’d wear it for.

She shut up when I asked her, “How else was I going to get my cunt stuffed full of cock if I didn’t look this slutty?”

I was trying to say, “I’m sorry and I love you.”

What came out made her go silent and then indignant and then screaming. It didn’t stop until I just stood up, grabbed my backpack and went to school.

I didn’t make it past second period. Then I was written up and sent home when I literally refused to wear the coat they tried to put on me from the lost and found, fought them on it, told them that if they couldn’t see my tits then it wasn’t going on my body.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one. Boobs showed up in a pink baby-t so tight you could see her nipples and matching hot pants and was also sent home.

I’d find out the next day McKenna did fine, but that’s just because tight athleisure wear wasn’t against school guidelines, just weird.

And of course, it didn’t hurt that she said nothing all day and was barely noticed by anyone.

This began my new life. As long as I didn’t fight with my body, I could at least wear things that were slutty enough to get away with making him happy but modest enough it wouldn’t get me thrown out of school. My mom and I grew distant, since I couldn’t talk to her without talking about what I wanted up my ass.

She took me to a shrink about a week in. Dr. Gregor, a old family friend who I’ve known since I was a little girl, since she thought I’d lost my mind.

If only she knew.

When he was talking to me, my thoughts were in overdrive. I couldn’t let Dr. Gregor lock me up in some psych ward because then I couldn’t answer his call if it came and that was unthinkable but I couldn’t resist his orders either because he told me to talk like a slut so I had to talk like a slut.

I assessed the situation and took a chance.

An hour later, Dr. Gregor told my mom that I was fine, that I was going to a rebellious phase and there was nothing wrong with a young woman exploring her sexuality if she does it safely and consensually. However, he’d also like to see me again soon for a follow-up check-up just to make sure, which was enough for her to take me home and not realize that I was still coughing from the feeling of the good doctor’s cum stuck in the back of my throat.

And so I went back to school.

I barely spoke, never in class, and when I did, it was horrifying. My other friends stopped hanging out with me pretty quickly, which means that it was basically just me and Boobs, who was always talking and always getting distracted when guys looked down her shirt in these tight tops and tiny skirts, which was almost always, and McKenna, who now stayed behind us, almost like we could protect her.

As if I could protect anyone from anything. I couldn’t event protect my sister, and she was the most important person in my life.

It happened about two weeks after that night. I had just sent him a photo of me dressed in new pink babydoll lingerie since he texted just a simple command, send me a good photo, and I stopped doing my homework, nearly threw my laptop across the table, and bolted to my room, needing something new that would be special for him.

I found the one I was looking for, one that kind of made me look like a whore ballerina, complete with a lacy front bodysuit that really cupped my breasts and a cute little tutu skirt that flared out. And I knew he’d want the shot in good lighting so he could really see me dressed for him, so I went into the living room.

He called almost immediately when I sent it.

Jillian was accidentally in the background of the photo, she had walked in when I hadn’t noticed.

And now he wanted her too.

I got her on the call. She didn’t want to come but I yelled and swore and called her horrible things until she came over and looked into the camera, right into the flashing box.

And he did… something to her.

I don’t . He didn’t let me. My traitorous brain selected all the files for whatever just happened and went, “Delete.” I assume it came with just a simple command from him like, “don’t what I just said.”

So I didn’t. Easy as that. Poof, all gone.

Only as we got off the call, my sister was looking at me in a way I’d never seen, kind of a combination or horror and pity. And she took me by the hand, so gently, and went, “I’m sorry.”

I wanted to tell her that no, I was sorry, this was all my fault, that she’s now part of whatever games he’s playing with the two of us. Maybe I did, but it’s gone too. She stared at me for a moment and then started to get onto her knees and…

Gone.

Just like the last time, a complete blank. The next thing I knew, she was standing and wiping her mouth and she walked away without a word.

This happens about once a week now. We’ll be sitting together doing homework or watching TV and she’ll look at me with that same look and next thing I’ll know, about half an hour has gone and I don’t any of it. He took these moments from me, is keeping me in the dark, so I just have to imagine what he’s making her do—whatever he had us doing together.

I tried to ask her once, and she got panicked and her mouth opened and shut for a second like a muppet and she flushed and ran to her room and slammed the door. I’m guessing she’s not allowed to tell me and from the sounds I then heard, has a little trigger for something to happen if I ask about it.

So I don’t anymore, I just let it happen. Whatever it is.

Of course, I still had the other part of his task.

Honestly, picking the person was easy. As soon as he said it, I knew exactly who I hated the most. James Cannavale, fucking rich asshole, hates me because I’m Puerto Rican or poorer than him, even though we’re really not that bad off, or I don’t know, just wanted to have someone to make feel like shit and I’m the one. I hate him in principle and I hate what he does to people and now I had to fuck him as well as I could.

Figured I would kill two birds with one stone with this one, since I needed slutty clothing and he had the money for it, let’s make him pay for this new life.

I cornered him one day after school while he was with his friends. Didn’t even try to be subtle, walked right up to him, dressed in a mockery of a schoolgirl outfit (tight white button down, tiny little skirt, cute shiny black shoes) and pressed myself right up to his side and asked, loud enough that they could all hear it

“Come with me somewhere private?” with a real deep emphasis on the third word.

The group had stopped talking as soon as I walked up. I know they were talking about me. Everyone was. Didn’t matter, just meant James had less reason to say no.

And then there I was, in the back of the auditorium in a little-used changing and make-up room for theater that I knew would be empty, on my knees, his dick down my throat and spit down my mouth and onto my tits, which were of course out so he could grab them as I worked him deeper.

I had freed his cock from his pants and gasped in fake awe at the sight.

“Oh wow, it’s even bigger than I imagined,” I breathed reverently, wrapping my fingers around his shaft. Without hesitation, I took him into my mouth, my lips stretching obscenely around him. I bobbed my head, taking him as deep as I thought I could, and then deeper, until my nose was pressed against his pelvis and I could feel his tip brushing up against the back of my throat.

I honestly thought he would take more convincing to fuck, that he’d think I was trying to prank him or cause a scene once he got his dick out. Not for a moment, as soon as I showed a little interest, his hands were on my tits. He was just as rough as I thought he’d be and my body kept responding to it, silently whispering what a good girl I was. being for being this awful, for abandoning everything I believed in, for doing what he told me

I hold him there, swallowing convulsively around his length, my throat muscles working to massage him the best I can.

“God, you’re such a slut,” he said as he pulled out of my mouth and lifted me to my feet so could pull my skirt up and my panties down.

Wasn’t he surprised when he found I wasn’t wearing any?

He played coy for a second but I knew I had him, grinding my ass against that hard dick, his hips thrusting against me even as he was trying to pull back. I wasn’t letting him get away, I reached around and grabbed his cock, feeling it hard and pulsing in my hand, and guided it right to my cunt, and then with one thrust, deep inside of me.

He easily slipped in, I was so wet. Wetter than I’ve maybe ever been. I gushed around his dick as it began to hump inside of me in awkward, jerky movements. I’m honestly not sure if he’s ever had sex before, despite every time I’ve heard him bragging about the things he’s done to this bitch or that slut. He probably had and just didn’t care about anything but his own fucked up pleasure, which was worse. So much worse.

And I felt myself almost cum because of it.

As we fucked, I made him promise so many things—all the slutty outfits he would buy for me so we could do this again. I needed to look like a slut, I needed to be a slut, and what’s more whorish than selling out your body so you can then wrap it in everything that screams slut.

I muffled my own scream with my arm as I finally came around his cock just thinking about it. He grunted and smiled, probably thinking his sad jerky motions was enough to get me there.

And then, me realizing that I was being fucked, badly, by the guy I hated more than anything in the world, just because he told me to do it, was enough to get me there. I came again.

James was true to his word. A day later I had $3000 worth of whore clothes in multiple bags on the floor as he pushed his dick into me, on all fours, telling him what a good little doggy I was and how all I needed was his big fat cock over and over and over again.

At least he came quickly; it was really the only thing I liked about him.

Boobs would tell me later that week that she fucked her stepfather. Not a surprise, he was always making her feel uncomfortable around the house, asking her why she was dressed that way and she she wasn’t out with more boys. I’d even heard him call her a lesbian on a couple of occasions when I came over. Apparently, she was now happy to prove him wrong.

She didn’t even seem upset about it.

“The old me would have been pissed I think,” she told me, “but that’s what makes it so fucking hot for him.” She was sucking on her fingers when she said this.

I rolled my eyes and replied, “You gonna fuck your daddy again?”

“Already did this morning as soon as my mom went to work,” she replied with a giggle.

This went on for weeks, no one talking to me but Boobs, if you could call that talking, and James when he wanted to fuck me.

Dan dumped me, of course. I didn’t really expect him to stick around but it got worse when I couldn’t explain why I was dressing like a whore and in fact, would then go out of my way to humiliate him, to hurt him. I guess my brain decided that he might like me to ruin my relationship in the worst way possible, that it would, potentially, make him a little happier, so I did it, ruthlessly, cruelly, awfully. The things I said to Dan kept me up at night, which of course, made me touch my needy cunt hard and fast and over and over, replaying those conversations, until I ed out from exhaustion.

He was patient, way more than he should have been. He kept trying to get me help, said something was wrong with me. I made fun of him for crying about his dog who had ed last year and told him his dick was too small for me, even though it was fine. I sent him pictures of my tits and told him he’d never see them in person again. When he would find me at school, I’d dip my fingers into my cunt and wipe them on his shirt. He told me he loved me and I laughed. Hard.

When I fucked Dan’s best friend Tom and made sure he caught us, well, that was pretty much the last straw.

I thought this might be my life now, a constant string of embarrassment and sluttiness.

And then two days ago, everything changed again, because of course it did.

I got a text from Boobs. It just said: “He wants us. Pack everything sexy you own. I’ll be by to pick you up in an hour.”

And that was that. I was trying to get some homework done but none of it mattered anymore. I was out of my chair and had a suitcase in front of me half-filled with lingerie before my mind caught up with my body. I quickly realized with all the new things James had bought me, one suitcase was not going to be enough, so I went into my mom’s room to get hers.

She asked why I needed it and I ignored her. She tried to stop me and I pulled it so hard from her, she fell to the ground.

15 minutes later I was packed, sitting on the couch, as she screamed and cried and begged me to tell her what was going on.

When Boobs pulled up, I left without a word.

My brain gave me that gift, and I was thankful.

Boobs was already chatting as I got into the car, saying how she couldn’t wait to be the dumbest sluttiest fuckdoll that she ever could for him. As I buckled, I noticed spots of dark red down Boobs shirt and arm.

“What happened to your shirt, whore?” I asked. “Did you jerk off a ketchup bottle?”

She briefly glanced down while driving.

“Oh, huh. My mom tried to stop me from leaving, like actually tried to restrain me. I had to grab a knife from the table to make her stop. I guess I didn’t realize she’d bled on me.”

The fact that she said it with that high-pitched, cute tone while smiling is something I don’t think will ever get out of my head.

We grabbed McKenna, who came out with a sporty suitcase, dressed in dark purple and she got in without a word as always and we were off.

That was two days ago. I assume the car has been marked as stolen, although I don’t know what happens if we get pulled over. My brain starts running through scenarios. Call him, have him use the box to turn the cops into braindead whores, we walk out and go to him.

If that’s what he wants. Maybe he’ll realize we’re not worth the trouble and leave us in jail. I accept this possibility too.

This is me. All of it. When we arrive to him, I’ll do anything he wants, willingly, eagerly, hating every moment of it, craving more. Knowing what he likes, he’ll probably get bored of us quickly and after that, who knows what happens. He sells us to someone or abandons us or just makes us into living fuckdolls for anyone to use. It doesn’t really matter in the end anymore.

Maybe he’ll finally let me fuck my friends before that. That would be nice.

I take another selfie, top down, tits out. I see McKenna in the background lock eyes onto me and watch a small amount of drool fall from her lips onto her soft lycra top. I start to type, to tell him how he’s ruined my life, how I’ve given up everything I love, everything I am, because of a few words from him mouth, how he’s playing a fucked up game with real people and he should be so disgusted with who he is and what he’s done to us. That even as I need him, I hate him truly more than anything I’ve ever hated in my life, a fire in me that will most likely consume me, leaving me nothing but an empty, hollow shell of a person.

I look down. The only words that I’ve typed blink back at me: “Thank you for making me your fuckslave, Daddy. Can’t wait for you to use me. XOXO. Your little slut.”

I’ve already attached the topless photo.

And I hit send.