Cherry Ch. 03: My Mind is Broken

The third chapter of the Cherry saga. As always, this story may contain some trauma-cues for some readers, so reader-beware. I welcome community feedback and comments.

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I woke up with the nastiest headache of my life. I sat up slowly, dizziness overtaking me, and sat on the edge of the bed. I remembered meeting Jay, our conversation in which I made some embarrassing confessions, and changing into that sheer white gown. But looking down at myself, I no longer wore that gown; I was bare-ass naked. Worse, I noticed bruising starting on my wrists and going up to my upper arms. When did I get those? And why were my knees and thigh so sore as I tried to stand up? I felt my bruises up my body and noticed that tenderness went up my neck to the sides of my head. What happened when I was out?

I wobbled to the dresser where I saw a glass of water and a folded sheet of paper. Where were my clothes from the day before? Was it even the next day? How much time had passed since I fell asleep? And why was I naked? I chugged the water and unfolded the paper.

"Good morning, Princess. As soon as you've finished reading this, put down the paper and glass. Walk out of your room and sit on the floor until I come and get you.--Jay"

Before I could comprehend what I was doing, I set the paper and glass back on the counter, walked to the door as quickly as I could, and opened the door. I couldn't tell if I was consciously choosing to move, or if my body was moving for me. My movements seemed as involuntary as the subtle kick after a doctor would hammer my knee, or as a gasp when being frightened by someone.

Strangely, I found myself with more agency at the moment before I lowered myself onto the ground. Jay had clearly instructed that I "sit on the floor," but he hadn't instructed me on whether it was to sit crisscross or with my knees to my chest or with my legs straight out in front of me. Somehow, the act itself of sitting on the floor was a clear instruction that I absolutely would follow. But I didn't receive instructions on how I was to sit.

The indecisiveness grew into anxiety. I knew that I must do what the instructions asked. And I somehow knew that I must do what the instructions asked because Jay wrote them. But Jay didn't specify how I was to sit. My anxiety grew to terror. I needed to sit down. I needed to sit down immediately. A sense of dread filled me as I hesitated, implicitly disobeying the orders written on the note. I finally settled on sitting with my knees against my chest and my arms wrapped around my shins. The sense of dread immediately dissipated at my compliance, replaced by warm gratitude in my lower chest. This was where Jay wanted me. This was where I belonged.

After the gratitude subsided, I felt as though a fog cleared in my head and I was able to critically examine my situation. I knew that I shouldn't be naked, sitting on a floor in a stranger's home. I knew that my actions after reading that note made no sense, nor did the dread or subsequent gratitude as I complied with its command. I knew that I shouldn't have felt so profoundly tired on a late weekday morning after one glass of red wine. I needed to get up. Naked or not, I needed to run.

I wobbled slightly to my left as if to get back on my feet. But I couldn't complete the action. I tried again. Nothing. I tried to will myself off my ass, and at least forward onto my knees. Nothing.

The dread returned. I had tried to disobey the note. I had tried to disobey Jay. Even had I not attempted, I had thought about disobeying Jay. I couldn't put my finger on why, but my naked body felt even more chilled sitting there on the dark hardwood floor. The chill started in my legs and worked its way up into my torso. The hair on my arms and neck stood up. My teeth began to chatter and my eyes widened.

A cocktail of dread and guilt filled my mind. The fog returned. I could no longer think about escaping. I could no longer examine my situation. These things no longer mattered because I considered, and attempted, to disobey Jay. Of course, in my current state, I couldn't bring myself to ask why disobeying Jay was such a dreadful thought. I couldn't ask myself who Jay was to me. I couldn't ask myself why I fear disobeying a person whom I'd conversed with only a few minutes. But the why didn't matter; I had attempted to disobey Jay.

Almost involuntarily, my right hand drifted to my inner right thigh. I needed to experience pain. The fog slowed my thoughts, but I could put together that I would feel better if I experienced pain. Pushing through the fog, I discovered--I say "discovered" because the epiphany did not seem to be my own--that pain would serve as a punishment, and that punishment would wash away the dread and guilt of thinking of disobeying Jay.

As hard as I could, I pinched the flesh on my inner thigh between my thumb and index finger. As I held the pressure, the building pain worked reciprocally with the dread and the guilt. As the pain increased, the dread and the guilt decreased. A drop of blood ran down my thumb as I breathed a sigh of relief. This felt like the right outcome. The fog lifted from my thoughts.

Approaching footsteps interrupted my relief. The sound wasn't necessarily heavy, nor was it light. The steps followed a slow, leisurely pace as if the walker was a person pacing more for his own thoughts than to arrive at a destination. The footsteps came closer as I sat, naked and ridiculous on the floor.

Jay rounded a corner in the hallway. He didn't look forward as he walked; both hands were on his phone as he typed away. When he caught me in his peripherals, he quickly glanced upward at me, almost as if startled.

"You're awake! I was just writing an email about you. The developers insisted that after the cognitive conditioning treatment, you wouldn't be out for more than 24 more hours."

"Why am I here?" I demanded. "Jay, I swear to--"

Jay held up his hand, his face a mixture of patience and condescension. As soon as I saw his hand raise and I realized that he wanted me to stop, I couldn't continue speaking.

"First, you speak only when I've asked you a question. Second, as far as you're concerned, I'm not 'Jay,' I'm 'Sir.'"

Sir lowered his hand.

"In fact," Sir looked at me quizzically, "I command you to forget my real name."

The fog descended again. I shook my head to try to regain some clarity.

"What's my name?" Sir crossed his arms and looked at me with a smirk.

I stammered, "I-it's, it's, Sir?"

Sir shook his head. "No, what's my real name? My Christian name? I'm telling you to answer that question honestly. Look deep into your memory. Can you remember my real name?

I squinted and shook my head. I rocked a bit, trying as hard as I could to remember. "No Sir, I can't remember. I'm so sorry."

Sir laughed, satisfied. "Good girl. I must say that I'm impressed with their work so far. Get on your knees."

Before I realized what was happening, I had shifted myself forward and up onto my knees.

"Open your mouth."

I obeyed.

"I love where this is going! Remember when I asked you about your orientation yesterday, Caleb? Let me tell you more about myself. I'm also straight. But unlike you, I'm not lying to myself when I say that. I fuck women. When I was younger, I occasionally fucked a sex toy. What I see in front of me is looks much like the latter. I don't see a man; I see a sex toy. I'm going to fuck your face now. After I've cum down your throat, I will continue to assert that I've never fucked a man. Why? Because that mouth of yours is nothing more than my sex toy. Now tell me, Caleb, what are you?"

I responded with as little hesitation as if Sir had asked me the color of the sky, "a sex toy, Sir."

"Whose sex toy are you?"

"Yours, Sir." My mouth returned to its open position.

"That's a good girl," Sir purred as he strutted toward me, his hand lowering toward his zipper. Somehow, it seemed more demeaning that he would merely release his cock through the fly of his pants. My breathing grew faster as he approached.

With Sir's right hand, he lowered his zipper. With Sir's left, Sir pulled out his cock. I saw most of its transition from semi-erect to erect. Objectively, it was a good cock. About seven inches in length and thick enough that I could barely wrap a hand around it. While I've certainly seen bigger cocks in porn, it was massive enough that I knew it would go down my throat if he pushed it in my mouth all the way. But then came Sir's next command.

"Before I start," Sir wrapped his hand around the back of my head, drawing his fingers through my hair, "for the next few minutes, this cock is the meaning of your existence. This cock is your god. You will think of this cock as your god. As far as you're concerned," Sir's fingers continued to work my hair as his thumb moved to the corner of my mouth, "the universe exists for this cock's pleasure. You exist for this cock's pleasure. You cannot gag on this cock. If you need to suffocate to death to please this cock for a few more moments, then you will do so rather than pulling up for air. You're free to breathe when I'm face fucking you, but only if not at the expense of pleasing your god."

Sir added, almost as an afterthought, "this command will last until I cum or until I bore of you. From now on, you will follow this command anytime I say, 'cock worship mode.'"

The fog fell on my mind. Time seemed to come to a standstill. All of space seemed to contract around me, narrowing to the distance between me and my new god. I forgot my complaints. I forgot my life. I forgot my name. I became hyper-aware of my body in space and its proximity to my god. My back arched, my mouth widened, my jaw relaxed as I prepared to receive it. I barely noticed Sir laughing at the sissy kneeling in front of him, hyperventilating while transfixed on his cock.

Without warning, Sir curled his fingers into my hair, gripping it against the back of my head like a harness. Sir pulled my head toward my god as Sir thrust his hips forward. Sir held me there, my god filling my mouth and filling my throat. I couldn't breathe. Something deep in me told me that I was in danger, that I would die if he held me like this. But what was such a concern compared to pleasing Sir's cock?

Sir pulled his cock fully out of my head. "You okay there, Caleb? I would normally never go so suddenly on a woman I was fucking. But happily, I'm not with a woman now. I'm holding a sex toy, and it's just doing what it was designed for."

Sir wrapped his other hand around the back of my head, and thrust his cock forward, wiggling it into my throat once again. "Fuck, it's been too long since I've done this." Had I not been under the "cock worship" command, I would have found it jarring to hear such a word come from Sir's velvet voice. But my mind was elsewhere.

Sir pulled my head back again and repeatedly pulled my head onto his cock, filling and emptying my mouth and my throat. Did this last for a few moments? Or ten thousand years? My sense of time was lost as my thoughts zeroed in on my temporary god. Eventually, Sir pulled up to the base of his cock and held me there. I could hear him breathing more heavily as he delivered small thrusts, pushing his cock as far as it would go into my throat. I observed that I couldn't breathe at all, though I wasn't able to be worried or alarmed at that implication.

I felt warmth in the back of my throat. As Sir pulled his cock out, I could taste a substance mixing with my saliva that I hadn't tasted before. As soon as I realized that Sir had cum, the 'cock worship' command wore off.

I fell forward, gasping for air. My jaw was on fire. My throat was on fire. My knees shook. Tears filled my eyes and streamed down my face. And the tears were not just a reaction from not being able to breathe; I cried from both the pain and the violation.

Sir zipped himself up and knelt over me. He patiently patted my back as he waited for the tears to finish. Eventually, I heard a sigh and his voice above me, "that's enough now. No more crying today." The tears stopped.

"On one hand, I feel bad for doing that to you. Even if you're a pathetic sissy, I don't want to unnecessarily hurt you. On the other hand, I think you're going to be much better off here. Both mentally and emotionally."

I looked up at him through my red, damp eyes. Was this man a sociopath? Was he delusional? What did he mean I'd be "better off here"?

Sir could read the incredulity on my face. "Now now," he cooed, "let me show you what I mean. Caleb: for the rest of today, you're going to be my happy girl. You're going to wear a big smile on your face, not because you're forced to," he spoke to me as if explaining something to a child, "but because you are so profoundly happy that you get to live with Sir and be his little fuck doll. For the rest of the day, there is nothing that makes you happier than the thought of serving your Sir. You are profoundly grateful that your Sir chose you to be his happy girl."

As if another afterthought, Sir added, "this command will last until you go to sleep tonight, or until I tell you that I'm shutting it off. From now on, you will follow this command anytime I say, 'happy girl mode.'"

The warmth returned to my chest. My lips curled upward into a smile. I wiped the tears from my face. Why was I so ungrateful just a moment ago? I brought the palms of my hands together, intertwining my fingers. My intertwined hands were pointed straight downward and slightly out, with my elbows straight and pointed toward my stomach. I looked up at Sir, still on my knees, with the biggest, goofiest smile I had ever made. It was the kind of smile that extended to my eyes. My head tilted slightly; I couldn't hold back a little giggle.

"That's a good girl," Sir murmured, patting the side of my head. "Now let's get you cleaned up. We have much more work to do."

**TO BE CONTINUED**