Hypnotrack Ch. 09: The Trainer

Yes, it's back. Why the delay? I tried writing the whole kinky weekend. After four drafts I have given up - I do want some story, and continual pattern of 'fuck a few of them, sleep, eat, go back to fucking' got boring RFQ. So there may be some flashbacks to it, but you get this instead. Brianna's kinks, I note, are a toned down version of a young lady I was playing with shortly before the pandemic.

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It had been a very good weekend, fucking his growing harem, watching them fuck each other, always emptying his balls inside his Asian toy... On Saturday, He'd worked with Mel to concoct a believable summary of his doings for the report that did not mention his claiming them as his, or his plans to pull everyone away from the organisation that she was reporting to: Stacey (That he would be breeding on Tuesday: the next few weeks should get his whole harem knocked up) proved most useful at suggesting things that would make it seem more realistic, making him wonder where, exactly, she had gotten her experience at falsifying reports.

That was the only notable thing of the weekend other than fucking their brains out of their pretty little heads, feeding them and telling them he loved them: He'd sent everyone home Sunday afternoon - everyone needed a rest by that point -- making plans with Monique to help her dodge her destiny as a camgirl. He had some plans for that, and had messaged an old college friend -- Brian -- before crashing into bed, utterly exhausted: His conditioning to reduce his window between refractory period seemed to be showing already, which had given him the ability to satisfy them all, eventually, but had proven utterly fucking exhausting.

After a very deep night's sleep -- the weekend, he admitted to himself, had been exhausting -- Mark woke with a stretch, already missing the presence of their warm bodies in his bed. After a long shower to ease his muscles, breakfast consumed, he sat at his computer, flicking through his work e-mails and making the needed replies as he pondered his day.

He had a meeting with his trainer at the gym at noon, before his swim; he needed to make and upload the video for gofundme, and take a look at the site that Monique had been instructed to join, and see if it was what he thought it was.

After some reflection, he decided to get his 'chores' done before he went to the gym: He had a suspicion he'd need his mood uplifted by then, and spent some time contemplating the script for the gofundme video.

He decided on something simple: anyone who watched it would find his picture and story appealing and sympathetic, would want to donate no more than they could afford, never enough to disrupt their own finances or lives, and share his page with everyone else they knew, encouraging them to contribute. To remember the video as a charming, sympathetic story that suited their own preconceptions of worthy causes. At the end, he added in a variant on the immunity pattern he'd already used on himself and his harem, to ensure that after donating, no other video would work on them or be remembered -- it would be a first step in spreading immunity.

Running through it a few times, making a few tweaks, he recorded it, doing his best to mimic the style of the sexual ones -- he was a little nervous this wouldn't work -- and tied it to the video file, as he had his previous videos -- it came out at just over two minutes.

Setting up the gofundme was a trivial matter -- he pitched it as someone with a growing family, medical bills, needing to raise enough money to acquire a larger home, linking the video as a more complete explanation. Making sure it looked kosher, he made the account public. Now to wait and see if it worked the way he thought it would.

Taking a deep breath, he activated a VPN to mask his IP -- best be careful -- and opened up the site: he was not particularly surprised that it led to a login screen, promising 'hot cam girls' and with a teaser showing some of the talent available for 'VIP clients'.

Clicking the link to 'Join VIP now!' he was surprised to see a video open up -- a video with a pounding beat, hypnotic patterns, that he had explicitly made himself immune to.

Paying attention and yet not, letting the hypnotic beat fade and focusing only on the words, his attention skipping to make sure he wasn't fully drawn in, he listened. It seemed to be a variation on the downloadable video, interestingly enough: The differences were more noticeable than the similarities. Women who watched it would automatically want to sign up for the site as submissive slaves for sale: And both would feel compelled to to keep the site secret, what they do on the site secret, what the site makes them do secret, and while on it, to find everything they did there perfectly natural. To sign in honestly and completely.

Only when it ended was he moved to the sign-on screen, and he paused for a short while to set up a new, anonymous e-mail account that wasn't tied to his existing social platform: better safe than sorry, signing up with that. Interestingly, it did not ask for any financial information for sign-in, though it did ask for his name, address, and phone number. That was a slightly trickier problem to bypass.

It took him a good twenty minutes to find the service he needed: Fro a small fee, he could create a phone account and have it route to his own phone. Grimacing, and reminding himself he should be quite flush soon, he acquired the number and finished his account, fairly confident it could not be traced back to him.

As expected, there was a list of 'chatrooms' with various gorgeous women, that he could go 'private' with if he bought credits. More interestingly, and grimly relevant, was a little track showing the current bid to 'rent' or 'purchase' the model. Digging into the details -- in both cases, the 'bid' was a payment you made. Whoever paid the most to 'rent' after a three month period would get a weekend with the model: After a year, the person who had big the most, collectively would gain custody of the slave. That was pretty bad. Now how to make it worse?

He set the filter to show all models, online or not -- and there were apparently just over two thousand rooms available, which said really unpleasant things about how widespread this was. There was no way to find the number of members bidding, but a casual glance at the bids on some of the profiles had 'highest bids' in the tens, even hundreds of thousands. So he had found a sexual slavery ring that he was fairly certain he couldn't prove: he felt sick. A little voice in the back of his mind was pointing out his hypocrisy, even as he closed the site to think on what he fuck he was going to do.

He loved his girls. They loved him. The fact this was all true because of his programming was pretty much irrelevant! He wasn't seeing those he took as objects to be sold and traded! He was a bastard, yes: he could admit that. But not that big a bastard.

He loaded up Stellaris, spending the next hour gatecamping as he mulled it over, taking out his rage on idiot newbs who wanted to explore losec in industry ships, failing at escaping a blop drop before he logged off, the seed of an idea in his brain -- if he could get in touch with Brian, anyway. Grabbing a shower, he prepared for his visit to the gym, and seeing if his coach would watch a little film he'd found...

Once he arrived, he was pleased to see the redhead he'd met the first time playing receptionist: Phillipa was toned, athletic and tanned, and gave him a polite smile of recognition.

He gave her a nod. "Hello again. I am due a meeting with Brianna, and then I'm going for a swim. Is she ready for me?" The redhead nodded, pointing towards the meeting rooms. "Room three. Have a nice day." Her tone was polite, and formal -- he resolved to see if he could change that, heading in for his half hour 'meeting' before his swim.

They had arranged to meet on Mondays before his workout, and Fridays afterwards, to review his progress: They were both in agreement that this meeting was really just a formality, something to get them used to each other -- and he intended to get to know her very well indeed.

With smooth, perfect skin the colour of milk chocolate, full breasts that begged to be touched held in a lycra sports bra, hair in dreadlocks that cascaded half way down the back, and lycra shorts hugging a very nice derrière, Brianna's lips curled in a smile as she watched him enter, gym bag over his shoulders.

"I see you were serious about this, then." She said, starting to grin. "You'd be amazed how many flake out on day one. This is really just a formality -- you haven't started yet -- to run through any questions you have. Wanna grab a seat?" she gestured to the table as he set his bag down, pulling out his phone.

"Sure." he said, plugging in the headphones. "I found this training video online over the weekend, I was hoping to get your feedback on it? You have to use headphones, though -- the speaker is playing up." he held them out to her, the video he had made for recruiting the rest of his harem. Amusedly, she put the phones in her ear. "Sure, I'll take a look." hitting play on the presently named 'training video.wmv'. A moment of bemusement filled her eyes at the dancing girls, before her eyes grew distance, lips slightly opening, an empty look overcoming her face as the programming began.

Mark moved to the door, taking care to lock it to make sure there weren't any interruptions: Carefully stripping off his clothes, moving to lean against the wall -- opposite the door - as the video took effect. Soon, he heard her begin the initial mantra, her words quite clear in the otherwise silent room.

"Yes. Obedience is pleasure. Yes. Pleasure is obedience. Yes. Obedience is pleasure. Yes. Pleasure is obedience. Yes, I would love to be yours. Yes, I would love to obey. Yes, I would love to Serve you. Yes, my mind is open. Yes, my mind is empty. Yes, fill my mind. Yes, own my body."

Much as in the original, she fell silent as the video created the programming persona within her, this time one that belonged to him, that would refresh his commands and overwrite any other each time she slept. He watched as her arousal grew -- his own did as well, and he felt his feelings for her grow as her programming continued.

"Yes. I understand. Yes. I acknowledge. Yes. I remember. I obey. Resistance is unpleasant. Resistance is disgusting. Resistance is like being smeared with shit. I hate resisting. I loathe resisting. I will never resist." her left hand had dived between her legs, frantically fingering herself through her shorts as she watched, enraptured, his general programming flowing into her mind, with the occasional word of agreement.

"I am and have always been bi. I have always wanted you to own me, to master me. I love you, I love my sisters, I want my sisters. I want your babies. I need... I am your stupid fuck slut, and I need your cock in me, Master!" dropping the phone onto the table, tearing the headphones out of her ears, the woman he loved lunged for him as he lunged for her, pulling her into his embrace, kissing her hungrily as he pulled the straps of her top down, freeing those pendulous globes to his touch. Groping them, squeezing them, eliciting a deep moan of pleasure as she ground herself against his cock.

"Please punish me, master! Please, I've been a bad girl, and I have the implant. I promise I'll get it removed tomorrow, master! I need your white babies in my black belly!" Brianna couldn't believe she was admitting this, her deepest fantasy of being a black sex slave for a white man, but it had been in her mind since she first met him. It was shameful, went against everything she'd been taught and believed as a child, but it turned her on so very much. She could feel that big white cock pressing against her cunt, her owner's hands on her titties, and couldn't help but start pulling down her shorts and panties to make it easier for him to fuck her.

Mark could feel how desperate she was, her large nipples feeling delightful in his hands, hearing her moans she kissed his way along her neck to her ear -- he wasn't big on race play, but apparently she was, so he impulsively leaned into it. "You're not my Stupid Fuck Slut. You're my black fuck whore. I own your mind, body, soul and cunt. These tits are mine, This ass is mine. You're my property. My name is branded on your bones."

Brianna nodded eagerly, the lycra bottoms dropping to the floor: Her cunt was already soaked, and felt like a furnace as she pressed it against his dick.

"Yes, Master. You own this black slave. I'm your black whore." She could swear she could feel the heat of the branding inside her, his name carved into every bone, pulsing in time with her heartbeat, filling her mind with the need to be fucked. To feel all that white cum filling her womb. All her most hidden, shameful fantasies were pouring out of her mouth, and she loved it.

She'd been on the implant since she was seventeen, after becoming a teen mom: Gotten into martial arts as a way of staying in shape, and found she loved it. She realised, now, She'd only kept the implant in so she wouldn't have any more babies until she found her master -- and now she had. She promised herself she'd get it removed as soon as she could, to be perfect for her owner.

Mark had enough presence of mind to remember that sound could carry: spinning her round to see that magnificent, pert butt, he reached round to grope her breasts as he pushed her forward onto the table, bending her over, spreading her legs with his own: Placing his cock over her cunt, running it back and forth over her sopping wet lips. "Is this what you want, Brianna? This white cock in your black cunt?"

`She nodded frantically. "Please. Please fuck your black whore." her voice was filled with need, with lust, her body shaking with desire: Pulling her partly up with her dreadlocks, he placed his had over her mouth before shoving his cock inside her furnace of a pussy: He could feel it rippling around him as he filled her, her body shaking with pleasure, and was surprised as she squirted onto the table: he could feel her screams of bliss vibrating against his hand, muffled enough so they wouldn't carry beyond the room: The fact it gave him a nice anchor to hammer into her, hips bouncing off her butt with each thrust, was simply a bonus.

Brianna could barely think: she had a big, thick, white cock inside her slave body, no protection, nothing to stop him planting his white babies in her except her own stupidity. Master was gagging her, but all she was trying to say was fuck over and over, moaning the word into his hand as every muscle in her body shook with pleasure: she almost felt like she was pissing herself, the table beneath her feeling wet, her thighs pressed against the table edge. Master could hurt her as much as he wanted: she was his property.

Mark couldn't stop running his free hand over her body, feeling that tight, athletic muscle beneath her flawless skin, his cock feeling like it was being sucked inside her, her ass pressing back against him as his slave tried to get him as deep inside her as possible. She kept squirting, a thick smell of sex filling the air, her body seeming to be shaking, almost as if she was cold: he knew he wouldn't last long at this rate, and pulled out of her, pulling his hand from her mouth.

She looked at him over her shoulder, face filled with almost betrayal as he turned her round onto her back: he took a moment to take in just how gorgeous she looked, spread out on the table like that. "Why did you stop, Master? Please, Please fuck your slave. Fill this black whore with your cum. Use my.." she broke off with a moan as he slid back inside her, pulling her legs around his waist: leaning in to press her breasts against his chest, his hand moving back over her mouth as he moved in close to murmur into her ear, the heat between their bodies quite palpable.

"Imagine your black belly swollen with my white babies, slave." he growled into her ear, thrusting urgently into her cunt, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. "A collar on your neck, telling the world you're mine. That you're a dirty little race traitor." Her back arched, legs tight around his waist as she came, a scream of bliss escaping her lips before he restored the gag over her mouth: The way she responded, the way her pussy clamped around his cock, demonstrated just how much she loved that idea.

"Maybe I'll brand you, tattoo you, to tell everyone you're a black slut for white cock." he growled, feeling his own orgasm rising. "Make you serve all your sisters as a slave, doing all the chores when I'm not fucking you." The last words came out in a grunt as his pleasure peaked, ramming his hips tight against her as he pumped his cum into her, ropes of semen painting her womb, her legs around him tensing hard, pulling him tight against her as she came again: the hand on her mouth slid into her hair, pulling her in for lustful kisses: She practically shoved her tongue down his throat, her body twitching and pressed tight against him, nails digging into his back.

Brianna kept kissing him, and seemed unwilling to relinquish her grasp: her body was still twitching, her lips tracing all over his neck as she babbled 'thank you' over and over into his ear.

Eventually, she began to relax, and lifting her hips, he slid out of her: She looked up at him with glazed eyes as he drank in her sweaty, gorgeous body, and the mess she had made -- he hadn't really thought she'd be a squirter, or have race play kinks. He watched as she fell into reporting mode.

"This slave, as instructed, can now be activated by asking her if she is your black fuck whore. This slave is in open mode. This slave intends to have her birth control removed as soon as possible." She incanted in that toneless voice, before slumping onto the table, looking utterly exhausted, heedless of the mess. "God, Master. I needed that."

He smiled at her, wiping sweat from his forehead. "You made something of a mess, but I think you did." Grabbing her hand, he pulled her up, heedless of the trickle of cum that started going down her thigh, into a wanton kiss. Wrapping her hand behind his head, she leaned into him, pressing her bountiful breasts against his bare chest, moaning in pleasure.

Breaking the kiss, but still holding her luscious body against him, he whispered in her ear. "Phillipa is kind of hot, isn't she? Wouldn't you like her to be your sister? Bent between your thighs, licking your pregnant pussy, as I put a baby in her body?" he already knew her answer, of course: His tape had made sure of that.

"Yess.. Do you want her, Master?" Brianna moaned back, shuddering softly. "Do you want your black slave girl to bring her to you?" Grinding against him, he smiled, pushing her towards the table. "Unlock your phone, then use your tongue to lick up the mess you made." He'd only ever seen this sort of thing in porn, but if it turned his black lover on... Grabbing her phone, she swiped it open, and he busied himself sending her a copy of the video while she leapt to obey his humiliating task, kneeling on the floor to lick up the cum that had leaked out of her, crawling over -- with a backwards look to see if he was paying attention -- to the table, to lick up her own juices: The room still stank of sex, and he moved to open the window before he started getting dressed: Brianna pouted a little as she rose, seeing him with his pants on, and walked over to press those bountiful breasts against his chest.

"I did what you wanted, Master." She said, submissively, running her hand along his breastbone, down towards his belly. "All clean now. Except me. I'm your dirty little slave girl." chuckling softly, he leaned down to suck her left nipple into his mouth, biting on it: Her hand coiled in his hair, pulling him close as she moaned softly.