Open Wide

It's not that I want to stop.

I hear the sound of a key in the lock, and at first I wonder who else has a key to my apartment. But then I feel the tiniest swirl of pleasure at the back of my mind, a subtle but insistent reminder that it feels better not to think about some things. This is one of the things I don't need to think about, so it makes me happy to let the thought slide right out of my mind and focus my thoughts on something else as the door opens.

I don't want to stop. If anything, I want to push my limits a little. I want to do things I might have said 'no' to, back at the beginning, just to prove to myself that it's really working. That idea...it's so fucking hot.

"Hi!" I say as Paul walks into the room. I'm a little surprised to see him, because I thought our next date was on Tuesday, but i kind of remember mentioning to him that I would be staying home today without any plans for the afternoon. Except that weirdly enough, I remember it in his voice. Memory's a funny thing, isn't it? It's so easy to let it play tricks on you, and so silly to worry about it.

But I wonder sometimes...is that feeling really my feeling? Or is it one that Master put there? Am I exploring my boundaries, or is he slowly eroding them, bit by bit, with hypnosis and pleasure?

"Open wide," he says, and suddenly my body feels so warm and lazy that I just slump into a boneless heap on the couch. The book I was reading falls out of my hand to land on the floor, and I feel my body listing to one side like a sinking ship as the slump turns gently and easily into a collapse. My eyes close all on their own, stuck shut so impossibly tightly that all I can achieve when I try to open them is exhausting myself further.

I've already given up a lot of control to him. I don't think it's too much, but I think what worries me a little is that I don't always know exactly how much it is. And I think what worries me even more is that I don't know what 'too much' would look like. If I'm enjoying it, if it's making me happy, what line can I draw that has meaning?

"I am wide open for you," I hear myself say. It's so strange, listening to my own voice and realizing I had no idea what was going to come out of my mouth until I spoke. It's also unbelievably sexy. I'm crazy wet between my thighs, completely out of nowhere. It builds like a feedback loop-just realizing how quickly I'm getting turned on by the rush I get from being triggered into trance and obeying makes me even hotter. It makes me want him to command me more, just so that I can obey and feel that rush all over again.

I catch myself wondering...what if I don't need boundaries at all? What if I only set limits because I felt like I was expected to? It's not like Master is the only one programming me. I have twenty-three years of people telling me that good girls don't show off their bodies, good girls don't enjoy sex, good girls don't do anything but missionary...maybe it didn't take brainwashing to set all this off. Maybe it just took someone telling me that I was a good girl for something else for a change.

"That's my good Candy Girl," he says. I almost correct him out of sheer reflex, but then I remember how good it feels when Master calls me Candy instead of Candace. The memory and the pleasure are intertwined, they hit me at the same time and I let out a helpless sigh as I once again accept my Master's words. Candy is sweet like me. Candy tastes good like me. Candy makes Master happy, just like me. Of course I'm Master's Candy Girl. Of course I am.

If I trust Master, why not let him set all of my limits for me? What am I worried about? It's not like he's some sort of evil slaver, a sinister villain in a story about a helpless girl who vanishes into the night after endless brainwashing and is never seen again. Not that I've, um, read stories like that. A lot. While masturbating.

"Let's see you take those clothes off," he commands, and I feel my arms moving loosely to comply. I wasn't wearing much to begin with-I never bother with clothes around the apartment these days, but something told me that today would be a good day to wear some of my sexiest lingerie, just in case company came by. That doesn't make much sense when I think about it, but I'm not thinking right now. I'm just obeying. It's the most wonderful feeling I could possibly imagine.

But of course, we're right back to that same question, aren't we? Do I trust him to brainwash me, or did he brainwash me to trust him? All the girls in those stories wound up convinced that their Masters had their best interests at heart too, and it was because they were an obeying an irresistible hypnotic compulsion to believe that. Which is sexy as all fuck, but that's part of the problem. There's a part of me that wants to go too far. No matter what 'too far' is.

He picks up my panties and presses the fabric to my face for a long moment, letting me breathe in the scent of my own arousal. It's part of my programming, I remember that now. The aroma takes me deeper into hypnosis. And the deeper I am, the more open I am to Master's programming. His words sink into my blank, open mind without any resistance when I'm this deep, and I love it so much. "Open wide," he says again, and I feel my body and mind helplessly complying.

Part of me wants to be...I don't know, all of it. Everything I've ever fantasized about, a happy naked bimbo blowjob machine who fucks and sucks strangers and has an orgasm every time someone cums on her tits. Not just 'it's hot to me but of course I'd never do it' wants it, but really, deep down wants it. Part of me doesn't fucking care about giving up my job and my school and my goals and my family if it means I can spend my whole life in a glorious waking dream of sex and submission, and if I'm worried about anything, I'm worried that Master doesn't understand how strong that part is. If he's expecting me to tell him when to stop, the answer might be 'never'.

My legs part, exposing my slick and dripping pussy to his gaze. That's what anyone watching us would notice, but it's my mind that truly opens. Whenever I hear my trigger, I go ten times deeper into trance. Ten times deeper, ten times more obedient, ten times more open to Master's will. I'm so deep now that his words just sink into my subconscious without even really registering them; they're just soft, coaxing sounds that make my cunt hotter and my nipples tingle, and that's just fine. That's just perfect. Deep, obedient girls don't need to think. They just need to listen and obey. I'm pretty sure everything that just passed through my head was actually Master's words and not my thoughts at all, but I don't care.

Or maybe that's just what he wants me to think. Maybe I'm supposed to believe by this point that it's all my own idea. That's the worst thing about being hypnokinky-we all start with the fantasies of total brainwashed fucktoys, and it makes you a little bit paranoid about enjoying the stuff that turns you on. I guess it doesn't really matter in the end, though. Either he's brainwashed me too successfully to resist, or I never wanted to resist anyway.

I hear myself repeating everything he says, my voice a dull and vacant monotone. "I don't need to think." He's playing with my pussy while he programs me, sliding two fingers into my cunt while his thumb dances on my clit. "I only need to obey." I'm so wet, so open for him. It reinforces my programming to be open to his touch like that, accepting his fingers into my pussy the same way I'm accepting his words into my mind. "I am an obedient girl for Master." Even my mouth hangs open, slack and drooling whenever Master speaks. I'm the girl of my own fantasies right now and that feels so right.

If he really can make me stop wanting to resist, then I'll become his obedient good girl. And if I really don't want to resist, I'm already his obedient good girl and I just don't know it yet. Either way, I don't want to stop. Not really. I just..like I say, I wonder sometimes. Thanks for letting me talk it out, Paul. You really helped me put a lot of those fears to rest.

"Good girl," he whispers in my ear, and I shudder as another orgasm hits me. I know it's 'another', but I don't know how many it's been. Counting only sends me deeper, and I'm already too deep to count. It's all just pleasure, now. Pleasure and obedience. Exactly who I want to be, forever. "Open wide," he says again, brushing the tip of his cock against my lips, and I sink ten times deeper as I begin to suck.

THE END