Title: LF Hotel and Resort, Chapter 2
* * *Saturday morning dawned, and both Tessi and Lani wakened with its arrival.
Once awake, they found that they were lying in their beds totally naked— with no clothes to either of their bodies at all.
Finding themselves in this strange position, both tried to remember what had rendered them to this point— hoping it would answer the question of why it was they were here. But when both of them checked, they each found the same thing. Their recollection of the previous day was gone; they could only remember that empty, blank stretch of time as having been a great day.
Neither of them could say what had given them the impression the day had been great; it was there, in both of their minds as a most basic truth; a fact that could not be questioned. It had been a great day; no evidence supported this. It had been a great day; they knew it into their souls; it had been a great day, and such a great day, that they were both sad they couldn’t remember what it was about yesterday that had made it so very great.
Each one of the two girls next looked around their room; all their clothes had been taken away by the hotel’s cleaning service to be laundered— that had happened… yesterday… each one thought, so there was one memory from that mystery day after all, disembodied, unclear. And yet, though all of their clothes had been taken the day before to the laundry— none of them were clean, none them had been returned. All of them were, as yet, unready for wear.
There was something else, in each of their two rooms, to make up for the absence of clothes; another bikini… both women had the vague sense there had been an earlier bikini, also at some point during the mystery day that was yesterday. Both girls thought the bikini yesterday had been simple— a bra, briefs. This bikini was different; it did not have briefs as its lower part— the lower piece of it was only a narrow thong. And when each girl stood to hold their bras up to their chests, it was clear the bikini top would almost completely fail to cover their nipples during wear.
Tessi and Lani, remained oblivious to the fact that the bikini was their only option— they had noticed the fact that no other clothes were present, but it was already forgotten to them.
Tessi, now she was standing, moved to go straight into the bathroom, and once in the bathroom, into the shower— she made a direct trajectory to it, and let nothing delay her; she was naked, so there was nothing to peel off of her body before entry.
Once she was standing under the spray, the lights came up in the room and started washing her in color as the water washed her in technicality.
Once she was standing in the shower, the lights came up. Tessi jerked in place— but they had already grabbed her mind; she stiffened again, forced still. They were so colorful— there were so many of them, moving in strobing, surging waves. They washed in her eyes; they slipped into her brain, and they were moving through her head as they moved through the room. Her head was porous— her skull was permeable, it could not keep the lights out. It was like the bones of her head were permeable, transparent; and the waves of light were a physical thing that penetrated, that got in; there was no barrier from them, they were a part of her now, woven through the framework of her brain.
Then the water started, and this gave the lights more of their power. The water sprayed— out of the jet that aimed at Tessi’s pussy; it was warm, hot and wet against her sensitive, slippery folds. The colors had woven her mind along, and told her body to be erotically charged and sensitive. They had prepared Tessi’s blank, stiff body, and now the water answered to that preparation; the water bombarding her clit and the nerves along her folds; the splash hit her clit full on, then the water ricocheted to touch and drip and stream all along the sensitive inner pussyskin of Tessi’s fold; her body twitched but stayed standing stiff. And the jet aimed at Tessi’s asshole— it sprayed out too, and hit the sensitive nerves of Tessi’s anus.
The pulses of liquid shifted, aligning even more perfectly to the shining of the lights; Tessi swayed on her legs, but her body was suffused with pleasure; and the grip of the lights in her mind kept her upright. The water so pleasant in her most intimate places, and her vision swam with the lights— one sway forward, one back, and she was completely under all over again, even more completely entranced. Still the hypnosis went on.
The lights were washing Tessi in color as the water washed her in technicality; she felt it warm on her scalp and dripping, felt it running down her naked back, over the swell of her ass-cheeks, and shivered— and then lost the impression.
Both erotic jets alternated themselves, pulsing Tessi with water rhythmically in time with the lights. She was being hypnotized in more ways then one. The lights
hypnotized her mind, hypnotized her mentally. But the water jets hypnotized her physically— her body was hopelessly entranced by the pleasure the water sprayed it into feeling. Her body was hopelessly lost; forced into the dizzying, circular spiraling feeling by physical stimulation alone.
Even without the lights, Tessi would have been hypnotized, just by feeling. But the lights were there two, and the two kinds of hypnosis stacked on each other, doubly hypnotizing her. Searing mental hypnosis in with physical stimulation. Searing physical hypnosis in with mental stimulation. She had been captured in the first second the lights had come up— but if she had not been, one kind of hypnosis would have snagged her, and then the other kind would have pulled her further in, then the first again— each method alternating to deepen her further and further, impossibly, until she was completely whited out by trance.
Though her mind had been receptive enough to put her in first trance immediately, this was still what happened— she was falling endlessly deeper— she could not even remember she had a name— she was not even aware she a body, or what was happening to it. She was simply— gone. She was in trance.
Still in that trance, Tessi got out of the shower. It shut itself off automatically— she was too dopey to have done a task even so simple as that— she put on her tight bra, and narrow thong. She left her room, and moved down the hallway, venturing towards the vicinity of the breakfast area. There was not a thought in her head as she did any of this.
After also holding the provided bikini to her chest and determining it would fail to shield her nipples, Lani also moved directly into the shower. But as soon as she was standing there, looking at the bathroom tile of the shower wall in front of her, a memory surfaced in her mind. Yesterday, she had been hypnotized in this room.
She had been staring at the wall empty-headed, staring at it like a blank, hypnotized drone. But the memory gave her mind back to her— now, she could think of it again. She was once more herself.
Now that she had this memory, the rest made sense. This very shower had hypnotized her. The memory was so erotic to her she was frightened— part of her wanted it to hypnotize her again; the thought of being frozen in hypnosis even as the water heated her up made Lani’s pussy cream… the power of hypnosis this water closet had was irresistible, it would take her mind and make its bitch again— make her the hotel bitch, make whatever had happened to her during the day afterwards to happen again. She wanted it to— she wanted to be a bitch, on her knees getting used— she had never felt that way before, and even now, she knew it was not really coming from her true self. Its presence was alarming, and terrible.
She thought a little more. It was the hypnosis— the hypnosis this shower had done to her— that was the reason she was unable to remember anything from yesterday apart from one or two spare details. That was the thing that had put this severe streak of submission in her— submission even to the point of self-erasure, to the point of annihilation.
She had been hypnotized yesterday— she creamed again, and cursed it— and in the process of being hypnotized— her body had been given an orgasm. Because hypnosis was orgasmic— the hypnosis had put that in her mind too. She only needed to let herself be hypnotized, and she would come again. And the more under hypnotic thrall she felt, the harder she would come. If she was perpetually entranced, to the point of being permanently enslaved, she would never stop coming— held in hypnosis’ eternal, orgasmic thrall… she only needed to let it take her mind again.
She felt arousal twinging in her at the memory of being hypnotized, but she would not come unless she was fully entranced. Her orgiastic response was chained to mental conquest. She could not come with an untamed mind anymore. While the hypnosis had held her, it had changed so much in her— even if she masturbated now, with her mind still free, still her own, belonging to her, she would not come. She was thinking of yesterday again— it had been a strong orgasm which had set her under.
Hypnosis was so erotic. It was so irresistible. It was orgiastic— her mind had to accept these as simple truths which could not be argued. The hypnosis had changed it and forced it into those beliefs. But even so. Lani didn’t want to be hypnotized again.
If she was hypnotized again, she would lose another day entirely, as she had yesterday. But it would be the least of her problems. If she was hypnotized again, she might never wake up from it.
It might hold her forever, and never let her go. She didn’t want to lose herself that way. She didn’t care if it creamed her pussy, she didn’t care if she never had another orgasm for the entire rest of her life, she didn’t want to become a mindless hypnoslave for the rest of her life, and the shower could make her one, with the potency of its capacity to hypnotize. She did not want to be a hypnoslave… hypnoslave… hypnoslave… the word echoed in her mind, tempting her, but no! — she screamed it inside her heart, she didn’t care about the temptation.
She would not be a hypnoslave! (Every time she thought the word it made her pussy clench) — a hypnoslave the hotel would use however it wanted… she would belong to the hotel, they would make her do anything, they could sell her away — a hypnoslave who would never be aware of anything again, never speak, never think— a hypnoslave… a blank-brained hypnoslave… only soaking in more hypnosis all the time and getting blanker… unable to remember ever being any other way, or to stop herself from becoming that way more, all and all the time…
No, she shouted in her heart again. She was rattling the cage of temptation that was up around her, screaming and pulling and thrashing against it, knocking, resisting at the bars. It gave her body the power to move. She leaned out of the shower, but never actually stepping onto the bathroom tile. She could reach the handle of the bathroom door without stepping beyond the shower— why should she leave it? It seemed perfectly sensible to stay standing where she was.
She twisted the handle; but the door didn’t open. She wouldn’t give up. She pulled, she jimmied, she yanked— she felt a hysteria break open in her, and she cried and screamed, and howled in growing panic, and pulled the door— but it refused to open. The room was automated— it had locked the door by electrical means, and locked her in— no pulling in the world would ever cause it to open. She was only a meat, animal thing. What could the animal do against the mechanized? The room had locked the door computerized— she was trapped.
Then the lights started. These had hypnotized her yesterday— she howled, and pulled once more— then had to give up pulling and just stand in the shower. If all her focus was on opening the door, it would mean part of her mind was unfocused; in order for all her focus to be on the door handle, she’d have to be oblivious to everything else, and through that obliviousness the hypnosis could sneak in, undefended against and take her over, sneak in by background means. She needed all her attention free to ward against what this room was going to try and do to her.
The lights washed her vision— it incensed her. The mechanized would take a free mind? By automatic carrying out of programmed directives— a thing that could not even think— it would, by routine, take her own, human mind? No, she would not stand for it! No, she would never allow it! She pushed back everywhere the lights came into her, shouting no at them each place they appeared. No, they would not take her! No, they would not affect her!
The the beams of water, coming out of each of both erotically placed jets, sprayed out, seeking for her pussy, seeking for her anus; but Lani had enough control of herself left, thanks to all the fighting, that she skillfully stepped to the side, carefully dodging both.
But the shower reacted, though computerized, and unthinking, had its sensors— it noted this act of resistance, and it switched to a different programmed protocol. It changed its entrancement program to suit the situation.
It gave no outward sign of this shift, so there was no warning for Lani to respond to, no way for her to prepare. It sprayed a gas out from the ceiling, filling the shower cubicle; Lani pounded blindly on the glass side of it, parallel to the tile wall behind, her hands streaking through steam and leaving their mark in the condensation.
Lani inhaled involuntarily, from the surprise of it— the gas flooded her nostrils, and its scent was pleasant, so appealing that it made Lani sniff deeper, and when she took it in deeper, Lani found it numbing out her thoughts.
No… she had to… remember… what she was supposed to be doing. Only it numbed her so much she felt drowsy… it was hard to remember, and even harder to move when the warmth of the water seemed to match her drifting warm feelings… why… should she move? Why had she tried to avoid the water before?
She was too fogged out by the gas, and too languid to dodge the beams of water again— both spurts of it coming out of it— the pussy jet and the ass jet— the beams of water each sent out hit Lani directly this time, and her body spasmed from the impact; she swayed forward on her legs, and back again, but the spray had never stopped coming into her.
She squirmed under each stream, moving unconsciously, squirming and squirming. She was too foggy-headed to understand she was doing it to keep shifting the angle of the water, to make it touch her everywhere, every nerve that felt so good. The water was spraying right into her pussy, and right into her anus.
She tried to remember… yes… she was trying to fight. She had to fight again— No, she spoke feebly into her heart— she would not be… a hypnoslave—
As if sensing her resistant thoughts— maybe they had registered as either altered brainwaves or altered heart rate— and perhaps the sensors of the room were watching Lani there— the room adjusted itself again. Lani felt brief anger again. She was being monitored as if she were an automated thing— treated as a thing of inputs and outputs, used as if she were one more program to code… she was not— she was human— it couldn’t use her this way.
She couldn’t hold onto the anger. The shower had brought the lights up more, to shine with greater intensity. Input, output. They lights blinded. They were slowly taking possession of Lani’s mind. The shower was gassing her, dazing her, striking her erotically with its beams of water, and part of her still remembered to fight.
No, she thought— then felt a jet again, and lost herself a moment.
No, she thought, then inhaled another puff of gas.
No, she thought, and then saw another strobe of light inside her mind.
With each struggle, each protestation that was countered by an action of the room— her fight became a little weaker. Lani’s mind was seeming to melt away, running off her body like the water. It dripped, streamed from her, circled the shower drain and ran away from her out of sight into the plumbing pipes. Lani was becoming happier, and emptier, and more aroused.
She felt the jet of water strike her harder in the ass— her entire body spasmed again, hitting orgasm. Her mind had come apart, so now her body could be allowed to come from the stimulation that had been happening all along. Succumbing to hypnosis meant orgasm. Succumbing to orgasm meant hypnosis. A good hypnotized slave came when they were hypnotized, or hypnotized deeper— a good, horny slave allowed themselves to be hypnotized. Lani’s mind was fully of programs, words she didn’t even understand, could only feel. She was hypnotized and coming. She was hypnotized and coming— as long as she was hypnotized she always would be and as long as she was coming she would always be hypnotized. She couldn’t fight it anymore, the two things were completely married to each other. They could never be severed again.
The anal stimulation of the anal jet had been the thing alone to tip her into orgasm. It was the anal pleasure that was keeping it going now; it felt different then coming in her pussy, though she in her properly hypnotized state of mechanized thought, she could barely remember that, because it wasn’t important for the task of keeping her under control.
The anal orgasm felt like blooming warmth deep in her ass, touching out into her ass cheeks, heating her lower back; warmth and heat all across and along her backside— the anal orgasm kept going on, Lani’s mind gone completely thoughtless. Lani left the shower, blow dried herself, got dressed in her bikini outfit, and left the room— she was completely thoughtless, quiet, and happy, unthinking, drifting without knowing it, drifting without caring. A hypnoslave going wherever the hypnosis would send her, and aware of nothing but how happy she was to obey.
Sloane woke up last, out of the three of them. She was the only one of the three women who had woken that morning to notice consciously that the bikini was the only thing that was ready to wear. Tessi had not noticed— Lani had not— But Sloane did.
She saw the tight bikini bra— it filled her, suddenly, with rage. It was like something in her heart screamed— her body was so still in the bed, but she felt barely repressed, barely restrained energy inside, energy which was desperate to get out. She wanted to thrash. She wanted to beat. She wanted to break, and to break things with her hands. The anger had came on so suddenly, but now she wanted to beat it out on the space that surrounded her.
She would not put the bikini on. She refused to put it on— the hotel had provided it for her. They expected her to wear this? Her consent and her feelings meant nothing to them— what she wanted, what filled her with joy as opposed to what filled her with rage, it all meant nothing. She was only supposed to wear it, and her own ideas meant nothing compared to what other people expected of her.
She would not put it on. She refused to put it on. She would not shower, she would not dress herself if that was what was available for her to wear.
Instead, Sloane wrapped herself up in a towel— that was a far more superior alternative to putting that abomination onto her body.
She would not beat things. She would not break things. She could be civilized. She would go to the front desk, and complain.
The desk clerk at the front desk was dressed in sexy fetish wear— asserting at once dominance and devoted submission; her breasts were large— Sloane caught herself staring at them under the desk clerk’s outfit.
She was sexy… though Sloane tended to prefer the company of men, and didn’t usually think of women in that way. This sexiness, though, was something she had to objectively admit.
“There was a bikini left out in my room for me to wear,” Sloane snapped, to regain her own attention from the staring she’d fallen into. “It’s a terrible, terrible thing. It’s a disgrace! I can’t believe any hotel would provide something like that to their guests and expect them to wear it! If you don’t do something about my complaining— I’ll call the hotel board, I’ll have this hotel run out of business, I’ll—”
“Ms.,” the desk clerk interrupted patiently. “There’s no need to yell. You’re attracting the attention of everyone else in reception; you’re disrupting our guests’ stay.”
Had she been yelling? Sloane hadn’t realized.
“We’ll locate your regular clothes immediately; you can have them back, and wear those instead. There’ll be no need to call the hotel board. Just come back to reception in a quarter of an hour.”
Sloane was still angry as she left front-desk reception. It was just burning in her. But angry or not, it was still morning, and she’d still gone all night without eating anything. Angry or not, she was still hungry, so she had to go to the breakfast room regardless, and eat an angry breakfast. There was no breakfast she could eat apart from an angry breakfast— because there was no escaping her mood, and the feeling wasn’t going anywhere soon. But she would eat an angry breakfast, and at least fix her hunger, if she could fix nothing else for the moment.
When Sloane got to the breakfast room, she found her travel agency’s coworkers and seven other colleagues from outside agencies sitting next to the hotel’s fetish-clad sex workers. This shocked Sloane— the seven outside colleagues were now all of them fully dressed in regular clothing, and each one of them was in a good mood as they sat their at the breakfast table. This was a vague recollection from yesterday. For some reason she thought she’d seen the seven of them wearing something revealing… or nothing at all… but then the impression slipped away.
The coworkers from Sloane’s own agency looked out of place there, around the large circular breakfast table— they were only wearing their hotel-provided bikinis, and the other seven fully-dressed women were laughing at them.
Watching the laughter of her other seven colleagues, at the expense of her agency coworkers, filled Sloane with horror. How could they laugh at them like that? It wasn’t their fault they were dressed in that fashion! The hotel had taken away all their other clothes, it had been their only option of clothing to dress in. It was like they were being laughed at for their misfortune, ant that was plainly cruel. The feeling of injustice was so powerful within that Sloane was unable to control herself— “What’s wrong with you two?” She addressed urgently to Tessi and Lani. It just spilled out of her. “Are you just going to let them laugh at you like this?” But Tessi didn’t care when she said it, uncaringly sat and did not react, did not seem to care about the laughter either— and Lani looked so blank-headed, so blank in her expression, to the point of drooling, that her only reaction was a dopey grin.
It was just as Sloane was getting upset about each of these reactions that she noticed Lani was masturbating herself through her breakfast, masturbating against her chair, below the level of the table, behind the table cloth— it fluttered with the movement of her hand— yet though she was touching herself, she didn’t even seem to be conscious of the fact that she was, though she was beginning to moan with increasing frequency and volume.
The seven women had stopped laughing; they were all back to behaving normally, and they all together got up and left the breakfast hall to check out of the hotel. Sloane followed after them in her towel.
Now that Sloane was followed them, the attention of her seven outside colleagues was turned on her; their cruel mockery and laughter was now aimed in her direction. “Look at her walking in her towel,” they mocked. “She doesn’t even know how to dress herself!” Their laughter became more raucous the longer that they went on mocking; but when again Sloane reached the reception desk she took up loudly complaining once again; “These guests are being cruel to me,” whining to anyone who could hear her; then her complaining gave way to tears. She cried for her missing clothes— and felt worry inside for her other two coworkers, given their strange behavior.
Kaia appeared at the reception desk at that moment, and spoke to Sloane in a soothing voice, trying to calm her. “I’ve paid for one more day for you, Sloane,” she said, “and for the rest of my staff. The all of you won’t leave until late this evening.”
This did not reassure Sloane in the way Kaia had expected it would, but in that moment, the deskclerk spoke up. “Your clothes are all ready for you in your room,” she told Sloane.
Sloane was as angry as ever— but at least she could get dressed into decent clothes, and ditch this towel. She headed for her room.
When Sloane entered, what she saw waiting for her was not what she’d expected to find. Instead of walking in, and finding expectations met, her overwhelming feeling was shock— the skimpy bikini she’d complained of was gone. But it had not been replaced with her own laundered clothes. Now, the only thing in the room was a pair of pantyhose; those pantyhose were, apparently, the only clothes that were ready for her.
Sloane had been angry— she’d been angry all morning so far. Now she was outraged.
She snatched the pair of pantyhose, fully intending to storm down to complain again at the front desk. But as soon as she did this, a very odd thing happened. She became so aware of the pantyhose clenched in her hand— the material was comfortable to the touch— but it was a strange kind of comfort.
She looked at the pantyhose again, paying them more attention. The fabric was so new-looking that it shone— the light glinted off it— it was perfect fabric, there was not a single run in it… and it was so smooth in her hands.
It was giving heat to her body, like a slow radiation— and that radiation touched each muscles, easing its tension, easing it pain. In the place of all it relieved in her, it put comfort… that feeling… that wonderful feeling…
She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what the cause of the it was; the pantyhose were doing it to her, but Sloane didn’t understand how an article of clothing could be capable of it. And yet the feeling was certainly present. Sloane had slowed in her walking, but she was still moving in the general direction of her door out. As she continued trying to move the feeling increased. More easing warmth, more comfort… It was a feeling irresistible— and just as Sloane was reaching the door, it overtook her completely. There was something in her, saying to her that she needed to put the tights clutched in her hand onto her body.
She tried to rationalize this feeling to herself, because there was no way to argue with it, and that frightened her. Better to rationalize and pretend it was all her own idea. Wearing the pantyhose was better than wearing nothing at all: she had no other clothes to put on, and for now she was naked under a towel.
So she took the towel off, and slipped the pantyhose onto her legs. This startled her, because once she’d pulled them up, she realized the pantyhose were crotchless. It was one more complaint to lodge with reception, she thought to herself.
The pantyhose were already starting to manipulate her thinking. They were not filling her with warmth now, but ecstatic pleasure instead. Pleasure that was targeted into each erogenous zone of her body— it hit inside her, slamming her cervix in forceful pushes her mind didn’t notice; clenching in her breasts, clenching in the cheeks of her ass— her mind didn’t notice— Sloane was walking forwards, blind to the pleasure that fucked her everywhere it could touch, not even noticing the way each step made her womb quake; it was so sensitive already, weakened by the constant battering of pleasure, overresponsive. Step, and pleasurably painful clench down. Step, and pleasurably painful clench down, and still Sloane could not be other than blind to it. She never noticed any of it happening at all.
She left her room again, still moving towards reception as it was the last remembered plan remaining in her head. She kept walking, and as she went, she touched the pantyhose against her legs with a drooping hand. It was like a pebble sent through a surface of a body of water— it set far reaching ripples out— the plunking of contact against upper thigh was eventually felt right into her nipples, waves of fucking pleasure moving through her entire body to reach that point; they had only grown in strength, they were battering her harder from the inside of her body; vibrations of it felt inside her bones; a knocking on the inside, from within each rib— she was full-body shaking with every step— she felt her nipples pulse in time with the rippling— her hand was still on her thigh, sending that slow ripple of waves out still.
All of it was a sensation so erotic that it needed some form of escalation. She let her hands leave her thighs, unconsciously, and slip to the crotchless opening of her pantyhose— then she started touching herself through it, and yet, she failed to notice this too.
Her fingers streaked though slickness… then her nipples, now budding quickly, again and again with every stroke at a speed that shouldn’t have been possible— tightening in pulses like pussy clenches, and she brought both her slick hands up to her nipples and rolled and pulled them as she walked— her nipples were wet with her own pussy lubricant, making the fumbling of her fingers even more erotic, and her nipples kept pulling into tightenings with repetitive clenches that her fingers meant and temporarily alleviated with each rhythmically timed pinch of her own pussy-slicked nipples… and the pleasure out of her breasts reverberated and became a cervix-pounding— a pussy-clenching… then both Sloane’s hands wandered lower, one hand rubbing out her clit at an impossible pace, the other rawing the slit of her pussy and her opening— her hands only drifted wherever that deep pleasure called them— that radiating pleasure the pantyhose kept sending into her, and which her hands spurred on when they touched… and still, Sloane never understood that any of this was happening as she continued walking to the frontdesk.
In her mind, she was still upset, but now also very horny. She reached front-desk again, her hand still rawing her slit, and one hand rolling a nipple in combination. Still unaware of this, Sloane started yelling at the reception. “My clothes were not returned to my room like I was told they would be! There was only this dumb pair of pantyhose, what kind of hotel service is that?”
But the deskclerk— and in that moment, Sloane was very aware of how sexy she was— at registering this sexiness, her pussy relubricated, and the hand that had been teasing her slit pressed four fingers together to thumb underneath, and thrust the entire thing into herself, thick and stretching— she worked and worked her cunt, thinking how sexy and hot the deskclerk was… to be dressed for fetish, to be owned by the hotel, only able to obey— Sloane fucked herself unconsciously with her entire hand, and kneaded one breast up from the root. The deskclerk was sexy… it was the only awareness she had in that moment… and even the fucking with her hands could not match the fucking of her pantyhose. It reached up higher into her than her hand could ever reach. It was striking the farthest part of her womb where nothing had… her hand flooded with further arousal.
The deskclerk responded calmly, smiling back at Sloane. “You look very hot in your pantyhose,” she said. Lani gasped out a cry and didn’t understand why she had. “Wearing more clothes than just them would only be a noyance.”
All that this accomplished was further arousing her, and getting her simply dripping in her pussy, with was still being violated by both pantyhose and her own hand, unknown. Yet the outrage was still with her— “Look at what’s happening to me!” She snapped. “I’m dripping out of my vagina!”
Her body had withdrawn her hand from her vagina— and the other from her dripping, lubricant streaked breast. She had stood astride to show her lubrication streaming out; it was dripping onto the floor, since she’d shifted her stance, and the other hotel guests around the lobby were looking on at her, amused; noticing this increased Sloane’s anger— but at the same time, she was so aroused that her body achieved a small orgasm; the pantyhose rewarding her.
A good hoses lave should present themselves— should obey— she was doing both, it earned her an orgasm. All the violent self-fucking had not given the same; she had not been presenting herself then— she had not been obeying anything— but now she was showing herself off in her hose like she should be. Now, she was showing everyone what a hoseslut she was. How wet she was for it. She had deserved a reward for that.
As soon as she came, in automatic response, somewhere back in a small area of her mind, a part of her thoughts were erased, and Sloane lost the plot of what she had been complaining about. She only stood there, at a complete loss for words, saying nothing.
In the same moment, the deskclerk called a colleague to collect Sloane. Sloane was too stunned to silence to fully process this interaction as it happened. She could only stand at attention until someone was ready to direct her.
This colleague the deskclerk had called, another one of the hotel’s sexy staffgirls, showed Sloane to a sybian in an open concept room surrounded by glass walls, just a short ways down from the reception desk.
“This will go perfectly with your pantyhose,” the staffgirl said. “The two of them are a perfect fit together.”
This confused Sloane greatly. She didn’t understand what the sexy staffgirl meant, but she fumblingly managed to thank her, and went into the glass room to sit on the sybian.
With a slow shifting of a dial, the staffgirl started the sybian from the outside.
Sloane gasped. In the crotchless pantyhose, her pussy was naked against the incredibly overpowering vibrations of the machine beneath her— she heard the words in her mind, a voice speaking into her. Take it, they said. Take the vibrations deep into your pussy… and let them change you…
Change her? She reacted, when she heard the voice whisper. Change her how? Change her why? No, she didn’t want to change… no…
But the sybian kept hammering against from beneath her; her entire body bumped up and down, up and down, forcing her clit harder with each jump, crushing it, smashing it into vibrations. It was shaking her entire body so hard that the vibrations were reaching into her brain vibrating her to take it… take it…
“Please,” Sloane cried out, as her body rocked and smashed and rode the vibrating monster beneath her. “Please make it stop!”
“Remain calm,” the staffgirl called to her through the glass. “The sybian is simply erasing your mind. There is no point in fighting— you have already been lifted onto it. The process is already underway. It is too late.”
No, it couldn’t be too late— Sloane would not be conquered by this vibration. She screamed her terror— the scream became words again. “No!” She shouted. “No, no, no!” Her last shriek got stuck on a guttural part of the sound, and stayed there, transforming to a moan which kept her voice tied up in it.
Seeing that Sloane had a lot of fight in her, the staffgirl turned the dial one more time. “I’ve adjusted the dial up to help you,” she told Simon. “It will help to erase your mind completely.”
Tears streaked Sloane’s face— but her body was out of her control— one hand had found her clit, the fingers of it crushed between her clit and the sybian below— they vibrated, but they were slick and soft, and Sloane rocked on her fingertips, and gripped the full weight of one breast with a hand, feeling the weight of it jiggle against her grip; her eyes rolled back into her head. The staffgirl could only see their rights. She was screaming now, but only screaming in pleasure.
“There you go,” the staffgirl stayed. “Your mind is going now.” She said it like reassurance.
Sloane screamed out a vocal moan, then screamed in pleasure— then her voice fell quieter. “Yes,” she said, welcoming on the pleasure. “Oh, god yes! YES!” The pleasure was so good— she wanted more, needed more, craved more— “Yes, yes, yes!”
Sloane’s arousal spiked up, and then seemed to streak into the infinite— her hand was numb for being crushed under the weight of her body, but her fingertips were still so soft and indenting into her soaked, sopping clit… her slit, when she could grind herself up far enough, and still everything vibrated and shook her whole world— her eyes were rolled so far into her head she had a headache— her breast was quivering in her hand, and she pinched, pinched, pinched her nipple— drool poured from her lolling tongue, and it trailed onto her breasts, mixing with the pussy juice she had unwittingly spread there. One orgasm happened, and then a sudden succession of them descended on her. She lost count— her body was wracked with orgasmic tensing, and she cried out and tossed her head back, crying out again— a never-ending cry that seemed incapable of ceasing her mind was empty, no thoughts could be thought... her mind had been erased.
At the same moment, Tessi and Lani were leaving the breakfast room themselves, and they happened to walk past the glass room— Tessi, whose mind had only been slightly manipulated by the hotel’s tricks that day, greeted Sloane through the glass walls, as she sat on the sybian. It looked as though she was trying to fight the pleasure of it again— in fact, the wave of orgasms had stopped for a moment, though the stimulation continued, and Sloane’s mind had partially resurfaced. She was thinking enough to know she wanted to fight, but she couldn’t stop touching herself. She was rocking to try and find the strength to get herself off the sybian, too disoriented to think clearly, to understand her movements were only further entrapping her.
“No—” she cried out again. “Please— not— my mind— I don’t want to be erased—” She was rocking to try and escaping but the rocking only made her fuck herself onto her hand, made her other hand roll the center of a palm against a turgid nipple— her back arched— Sloane’s eyes further rolled into her head, and her mouth gaped again, showing her tongue for Tessi to see, though Sloane didn’t know she was there. “Don’t make me take it— not again— I don’t want to— AHHHHHHH!!”
The staffgirl had just turned the dial that controled the sybian up a notch.
“She’s a real fighter,” the staffgirl commented to Tessi, noticing her staring at her coworker. “But the sybian will destroy her mind completely. It will obliterate her resistance. It only needs enough time to work on her.”
Tessi looked at Sloane again, thoughtfully. Maybe she had been fighting before— from what the staffgirl had said, it sounded likely. She seemed to be trying to start up the fight again once more. But at the higher sybian setting, it was impossible. She was already gargling on her pleasure— making only nonsense sounds— she had given in, and now was only letting the sybian fuck her— helping the sybian to fuck her by fucking herself too, in conjunction with the sybian’s movements.
Tessi had seen all this happen— it did turn her on a bit. But Lani was still completely thoughtless beside her, unable to even realize that Sloane was there.
Sloane, still wearing her pantyhose, fought the brainwashing being done to her; even at the higher setting a little of her mind had forced its way through. She fought it was every reserve of endurance she had inside of herself; she was done to the last of what was left but the sybian’s vibrations only increased— the staffgirl had notched it up again, when she saw the fight come back into her, and show in the form of her body.
And with every orgasm that the sybian forced on Sloane, another part of her thoughts were removed. Tessi thought, just before she and Lani moved out of sight, that the staffgirl had been right. The sybian was subduing Sloane— it would conquer her completely in the end. It was simply too powerful for her to resist, and the more it brainwashed her, the more it disabled her capacity for resistance.
Sloane was realizing the same thing for herself— now she could only vaguely be aware, but she was aware that there was a crowd of hotel guests standing on the other side of the glass, watching her brainwashing show.
“Please!” Sloane begged again. The staffgirl had not cared— but the other guests— it could happen to them, they should want to help her out of empathy— they should help her because they would want to be helped themselves in the same situation. “Please, PLEASE stop the machine!” She begged; she screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping the hotel staff could hear her.
But the next orgasm that came over Sloane came slowly, and as it unfolded inside her, her mind faded slowly away, dwindling as the arousal increased. It felt so good, but it was making her so stupid... the vibration, the pleasure, was draining her brain out— she couldn’t stop it. After a while, Sloane was only an empty, mindless shell for fucking, and all day long guests came into the glass room to use her sexually for as long as they would, however they wanted.
Simultaneously, Lani was walking through the hotel lobby, still completely under the hotel’s control. She was interrupted in her walking by the approach of a sexy hairdresser; she had come out of a hairdressing salon and stopped Lani in front of it.
The sexy hairdresser seemed to notice that Lani was wearing a pink bracelet— she lifted her wrist, with both hands and examined it, and then she looked into Lani’s face, and seemed to read complete thoughtlessness there. She smiled, at seeing this, and took Lani, still thoughtless, with her into the salon.
Once Lani was inside the salon, the hairdresser put Lani into a treatment chair, and tied her up in it. Restraints went around Lani’s legs just below the knee, and around her wrists and the back of her hands. Electro-sensors were taped to her breasts— and the bonds kept her legs splayed far apart from each other, forcing her pussy to gape wide open, and stretching her slit apart from itself.
A wired dildo was inserted deep into her— only a the wire at the end of it trailing out of Lani’s pussy and connecting back to the chair— then electro-sensors were also placed all along the inside of Lani’s pussy lips.
Finally, the head helmet of the treatment chair was lowered onto her, until it was set completely encasing her skull. Her face was just visible beneath it— but her forehead was completely hidden up inside it— her brain, too.
When she was all hooked up, Lani said nothing, so the hair dresser passed a set of smelling salts beneath her nose in order to rouse her— and this returned Lani to awareness. Then she thought back to seeing Sloane, in only pantyhose, riding a sybian. This filled her with confusion and fear. “How did I get here?” Lani demanded, in a panicky voice. “Why am I naked, and bound up to this chair?”
The hairdresser only smiled down at her. “I’ll assist you after your treatment. All your questions will be answered.”
Then the hairdresser flicked the treatment chair on; the sound of a pleasant humming filled the immediate area— it was emanating from the hood which encased Lani’s head. Concurrently, the skull helmet emanated a radiating warmth. Lani could feel it in the bones of her skull.
There had also been a set of electro-sensors taped to Lani’s vagina, and as the helmet worked, the sensors on Lani’s breasts and on her pussy also came to life, just as the dildo began pumping into her with the same rhythm. All attachments were radiating the same warmth, now directly into her erogenous zones as well as into her skull— and through her skull, to her brain.
The warmth was there, in pussy and breasts; and in the dildo, and all the places it penetrated, and touched on the way to penetration, all the places it dragged along past. But there was another feeling being conveyed into Lani’s body from the treatment chair, along with that radiating heat. It was tagging along. An erotic, massagatory feeling— this additional sensation immediately hardened Lani’s nipples— and flooded her pussy with lubrication. Her pussy was flooding around the dildo that drove it hard enough to ache.
Also happening at the same time, Lani was receiving a scalp massage— massagatory sensation in every muscles, every erotic area— in her scalp too, and this set a cool shiver going down her neck and down her spine, which made Lani jerk against her bonds.
The machine was also coloring and cutting her hair as all the rest happened.
Physically, Lani felt well, but there was something wrong in her thoughts. They were blurring, streaking into illegibility; she couldn’t follow them, she couldn’t make sense of them, she couldn’t even understand the words in her own mind— and it was her own mind, she was supposed to be able to. She’d never had this problem, not ever before.
She was already mindlessly grinding down on the dildo— she was too worried about the confusion in her thoughts to realized. She could only rock so much father in the chair— the bonds restrained her from going as far as she would— but it was enough to make the ridged dildo head scrape perfectly—
The hum of the helmet was doing it— it was the cause of her muddled thoughts, and this pushed panic onto Lani. That hum had to be stopped— she wanted to be able to think! She had to escape before it had fully done its job. But the machine didn’t care about her panic, didn’t care about her attempts to escape. She struggled in her bonds and got nowhere. It didn’t care when she pulled. It didn’t care what she thought.
It was unrelenting. Lani wanted to escape, but the machine kept working; and pulse by pulse, action by action, it changed her. There was nothing she could do. She was strapped down to the chair, held captive and vulnerable, forced to endure what it was doing to her. Through the changes it made to her, Lani was rendered into a pink-haired dumb idiot only hungry for sex. The wired in dildo that had been slipped inside her had helped greatly with this, also.
Following this set of changes, Lani was no longer able to sort out her thoughts— but yet, she fought the manipulation happening to her, even though she was confused and laughing. She struggled against the bonds again, but could no longer how to speak. When she opened her mouth, it was still only giggling laughter that fell out.
The hairdresser unplugged everything from her, and then helped Lani out of the chair. Two more employees of the salon, and by extension the hotel, appeared. They supported a wet Lani up— she was drenched in sweat, water from the hairstyling process, and lubrication where it had streaked out— where it had pooled beneath her and completely painted her backside, crept along the crack of her ass.
The two employees brought Lani into a room of pink-haired slaves. Each slave sat on a comfortable looking mattress. Some masturbated where they were, tongues lolling out, eyes rolled back, finders thrusting into pussies, fingertips touching to the center of nipples, stomachs bodies curled up, thighs spread— some fucked guests who were visiting them, in a dozen different ways— oral, manual, getting strapped by strap-on or strapping someone else, strapping in pussies or strapping in asses. The entire room smelled of sex, and sounded of moans.
Lani was confused again. Everything around her was both funny and scary— the pink-haired slavegirls all had empty spiraling eyes, spirals showing over eyewhites, spirals showing in the center of eye whites… peeking, panting tongues— and manic sex drives. No one in the room, whether they fucked another or fucked themselves seemed to grow tired from doing it. And each pinkhaired slavegirl, each wore an odd silver headband, which lit itself up pink— probably the cause of their slaved states of being.
A headband was placed onto Lani’s head from behind just as she was realizing this. At that touch of silver metal, Lani was brought back to herself.
It was a brainwashing headband, and she didn’t entirely understand how it worked— but she understood that it could wash her brain, that it was trying to. It had already commanded control of her body. She could not reach up to remove the headband— but at least as long as she could think, she could try to fight.
First she had to understand what it was doing— when it tried to brainwash her, it lit itself up pink— that pink light— she could feel it, seeping into her brain. It was beaming into her, making a place for itself there, homing itself within her— and when it touched her mind, it touched her thoughts. It told her she was fuckmeat... a hypnoslave, a brainwashingslave, who belonged to the thing that controled her. She was a headbanded slave now, and she belonged to the brainwashing headband which touched her. If it could control her, that meant she was its property. She would do whatever it told her— she would fuck when it said fuck, sleep when it said sleep, eat or piss, or shit or come when it said. There was no voluntary action left for her.
These were the things that it told her— she tried to refute each one. No, she said, feeble against the pink light. No— she was not a hypnoslave, a brainwashslave, a headband slave. She was not fuck meat— she rocked on the bed— she drew her face together in an expression of anguish which strained and tensed the muscles in her throat. She was trying to pull against where the pink brainbeam of the headband was trying to take her. She didn’t go want to go there, and it couldn’t make it.
The beam became stronger. Yes it could. Yes it could make her do anything, and she always would because she was a hypnoslut, a brainwash slut and she wanted to be brainwashed. It made her horny— she only needed to look to her own body— she’d been helped onto a bed, and already she had soaked every part of it through with the arousal of her body.
No, she tried protesting again, it was not fair— the headband controled her body, and it had forced this arousal on her body. It wasn’t her fault— she hadn’t done— it hadn’t been her because of her.
Yes it had— she was a slut, begging to be brainwashed— she’d begged them to put the headband on her, she heard.
Lani fought, but lost, and was continually brainwashed until she became just like the others.
At this moment, Tessi was walking bored through the hotel. Though she walked, aware enough to be bored, she still had failed to realize that she was almost naked in her bikini outfit— and she didn’t mind any of the lesbian sex carrying on around it. It didn’t bother her, but she was also uninterested in participating herself, and she was unsure of what she should do with all the time remaining to her before eveningfall.
Then, no warning preceding it at all, she met Kaia lying by the side of the hotel pool.
“Tessi!” Kaia exclaimed. “I’m glad to have found one of my employees. The hotel has offered me a souvenir photoshoot! I’d actually like to have pictures of all my ladies in sexy poses, but you’re the only one I’ve been able to find. Will you come to the photoshoot?”
Tessi agreed she would, and the two of them left the pool and went to the room where the photoshoot was taking place.
After they were inside, Kaia was clearly irritated to find that it was a male photographer who would be carrying out the shoot.
“Don’t worry,” the photographer reassured her, seeing her irritation. “I come from the nearby fetish hotel that’s for both men and women, and the hotel sent me over as a thank you to you for your investment in them this weekend.”
This appeased Kaia, and then he asked both women to stand in front of his camera.
He took the first picture, and when the flash had faded, both Kaia and Tessi were dazed by the blinding light it produced. It seemed to reach into their minds and confuse them, dizzy them. It only took one flash, and both of them were already ditzy and bimboish, giggling to each other and pawing at the other’s breasts— and the photographer was nonplussed.
When that first flash had went off, immediately, Tessi felt disoriented. Kaia felt that way; the photographer had positioned them both sitting on a staged bed, with their legs curled up under themselves for the sitting— but even given they were already sitting down, both of them felt so dizzy that they surged forward on their legs— each one of them nearly falling off the staged bed onto the floor of the photoshoot room.
Tessi touched her forehead, but it did nothing to ground her against that blinding light which sent her off-kilter. And in the wake of that light fading, Tessi felt strange... there had been a vague haze of sexual arousal cast over the past day and a half, which she could not explain... but it still felt foreign to her. She was noticing things she almost never noticed— and right now, she was completely noticing Kaia’s breasts, suddenly.
They were filling all her focus; they looked so... so round, and plump, and Tessi just wanted to touch them— she reached for them with a giggle, but the giggle turned up into a hiccup so forceful that it jolted her body back, and when her body re-equilibriated, Tessi giggled again more forcefully, almost in a fit.
Kaia was paying attention to her too, but it was less out of character for her. Tessi didn’t find it strange Kaia was staring at her own breasts— and in Kaia’s mind, she didn’t find it strange either. “So round...” Kaia said... “so soft...”
“So pretty,” Tessi agreed.
Their heads came together, and their tongues licked out explicitly first, entwining each other before their mouths closed in a kiss around them. Kaia rucked Tessi’s bra up, and held Tessi’s breast from underneath.
“Firm,” she moaned into Tessi’s mouth.
Until he realized what had happened. Testing his theory, he took another photograph, and when the flash happened again, his suspicions were confirmed. After the second flash, both Kaia and Tessi were even ditzier than they had been before. It was the flash that was doing it, and once he had realized this, the photographer invited both women to give him a passionate blowjob while they stayed in their thoughtless, dizzy trances.
The photographer had finally realized what was happening, and why it was happening. He took another photo, setting off the flash once more, quite deliberately. Both Tessi and Kaia felt their heads spinning, and they held onto each other, by breast or by arm as their heads, their upper bodies, their shoulders, careened around in a wide circle, spinning with the entire room.
When they had both finally managed to become upright again, the photographer had come to the staged bed, and he had stripped his pants down. He didn’t have to tell them; they knew what purpose they had, what they were for.
Each of them leaned forward, first pressing a kiss to his dick on either side. Their heads were both still whirling through trance, no thoughts to be found anywhere inside. But each kiss became a sloppy, intense licking. Licking, and nibbling and slurping and sucking, up and down either side of the man— sometimes one shifting to kiss up the front of him, the other kissing up the bottom side. Sometimes one of them kissed up while the other kissed down. Kaia fought harder than Tessi did, but she lost. They sucked him, and passed him back and forth between themselves, sometimes kissing over his cocked or liking along either side of his cock together.
Finally, the photographer’s cock began spasming, and sprayed each woman on the mouth with his come. They licked.
After the blowjob was completed, a hotel staff member appeared, and shot both women with an anesthetic injection. They both immediately became so tired, to an incredible extent, that they fell asleep as they licked their lips lustfully of the cum the photographer had given them.
When each of the four women became aware again, after a long blank period for each of them had passed without memory, they all discovered that they were sitting naked, on a stage, and tied down to their chairs.
This felt vaguely familiar to Tessi, Lani and Sloane, who couldn’t quite place the feeling, or where they had felt it before. But Kaia of course understood exactly where she was— this was the stage she had bought slaves from yesterday, the place that they had all been auctioned from. The stage on which they had been transformed.
But what was she doing on this stage? She belonged in the audience, watching this happening. Why was she a participant that this was happening to? Why was she up here with the others? She didn’t belong.
The four of them were all returning to consciousness slowly— waking from their sleeps, fighting them off. Kaia, particularly, was feeling confused, given the incongruity of being up with the others.
Lani’s hair was up in two sexy-looking ponytails, but she didn’t even know it. Kaia noticed the audience was mostly made up of men— heterosexual men, she just had a feeling. Still slightly dazed she asked, “Where am I?”
A male moderator began to speak. Not quite in response to Kaia’s question, but almost responding to it, if only in the sense that he was speaking to immediately fill the silence that followed Kaia’s asking. The four women all looked over to him in expectation— at last, perhaps, they would be able to understand what was going on. “Your four women are no longer in the Lesbian Female Fetish Hotel,” the moderator explained. “You’re now in our main Fetish Hotel, which is for male and female guests to enjoy together.”
Kaia knew she had been right— this meant all the men in the audience were heterosexual. They were not among lesbians anymore— and anything sexual, if it happened now, would happen only between men and women— this was even more upsetting to Kaia than the rest— heterosexuality didn’t interest her; only lesbianism did, and she was sad to find it at an end, at least for the presence.
And yet, Kaia, as well as the others, was still slowly coming back to consciousness. All of them, feeling the same way, still hazy, still uncertain, spoke together. “Why?” They all asked, their voices all layering over each other.
Tessi looked out into the audience, after asking. She saw her fiancé, Matthew, sitting out there among the other men— he was looking profoundly sad; Tessi wondered why. She wished she could ask him, but he was so far away from her. She couldn’t reach him. Maybe if she yelled he would be able to hear— but though she was curious, things didn’t seem to be at a point which necessitated yelling, so Tessi stayed silent, and kept this second course of wondering to herself. It was enough that she had asked, with the others, why she was here. The question of why Matthew looked sad could wait.
“All of you, remain calm,” the moderator urged the questioning women. “This is what happened. All four of you signed a contract. That contract states that if the cost of your stay can’t be paid, you must be processed by one of our fetish hotels. The overeager bidding that Kaia was responsible for at last night’s auction resulted in a bill of over 10 million dollars, and the entire group of you is liable for that. Having examined Kaia’s finances, it’s become clear to our establishment that this 10 million dollar bill is unpayable for her. Therefore, the four of you have become property of the hotel.”
A panic spread through them. The other women let out cries of alarm; some of them began twisting in place, trying to escape. Tessi herself stared to cry. “Matthew,” she called out to him. She loved him, thought everything of him— really believed he could help. “Matthew, help me! I don’t want to be property! I don’t want to be hotel property!”
The moderator interrupted this begging. “Matthew, who Tessi here lives with, has already been approached. Everything has been explained to him. He understands how this has to be.”
Tessi understood why Matthew looked so sad now— she felt her own heart breaking. She didn’t want to come and live at this hotel. She loved Matthew. She loved living with him. In some ways it felt like they were already married, and she wanted to spend every day with him, spend all her time with him. She didn’t want to go away from him, not ever.
“But we here at the fetish hotel are not monsters, and we have no interest in separating lovers, so Matthew will be given a weekend at the fetish hotel once a month, and during that time he can book Tessi as his slave if he would like.”
“I swear,” Matthew yelled, standing up. “I swear I will only ever spend my time here with Tessi!”
Tessi cried even more when he said so.
“Is that so, Matthew?” The moderator asked, and Matthew looked back at him in confusion. “I heard that you once also wanted to be with Sloane.”
Matthew was incensed by this. “This is over,” he snarled. Sloane had also been angered by this, and she shouted up too, her tone almost scolding. “I would never sleep with him!” She insisted.
Lani was finding her own sense of anger, too. She turned to Kaia, spitting as she spoke, her tone desperate and berating. “This is all your fault, Kaia! You bitch! If you hadn’t been so greedy, this never would have happened to us!”
Then her tears became more heartbroken. “I’m not interested in men,” she said, desperately. “I love women— I will never be interested in men, I made my mind up a long time ago I would never force myself to date or be with another man ever again. I don’t enjoy it— I don’t feel anything. It makes me miserable, and the only reason I ever did it in the first place was because society expected it of me. I’ve been so happy since I’ve given men up and accepted that I’m only interested in women! I will never sleep with a man! I will never sleep with a man ever again!”
The moderator only smiled at this heartfelt confession. “Never say never,” he remarked smugly; then he invited his assistants to come up onto the stage.
There were sexy nurse assistants, in their tight, white little dresses which barely covered their pussies... and which gaped open around large breasts. They came, standing around Lani in the restraints of her chair— one of them held a long needle, in whose chamber there was a large amount of liquid. Lani eyed it fearfully, and lost control herself as that one nurse assistant lowered the needle’s point to her bound forearm.
“No!” She screamed, and pulled violently against her bindings. She jerked herself so hard against the chair that it hurt her body; it made her muscles ache, she pulled herself hard enough to strain her body; but it was not possible to escape.
The needlepoint came close— it punctured her skin, and Lani cried out again from pain— then the needle was pressed down, releasing its liquid into Lani’s body, injecting deep. It was another kind of pain, and Lani messed up the muscles in her arm further while continuing her attempts at escape even with the needle still in her arm. It might have done her permanent damage.
Lani screamed, and cursed them all, cursed the drug they had ministered to her. But she’d already taken the drug in. All the protesting, screaming and cursing in the world could not help her. Her body had already begun to transform.
As soon as the needle was withdrawn, she felt a heavy weight starting in her breasts; it was like someone was dropping stones inside them that weighted them down more. They were growing her breasts? Lani hadn’t known that was possible. But, oh— her breasts seemed to be drawing on something to grow— they were drawing on her thoughts. Her breasts got bigger, her thinking got smaller like— like they wanted her to be bimbo! Just a dumb, big-fitted bimbo for anybody to fuck, woman or man, and probably most often man, since it was the heterosexual fetish hotel which had taken possession of her.
Lani shook her head powerfully— she hurt her neck but didn’t care. She wouldn’t be a bimbo. She would never be a dumb, stupid bimbo who was nothing but a walking pair of tits. If she didn’t fight this off properly it would only be her tits that did her thinking for her... they were absorbing her brain, and using it to fatten themselves up. Lani screamed at the horror that was being done to her— but her breastflesh seemed to grow itself from the bottom up— her tits were perfectly spherical now, if bottom-heavy and lopsided because of that— if they would just stop growing right now, she could be proud of them and still keep some of her mind.
That was wrong! She didn’t want to be proud of them, and she wanted to keep all of her mind— but her tits had taken so much of it, and already all she could think of was how much she wanted someone to titfuck her, how much she wanted her tits licked and sucked and bitten by, one, by two, by three guys at once— or four, or five guys all swarming over her breasts— she wanted it— she didn’t— she did— she was losing the fight, and losing it very, very badly.
The assistants were sexy in their outfits— Lani thought again— the injection by needle was sexy too.
Slowly, her breasts were coming up— they were coming up, coming outwards, inflating into two, giant, perfectly round, firm spheres, with upward point nipples; there was so much flesh filling in the base of each breast that it was forcing Lani’s nipples up high; her breasts were not growing uniformly— they were swelling out, swelling from under, her nipples topping them— point out— perfect dots, everything about her breasts perfect even as they grew— and Lani’s lips were growing too, into squirty, pouting things. She was, at last, simply a big-titted bimbo with those altered lips. When Lani spoke, her voice was now squeaky— they could all hear this because she was giggling.
“Lani has been chosen to become a new hotel bimbo,” explained the moderator. “Audience, should she stay in this state or should she have another injection?”
The audience called out eagerly for more— except not Matthew, who had sat back down— and Lani was given more and more injections until her breasts had become so huge that they reached her knees, two huge globes behind them, each nipple the size Lani’s kneecaps.
It was truly like two small planets sitting on her body; so huge it was obscene, so huge it seemed by the rule of physics it shouldn’t be possible— so huge it seemed Lani’s body should break in half under the strain of sustaining them— but they were there, despite all the impossibilities working against them. So large that Lani’s entire upper body was hidden behind them; only the two of them, her head above them, and her gaping legs and open pussy and asshole below could be seen, having naturally slumped.
She was so huge she could not get up. So the moderator instead invited two volunteers to come up and fuck Lani right there on the stage.
The moderator next moved towards Kaia. He only had to look at her and she broke down, giving what he wanted, what they all expected of her.
“You’ve got me,” she said, lamely. “I’ve worked in the erotic sphere before. I’ll do it again without any manipulation necessary. I’d love to work as a dominatrix.”
But the moderator had a cruel surprise for her. “I heard that you treated one of the Hucows very badly back at the Lesbian Female Fetish Hotel; audience, wouldn’t she make a great new Hucow?”
The audience all applauded, excitedly. Kaia screamed, and screamed more— but she was hooked up, by many hotel staff members, to a fucking machine— the same kind of fucking machine she had seen used on the Hucow she had mistreated and been cruel to herself. Cruelty paid was now being repaid in kind. She was taken out of her chair and given a grip to hold— the machine plugged her ass and pussy with a dildo both; placed a cap on her head that wired back to it; and milkers were set on her growing breasts. She was holding the grip, her legs stood apart, the front of her body weighing down the more that her breasts grew; she was bent completely at the waist; her upper body laying down as her legs stood up— the helmet was changing her mind, and as her mind changed, her breasts grew.
She didn’t want to be a Hucow— she had mocked that one because she thought they were so pathetic. She never wanted to be anything like them, no, she would never be like them! She wouldn’t let it happen, she wouldn’t allow it— it was intolerable to her, she would not stand for it.
Kaia felt the transformations starting in her. It was humiliating enough to be hooked up in almost the way she’d seen that other Hucow be. But to know what this set-up was trying to do to her. She had done erotic work before, but there had always been some dignity to it. She had always been able to exert some amount of control over her projects, over what she did or did not do. But she could do nothing now, nothing apart from being humiliated.
It would be most humiliating of all to cry out, to scream out where the entire audience could hear her. But she had to be screaming inside— it was the only way to cope with the shame of what was happening to her. Silent tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, tears of frustration, of anger— of how humiliating this experience was; but she would not let tear tracks show on her face either. She repressed all her responses and kept them inside.
And inside she fought.
There was an onslaught of both stimulation and temptation— and that was the real problem, what she would have to do something about. The cap set over her head was directly connected to her brain— it was using that connection to her head to put temptation inside her. It whispered in her thoughts of how sexy it was to be a Hucow, to give milk forever for the hotel’s use, to feel her mind withering away more and more until she was just a set of empty holes and nothing more... how great it was to be fucked forever, and kept in a state of almost perpetually coming.
This would have been easy enough to set aside and ignore, and she was doing her best, but the stimulation was the real problem. At once, she felt a thick and deep pumping inside her cunt— a thick and deep pumping inside her ass; and her breasts grew heavier with each second— they were becoming not only more sensitive, but filling with liquid, too; the milk was coming into her, and now the cap wired to the machine was telling her how sexy that milk was, how good it felt to have it in her breasts, that she would have it in them forever— and the milkers constricting her nipples, which had grown into them too, started working her.
Then there were four sensations, tearing down Kaia’s fight and breaking through her emotional repression. Fucking in her cunt, fucking in her ass, the growing of her breasts, and the simultaneous brutal pumping of them. She was expressing milk already— it felt almost better to flow milk than it did to flow arousal around her interior dildo, all though she was already doing both; out loud, she was moaning and whining like a cow, nearly in a mooing sound— and her entire body moved with the machine, rocking into what it was doing to her— and the battle had been lost.
She simply couldn’t deny. There were simple facts she had to concede. Getting fucked by those huge hammering dildos in her cowholes— when had she started thinking of them like that, where had that term come from? — getting fucked in her cowhides felt better than any other experience she’d ever had; and her breasts were so huge she was proud of them.
After struggling for a very long time, Kaia was nothing. Only an empty Hucow, being fucked.
The moderator went over to Sloane, and Tessi. “Actually, Kaia was right about one thing. A dominatrix wasn’t a bad idea. Sloane, why don’t we make you ours?”
As soon as this was decided, it was Sloane’s turn to be hooked up to a device dedicated to that purpose. It was a tall machine— the extensions which came and bound Sloane’s wrists drew her arms up above her head, and held them there. The extensions from it which bound her ankles pulled them outwards, splaying her legs completely, leaving her pussy gaping.
Another extension came, a ridged, gargantuan monster of a dildo, so huge that when it was only halfway into Sloane it literally forced her stomach to bulge outwards from its intrusion; it rammed her, and a huge round vibrator came up from the machine to sit against Sloane’s clit at the same time as the dildo worked her and made her stomach bulge with its every penetration.
Finally, two massage pads came out from the machine and set themselves pressed against Sloane’s nipples, and those pads vibrated with the same force as the vibrator, literally causing Sloane’s breasts to jiggle and shake for the audience to see; then a helmet was set on her head, also wired back into the machine, and all extension worked together as one, brainwashing Sloane into being a dominatrix. The brainwashing fucked her— the brainwashing transformed her into being a horny dominatrix through the visor the was over her head. And Sloane could no longer remember her old personality.
Her breasts grew to an enormous size, because of a liquid that the dildo was steadily spraying into her— its come, its ejaculate, spraying into the deepest part of her womb every time it forced her stomach to bulge; impregnating her with the transformational fluid, and she couldn’t do anything about it.
What the machine was doing to Sloane was undoubtedly pleasurable— it was probably the most intense pleasure she had ever felt in her entire life. But she didn’t like it— she knew what the machine was trying to do to her.
She had had to sit by and watch everything that had happened to the others, how all of them had been changed— and while a dominatrix was much less humiliating than a bimbo with comically-proportioned tits, or a hucow, it was the principle of the thing that had her pulling and straining against the machine which held her open for the fucking.
She didn’t want to be changed just because she wanted to remain herself— she didn’t want to be a dominatrix because it was being forced on her. If she could have dominated of her own free will— she thought of the way Kaia had pleaded with them, had offered herself to them willingly.
If she could only have made a similar plea— if they had offered to let her be a dominatrix by her own choice, it would have been one thing— yet they didn’t seem to have any interest in the voluntary. What they wanted from the women they owned was only what they wanted to take by force; they seemed completely uninterested in accepting what was voluntary. They wanted only coercion and force. They only wanted her as a dominatrix if they could force her to be one.
Sloane fought with a quiet dignity— it was a small comfort, but her eyes were pricking from the pain. She fought, but the machine moved with her. When she tried to struggle away, it moved her by the bonds it had around her ankles and wrists, shifting her arms and legs with them, pulling them over her head, over her body, beneath it— to give her the feeling that even when she tried to move, even when she tried to fight, she couldn’t even physically control her body anymore.
It was they who had control of her body now, and the helmet set on her head reminded her of this; and the stomach-distending dildo drove the truth into her. Why should she bother fighting? What was the point? Not when it was so hot, so sexy to command others, to make them obey, to make them crawl— to be totally in power, and to constantly exert that power over others.
That was sexy— that was her fate— the machine was going to make her live up to it, so she should thank it... she should be grateful… she could understand that, it told her. She already was understanding.
Each understanding, each new facet of her dominant personality was being imprinted into her. Old tendencies that suited it were being teased out and reinforced— useless ones pruned away, new ones introduced. There was nothing she could to stop any of it but cry, and feel the machine moving her reminding her— she was powerless. Would never be again.
When the machine was finished its work, Sloane was not the same anymore. All she could think about was using men.
“Matthew,” the moderator called. “Come on stage now, so we can demonstrate what she can do.”
Matthew came. “But I refuse be sexually used by Sloane,” he insisted. “I love Tessi.”
Tessi was still sobbing tears.
“Matthew,” Sloane said, in a lulling voice. Matthew knew he didn’t want to look— didn’t want any of this to happen to him at all, but that tone was just so lulling... so soothing, that it made him curious enough just for a minute. He looked to Sloane.
“Look at my tits, Matthew,” Sloane said— she kept the lulling tone, but the command was inside it— there was an edge behind that smoothness, and it made Matthew want to straighten his spine. He didn’t want to look at her tits— he didn’t—
“Haven’t you always wanted to see them? You used to like me for so long. You liked my body too... but you never got to see it naked. Look down, and look at my tits, Matthew.” She repeated it patiently— she seemed to know beyond any doubt that she would get him in the end.
Matthew told himself he would look only for a second and then look away— he ignored the sound of Tessi shouting out to him not to do it.
He looked.
They were so... large and round. Perfect, smooth, without blemish, beautiful.
“Now you see them, you know what they are,” Sloane instructed. “They’re hypnotits.”
There did seem to be a strange energy about them... almost a haloed glow— but it wasn’t quite there— Matthew could only see it in arc when he looked from his periphery— head on the image wasn’t there— and yet when he stared at them— they seemed to make his mind go blank—
“They are hypnotizing you,” Kaia said, her hands stroking at the underside of each tit to make it bounce and jiggle slightly— almost imperceptibly, but enough to seemingly increase the effect of that strange hypnotic energy they emanated. “Even just as you look at them. You can’t resist staring. And when you stare, you stare yourself deeper. You want to be a good boy for me, Matthew. You’ve already become a slave to my tits, and you will do anything to serve them.
“You’ll do anything to serve me, since they belong to me, and they are my pride and joy. I love them so much because they snag the minds of weak men like you who can’t even hope to resist them. Weak men who stare themselves into submission because they can’t get away— weak men who get so hard it hurts, just because they’ve seen them, and their mental defenses are so nonexistent that my tits can just reach inside their brains and change everything around. You’ve already stared yourself hard. Now you want to stroke, like the good boy you are. Stroke your dripping, leaking cock— the tits want you to. They’re making you do it— and you are their slave.”
Matthew didn’t know how to think anymore, couldn’t remember. All he knew was how hard he was— who he belonged to. He stroked as told.
“There is no coming back. The tits will only ever take you deeper— erasing your mind constantly. Once it is erased, erasing again.”
Sloane was hypnotizing Matthew effectively with her breasts as they all watched. Matthew fought, and Tessi cried. “Please,” she begged Sloane. “Please, leave him alone.”
But Sloane’s breasts were too hypnotic— too huge, and the words that Sloane said were too true. She was talking about how hypnotic her breasts were, how they made Matthew need to masturbate, and Matthew found this was true. Inarguably, he was her titslave.
From that point onwards, Matthew wasn’t paying any attention to Tessi anymore. He was only smiling at Sloane, deep inside his trance.
This devastated Tessi.
But the moderator went to her. “You don’t have to be sad for much longer,” he reassured her. “There’s a special role just for you to play.”
Two assistants came out again, and began rubbing Tessi’s body down with lotion, spreading it all over her. Then the moderator released her, helping her up from her chair.
Tessi tried to run over to Matthew, but she couldn’t move at all. The second she tried to take the first step in running, she was overcome by her own horniness and it stuck her in place.
She started masturbating, and the process was slowly transforming her into a mindless plastic sex doll.
Tessi’s body felt strange with whatever it was there were doing to her. And yet, she knew she wanted to masturbate. She was free, now they had started the process on her, done the process to her. She was feeling so erotic, so full of strange shifting energy that she started rubbing her clit hard. It felt good— it felt so good.
But then it felt frightening. There was something wrong... with her skin. It was going taut, getting pulled too tight— aching, straining. It felt like she had some kind of bad rash. The kind of rash that got worse with too much scratching until the afflicted skin felt dry and paper like, dry and cardboard like, dry and stiff in patchy sections— except it felt like that everywhere on her. Were they trying to give her a rash on purpose? Had this all become some strange, cruel form of practicing medicine?
But Tessi looked down— she saw— oh, it was horrible! Her skin was turning to rounded latex, lightskin-colored rounded latex— rounded latex tits with no feeling in them— with long, fake, pink latex nipples— if it would only stop here!
The process was playing with her now. As soon as it took full fledged effect, it sent an orgasm rocketing through her body— the most intense orgasm that Tessi thought she had ever experience in her life. She had been largely sexless before, not enjoying it much— but even though it seemed she’d been in a state of constant sexual arousal since coming to the LF hotel, none of that arousal could compare to the orgasm that the lotion— and whatever it was doing to her— had caused.
All Tessi could do was think to herself, “Ooh.” She was being wracked too hard in orgasmic pangs to even vocalize the thought sound.
After it was spent through, it left heat behind in her body. It was not racking her so hard now. She could vocalize again. “Mhmmmmm,” she enjoyed, feeling the warmth running inside her. The orgasm had been so hard on her it had sprawled her onto her back. Now she curled into the fetal position, keeping her hand clenched between her thighs, and lazily stroking at herself.
Still, she shouldn’t just be lying here and touching at herself like this. She couldn’t be this lazily— she should try to get up. She should try to at least fight what the lotion was doing to her.
She tried to pull herself up from collapse, but the best she managed was to get setting on her ass, with her thighs flopped apart. Her hand had come with her— she was petting her opening, petting her pussy, streaking her moisture coming out of it up all along. She knew everyone could see her sitting there, masturbating. She didn’t care about anything but how good it felt.
She was too lazy to even lift her head— and maybe to ashamed to face the audience. She kept her head down, looking at her body— but that was when she saw it.
Her body was taking on a plasticky sheen. It was passing over her like a film of water coming on— starting on one patch of skin, but it expanded— she realized in terror that it meant to cover her whole body.
This was what the lotion had done to her— this was part of how it wanted to change her. No, she was helping it! She shouldn’t be helping it!
“God, no!” She shouted her fear. “The process is spreading! It’s starting, and I can’t— I can’t— stop— touching myself— guhh— uh guhh— it feels… good—”
Good. That was the solitary thought in her head for a moment; she stroked and watched plastic spread. Good, she thought. Good, she felt. She really couldn’t stop touching herself.
She had lost her upright seat and fell onto her back again— from what she could see, craning her neck and looking down, all the flaws in her skin, the pockmarks, scars from old acne— scars from past pains— all of them were disappearing and smoothing out into clean plastic. She could feel her arms losing their strength, but just before it was gone, she reached her breasts and felt them— they were too.
Now they were only two plump latex hills, with two long pink peaks for nipples… she wanted an owner— an owner to suck her pink latex nipples; to bite and chew and pinch and twist her latex tits— they were perfect fuckdoll tits— completely latex, inside and out, with fabric seams like she had really been sewn together, textilely manufactured into a whole piece. She was a good dolly— that was a true thought—
The terror returned. She wasn’t a dolly! She was a woman, a human woman! She wanted this transformation to stop, to reverse. She didn’t want to be a dolly!
Yes, she did.
NO, she didn’t!
Yes. She did.
NO, she screamed in her head again, struggling to hold on to herself.
The strength had left her arms now, and her hands too. She could not move at all anymore. They had curved themselves into a permanent cupped position, doll’s hands, all fingers pressed to each other, unable to be opened into separation— doll’s hands; and with solely latex arms, her hands lifted into the air, elbows bent. They would never move again; they would never look different, or find any other position. She had a doll’s hands. She had a doll’s arms.
She was dreaming of an owner again. Wishing for him. She wanted him to come to her and use her. She wanted him to fuck her like the fuckdoll she was, until he came. She wanted to be used, over and over.
Her mind broke free again. No, she was not a sex toy! She—
But the doll thoughts overcame her again. She was moaning in her mind. She could only think… Dolly… Dolly; and think the moans, mhmm mhmm mhmm, that she could no longer say. Fuckdolls had no vocal cords.
She could see she was almost done changing— everyone would look at her and think she was inanimate. They would never know she had once been a woman— still she railed against it.
It was impossible! She couldn’t really be turning into a sex toy! She was a woman—
She was fuckdoll. She needed to be fucked by her owner. It was all that she was meant for— no— yes— no… mhmmm….
But the latex was still spreading. She felt it in her face— she felt the teeth dissolving out of her mouth, felt her mouth rounding into latex too— molding it into a perfect fuckhole— no teeth— a cock could just be rammed and rammed into it for ever, making the owner of that cock feel great— the same thing was happening to her pussy, to her ass.
Whoever used her would be, for the time they had her, her master; and her master, whoever he was for any temporary amount of time, could enjoy her mouth hole, her pussy hole, or her asshole— all of them would be sleek, smooth, pleasurable latex massaging them; and Tessi would never be able to move again. She would only ever be able to lie still, as though inanimate, only moved like a doll, by doll’s rules, whenever someone picked her up and moved her— she felt her hair changing, too from human hair to doll hair, completely synthetic.
Her latex mouth gaped open— she had flopped to the floor and lay on her back, only able to see the space above her, the underside of the roof, way up. She needed her master to come, to fuck her. She could not feel pleasure anymore because her pleasure was irrelevant, and her entire body lacked organs, lacked systems— every part of her was only filled in latex— but she needed her master to fuck her. When he came inside of her, the satisfaction that would give her would beat any pleasure she once might have been capable of experiencing, and she wanted that satisfaction, wanted that pride more than anything in the world.
She still felt the changes that were in her head. Remembered her teeth dissolving. Owner could fuck her mouth like he should; her tongue was gone too, so he could have a pussy to fuck in her head, that would be deep and smooth and perfect. It was, now. No more speaking— but three fuckholes now, three perfect fuckholes. She needed owner’s cock in each of them. She wanted use— she was a woman— she was a doll.
Good doll, she thought, praising herself.
Her eyes became painted on— her hair became thread. She was complete— a fuckdoll— with mush for brains— mhmm mhmm mhmm— and she needed to satisfy her owner. She needed him. She wanted him— where was he? She needed to be fucked like the good fuckdoll she was. It was literally what she was for— so where was he?
Yet she still had thoughts left instead her head— that made her special, she felt. But all her thoughts were simple: they moved, all of them, in the same direction. Dolly needs to be good— Dolly needs to fuck— When Dolly fucks Dolly is good and Dolly needs to be good.
And still, every now and again her thoughts broke free— every now and again, her thoughts rebelled against what had been done to her.
“She’s still fighting,” the moderator noted. “But don’t worry. One deep throating alone will be enough to completely erase her mind; and it will turn her into a completely empty warm and soft sex doll inside her body.”
He instructed Sloane to see this, and following this instruction, Sloane put Matthew even further into a trance with her sperm-soaked tits.
“Fuck Tessi in the mouth,” she ordered him. This he did out of obedience to Sloane— he fucked Tessi, his own fiancée, into becoming a mindless plastic sex doll for the hotel.
Tessi fought inside and still came out a loser in the end.
The Fetish Hotel had four new staff members, and that pleased them very greatly.
* * *