Title: Newly Minted Bimbo, Chapter 2
* * *It was another day at the shop for Billy. Another day to work, and eventually get paid.
He didn’t mind his job, actually. He’d had options to choose from when he’d initially been applying around, but ultimately he’d come down on the side of working at the sexshop which now provided his employ.
It wasn’t like it was a difficult job, either— and the pay was pretty generous, considering all that Billy really did was stock up the shelves— he was the store stocker, that was it, he didn’t really have any responsibilities beyond that. He came in the morning, he went into the back where the inventory was kept, and he checked the inventory (which he was also in charge of keeping track of and marking down); and then he put out more of the things that were understocked because of selling well— or put out the new merchandise to be sold for the first time.
His inventory work, since it was really associated with stocking, wasn’t very different than the rest of what he did. Shipments came in, and he checked to make sure that everything ordered was actually in there. Then on the running tracking sheet, which was not done on the computer but by hand on a physical copy, he marked down the quantities of each item; there was a separate sheet on which he tracked how many items were out on the shelves— and each time he went out and restocked he adjusted those numbers.
Because of his own efficient record keeping, Billy was very confident that the quantities on the shelves were exact to the number that was on the tracking sheet recording which inventory was out on the floor right now. Any day the store was open, and after the new inventory had been put out, Billy was confident of the number being exact. Because at the end of his shift each day, when the store closed, Billy checked all quantities and updated the tracking sheet to reflect what had been sold that day— he had it down to a very efficient system.
He was glad tracking the inventory was part of being a stocker— not only because it was satisfying to keep tallies of everything in the way he did, but also because the position would have been a little thin if the only thing he’d had to do was put things out on the shelves— after unloading the new merchandise in the morning, there really wouldn’t have been anything left to do. At least all his inventorying and tallying gave him things to do— he was sure that was why his boss had included it in the responsibilities of his position— as busywork.
Even so, even with those additional duties, Billy still spent a lot of time in the backroom with nothing to do. Sometimes, but only sometimes, his boss would ask him to lend a hand on something. But a majority of the time Billy was left alone, passing time.
And Billy didn’t mind that. For a nineteen-year-old man, he was fairly patient, and able to occupy his mind even when he was sitting in stillness. Other young men in his position might have taken out their phones and spent all their time in the back just endlessly scrolling, but not Billy.
Sometimes, he did turn to external stimulus for entertainment. When the mood struck him, he looked through the inventory that was in the stockroom— and since it was the stockroom of a sexshop, the things back there for him to find were sextoys and lingerie and all other kinds of devices intended for sexual usage. And just looking at them in their boxes, reading the descriptions of what they were supposed to do— that usually gave Billy enough fodder to fantasize some pretty inventive (and entertaining) sexual scenarios within his imagination. Sometimes he got quite hard, sitting there, imagining— he would drift through a haze of sexual fantasizing, drift through a haze of narrative— but he never actively masturbated. It was all mental masturbation, finding the exact ideas he liked, fixing on them, shifting them, altering them, trying to pinpoint what it was about them that was so good, in order to populate more variations of them in his mind.
On rare occasions, when he hit on a fantasy that really pressed him, he’d been known to come in his pants. But very rarely did this happen— maybe only two times since he had started working, in total.
But Billy didn’t even always turn to external stimulus for entertainment, nor did he spend all his time fantasizing sexually. He was just as happy to sit in the back and ponder his life, or the questions of the world— or to think back on something he had read, and consider it from multiple angles and multiple interpretations. He probably spent more time on average thinking in this somewhat philosophical way— and for that he required no external inspiration— he could just set his mind going in a direction and follow it.
He enjoyed being able to use this mind this way; he put it to no other uses. Most of Billy’s peers of the same age, the other nineteen-year-olds he knew, they had all gone off to college. Not Billy. He wasn’t in any kind of higher education— he only worked. That had been his choice. As soon as he’d graduated high school, he’d known that he just wanted to start working— wanted to start enjoying the independence and responsibility of being an adult who took care of himself. So as soon as he had his highschool diploma in hand, he’d started applying around, and when he’d received multiple offers, being stocker at the sexshop had come out on top.
He was glad with that decision. He worked fulltime, but the job was very chilled-out; he was paid well and during slow times, his mind could wander in any direction that he desired; he could think, and entertain himself with his thoughts.
It wasn’t such a bad way to spend one’s early adulthood. Maybe later on he would want more than what his job afforded him currently, but Billy was good at committing to one thing and sticking with it— for now he was very happy in his position and had no desire or impulse to change that.
Billy knew he didn’t look out of place working where he did, either. He was attractive enough, at his height of five feet six inches, attractive enough even with his somewhat slouchy build. Just from looking at his body anyone could see that he didn’t work out much; but he had a nice natural frame all the same. His body was in good condition; it looked good, even though he didn’t exercise very much. He didn’t look out of place— he was sexy enough to move around the store unquestioned.
But it probably suited his position that he wasn’t too chatty. Mostly, he was pretty quiet— that was his natural personality, he only really started talking more when he knew someone well. He needed a chance to adjust to people, to know them, before he could ever really be fully comfortable with sharing things with them.
Billy really did think that was for the best, though. Stockers needed to keep their focus on restocking— a stocker constantly stopping and chatting people up would have been an inefficient stalker, something Billy never wanted to be. He was glad he never really had been the kind of guy to talk a lot and get distracted. He prided himself in the efficiency he demonstrated at his job.
But perhaps, if he had made it a habit to talk to customers, he might at some point have found a woman interested in him, a woman he could then have started a relationship. Unfortunately, he never had— so to this day, Billy was still single, despite his general attractiveness.
That didn’t bother Billy either. He worked, he did a good job— in slow times he thought as he wanted to, and then when he went home at the end of the day he enjoyed his hobbies. He read— he went out to basketball courts and played some good recreational games— and when he was home, there and only there did he do as the rest of his generation might have been expected to: scrolling, scrolling phone use in the form of many phone games. He enjoyed them when he had some time to dedicate to them specifically, but he never liked them when they served a timewasting function.
At home, in his freetime, he enjoyed playing them intentionally. It never interested him at all, thinking of playing them at work.
So Billy though he was doing pretty well— better than a lot of young adults he knew. He had his own place, had his life set up as he wanted.
And today was another work day— and it was another slow time— and that was fine.
For Billy, another thing to like about his job— which he contemplated now, as he had a few minutes to spare, was his boss. It wasn’t always a given that a person could find a good boss to work for, but Billy truly believed that Grant was one of the few good bosses out there. He was glad to be employed by him.
Grant was quite a bit older than Billy; unlike Billy, who was only into his second year of adulthood, Grant had been an adult for a long time— he was in his mid-forties, and he’d done alright for himself too— managing a fairly lucrative sexshop, also being generously paid for his work, as Billy was for his own— but that generous pay even more generous for being scaled to Grant’s position of authority.
Grant was such a natural authority that sometimes it felt a little weird to Billy that he was actually taller than the older man— Billy was five six, but Grant was only five foot four.
He had kept in good shape for his age; he certainly exercised more than Billy did, since Billy did practically no exercise at all. But since Grant and Billy were the only two employees at the store, they spent a fair amount of time talking; when Grant wasn’t busy, or if the store emptied out for a few minutes, he’d call Billy out to chat with him, and Billy would go.
So Billy knew a lot about Grant, actually.
He knew that Grant didn’t only exercise incidentally— he made it a point to try and get at least the bare minimum of exercise every day, working out each morning before coming to work— doing something difficult at the start of the day, just in the hopes of being able to hold onto some consistency for himself, in the hopes that he would see some benefit from it in his life.
Personally, Billy thought that effort paid off. Grant was pudgy, as some mid-forties men had the tendency to be, but in Grant’s case, the pudginess was minor. He was a bit soft in the stomach— maybe the middle part of his body was a bit more expansive than it should have been, but it really wasn’t that noticeable— and Billy was sure it would have been a much worse situation there, had Grant failed to put in the effort that he did. His daily exercise kept that softness in check, kept it from spreading or increasing itself— and when you looked at Grant’s legs or arms, there were really good muscle tone— and in Grant’s body there was a lot of physical strength. So on the whole, even if he had a few physical flaws, Grant looked good, looked in shape— and his body was very capable, which, really, Billy thought was the whole point of looking good. If exercise happened to improve someone’s appearance, fine— that was a side benefit, but the true reward was physical strength, ability.
Billy was pretty sure that, through all of Grant’s efforts, he was easily in better shape than most of the men his age.
And Grant was a nice person to have around while you were working. He was very friendly and jovial, always with some new joke to make you feel included, and it didn’t hurt that his jokes were always really funny. Sometimes when Billy was at home he would randomly remember one of them, and then start laughing so hard he eventually had to cry.
But Grant’s joking around didn’t mean he slacked off. He could be very authoritative when necessary— Billy was so good at his job by now he usually never had to see Grant’s stern side, but in early days, he’d seen if often enough. Grant didn’t care about Billy being idle so long as he did good work when there was something to do— and he did, so there wasn’t a problem. But when Billy had still been learning the ropes there had been some very hard conversations at the start.
Grant had some natural arrogance about him; sometimes it showed. Billy probably wouldn’t have known as much about Grant as he did if the man hadn’t liked talking about himself so much. Billy even knew things about Grant’s personal life that he probably wouldn’t have known about another boss.
For instance, Grant was divorced— and he had a couple of kids, who he shared custody of with his ex-wife. Billy even knew Grant’s preferred hobbies. He knew that Grant enjoyed crosswords, that Grant enjoyed going to football games or watching them on tv, and that he also enjoyed poker and was a pretty good player.
That last one wasn’t something Billy knew only secondhand. On a few occasions, when one of Grant’s usual pokerbuddies had been unable to attend, Grant had subbed Billy in— and Billy had scrambled to keep up— everyone there had said it was all about playing a good game— but Billy was pretty sure if he’d been a good player, the poker group would have discussed adding a sixth member, instead of only having Billy show up when someone else couldn’t make it.
Still, the fact that they accepted him back when they were short a player— that was nice of them, really.
Billy might have gone on to think of other things, but at that moment he heard Grant’s voice. “Billy? Can you come out here for a minute please?”
Billy pushed back from the desk in the backroom, and stood from his chair— he turned and went through the door that would take him to the shopfloor.
Grant was standing in front of the counter, looking a bit perplexed.
“I know you don’t always interact with customers all that often— but I have noticed you answering a question here or there, or giving directions to a particular part of the store. Did you do anything like that today?”
Billy shook his head. “I restocked the shelves in the morning, and updated the tracking sheets— then there wasn’t anything to catch up on, so I was just sitting in the back—”
Grant waved him off, as if hearing a note of shame or concern in his voice. “That’s fine, that’s all fine. But you’re sure you never told a woman where the bimbofier is?”
Billy shook his head. “No, I haven’t spoken to a customer today. Why?”
Grant frowned and scratched his chin. “Someone’s in there, and I can’t figure out who it is. I don’t guess you saw someone go in there either, if you were in the back yourself?”
“No, sorry,” Billy said.
He knew the way things usually went with the bimbofier. Either someone came in wanting to bimbofy themselves, and they came up to the counter to reserve it with Grant. Or someone came in wanting to have someone else bimbofied, and they reserved for that person on their behalf— often with the person standing right next them, looking a bit nervous and uncertain— sometimes a little skeptical— not yet knowing that those emotions would soon be erased from their brains, not yet knowing or fully believing that they would soon be made uniformly the same as every other bimbo out there.
Billy had seen people waiting as the person who brought them reserved for them— had seen that often enough before, and wondered what kind of convincing or pressuring happened first to lead to that moment of reservation.
But the fact was, no one ever went into the bimbofier without checking in at the counter first— it was typical procedure that the subject sign off on the effects of the process— as a place with a bimbofier, they had a duty to inform people of what they were undergoing— that was why there was a reservation system in the first place.
“Do you think someone just went in there? Without checking in, or knowing anything about it?” Billy’s brow furrowed at the thought.
But Grant chuckled— finding it funny, apparently. “I’m sure it was a bit of a shock for them when they realized what was actually happening, if that’s what happened. I’m going back to take a look.”
Billy decided he was curious enough to follow— the two of them arrived at the blackbooth, with its red trim and overhanging sign.
Sure enough, the door was sealed, and the light to signal occupancy on the lower leftside of the booth was blinking.
There was a little counter just above it— precisely because so many customers often brought in people to be bimbofied, and were impatient to know when they would be ready.
The counter showed that there were only thirtyseconds of bimbofying that remained.
Billy wasn’t sure what would happen with this unexpected bimbo— the most common occurrence was for someone to bring someone else to be bimbofied— after which, that accompanying person took responsibility for caring for the bimbo and running their life from that point forward.
When people came in to bimbofy themselves, although it happened much more rarely, they always had a plan. They always explained where they were going after, and who would look after them, who would be responsible for them once they couldn’t think for themselves anymore. They would also, often, have tied up all the loose-ends of their lives first. So just as with the reservation system, there was a clear process to follow— and everyone understood what was going on.
Billy didn’t know what was going to happen with this accidental bimbo— if she had not actually intended to become a bimbo, she would have made no arrangements that someone else be responsible for her— nor would she have tied up any remaining ends of her life.
So in the long run, Billy didn’t know what would happen with her— if it was a woman and not a man who’d unluckily stumbled in while Grant had been elsewhere and unable to deter them.
But in the short run, at the end of these fifteenseconds, Billy did not know what was going to happen either. When people were brought in by another to be bimbofied, as soon as the process was done, the one who brought them in always shepherded them off elsewhere, leaving the shop with them. The bimbos never interacted with Billy and Grant in the most common scenario.
In the less common scenario, where someone came in to bimbofy themselves, they were sometimes gone as soon as they were “ready,” too— if they had made arrangements for someone, whether someone they knew personally, or a service, to come pick them up. If they had, then they were whisked away to their future again without any interaction with Billy and Grant.
But sometimes though it was something rare even amidst a situation that was rare to begin with, someone who came to be bimbofied would arrange no pickup ahead of time. And then, since they were in bimboform after exiting the bimbofier, they would eventually find Billy, or Grant, and their bimbo tendencies would kick in. That was a sporadic perk of the job, and a big part of why Billy didn’t really mind being single— probably why Grant didn’t mind being divorced either. When there was a fresh bimbo— someone who had bimbofied themselves and not made immediate arrangements for pickups— then Billy or Grant, or both of them at the same time, were free to have their fun with such a bimbo as long as they wanted.
Usually when they were done, then they would make arrangements on the bimbo’s behalf to pass them off to the person who was responsible for them now, as indicated at the time of reservation.
But this bimbo— no one would be responsible for them— this bimbo would have nowhere to go. So it was almost guaranteed that Billy and Grant could have their fun with them for as long as they wanted.
That had Billy really hoping it was a woman who had stumbled into the booth. If it was a man, there would be no fun to be had, since he and Grant were both heterosexual.
The timer dinged— hitting zero minutes, zero seconds. The bimbofying was complete— there was a hissing noise as the door unsealed itself— a rustling as, presumably, inside the restraints were released from the bimbo— and then the door opened— and the bimbo who came out was a woman.
A very beautiful woman of Japanese descent— Billy thought she must have been about his own age, nineteen or so, before she had become a bimbo. He and Grant shared a look. No one was coming to pick her up— no one was responsible for her yet— she was here in their store, too dazed to make arrangements for herself, and there was no timelimit on when she was going to have to leave.
When Yumi stepped out of the bimbo booth, she was mindless. The process had worked perfectly— and now she only thought and felt as bimbos did.
Even without a properly thinking mind, however, she could still take in her surroundings— and as soon as she stepped she saw not one but two men standing in front of her— a younger man and an older one— she couldn’t think beyond that to make any other classifications of them. There was no impulse in her even to try, but if she had, her mind would simply have been washed in immediate silencing pleasure, and then she would forget that she’d even tried.
To Yumi, what was important was that men were here— two men— which meant two cocks. Then all she was thinking about was cock. How much she wanted to have one inside her— have both inside her, if that was possible— she could feel herself already drooling.
The thought of wanting them inside her did not have words. It was just a very powerful feeling held in her heart— she didn’t know if she could even ask for it, her mind was so blank, but she knew her jaw had gaped open— that drool was running from her mouth— and at least she could make her intentions clear if she stripped the clothes off of her body— they had gotten shifted around, pulled into odd fits in the process of being bimbofied and she’d been too brainless to remember to fix her clothes once she’d stood up inside the booth.
But because of the way her clothes had gotten into a disarray, Yumi was having real trouble getting them off of her body— they were all tangled, trapping her into fabric. She needed to be naked. She needed to present herself to the men. She needed to serve them. She needed to be naked.
The man her own age seemed to understand what she was trying to do. He stepped forward, putting his hands on the fabric that was over her body. He started tearing at it, taking the fabric from her in strips, and finally freeing her completely.
She was naked. She felt immediately deferent to him. He was a Thinker, someone not a bimbo like her— and all Thinkers, whether they were men or women, were supreme over her— any Thinker could use her however they wanted, and she would slut herself for their control, because it was serving that really mattered— serving men, serving women— as long as she served.
If two female Thinkers had been here, she would have belonged to them. But two male Thinkers were here— so she needed to defer to them, because she belonged to them completely now, would belong to them until they threw her away. Then someone else could own her.
None of these thoughts came to her as words. Or rather, they were words— programming streaming through her brain reinforcing itself, but Yumi had been taught to shut off her awareness— so her brain could streamthrough with the words of her programming and captivation, reinforcing her without her knowing it— but Yumi would never know the words were there, let alone understand them. The words went through, but the way Yumi thought now was through feeling. And all of those throughfeelings boiled down to one very simple reaction.
An overriding, impelling desperation to sexually pleasure the two Thinkers who had found her.
The younger man was closed to her. Yumi walked forward on her knees, and reached for his pants. With muscles that reacted as if she had done the same task a hundred times before— even though they hadn’t— her body had only been so deeply conditioned that those memories had been falsely ingrained into it— into its each muscle.
She quickly undid the younger man’s pants, exposing his cock— as soon as she saw, it was like her mind being shoved down into an even deeper state of shutdown. She could see but she could no longer think even in feelings. Even her rudimentary thoughts had become controlled— there were only pulsing commands in her brain now, and not even the time to recognize them. She stared, captured by Cock.
Suck, her brain pulsed at her. Lick.
The command pulsed and her body immediately did it— there may have been more choosing, more of things on her own terms if her brain had not entered cockshutdown, but she had become something automatic as soon as she’d seen it. The longer she looked at it the more it deepened her— but her mouth was already moving towards it, and then her lips had closed around it. Her eyes shut.
Unfortunately for her— or perhaps she would have viewed this positively if she could have thought consciously of it— the sensation of taking cock was even more mindmelting than the experience of looking at it. Her brain pulsed more insistently. Suck. Lick. Suck. Lick. Her pussy was weeping out great rivulets of lubrication. She sucked the cock, and it melted her mind, and when her mind melted, it came out between her legs— and when her body filled with the emotion of that pleasure, it bound her mind more tightly— she was trapped within a loop that only ever brought her to new levels of thoughtlessness and pleasure— the cock between her lips melted— the feeling of that melting pleasured her— the pleasure tied her mind up tighter so she could only think less— then she melted again— and each of these things felt like they were happening thousands of times a second.
Each lick, each suck had instantaneous effect on her brain, and each effect seemed to stack on the last, build to the next. She was a mess of pleasured emotions and missing thoughts.
Even so, she did notice when the older man kneeled down behind her— because her brain was programmed to center itself around Thinkers, around Owners, no matter how bimboishly it functioned. The older man was naked behind her, which she felt when he pressed himself along her back— his chest was to her back, his cock teasing at her ass— unconsciously, she leaned her body forward— taking the cock in her mouth all the way to her throat, and making sure her pussy was presenting itself properly for an owner as it should.
The man behind moved her legs apart, and she felt his cock spearing into her pussy.
If the effect of being fucked by one cock was mindmelting, the effect of being fucked by two simply shorted all thought out. Existence was only this: a cock thrusting through her lips, through her mouth, into her throat, and a second cock driving deeper into her pussy.
She was abandoned to the feeling— the man who fucked from behind of her had his hands on her breasts, and pulled her by them back onto his cock, forcing her mouth to drag off the cock she loved with her lips— when the man thrust back into her, it felt like he was shoving her forward into his hands— onto the cock— she simply let her body be used, let it be moved as if it were an object that could be repositioned this way or that— she was pulled back onto the cock, she was forced forward, speared by the cock— her breasts throbbed in time with her mind. Suck. Lick, and she mindlessly did so.
The pleasure in her body was unquantifiable— her mind melted and it gave her pleasure, and the pleasure bound her to the experience and then the experience was melting her mind and that was pleasuring her and the pleasure was binding her— she was falling through the sequence— gasping, panting, only more desperate.
And all she could do was offer the feeling up— try to give it back to her two owners in service— become more desperate in her licking and in her sucking— become more desperate in the swivel of her hips, the rutting on that interior cock. It controlled her— it controlled when she moved forward and back, she was only a sheath around it, meant to contain it inside.
And the cock between her lips seemed to control her too— it was the thing that forced her to lick, and to suck. Delusionally, she believed the cock was someone transmitting the order that kept throbbing between her temples. Telling her to suck. Telling her to lick. Her mouth kept working in those movements even when had been dragged halfway off the cock by the one in her pussy pulling her back.
Two cocks controlled her— it was perfect. Words streamed past her mind she never knew— this was exactly how a bimbo like her should be used, this was what she was meant for, all she was good for, all she would ever do and all she should ever want to— this was her purpose, to serve— this was her purpose, to be slave, and she was slaving herself to the cocks that controlled her— but she never knew any of these words. They translated to pleasure in her brain unseen, and produced more pleasure in her body— but this did nothing except accelerate the loop was trapped within. She melted, it pleasured her, the pleasure bound her, forced her to feel the melting— which pleasured her, and then pleasure bound her and forced her to feel the melting—
She was panting on the cock she sucked— she was shaking from the cock which speared. Fully body shudders. But she was only a piece of sexmeat, she could not orgasm unless an owner gave her permission to—
The man behind drove her forward into the hands on her breasts, into the cock in her mouth. “Come, whore.”
Her body seemed to break— there had been no way to understand how much pleasure was inside her, but the orgasm was like being brutally snapped in half, smashed into pieces— and then pleasure was a whiteness. She was crying from the extremity— she was coming so hard her pussy seemed to be clenching thousands of times in a second— and she was happy, so happy, because she could hear the man owning her from behind letting out guttural gasps of pleasure— and so happy, because her orgasm seemed to fuel her sucking— the man owning her in the mouth was making similar noises.
She was serving, she was slaving, she was completely in their hands, waiting for them to decide what would become of her, and what would happen to her— without any say anymore, and she didn’t want one.
She would do whatever they said, be whatever they’d want, she was completely and totally theirs, and she put that into every pussyflutter, put that into every mouthsuck, and then she felt the same heat coming into her body in two places.
A gush for her throat to swallow and keep swallowing— she had to be quick to get one load down before the next load came in— a gush in her pussy to be absorbed. She clenched to take it in higher, take it in deeper. She was still shuddering in orgasmic bliss— it felt like she had cummed her brain right out of her head, if any of it had remained.
After a few more pumps, in both her pussy and in her mouth, both men who had been owning her withdrew. The younger man still stood in her sightline, his cock now softening. But a cock was a cock, and as soon as she could see it, her brain went into cockshutdown once more.
Grant and Billy shared a look— they could see that the slut was ready to be further used. It might be a while before either one of them could put a cock into her again— but it would obviously be a waste of time to wait for themselves to recover. She needed to be fucked again sooner that— when she was fucked, it fucked her into being so beautifully submissive— she needed to be returned to that state as quickly as possible, and she was clearly already well on her way.
Grant helped her up from behind and walked her over to the counter, and leaned her up against it— he stepped behind the counter then, to make sure there was a cock for her to keep staring at, in just the way she was already doing.
Billy stepped behind her instead, and started playing at her with his fingers. When he teased her pussy, and put fingers inside, she rocked unconsciously back on his fingers. Then when he got his fingers wet enough, he stroked at her puckered rear hole instead. He wouldn’t be able to do anything else with it for a while, but it never hurt to get it all loosened up for later. He’d gotten his hand completely smeared in pussyjuice, so it was making it easy for him to slowly work the bimbo open at her backdoor, one knuckle at a time, then one finger at time— slowly— with her shuddering at every interval.
Meanwhile Grant had his fingers in the bimbo’s mouth. She sucked as expertly as she had seemed to do it on the cock before.
It kicked the programming into place within Yumi’s brain. Suck, her brain throbbed. Lick, it throbbed after. She worked her mouth around the fingers and didn’t even register they weren’t a cock. Her eyes were locked on one, and that was what mattered. The loop was happening again. Her mind melted— from the cock she could see— from the fingers she could feel, invading somewhere that had false musclememory of similar experiences. She melted, and then that pleasured her— and then the pleasure her bound her to those experiences which melted her— and then that pleasured her— then she was bound to melting— then she was pleasured by doing it— then pleasurebound to melting.
There was no escape and she didn’t want one. She kept looping for hours.
They fucked her all over the store, and all she knew was that loop.