The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I’d been a little skeptical at first, when my friend told her about this weird file she’d found on the internet—apparently, it’s some old New Age thing, which is an ironic name, seeing as it originated half a century ago. But the audio recording itself is a reupload of a record made back then, apparently some kind of self-help material. A guided meditation of sorts, priming the mind for... suggestions.

Any documentation or instructions that came with the file are long gone, but it seems simple enough to me. Listen to it all the way through, focusing only on the audio, as it implants its effects. Then upon leaving it, your ‘guru’ speaks your name, imprinting their voice. From then on, until they say your name again to deactivate the hypnosis, any suggestion they make is deeply, irrevocably, but consciously cemented into the subject’s mind. I’ll be fully aware of the changes, and how I used to act, allowing me to appreciate them even more!

Worry less. Exercise more. Try harder at work.

That’s the kind of thing I’m after, even if I’m happy enough as plain old Eleanor Doe. Despite being a rather quiet, reserved woman, mousy haired and bookish, with a plainly pretty face, and frumpy style of dress, I still managed to bag my sweet, charming boyfriend, Mitchell. Unfortunately, he lives 500 miles away, and I’m not really fit enough to walk that distance. But in a few months, he’s moving to this city, and we’ll get a place together!

And before that happens, I want to become the perfect girlfriend for him.

“Okay, this... you can... aha~... you can do this, Eleanor!“

Setting up the overstuffed armchair in my small apartment, fresh out of college with a low-paying office job, I plug a set of noise-cancelling headphones into my laptop. A gift from my parents, they should work to block out any sound from my neighbours, or my arsehole landlord upstairs—although in this summer heat, there’s no way I’m shutting the window. Once that’s all done, I sit down, put them over my ears... and hesitate for only a moment before hitting play.

“Namaste, groovy guys and gals... listen nice and careful now, and don’t let your guru wander off. This track here connects to your third-eye chakra, but I want you to focus on my voice, and let me bring you down into a nice, relaxing trance...”

Before the speaker even finishes the first sentence, my eyes start to droop, but not quite close. There’s something about the man’s voice which really affects me, some hidden subliminal tones or... or something like that...?

“...and now we’re coming up, leaving your chakra wide open, for your guru’s healing energy to pour right on in. Just remember to have him close it again, locking those changes in, by repeating your name.”

And with a crackle, the recording ends, bringing me up from the deep, subconscious trance I’d supposedly been put into. Looking around a little anxiously, I realise that... that I don’t feel any different. But the time on my laptop says 18:58, over an hour since I sat down.

“Holy shit. That... did that...? I think it might’ve worked!”

Cautious optimism starts to bloom in my chest, as I scramble to grab my phone. Right away, I’m going to call Mitchell, and get some thoughts on what he likes in a girl! I’m pretty sure I know what he’ll say, of course, but it’ll be nice to get some reassurance. And then at the end of the call, I’ll ask him to say my name again, and ‘turn off’ the hypnosis.

“...and the weather over the next week will be staying the same. Hot, humid, but dry. That’s all for today folks—coming up next, we’ve got Sleazy Jim...”

With my headphones off, I can now hear one of my neighbours listening to the radio, a trashy talk-radio show, interspersed with bad music. But I just try to ignore it as the line starts to ring. Bouncing a little with excitement, I pace back and forth while awaiting my boyfriend’s voice.

beeeep beeeep beeeep

“C’moooon, Mitchell!”

An engaged tone—followed swiftly by a text, saying that he’ll call me. I did tell him that I wanted to talk now, after all, so I maybe should’ve specified who makes contact first. My pacing halts, and I lean against my window, cheap fan rattling a little as it blows against my oversized t-shirt. That damn radio show’s still on upstairs, with an obnoxious shock-jock voice filtering through to my ears...

“Hey there folks! Ain’t the weather hot today! Just means more ladies showin’ their skin, amiright?! Hah!”

Taking a deep breath, I try to calm my nerves, even over the bustling sound of downtown. Quieter than rush-hour, but I’m normally at work then anyway, and you sorta get used to noises like this after a while. Even so, maybe Mitchell and I can move out to the country, once we’re more serious, making more money...

“Anyway, I’ll be playing Eleanor Rigby next, but first we’ve got Sleazy Jim’s Advice for Broads!”

And ice runs through my veins, at the sound of the radio above me. Right now... of all the songs that douchebag could’ve randomly picked, he had to choose one with my name in the title?! Only then does the phone start to ring, and I scramble towards it. Surely that didn’t count! That radio host isn’t really here, didn’t say it to me, and besides, hypnosis doesn’t actually work!

“H-hello? Mitchell! It’s, uh... it’s great to hear from you!”

“Eleanor, my darling! I’ve missed your voice.”

There. Mitchell said my name! That’s what’s important, and all I need to do now is listen to what he likes, and...

“Since it’s so hot out, you oughta show some cleavage! And don’t get pissy if men look at it, mm’kay? Then make—”

Slamming the window shut to cut off anything else that Sleazy Jim was going to say, I move away from the window, despite the heat. Talking to Mitchell is much more important, and we take a moment to catch up with each other’s lives, my heart racing, as I try to coax some suggestions from him.

While I do so, I glance down at my t-shirt. It has got a pretty high neckline, but it’s also too big for me, so if I...

“I mean, it’s pretty hot there, but you’ve been saying you want to go to the gym, right? You should go! There’s a nice one near the...”

Tugging at the fabric for a moment, sliding the neck down one shoulder, I realise exactly what I’m doing when my cleavage becomes more visible.

“Shit. I, uh... I’ve gotta go, Mitchell. Love you, bye!“

And I still don’t want to go to the gym.

Three days later, I hadn’t found any solutions. Talking to Mitchell, doing an impression of the shock-jock and playing it back to myself, relistening to the hypnosis track, and even going online and finding a recording of that day’s radio programme—it seems an old recording doesn’t count, because I know that Sleazy Jim isn’t actually saying it right then. I kept my window shut, of course, despite the heat... but I couldn’t stay in my apartment forever.

The next time I hear his voice, I’m at the back of the corner shop on my block, choosing between two frozen pizzas for my dinner. I’m wearing a cardigan over a tank top—but my cardigan is open, showing off my modest B-cups. Nobody really seems to be looking that much, but the shopkeeper did when I entered, and I could only smile back at him! Of course a guy like that would listen to...

“Howdy folks, and here’s another instalment of Sleazy Jim’s Advice for Broads!”

I freeze up again at the sound of that familiar voice on the radio. And obviously, he’s not going to play the same song again so soon, meaning I’m still under his influence. So, obviously, I turn around and drop my groceries, immediately heading to the door. Unfortunately, the radio in the store is loud, and I’m not quick enough, even with fingers over my ears.

“Ladies, you gotta watch what you eat, maybe go for a run—no man likes a chubster!”

The advice is horribly phrased, of course, but also not entirely terrible for me. I had been planning on working out to lose some weight, and going on a diet was part of that. But I didn’t want to stay in the store and keep listening to whatever else this guy talked about. Unfortunately, my legs don’t listen to me, turning to one side as I grab a couple bags of salad leaves.

“Oh, and keep listening to this advice, whenever you can!”

Which is just the cherry on top. I keep on shopping, fuming internally, as I continue trying to think of how to sort this out. One small mercy is that the Advice for Broads segment is immediately followed up with some music, and then a more typical talk-show segment, which hasn’t got any ‘advice’ in it.

If I’d been left like this, and managed to avoid hearing Sleazy Jim ever again, I wouldn’t have minded so much. Showing a little cleavage seems a fair trade off for healthy eating. But unfortunately, it seems likely that I’ll be tuning in tomorrow, to see what he’s got in store for me next.

Leaning into my bathroom mirror, my breathing is a little shaky, but I still manage to touch up my lip gloss. Of course I do—Sleazy Jim had told his lady listeners to wear make up, so I now have an expensive cosmetics collection. It’s eating into my finances a little, but... I can handle it. Not like I have any choice. It’s been surprisingly okay at work, nobody seeming to mind that I undo a couple extra buttons on my blouse, and that I don’t say anything when my coworkers look.

“Nnngh... fucking arsehole Sleazy Jim... if I got my hands on him...“

Unfortunately, he lives on the other side of the country, and the week since his voice first ‘imprinted’ onto my mind hasn’t elucidated any more ways to end the hypnosis. My mind still feels entirely ordinary, and I can remember how I should be acting—but if Sleazy Jim suggests doing something different, I’m helpless to avoid it. Glancing over at the clock, I grit my teeth at the advancing seconds. 18:56.

Avoiding his segment has been pretty hard, as well. I managed to do it once, by getting on the metro—but then next time I tried that, my legs wouldn’t obey me, and I instead listened to his sexist life advice from my phone. No less effective, it seems, as I brush a lock of platinum blonde hair from my eyes. Because ‘every man likes a blonde, especially if you dye it!’ is apparently enough to compel me.

“Well... I suppose I should get this over with.”

I’ll call Mitchell after this, then see about taking on some overtime, to pay for these latest purchases. If I’m lucky, that might also leave me busy during this radio segment, allowing me to miss it! But I don’t hold out hope, as my hand reaches forward to the cheap radio I bought, already tuned to the correct station.

“—once again, to Sleazy Jim’s Advice for Broads!”

Just in time, I sit down and try to brace myself for the next change to my behaviour...

“Now girls, if you’re struggling for rent, there’s no need to bother your parents, or a boyfriend. Instead, just offer to suck your landlord’s cock for a discount!”

Switching the radio off as soon as I can, I just sit there, breathing and thinking. That... I can handle that one. I’m not struggling for rent, after all, and I’ll work harder to ensure that won’t be the case. After all, I have a kind, sweet boyfriend—there’s no way in hell I’d ever want to cheat on him with my fat slob of a landlord!

I’d lasted the better part of a week, before my finances reached a point that my brain seemed to interpret as ‘struggling’ for rent. First, new clothes, as I’m now forced to wear distinctly feminine attire, even around my apartment. Which means no baggy sweatpants, but those tight little gym shorts are okay, and nothing but pencil skirts to the office. That wasn’t what tipped me over the edge, though. Instead, in a cruel twist of irony, it was the lip-fillers that Sleazy Jim suggested, and I obediently got. Not a huge affair, and they’re apparently easy to dissolve, but they weren’t exactly cheap.

So now, here I am on my knees, trying not to cry or vomit as I wrap my plumped-up mouth around Mr. Hector’s foul shaft—something I haven’t even done for Mitchell yet! I’d hoped against hope that he would turn down my offer of oral in exchange for a rent discount, but instead... he seems to be one of those lowlifes who actually takes Sleazy Jim’s advice seriously.

“Mmmmn~... tha’s a good li’l slut... aaaahn~... though you ain’t great at it yet, Miss Doe...“

My pouty lips slide up and down the top few inches of his cock, which is surprisingly hefty. A good nine inches or so, and commensurately girthy, definitely far too big for my liking. Not to mention the lumpy, wrinkled foreskin, beneath which is likely a trove of even more unwashed nastiness, prodding against the back of my tongue. Even if my fat slob of a landlord has a larger penis than my darling boyfriend (by quite a margin), it’s much less appealing.

“Gllghk! Ahhh... Mister Hector, y-you... please, don’t force m-mmfgh!“

His paunchy hand just curled around the back of my skull, tangling into my dyed-blonde hair as he tries to guide me deeper onto his cock. I gag in disgust as his vile glans prods into my throat, trying to admonish him, but he barely seems to care about my well-being. Just the blowjob that I was forced to offer. So instead, I direct a look of vitriol up at the man, as I continue to suck on his dick.

“Keep on at it... heh~... an’ feel free ta come back any time, hmm? Practise makes perfect, after all!“

Fuck, I can’t believe I’m actually doing this... I feel like such a nasty, cheating slut, even though it’s totally not my fault. I’ll need to be more careful about money in future, but I should be able to avoid having to do this again. Which is just as well, because Mr. Hector seems to have the stamina of a damn ox.

But eventually, after a while of him forcing my lips into a quicker tempo, he seems close to release, and I’m looking forward to spitting his gross ejaculate into a tissue. Unfortunately, it seems that the radio station playing in the background, which I’d paid little attention to, is a familiar one...

“Evenin’ all! Here’s another day of Sleazy Jim’s Advice for Broads!”

I want to run away, shut the radio off, not listen to whatever’s coming up to change me next—I had been hoping in the back of my mind that I could avoid today’s segment by visiting Mr. Hector! But no such luck. And as the older man finally grunts, and a thick, chunky stream of vile, backed-up ball gravy starts to splatter against my tongue, I’m given another command to integrate into my behaviour.

“Ladies—when you’re sucking cock, make sure to swallow! Really savour it, and thank the man nicely for lettin’ ya.”

Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic. Mr. Hector clearly heard the man’s voice as well, because as soon as his climax dribbles to a halt (leaving a frankly startling volume of warm, viscous semen in my mouth), he looks down at me with an expectant smile. And, despite how much I want to damn the man and spit his ejaculate out, my throat works and...

Gulp.

“Th-thanks, you bastard for... nngh... for l-letting me swallow your disgusting jizz.“

It’s a begrudging thanks, and insulting to him, but Mr. Hector doesn’t care about that, only nodding in satisfaction. I get up to leave without another word, as I feel the warm glob of semen travel down to my belly. Inside me. Well... that certainly wasn’t good. But I’m sure Mitchell will understand. Once I work up the courage to tell him about it, that is. Besides, maybe I’ll be able to work out a solution by myself!

The changes haven’t all been bad. Not entirely, at least—being told to ‘keep your house clean, like a woman should’, wasn’t an ideal motivation, but it did get me to stay on top of the dishes. And hearing that girls should ‘send dirty photos to your man, keep him interested’, spiced things up with Mitchell...

Although it would’ve been nicer if Mr. Hector wasn’t also included in that category, meaning any images sent to my boyfriend also go to my landlord. A directive relating to underwear facilitates the creation of these images, requiring me to wear ‘lingerie, or nothin’!’. It’s pretty annoying, and expensive, meaning I needed to pay another couple of visits to Mr. Hector. Angling my phone upwards, I’m trying to relax after work, so I wanted to get this out of the way. Sending the tasteful leads off to my boyfriend (and perverted landlord), I put some clothes back on, while waiting for today’s ‘advice’.

In a slightly irritating turn of events, my slightly altered behaviour, along with the changes to my hair, and makeup (and probably cleavage) seems to have had a good effect at work. According to my direct supervisor, I’m in line for a promotion already, which would come with a significant pay increase—something I want for more reasons than just the money. Maybe I could even move to a nicer place, and ditch Mr. Hector altogether?

“Hallo everyone! Welcome back to another episode of Sleazy Jim’s Advice for Broads.”

To that end, I took a step towards trying to fix this, and sent an email into Sleazy Jim’s show. Obviously, I doubt that he actually read it, but I got a reply from a producer, and apparently he’ll be addressing it today! Hopefully, he’ll read my name out and free me from this torment, halting things before they get any worse, although I included some other details in hopes that he would undo some of his directives.

“We got somethin’ special today. I got some fan-mail! From a girl... uh, doesn’t matter what her name is. But she says that following my advice might get her a promotion! See, it does work.”

Gritting my teeth, I let out a measured exhale, trying to tamp down my frustration. Perhaps it was too much to ask for a misogynistic shock-jock like him to care about a woman’s name. But still, I keep on listening, hoping that he’ll say something positive this time! Then again, I don’t exactly have much choice as to whether I listen or not.

“Then again, if you’d listened more closely, you’d know the best way to get a promotion, eh? Instead of going on about acting like how you want, and all that nonsense...”

A crude sound follows, clearly his attempt at mimicking the sounds of a blowjob—although it’s not explicitly spoken, so I should be able to ignore it. And clearly, he’s not about to say what I wanted him to, which might have freed me from his control completely. Hovering a hand over the radio, to turn it off as soon as the segment finishes, I wasn’t expecting him to elaborate further.

“So, if you don’t wanna get on your knees and suck your boss off to get that promotion, you may as well quit and work, like... in a strip club! Yeah!”

Unfortunately, Sleazy Jim didn’t word that as a choice. Instead, it’s an if/then statement, which makes a lot of difference—I don’t want to ‘get on my knees and suck off my boss’. Therefore, I’m going to quit my job, and find work in a... in a strip club. Still, I’ve got office experience, and a degree, so maybe I’ll be able to find work in their office, or even just behind the bar? I can still salvage this!

“An’ not as a waitress, or like, a cleaner. You gotta work as an actual stripper, with big fake titties an’ everything! So just take that advice, and no need to contact me again. Anyway, here’s some music.”

“FUCK!”

Perched in front of a mirror at the Pretty Pussy Gentlemen’s Club, I press the bubblegum-pink lipstick against my plush, swollen lips—by now, they’ve been enhanced with a rather more permanent solution, into lewd, dick-cushions. Or so Mr. Hector calls them, during his near-daily blowjobs. Puckering them up for another heavy layer of makeup, the rest of my face is similarly gaudy, framed by long curly locks of platinum-blonde hair, with pink highlights to match my lips, and large golden hoops dangling from my ears.

Of course, those are small changes compared to my tits. 1200cc’s of saline, plus an internal bra for support, giving me something ridiculous like a 34H-cup. Clearly fake, and very expensive, they jut out proudly from my chest, accentuated by some liposuction to narrow my waist. I had a week or so off to recover, although the lack of income did mean more visits to Mr. Hector, and then I went straight to the strip club. Obviously, with how I look now, I got hired, though I’m spending most of my afternoons before my shift taking lessons.

I’ve always been a quick study, even if that involves gyrating my hips at strangers, or twirling around a pole with my boobs out. Adjusting my outfit for the evening, I’m wearing a thin blouse stretched tight over my modified chest, with a black miniskirt, lacy hosiery, and tall heels, a mockery of my old office attire. As I finish touching up my makeup, my eyes catch the time, and I reluctantly switch my phone on, to listen to Sleazy Jim’s broadcast of the day. Mitchell’s texted again, clearly worried about me, but... I can barely manage to keep in contact, let alone actually call him, not until I can speak to him with dignity.

“Good evenin’ once again, and welcome to another set of Advice for Broads! I got an email from a listener earlier today... apparently, there’s a girl who visits him nearly every day, and she’ll suck him off—but won’t put out!”

Not all of Sleazy Jim’s advice takes the form of life-altering mandates. Something like half of them are... relatively benign. Like being told to drop everything, and frig yourself off to an orgasm. Or perhaps show off your tits to the next guy you see. Obviously not good, and humiliating, but with no continuing effects.

What comes next, after that worryingly familiar story, is nothing of the sort.

“Look, if you go over to a man’s place all the time? Then don’t lead the poor sod on—just let him fuck ya, however and whenever he wants. You’ll enjoy it, I promise!”

And, just like that, I have a feeling of how I’ll be spending my weekend. I was saving my virginity to Mitchell, having put some real effort into keeping it safe these last few weeks! But now, that final barrier of dignity that I’d been holding back, hoping that I would work out some way to save myself in time to give it to my darling beloved, it seems that Mr. Hector will be taking it for himself.

“C’mon, Bambi, you’re up next!”

First, though, I’ve got to get through my shift. I shudder a little at the stripper’s name they’ve given me, playing off my surname in a very unimaginative leap, but I can’t help but admit that it suits how I look, and have been acting recently.

Standing up from the vanity, and tottering a little on my ridiculous platform heels, I switch the radio off and turn to my colleague with a ditzy smile. My titties sway and jiggle as I stand up, although not as much as natural ones would, and I curl some hair around one of my fingers, before responding in an exaggerated, sugary-sweet voice. Just like Sleazy Jim told me to. After all, as he told me while I was recovering from my surgery, ‘men don’t wanna think that a girl’s cleverer than them, so make sure you talk like a ditzy, cock-addicted bimbo.’

“Hehe~, like, ’kay! I’ll totes be right there!“

Cursing my foul luck, and what I’ve got to look forward to after shaking my tits for a roomful of men, then inevitably getting groped when I give out some lap dances, I keep one thing in mind. Sleazy Jim only said that I couldn’t contact him again... maybe Mitchell can help me...?

Schlap, schlap, schlap, schlap, schlap, schlap, schlap, schlap

The rhythmic sounds of rough, sloppy fucking echo through Mr. Hector’s dingy apartment, as he presses me down into his lumpy mattress in a forceful mating press. His heavy balls slap against my anus on each thrust, as his long, girthy cock bottoms out inside of my well-fucked, entirely unprotected hole. Each time more pleasurable than the last, it almost feels like he’s moulding my pussy to the shape of his fat, gross cock.

“Ah~! Ahn! Mmn~! Hnngh! Fuuuuck~! You’re stwetchin’ me out so-schlmmfgh~!“

He cuts me off with a sloppy kiss, forcing his tongue past my obscene DSLs, while pawing at my tits with his free hand. The other, of course, is grabbing my ass, pulling it into his thrusts. I’m not exactly passive in this position either, with weeks of Sleazy Jim’s advice directing my motions, legs wrapping around his considerable bulk, splaying wide open to welcome his cock inside of me. And of course, I return the slobbery make-out with just as much enthusiasm as he gives it.

Despite my internal resistance against this foul situation, my body betrays me, quivering in a series of powerful, rolling orgasms—thanks to the multiple ways that Sleazy Jim has told me to enjoy being treated like this. Which means I can’t help but cry out in nigh-brainless declarations of ecstasy, my own voice turned against me to beg for more. But I can already tell that Mr. Hector is nearing his peak, from a couple weeks’ experience, and my voice shifts to even worse pleading. It means that he’ll be finished with me soon, allowing me to retreat back to my apartment and act somewhat normally, but it also means that-

“Pweathe, Daddy! Mmmf~! Pump my twat fulla your thick, shtinky, cummies!“

As if on cue, he slams his hips down, as my own raise to meet his final thrust. His hairy, sweaty testicles throb and clench, and then a thick torrent of chunky, virile cum sprays inside of me, splattering against my twitching, eager cervix. Precisely where he always finishes, eschewing condoms, and not allowing me any birth-control of my own. My period is due any day now, and I’m just hoping that the fat lump is too old for his seed to take root in me. Though I highly doubt he’s put any thought into what it would take to raise a family, that clearly won’t stop him from unloading inside of me every chance he gets.

When he finally pulls out, with a gross schlorp, I can only slump backwards onto the sweat-soaked sheets, gasping for breath. My daily jogs, as well as these frequent workouts have left me in pretty good shape, but there’s only so long that I can endure Mr. Hector’s attention. Taking a moment to recover, the man leans in as if to inspect me, rubbing a hand over my sweaty abdomen, almost possessively, with his cock still flopped out on my thigh.

“Heh~... I’m glad ya sorted out yer behaviour, Bambi. All that borin’, smarty-pants nonsense you had going on when you first moved in, an’ a name like Eleanor... bah! This is a much better position for a dumb slut like you...“

ka-chick

“So why don’ we make sure that puny boyfriend o’ yours knows exactly what’s up?“

Jerking upright, I’m too late to prevent him from sending the picture he just took, using my phone. Holding it up to me, I can see a photo of my twitching jizz-toilet of a pussy, oozing with my landlord’s semen, and speckled with wiry pubic hairs. Beside it, his half-hard cock, covered in my juices, and with glossy pink lipstick rings still visible at the base, from when I got him ready earlier.

“Mmmn... th-that’s, like... not nice, Daddy! Ahhn~... I bet Mitchell’s gonna be totes jealous that I’m your stupid li’l fucktoy, an’ not his.“

Despite what I say to him, I still manage to lunge forwards and grab the phone, then get up off the mattress on the floor. Taking a moment to find my clothes, what little I was wearing earlier, I’m about to step through the door, eager to go downstairs and have a shower, when the radio clicks on. Shit. I’d hoped that Mr. Hector would’ve fucked me right through Sleazy Jim’s broadcast, which is why I usually go and see him at this time of day. Today, I wasn’t so ‘lucky’.

“Sleazy Jim’s Advice for Broads! Simple one today—if you live apart from your man, you should move in with him! Do all the stuff a woman does. Cook, clean, make yer holes available 24/7, that kinda shit.”

Mitchell had stopped being ‘my man’ weeks ago, ever since I stopped sending him images of my gradually corrupting body, and probably before then, if I’m being honest with myself. Instead, Mr. Hector is the one that staked his claim to me—and kept on staking it, marking his territory inside of me often enough that he was less my man, and I was more his cunt. So, it’s devastatingly clear which man Sleazy Jim is referring to. Looking around, I see that Mr. Hector has made himself comfortable in his usual position on the couch, and he looks over with a leering grin when the advice finishes.

“So then, Bambi—you stayin’?”

I want to run, scream, curse him out—but instead, I cheerfully agree. I barely even know what I said, just that it elicited a satisfied smirk from Mr. Hector, and I shut the door without leaving.

“Tha’s a good girl! We can move yer stuff up later on. For now, make us some dinner, then you can suck me off again while I eat...”

And, forcing down the despair and the rage which builds inside of me, I just smile, and do what he says, while his lukewarm semen starts to dribble down my thigh.

Leaning back against the pole behind me, I grip it with one hand, while I spread my thighs wide open, putting my wet pussy and sparkling butt-plug on display to the dozen or so men in front of me. Sliding my other hand down my belly, over the tattoo on my abdomen (an antler shaped crest, with ‘BUCK SLUT’ inscribed in the centre), I schlick my fingers between the plump lips of my labia, stretching them open for a few bills. It’s a daytime shift, meaning there isn’t much of an audience—but that also means less earnings, which Mr. Hector occasionally sends me out to the street to... supplement.

Shifting forward onto my knees, I give my pierced titties an expert, practised jiggle as the song comes to an end, showing off the ‘Bambi’ tattooed across my collar in a cursive script. I’m all smiles, of course, even as the music ends and I get back to my feet, collecting my clothes and cash, then strutting backstage. By now, I’m one of the Pretty Pussy’s most popular performers, and they’ve even got me on a damn poster outside, platinum blonde pigtails and bubblegum pink DSLs combining with my augmented figure to make the picture of a perfect bimbo.

“Bambi! A young man came to visit you, asking to... heh~... asking to meet you alone. I sent him to the usual room.“

Grumbling internally, I can only smile and thank the stage manager for letting me know—at least, with this, Mr. Hector might be satisfied for the day? Stopping in the changing room to put my tiny skirt and tube-top back on, fix my hair, and reapply a heavy layer of glossy pink lipstick (to ensure that it leaves a mark), I then make my way towards the private dance room. Sound padded, dimly lit, and lockable from the inside, I try not to look directly at the guy when I enter, dropping straight to my knees in front of him. Tilting my hips, I make sure that my ‘DADDY’S DOLL’ tramp-stamp is visible above the waistband of my microskirt.

“Like, hiya, sweetie! It’s fifty bucks for a blowie, an’ I always swallow, so like... yum! But I’ve got some condoms if you wanna—“

“Eleanor! It’s... it’s me!”

And then I hear a familiar voice, one I haven’t heard for almost two months by now, and one that I used to listen to nearly every day. Looking up, my eyes widen in disbelief, then mortifying shame as I see Mitchell sitting in front of me. Even then, I can’t keep my hands from moving up towards his crotch, feeling for a zipper.

“W-wha...? No, I’m... mmmn~... I’m Bambi! You wanna get your dick sucked or no?“

His face flushes a little, but his smile stays in place, as he holds my hands steady. Somehow, he’s managed to find me! This is... it’s... fuck, I don’t know what to feel about this. On the one hand, my true love and soulmate has come back to save me. On the other, I’m not sure how much there is left of me to save—I’m fairly certain I’ve already got Mr. Hector’s child inside of me, and several rounds of daily, mind-meltingly good sex will affect a girl.

“No, no! It’s okay, uh... I found out about the recording. Your friend mentioned it, when you stopped replying to everyone, and then your apartment was empty, and, um... I eventually recognised you walking to work.“

Does that mean he knows where I’ve been living, and... the situation I’m in with Mr. Hector? Slowly shaking my head, I get to my feet, but his smile is almost infectious, and I start to feel a kernel of hope in my gut. Could he really be here to try and fix all of this? Filling the stunned silence, Mitchell reaches into a pocket of his coat, and gets out a small, portable radio. He knows about Sleazy Jim!

“Like, sowwy! If you don’ wanna pay for a blowie, then I gotta go, so—”

“Okay! You can, uh... I’ve got, um... sorry about this, Eleanor!“

Fumbling in his pocket, he pulls a few bills out, and hurriedly counts out fifty dollars. Not that Bambi’s especially good at counting—despite my own education, I’m forced to act as dumb as I sound. But once the money is laid out, I smile again, and continue opening his pants. Perhaps unsurprisingly, his cock is already hard when it comes out, and...

“Hehe~! You’re, like, nowhere near as big as Daddy.“

Insults aside, I do start to actually suck him off, the only sexual act in a while that I actually want to be doing. As my plush, pink lips close around Mitchell’s shaft, he lets out a low moan, but fiddles with the radio above me, quickly tuning it to the proper station.

“Good evenin’ folks, it’s Sleazy Jim back again, with more Advice for Broads!”

“Ohhh, f-fuck, Eleanor... mmmf~... you, uh... ahh~... you’re really good at this...“

Bobbing my head back and forth, easily reaching the base of my darling’s modestly sized pecker, I start to suck with more intensity. I can already tell that he’s not going to last as long as Mr. Hector, and probably won’t be up for a round of mind-melting sex afterwards, but... that’s not what’s important about a man! Even if ‘Bambi’ might not agree with me.

“Coming up next, I’m gonna play a little song called Eleanor Rigby. But first, my advice for the day...”

A shiver runs through my body, as I hear that damned radio host finally say my name again, releasing the hold of his words on my mind. Well, not the words that he’s already said. It just means he can’t instil anything else in there, which... might have been good a few months ago. But now, after Mitchell was so insistent that I listen to it with him...?

“Ahhn! F-fuck~!”

Mitchell bucks beneath me, and a spurt of plain, watery jizz splashes onto my tongue, which I immediately swallow. No sense ruining my makeup, after all. As I milk the rest of my beloved’s orgasm from his prick, Sleazy Jim keeps on talking, and I realise what he’d been trying to do.

“...comes from a listener, with a special request. Ladies, act how you want. Don’t let anyone, especially not me, tell you how to live your life. Be yourself, and honestly? Never listen to me again!”

Unfortunately, now that the hypnosis has been deactivated, absolutely none of what he just said affects me in the slightest. I want to stay, to run away with Mitchell and fix all that I’ve done to myself... but instead, I stand up, and grab the wad of bills that he laid out.

“Thanks, mister! I bet Daddy’s gonna fuck me, like... soooo hard when we get home!“

Looking up in confusion, Mitchell struggles for a moment to put his drooping cock away, then follows as I leave the room. Which is good! I want him to keep trying to save me! Except he doesn’t seem disappointed, or sad that his attempt didn’t work, instead he just seems... confused. As if he didn’t quite realise what the hypnosis triggers were, and... he thinks it did work.

“Eleanor, please, I... are you really going to go back to that... that brute of a man?! I’ve seen how he treats you!“

“Mmm-hmm! Isn’t he, like, the bestest?”

No, he treats me terribly! Whenever Mr. Hector isn’t slamfucking me into a mattress, treating my pussy as his own personal cum-disposal, or making me slurp my DSLs around his vile cock, he gets me to strip, or pimps me out, to make money that he spends. Often on me, like a recent increase to my already-ridiculous breasts, ludicrously slutty outfits, or the humiliating tattoos. And despite all of that, Bambi is openly happy to be used like that.

Continuing down the corridor, and out the back exit of the club, Mitchell puts a hand on my arm, as if trying to coax me to leave with him instead. Which is all I want to do, but... Bambi has other ideas, squirming away from his touch—and right into the embrace of Mr. Hector. He plants a hand possessively on my bubbly rump, and my pussy shamefully throbs in response to his dominance, another of the things leftover in my head from Sleazy Jim.

“Eleanor! This isn’t you, please don’t—”

“Back away, buddy. I’ve found the perfect fucktoy, and I’m keepin’ this slut. Ain’t that right, Bambi?“

That’s what I wanted, wasn’t it? Way back when I first hypnotised myself, to be the best girlfriend I could be—for Mitchell, not for a lecherous jerk like Mr. Hector, who only wants a warm, pretty place to stick his cock. But, instead of pulling away like I want to, I only press my tits into his side, and giggle vacuously.

“Hehe~! I like, totes am! I’m Daddy’s dumb li’l babymaker! An’ I don’t ever wanna leave him.“

My hand presses against my belly meaningfully, making that statement sound like more than just a hypothetical—and that’s the moment that I see Mitchell’s resolve falter, as he comes to the conclusion that I actually want this. Mr. Hector doesn’t let me stick around to see how he takes it, though, instead just leading me back over to his car. Pushing me into the passenger seat, I’m almost numb with disbelief, that my final chance to get out could be gone, so abruptly. That I would be forced to stay as Bambi, and spend my days getting degraded, fucked, and knocked up by this gross pervert instead!

“Don’ worry, Bambi. I’ll make sure that creep don’t come near you again! Now, be a good girl an’ suck Daddy off.”

The sound of a zipper brings me back to the present, and I see Mr. Hector opening his pants, and gesturing expectantly. Also, walking towards us across the parking lot, I spot Mitchell, apparently with one last hope that I might return to him. But instead, I just turn my attention downwards, and wrap my plush, pink lips around the gross, unwashed shaft in front of me. I was so close, so tantalisingly close to getting out of this situation, and going back to my normal life.

If only Sleazy Jim had worded that request a little differently, I would be running back to Mitchell right now, eager to get started on fixing everything together. But as it is, I just continue to obediently suck, expertly bringing Mr. Hector to full hardness, and giving my darling a first-hand glimpse into how I’ll be spending the rest of my life...