Tyra Starts Her Vacation Right

"That's it, babe. There's a girl. Just relax, let go, let yourself lean on in to me. That's my sweetie." Tyra sighed, her eyelids giving a subliminal flutter in the instant before they slammed shut and she allowed herself to sink into a deep hypnotic trance and enjoy the sensation of her husband squeezing and groping her heavy brown tits. They'd been on the road most of the day, and the work of hauling all their bags into the cozy vacation cottage had been just enough to leave her utterly susceptible to the kind of instant induction Hank specialized in. When he tugged down her strapless halter top from behind and wrapped his hands around her chest, Tyra knew she wasn't going to be awake much longer. And she was happy to give in.

He kissed her neck, his breath tickling the sensitive skin, and even with her eyes shut Tyra could picture his ruddy pink cheeks flushing with excitement as he slowly, sweetly guided her deeper into trance. "There we go, pretty girl, just letting all those thoughts melt and sink and pool down between those lovely legs for me until that head of yours is all nice and blank and empty for me. That's it. That's right." Hank didn't even need to see her face, not after so many delightful years of hypnotizing her into erotic reveries like this--just the sound of her breathing, the pressure of her body as she leaned back against him, the tiny little quivers she gave off as his fingers found her ebony nipples and played with them in exactly the way she loved to be touched told him everything he needed to know about her deepening state of relaxation. Tyra loved having a partner who knew her that well.

"There we go, deeper with every step, following my lead like a good dolly and sinking down now…." Thank goodness the cottage was so small--Tyra ached to simply collapse and go limp in her husband's arms, to let herself go so deep that she didn't have to think about anything but the building pleasure between her plush thighs, and it was a relief when he guided her the short distance between the open plan kitchen and the couch they'd both looked at longingly the second they arrived. He settled her down in the same pose they'd been standing in, Hank behind his wife supporting her increasingly relaxed and heavy body, and his caresses felt even better now that she could truly give in to the trance she loved so much. She sighed again, letting her head loll back into the crook of his shoulder as he kept teasing and groping her sensitive breasts.

She didn't know how long he spent playing with her tits like that--time had a habit of losing meaning once Tyra drifted into her husband's mellow hypnotic voice and warm, comforting caresses. But by the time Hank finally slid one hand down her belly to caress her pubic mound through the leggings she wore for the trip, gently pushing one leg off the couch to part her thighs and give himself full access to her pleasantly aching pussy, she was already so wet that his fingers skated over the slick and needy flesh without resistance. "That's right, that's my horny girl," he purred, watching her use the very last of her volition and energy to wriggle her outfit over her hips and down her thighs to allow him to fully sink two fingers into her soaking cunt. "No mind, no thoughts, no will, just peace and pleasure, sweetie." Tyra could feel herself unraveling into rapture, her brain fuzzing out into empty and obedient ecstasy… and the final notion that she had five full days of this to look forward to sent her over the edge into her first explosive climax of the night.

(If you enjoy this fiction and want to make sure it continues, please visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox to become a supporter. Or, if you simply want to make a one-time contribution, you can drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox instead. Thank you!)

What is or isn’t a slur can be highly contextual, y'all.

“Jonny Sims bummed a fag off my ma” doesn’t contain a slur, but “What are you, some kind of fag?” does.

“Queer studies”, “the queer community” and “I’m queer”? Not a slur. Some bigot calling you a “dirty queer”? Slur.

“Be gay, do crimes” and “He’s gay” ≠ slur, but “Ew, that’s so gay” = slur.

In conclusion, stop buying into this fucking “q slur” bullshit. Queer people talking about the queer community aren’t using it as a slur any more than a gay man calling himself gay is using that term as a slur.

people who leave comments on AO3 I LOVE YOU

Making Jamila Agreeable

"uh huh…." Giselle was right, the amethyst windchimes she had hanging just outside her window really did catch the light in the most fascinating way. Jamila found herself caught in the moment as she watched the crystals sway and spin in the breeze, temporarily forgetting her intention to sit down on her new neighbor's comfortable couch in her fascination with the sparkling, shimmering glow of sun on stone. Unconsciously, she tilted her head up to get a better look at the pretty gleams of rainbow light, captivated by the ever-changing, always dazzling display that met her gaze. She could sit down in a little bit. Right now she only wanted to stare.

"uh huh…." Giselle was right, craning her neck like that was getting to be kind of exhausting. Jamila's muscles were beginning to feel the strain a little, and she would be so much more relaxed if she let her head return to a comfortable position--maybe even let it droop forward a bit, just to make sure they didn't develop a crick or anything--and look up with her warm brown eyes. It was a little bit tiring to stare like this, and Jamila found her eyelids beginning to flutter almost withn seconds, but she had to admit, she did feel more relaxed. So much more relaxed. Jamila's shoulders slumped, and the thought of the couch behind her became a yearning to her tired legs.

"uh huh…." Giselle was right, her eyelids were getting heavy. It was so nice of the white woman to remind her that she could always close them in a long, slow, sleepy blink, and open them again twice as relaxed and twice as focused on the pretty crystals. Jamila felt her eyes slip shut, and when she opened them her stare was glassy and blank but she felt so wonderfully captivated by the sparkling lights. Giselle guided her down onto the couch at last, and it was as if every single one of her tired limbs took the opportunity to go limp. She couldn't imagine ever moving again. Even when Giselle began to stroke her arm up and down, caressing the warm brown skin with a familiarity Jamila wouldn't normally have appreciated from a near stranger, it didn't disturb her state of calm.

"uh huh…." Giselle was right, Jamila knew the sparkling crystals so well by now that she didn't really need to look at them to see them. She could simply close her eyes and let them close, stare inside her mind at the pretty gleams and glimmers of purple light that kept making her more relaxed and amiable and cozy on the neighbor's couch. Giselle had such a lovely way of describing things, and such a lovely voice to describe them with. It was so soothing. Jamila wanted to come back to this calm, comforting place inside her own head every time Giselle reminded her of the pretty crystals, because they were inside her mind now and she could see them anytime she wanted.

"uh huh…." Giselle was right, Jamila did have amazing tits. She'd gotten to kind of appreciate the power they gave her, the way they distracted men and women alike with their size and their smooth softness, and it was nice to know that Giselle was interested in them just like everybody else. Jamila wanted to untie the simple yellow spaghetti string crop-top she wore, let Giselle see what was behind that plunging neckline and allow her to… oh. Ohh that was nice. Oh, wow, Giselle really knew how to touch another woman. She--she wanted her to keep going. To never stop. To make Jamila's body shudder in orgasm. "…uh huh," she murmured again, wriggling out of her tight jeans to give her new lover full access to her slick and soaking cunt.

(If you enjoy this fiction and want to make sure it continues, please visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox to become a supporter. Or, if you simply want to make a one-time contribution, you can drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox instead. Thank you!)

Brittany Discovers Her Tits

"Oh. Oh, wow. Oh, these are so… so soft…." Brittany stared down at the massive shelf of her own alabaster tits as if she was noticing them for the very first time--which in a sense, she was. Mallory had all sorts of fun tricks she could play with hypnosis, especially with a subject as wonderfully malleable as pretty blonde Brittany, and the one she'd chosen this time out was to make her friend with benefits forget everything she knew about the female breast so she could surprise herself with literally every single detail of her own magnificent F-cups. And judging by the way she was beginning to grope and paw at her own chest, it was a very pleasant discovery indeed.

"Oh, I--oh, Mal, these feel so… so good!" Brittany's voice came out in a hoarse squeak of ecstasy as she squirmed her way out of her lacy black bra and ran her hands all over her jiggling tits. She let out a liquid moan when her fingers brushed against her stiff pink nipples, and her bright blue eyes glanced over to Mallory like she couldn't quite believe her own body to be capable of such intense and overwhelming bliss. "Do… do yours feel like this too?" she whimpered, looking back down at her own chest with something approaching awe and strumming her thumbs over the pebbly surface of her nipples as though unable to imagine stopping.

Mallory smiled. "I'm not quite sure what you mean," she said, playing dumb as she reached out to stroke the soft silky expanse of Brittany's mountainous breasts. "Like, how does it feel when I do this?" From the way Brittany's eyes rolled back in her head and her jaw hung slack and drooling, the answer seemed pretty clear--one of the delightful things about wiping her memory of any previous experiences involving her own tits was the way that everything was tinged with the fantastic new wonder of discovery. She'd basically made Brittany a virgin all over again, and that gave Mallory the ability to show off just a little when she did even the smallest and simplest things to her lover's body.

Brittany's eyes refocused, taking in Mallory's stroking fingers and the drool trickling down the valley of her ample cleavage. "I, it, um, it, it, um," she mumbled, her synapses beginning to misfire at the sheer onslaught of overwhelming euphoria she was experiencing. Brittany had always had sensitive breasts; more than once, Mallory had managed to bring the submissive woman to orgasm simply by playing with her tits until her body couldn't take it anymore. And without anything to prepare her for that, without a single memory in her empty little head to ground the sensations washing over her tingling tits in some kind of framework of prior existence, she was basically short-circuiting with pleasure. Mallory liked watching that happen.

"It's--oh, fuck, Mal, it's so--so--oh, fuuuuuuck!" Brittany's head lolled back on her shoulders as the constant tugging and pinching and squeezing and groping finally sent her over the edge into a climax she didn't even know she was capable of. Her voice dissolved into a long, liquid moan, and her body shook and shuddered so hard her tits jiggled like a seismograph registering the epic quakes of orgasm she was experiencing. She grunted and gasped, cumming for what felt like a small eternity before finally refocusing her gaze reverently onto Mallory. "Can we do that again, please?" she asked. And Mallory was only too happy to oblige.

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A Bit of Confusion About the Clothing-Optional Massage

Lilly froze, her pale slender fingers freezing halfway down Andrea's back as a thought occurred to her. "Um, uhh, ma'am?" she asked, the meek deference in her own voice surprising her--yes, Andrea was a client, and yes, Lilly tried to be as polite and friendly to all of her clients, but it still felt odd to be this, this simpering to another woman just because they hired her to come over for a couple of hours to give them a massage. It almost made her too sheepish even to ask the question on her lips, but once the thought was in Lilly's head she couldn't let go of it and she couldn't get rid of it any other way than to push past her embarrassment and blurt out what was on her mind. "Why am I naked right now?"

Andrea rolled over on the portable massage table Lilly brought with her, fixing her with a commanding stare that made Lilly feel like the auburn-haired woman was looking down at her even though she was the one lying flat on her back. "Well, darling," she replied, her voice thick with impatient condescension, "you did say this was a clothing-optional massage, didn't you?" The tone of patronizing irritation was so sharp and so clear that for a moment all Lilly wanted to do was blush and apologize and try to pretend she'd never asked such a stupid question. But a tiny part of her doggedly persisted in thinking about it, bumping up against her own confusion like a bumblebee trying to find its way to the opening in a pane of smooth glass.

Finally she got it. "But, uhhh… but that's f-for you, ma'am," she said, hearing the trepidation in her own voice at the thought of being corrected yet again. "Not for me." Her hand moved involuntarily to her ringlets of curly blonde hair, twisting it around her finger in a nervous gesture she thought she'd beaten years ago. It just… it always made her look like such a ditz to play with her hair like that. It always made her feel so stupid. "W-why am I naked right now?" She knew there was going to be a perfectly reasonable explanation, and she knew Andrea was going to make her feel like such a fool for not knowing it already. It was simply how the day was going.

And sure enough, Andrea leaned up and grabbed a handful of Lilly's ample breasts and said, "So I can do this, of course." She wrapped her lips around Lilly's puffy pink nipple, giving the blonde a long, suckling kiss that made Lilly's eyes roll back in her head in a sudden wave of mindless ecstasy that sent the awkwardly nagging questions flying clean out of her head. Naturally she had to present her body for Andrea's approval. She was such a weak and horny slut, after all, and her big tits made her dumb and malleable and easy to control. How could she ever have imagined anything different? Her hand slid down between Andrea's thighs, easily finding the familiar warmth of her client's wet cunt.

"Of--of course, ma'am," she heard herself murmur, the words now seeming to flow from somewhere entirely other than her numb and stupefied brain. "I… I'm sorry I got so confused, ma'am." A wave of intense embarrassment accompanied her speech, even though Lilly knew that she was getting better and better every time at remembering her place and understanding her role as Andrea's personal rubslut and smoothing over all those awkward questions she used to struggle with whenever Andrea hypnotized her. She only hoped she'd do even better next time… and thankfully, the waves of tingling ecstasy pulsing in her heavy tits practically ensured it.

(If you enjoy this fiction and want to make sure it continues, please visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox to become a supporter. Or, if you simply want to make a one-time contribution, you can drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox instead. Thank you!)

The last time we were on a long flight, my wife and I invented a game we call "Little Guy."

You start a game of Little Guy by saying, "I'm gonna hand you a little guy." The little guy is some kind of baby animal you are imagining. "Oh," she might say in response, "Okay," and hold out her hands for it. I will then mime handing her the animal. This provides some clues as to the little guy's size, weight, and general ungainliness.

She then gets to ask questions about what kind of little guy this is, BUT NO QUESTIONS ABOUT HIS ACTUAL APPEARANCE OR SPECIES ARE ALLOWED. Qualitative questions, or questions about his behavior, are the only ones permitted. She can ask "Is he soft?" or "Does he seem nervous about being held?" or "If I put him in the bathtub, does he seem okay with that?" or "Would he like a lil grape?" or "Is he the sort of little fellow who would wear a vest in a children's book?" but not "Does he have fur," "Is he a reptile," "Is he from Asia," etc. Some questions are in a grey area so you have to follow your heart, but the point is not to identify the animal as fast as possible: the point is to guess the animal purely based on vibes + how he would act if he were in your living room right now.

And I'm not limited to yes or no answers! If she asks, "Would it feel appropriate to see this little guy in a propeller hat?" I can reply, "Oh no, he has a gravity to him. A bowler hat would be a more appropriate hat." Or if she asks, "Does this little guy have protagonist energy?" I can say something like, "he probably wouldn't be the main character in a children's cartoon. He'd probably be the main character's ditzy best friend who's always eating sandwiches, or something."

We're big Twenty Questions to kill time in a waiting room people, but Little Guy is more about the journey than the destination. It's got a different kind of sauce that's nice if "killing time" and "lowering anxiety" need to happen hand in hand.

Hi I have a question about Pacific Rim. Given that the sparring is just A way to test for drift compatibility and any activity that requires people to collaborate and anticipate each others moves works, including stuff like multi player video games

Can you test for drift compatibility via improv comedy

This may be the best book I have ever purchased. It is definitely in the top 10

This is not the first time this has happened, I have tried to nicely explain that I’m not interested in random hypnosis from strangers at any time they decide, but yet this is the dumb shit I am dealing with as I was making breakfast.

Yes I can just block him, but I wanted to use this as an example to show other “tists” how NOT to act 🙃

And I kid you not, there is more:

101 Comment Starters

I began working on this last summer. Like many veteran fanfiction authors, I lament the decline in commenting that I’ve seen in my fandom, the Tolkien fandom. I’m also a humanities teacher, so I spend a good part of my day teaching young people how to write, and one lesson I’ve learned the hard way is that each type of writing involves unique skills that have to be learned. And commenting is a unique form of writing and one that comes with added stresses around social expectations and public performance. My research on the Tolkien fanfic community confirms this: Many people want to comment, but they simply don’t know what to say.

As a teacher of writing, I often use  sentence starters or mentor sentences. The writer uses these to jumpstart their thinking and writing, until they become comfortable enough to begin working independently. “101 Comment Starters” is built around this research-based strategy of teaching writing.

Some of the comment starters are simple enough that they can be merely copied and pasted. Others require filling in some blanks or providing some elaboration. In some cases, a because can be dropped if the reader isn’t comfortable providing that level of elaboration yet. In other cases, a more experienced commenter can add the because and elaborate more on their comment.

They also differ in their level of praise. They range from simple statements of how the author made the reader feel to compliments around an aspect of the author’s writing or their work in general. I’ve tried to limit words like really, very, and so as much as possible, except when it made the comment feel wooden. You’re welcome, of course, to add those words in if you feel they more accurately help capture how a story impacted you.

If you’re just starting to comment, please keep in mind that the vast majority of authors will love to hear from you! They don’t care how long or elaborate your comment is. They don’t care if your English is perfect or if you’re a little awkward. They just want to know that you’re reading and enjoying their work.

Finally, please feel free to reblog and share and add your own comment starters!

101 Comment Starters

Keep reading

Lana Tries on a New Outfit

"Do you like it?" With a shock, Lana glanced over to see Mrs Ellington standing in the doorway, looking at the younger woman with a mix of condescending amusement and lust in her sparkling blue eyes. Lana didn't even know how long she'd been standing there--the vision of herself in the mirror, looking sexy and submissive in Mrs Ellington's borrowed lingerie, had been so captivating that the pretty brunette had simply tuned out her entire surroundings in favor of checking out the way the mock French maid outfit made her tits look. And now Mrs Ellington knew she was trying on her clothes without permission. Lana's cheeks began to burn with a bright red blush, but Mrs Ellington just said, "I think it suits you."

She crossed the room in only a couple of swift steps, standing behind Lana and reaching around to squeeze and grope the paralyzed brunette's ample breasts. "Frank bought it for me for certain special occasions, but let's be honest--I'm not really the domestic type, am I? It needs a certain kind of girl to dress up as a slutty housemaid, the sort of weak and horny slut who wants to be ordered around. Not that you would know anything about that, would you, sweetie pie?" Lana wanted to protest, to remind the older woman that she'd come to Boston to scout colleges and find her own apartment, not to become the third in her mom's friend's thruple… but the sight of herself in the mirror, looking so helpless and submissive with Mrs Ellington's hands all over her, left Lana staring in slack-jawed befuddlement.

"Oh, it's okay, darling," the older woman purred, her fingers finding and caressing Lana's nipples as though the sheer, lacy fabric of the maid costume didn't even exist. "I think we'll still let you go to college, get your degree, all that boring nonsense. You wanted to study law, and I think I might like having a lawyer kiss my feet. But you won't be living out on your own, not when we've got a nice warm bed and you're such good company. And you're happy with that, aren't you? Slutty little housemaids like you like doing what you're told." Lana forced herself to mumble out at least a token objection, but her speech was so slurred with arousal that even she didn't know what she was saying. In the mirror, her eyes had taken on the vacant, dreamy cast of someone fully in the grip of their lusts.

Mrs Ellington chuckled. "Oh, silly girl," she cooed, bouncing and jiggling Lana's big pale tits in her hands. "Did you really think it was your idea to come in and try on this particular outfit of all things? You've been here almost two weeks now, and I assure you, darling, there's so much that's already slipped out of your fuzzy little brain about our time together. The lingerie was just waiting for your subconscious to give up on that foolish notion of resistance and come in here to embrace your new role as our fucktoy and live-in maid, and when I saw you heading to my bedroom I knew you were ready. You belong to us now. That's why you're letting me do this. Isn't it time to simply accept it?" Lana watched her head rise and fall in a slow, sleepy nod that didn't seem to come from her. Then her eyelids fluttered shut, and everything became intimate and familiar sensation to her again.

(If you enjoy this fiction and want to make sure it continues, please visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox to become a supporter. Or, if you simply want to make a one-time contribution, you can drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox instead. Thank you!)

Making Jamila Agreeable

"uh huh…." Giselle was right, the amethyst windchimes she had hanging just outside her window really did catch the light in the most fascinating way. Jamila found herself caught in the moment as she watched the crystals sway and spin in the breeze, temporarily forgetting her intention to sit down on her new neighbor's comfortable couch in her fascination with the sparkling, shimmering glow of sun on stone. Unconsciously, she tilted her head up to get a better look at the pretty gleams of rainbow light, captivated by the ever-changing, always dazzling display that met her gaze. She could sit down in a little bit. Right now she only wanted to stare.

"uh huh…." Giselle was right, craning her neck like that was getting to be kind of exhausting. Jamila's muscles were beginning to feel the strain a little, and she would be so much more relaxed if she let her head return to a comfortable position--maybe even let it droop forward a bit, just to make sure they didn't develop a crick or anything--and look up with her warm brown eyes. It was a little bit tiring to stare like this, and Jamila found her eyelids beginning to flutter almost withn seconds, but she had to admit, she did feel more relaxed. So much more relaxed. Jamila's shoulders slumped, and the thought of the couch behind her became a yearning to her tired legs.

"uh huh…." Giselle was right, her eyelids were getting heavy. It was so nice of the white woman to remind her that she could always close them in a long, slow, sleepy blink, and open them again twice as relaxed and twice as focused on the pretty crystals. Jamila felt her eyes slip shut, and when she opened them her stare was glassy and blank but she felt so wonderfully captivated by the sparkling lights. Giselle guided her down onto the couch at last, and it was as if every single one of her tired limbs took the opportunity to go limp. She couldn't imagine ever moving again. Even when Giselle began to stroke her arm up and down, caressing the warm brown skin with a familiarity Jamila wouldn't normally have appreciated from a near stranger, it didn't disturb her state of calm.

"uh huh…." Giselle was right, Jamila knew the sparkling crystals so well by now that she didn't really need to look at them to see them. She could simply close her eyes and let them close, stare inside her mind at the pretty gleams and glimmers of purple light that kept making her more relaxed and amiable and cozy on the neighbor's couch. Giselle had such a lovely way of describing things, and such a lovely voice to describe them with. It was so soothing. Jamila wanted to come back to this calm, comforting place inside her own head every time Giselle reminded her of the pretty crystals, because they were inside her mind now and she could see them anytime she wanted.

"uh huh…." Giselle was right, Jamila did have amazing tits. She'd gotten to kind of appreciate the power they gave her, the way they distracted men and women alike with their size and their smooth softness, and it was nice to know that Giselle was interested in them just like everybody else. Jamila wanted to untie the simple yellow spaghetti string crop-top she wore, let Giselle see what was behind that plunging neckline and allow her to… oh. Ohh that was nice. Oh, wow, Giselle really knew how to touch another woman. She--she wanted her to keep going. To never stop. To make Jamila's body shudder in orgasm. "…uh huh," she murmured again, wriggling out of her tight jeans to give her new lover full access to her slick and soaking cunt.

(If you enjoy this fiction and want to make sure it continues, please visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox to become a supporter. Or, if you simply want to make a one-time contribution, you can drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox instead. Thank you!)

Ashley Discovers Her New Vulnerability

Ashley slowly emerged from a stuporous fog to find herself naked on a recliner, evaporation reminding her that some parts of her body were a lot wetter than others. She slowly eased herself up and out of her seat, noticing as she did so the wet spot the size of a dinner plate on the cushion beneath her pale thighs and plump pink pussy lips, and began to gingerly look around for her clothes. She tried to remain as quiet as possible, not exactly sure where Tanith was but definitely not wanting to attract the other woman's attention right now. She didn't know what would happen if--

"Oh, um, hi," Ashley blurted out, turning to see the dark-haired goth watching her from the sofa with a sinful grin on her black-lipsticked slash of a mouth. "I, um, t-thank you, I had a… a lovely time, and all, but I'm afraid I should really be getting back to--" The rest of the sentence never came out. Tanith darted to her feet with snakelike speed, grabbing Ashley's hand by the wrist and pressing it to her somehow still needy cunt. The second she felt the pressure over her hooded clit, something short-circuited in Ashley's brain and she found her eyes crossing and her legs going wobbly with ecstasy. Despite her best efforts, her fingers began to rub in tight circles against her pussy as the gears in her mind began to grind with pleasure.

Tanith's smirk widened. "You remember, don't you? The better you feel, the deeper you go. And the deeper you go, the better you feel." Ashley let out a loud grunt, the mantra impressing itself into her soft and vulnerable mind like a groove carving into hot wax. The words felt so intimately familiar that Ashley could hear them in her own voice, as though she'd been chanting them for hours, but she couldn't wonder about that right now because every time she tried to think she felt the throbbing heat between her legs and it emptied her brain into deep trance all over again. Ashley felt her last few synapses sputter and fall silent as she sank down into the chair and let her mouth fall open in gape-jawed rapture.

"There's a good girl," Tanith cooed, her fingers tweaking and teasing Ashley's stiff brown nipples while the hypnotized woman writhed in the recliner until her long blonde hair was a tangled rat's nest. "It's so easy to sink down and obey. So easy to open yourself up to my programming and let yourself be brainwashed into blank, docile compliance to my will." Ashley heard each and every word, but all of it simply vanished down the memory hole into her mesmerized subconscious--her waking mind could only think two sentences now, over and over and over again as she rubbed herself empty and submissive, and critical thought wasn't a process that was even happening right now. The group project she'd come over to discuss with Tanith had vanished. There was only endless pleasure, circumventing cognition before it could even begin as the feedback loop erased her resistance completely.

Ashley stared sightlessly into space for another hour, mechanically sipping water when it was presented to her, absorbing every last bit of her new programming with the unthinking acceptance of a mindless doll. Only when Tanith physically moved her hand away from her pussy did the blonde slowly, languorously emerge from trance… and she only did that to demonstrate to Ashley yet again that she only thought when Tanith wanted her to think.

(If you enjoy this fiction and want to make sure it continues, please visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox to become a supporter. Or, if you simply want to make a one-time contribution, you can drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox instead. Thank you!)

Power Is a Slippery Thing (and So Is Ariella)

Ariella knew pretty much straight from puberty that she was blessed with the most amazing tits. Vast, swelling slopes of smooth alabaster flesh, almost nine pounds each and capped with dark brown nipples that crinkled into stiff buds at even the slightest caress. They jiggled with every step and bounced with every movement, and she learned very early on just how much power even a little bit of cleavage gave her over weak and distractable young men. She got unwanted attention, too, but the sheer sexual influence she wielded more than made up for it. Making guys hard with her boobs gave her a rush she couldn't deny… something Luke was using mercilessly against her right now.

Because whenever one of his friends released his heavy load, grunting with urgent pleasure as his semen splattered onto Ariella's heavy tits, all her hypnotized brain could think was that she'd once again demonstrated their seductive power over another man. The cum glazing her pale breasts, dripping down her nipples and splashing onto her knees, it was all just another sign of her ability to turn guys on simply by tugging down the collar of her dress--she didn't even have to open her eyes, only kneel there and present her chest to them as a target for their jizz. They couldn't help themselves. They needed to nut all over her.

It was a perfect, seamless kind of control, twisting Ariella's seductive dominance back in on itself until she was entirely convinced that she was the one in charge even as man after man shot spurting gushes of semen all over her pendulous breasts. She was the one making them nut, after all. She was the one with the big tits they couldn't stop staring at while they jacked their cocks with wild, furious urgency and spattered her chest with pearly droplets of semen. Even when she heard Luke taking pictures, his camera snapping again and again to capture each and every new stage of her descent into cum-coated degradation, Ariella's eyelids didn't so much as flutter in surprise. Of course he'd want photos of her like this. Who wouldn't?

She lost track of time down on her knees like that, so intently focused on the ecstasy of acting as canvas to the Jackson Pollock splatters of jizz that glazed her tits that she didn't really think about anything else. It felt so relaxing and comforting to be the object of attention for so many men, to know that she was once again stiffening every cock in the room until they simply couldn't cum anymore, and even the occasional mistargeted spurt of semen that splashed across her face didn't disturb the pure and perfect tranquility of her blissed-out mind. Ariella had heard of hypnosis, of course, but she didn't connect it with Luke's smooth, comforting voice and his entirely reasonable suggestions. This was all her idea.

Eventually the men just ran out of cum, and Luke gently ushered them out before taking a last few photos of Areilla's sleepy smile and her dripping tits. He helped her to her feet and out of her dress, bringing her over to the shower and cleaning her off while her muddled mind convinced itself that this was just another way her ginormous breasts gave her all the power. Her boyfriend was so besotted with her cleavage that he even bathed her… and if Ariella ever wondered why he always saved his load for her mouth, her brain always found a way to rationalize it away.

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