Rachel didn’t remember much of Sunday night, but she had the sense it had been epic.  It had started with going out clubbing with her friends, and then…

 

A blank.  But today was Monday, and she was feeling good, and she had a busy day ahead as the head of the foremost women’s rights advocacy organisation in her city.

 

She dressed attractively but smartly, in a business suit, miniskirt and heels, and headed out to catch the train.

 

As she left her apartment she passed by a construction site - and almost immediately there was a parade of whistles and catcalls.

 

“Hey baby, looking fine!”

 

“Show us those premium tits, honey!”

 

“Where you going, bitch?  How about you stop and show my cock a good time?”

 

She turned towards the construction site in a fury.

 

“How dare you!” she said.  “You think this is acceptable behaviour towards a woman?  I’ll have you up on harassment charges!”

 

But her words were being drowned out by even more whistling and cheering.  The men at the site seemed genuinely delighted by her response.

 

And then she realised it wasn’t what she was saying that had their attention, but what she was doing.

 

Without even realising it, she had reached under her skirt and begun to pull her panties down.  Just down, they had fallen around her ankles, and she was stepping out of them, and then picking them up.

 

She was aghast.  What was she doing?  Why was she pulling down her panties in front of these… these *pigs* of men?

 

But she wasn’t done yet.  She now lifted the panties, pushed them up under her skirt, and adjusted her stance to spread her legs a little.  Then she wiped the panties along the length of her pussy.

 

The men were laughing at her - and Rachel didn’t seem to be able to stop herself from performing these perverse actions.

 

“Stop!” she yelled  “Stop looking at me!  This is disgusting!  Stop…”

 

And then her words were muffled, because her hand came out, and stuffed her panties into her mouth, gagging her.

 

They tasted like her cunt.  They tasted a *lot* like her cunt, in fact.  Had she been… aroused, as she took them off?  She realised she was.  Her cunt was wet.  

 

She tried to pull the panties out of her mouth.  Her hands wouldn’t move.

 

Her eyes were wide.  The men at the construction site were howling with laughter.

 

“This bitch knew what she needed, and she made it happen!” laughed one man.

 

“She looks so damn good like that,” said another.

 

Rachel felt her eyes begin to tear up with humiliation.  With no other choices, she turned and fled from the men, walking as fast as her high heels would let her.  The panties stayed wedged in her mouth, and the more she thought about how angry she was at the construction workers, the more unable she was to remove them.

 

It was only when she drew near the train station, and her mind turned to how long she would have to stand with panties shoved in her mouth while she waited for a train, that she felt her muscles relax, and to her delight she was able to take her underwear from her mouth.  She chose not to put it back on, though, because trying to put on underwear in the crowded station would only draw more attention to her.

 

On the train, she took a seat on a long seat along one side of the train, facing another seat on the other side.  There was a young man in a hoodie and baggy pants facing her, and as she sat down she saw him very deliberately run a gaze up her body, lingering on her groin and on her tits.

 

She was outraged at this deliberate objectification of her body, and opened her mouth to tell him off - but instead, she found herself hiking up her skirt a little, and spreading her legs.

 

The man opposite her opened his mouth in surprised approval, and Rachel realised he could see her naked cunt.

 

And then Rachel swiped her panties back across her pussy, and then stuffed them back in her mouth.

 

They tasted even more like her cunt now, and Rachel realised she was still dripping wet.

 

She hadn’t pulled her skirt back down, and the man on the other seat was openly staring at her twat now.  The men on either side of him had also noticed and were beginning to look.

 

Rachel wanted to shout at all three of them, that they were pigs, that there was clearly something wrong with her and they should be getting her help instead of staring at her exposed vulva, but instead she just made an incoherent noise into her gag - and then pulled up her skirt to her waist, and spread her legs, to give them a better view.

 

The whole carriage were now aware that Rachel was bearing her pussy in public, and were either trying to look, or studiously pretending to ignore her.

 

“Slut,” muttered someone.

 

“They should do something about whores like her,” muttered someone else.

 

The young man across from Rachel had taken out his phone, and was obviously about to take a photo of her - a photo which would show her face, with her panties stuffed in her mouth, and also her bare twat.

 

Rachel went wild with fury.  She was the leader of a woman’s rights organisation.  If that photo got out, her career would be finished.  She struggled against whatever was happening with her, willing her body to move, to cover her pussy, and to let her scream at these men.

 

But instead what she did was reach down and pull her pussy lips apart, to make sure that the man’s photo would capture her clitoris and fuckhole.

 

There was a click from the man’s phone.  He had taken the photo.  Then another.  Then another.

 

He looked down at his phone and typed something.   He was sending the photo to someone.  Or posting it somewhere.

 

The train stopped.  It was Rachel’s stop.  To her relief, she found herself able to stand and hurry off the train.  Her skirt fell back into place as she rose, which she was grateful for, as she wasn’t sure her body would have let her pull it back into place otherwise.

 

Once again, she was fuming with anger - and as long as she stayed angry, she was unable to remove her gag.  But once she calmed down, and concentrated on her schedule for the day, she was once again able to remove the panties.

 

Her first meeting of the day was with a group of men who were business leaders in the community, to talk about how they could reduce sexual harassment in their workplaces.  But she had a couple of hours to prepare for it.  She reached her office building, took the elevator, and soon enough she was ensconced in the comfort of her office.

 

Safe, in private, with nowhere to go, she took a deep breath, and tried to think about what was happening to her.  

 

Before she could do so, her phone rang.  She answered it.  It was a journalist, who Rachel knew well.

 

“Hi Rachel,” said the journalist.  “Just wondered if you had any comments on the government’s announced funding for domestic violence programs today.”

 

Rachel certainly did, and she was delighted to be asked to speak about it.  She opened her mouth to talk about the importance of supporting the rights and safety of women…

 

… and instead she pulled her skirt up to her waist, swiped her panties across her cunt, and then stuffed them into her mouth.

 

Her eyes widened in horror.

 

“Hello?” said the journalist, down the phone.  “Rachel?”

 

She couldn’t speak - but she tried, anyway.

 

Her hands responded by picking up a large bulldog clip from her desk, of the sort used for clipping large piles of documents together.  She watched as her hands lowered this to her groin - and clipped it onto her pussy, clamping her whole vulva together.

 

She squealed into her gag in agony.

 

“Rachel?” said the journalist.  Then - “It must be a bad connection”.  

 

And the call ended.  

 

This time Rachel was immediately able to pull the clamp off her pussy, and take the panties out of her mouth.

 

She thought she knew what was happening - if not why.

 

Whenever Rachel tried to talk about, or stand up for, the rights and dignity of women, she gagged herself.  And she couldn’t ungag herself until she stopped wanting to do that.  And if she kept trying while she was gagged, she - what?  Made it worse?  Punished herself?  

 

Yes, punished herself.  That was what she was doing.

 

But why would she do this?  Was she having a psychotic episode?  Expressing some long-buried trauma?  Should she call a psych?

 

Probably she should.  She turned to her computer, with the intention of Googling the name of a psych who could see her on short notice.

 

Instead she saw herself typing in the name of a large - and famously shady - porn site.  

 

She tried to stop herself.  This was her work computer!  If someone looked at her logs and saw she had visited this site…

 

But she couldn’t stop herself, and the site loaded.  Pictures of women’s tits and cunts filled her screen, along with footage of raw sex.  

 

She felt her cunt throb, and realised that she hadn’t pulled her skirt back down.

 

What did she want to look at on this site?  She clicked on the search bar - and then immediately she knew what she wanted to type.

 

“Humiliated women,” she typed.

 

And there it was - video after video of naked women getting slapped, getting raped, and having degrading phrases written on their body.  There were women being spat on, being pissed on, being kept in cages.  And there were horrible misogynistic messages amongst it, saying that this was all that women were good for, that this was all that they deserved, that women weren’t people but rather things.

 

And immediately Rachel’s hand went to her cunt and she started to masturbate.

 

She had never felt this horny in her life.  She couldn’t take her eyes off the images of her screen.  She used both hands to masturbate - one rubbing and pinching her clit harder than she had ever touched herself before, the other fucking its fingers in and out of her sluthole.

 

And then she was cumming - the most intense, pleasurable orgasm of her life.

 

And with the orgasm came memory.

 

===

 

“You will only remember this when you orgasm from the idea that women are animals to be raped,” the man had said, looking at her, and smiling.  “You won’t be able to stop once you remember, and you won’t be able to tell anyone, but at least you’ll remember.”

 

And she had stared at him, her mouth open, almost drooling, taking it all in at the deepest and most intimate level.

 

Rachel knew what had happened now.  She had been out clubbing with her friends, and her friends had offered her some party drugs.  A new cocktail, they said.  A unique experience.  And Rachel, behaving uncharacteristically like a dumb slut, had just gone along with it.  She had taken the drugs.

 

They had been fun at first.  She had danced, and cheered.  

 

But then it seemed like the world was narrowing.  She was focusing *too much* on everything.  Whenever she looked at something, it was hard to look away.  And when she looked at something, every motion and sound it made seemed to lodge, deep inside her somewhere.

 

She had ended up at a booth with a man she had never seen before.  He was handsome, despite his cruel, smug face.  She didn’t know where her friends had gone.

 

“I know you,” he had said.  “Your name’s Rachel, isn’t it?  You work at that women’s rights org?”

 

“That’s right,” she had said.

 

“You look a little under the weather, Rachel,” he said.  “Are you on something?”

 

“Maybe a little,” she said - and told him the names of the drugs she had taken.

 

His eyes lit up.  “Oh, my, you are a silly little cunt, aren’t you?”

 

The words “silly little cunt” struck her like blows, and she felt anger stir - but also she found it hard to look away from this man, and she wanted to agree with him.

 

“Yes, sir,” she said quietly.  But then, “But you shouldn’t call me…”

 

He spoke over the top of her.

 

“No one wants to hear your opinions, cunt.  Especially when they call you a cunt.  I think when people call you a cunt, you should just do whatever they tell you, shouldn’t you?”

 

She nodded.  She should.  He was right.  But also - “But it’s disrespectful to…”

 

“Shut up, cunt,” he said.

 

She did.

 

“Cunt, from now on, whenever you so much as think about talking about respecting or protecting women, or women’s rights, or feminism, or women having dignity or women being anything other than stupid little animals to be fucked, I want you to take off your panties, wipe them across your bitchy little cunt, and then gag yourself with them.  This includes saying anything that would have the effect of stopping you, or any other woman, from being harassed, degraded, humiliated, sexualised, patronised, or raped. And you will leave your panties there until you stop wanting to say such bitchy things.”

 

“Yes, sir,” said Rachel, numbly.

 

“And if you keep trying to struggle against this idea, or get angrier instead of calming down, then you will immediately punish yourself, by sexually abusing, degrading or humiliating yourself, in progressively escalating ways, regardless of whether you are in private or public, until your urge to say bitchy things subsides.”

 

“Yes, sir,” said Rachel.

 

“In fact, I think you should practice gagging yourself now, don’t you, cunt?” he said.

 

“Yes, sir,” said Rachel.  She lifted her skirt, pulled down her panties, wiped them across her pussy, and then stuffed them into her mouth.

 

“Those drugs make women so wonderfully suggestible,” he said.  “Such an excellent new craze.  Instant hypno.  Are you enjoying yourself, cunt?”

 

At this stage, gagged with her own panties, she was not.  She shook her head.

 

“Good,” he said.  “But I think at some level you do like this, don’t you, cunt?  Yes, you love it.  Being degraded, humiliated, sexually harassed and objectified makes your cunt wet, doesn’t it?”

 

She nodded, eager to agree.  And he was right - as soon as she nodded, she could feel herself growing horny.  She blushed.

 

“And when your cunt gets wet, you like to look at female humiliation porn, don’t you, cunt?  Videos of women getting treated like animals.  Women getting raped.  Women getting pissed on.  That’s what makes you feel good, isn’t it, cunt?”

 

She nodded again, and it seemed to her he was right, that she *did* like those videos, even though she had never really watched any.

 

“And by contrast, when people respect you, and treat you with dignity, you hate that, don’t you, cunt?” he said.  “It makes you feel physically sick, doesn’t it?  Like you want to cut those people out of your life.”

 

It did.  She knew he was right.  She hated people that supported her and treated her like a peer or equal.

 

The man laughed.  “Well,” he said.  “This should be fun.  You don’t even know who I am, of course, but you will not be able to discuss me, or this conversation, with anyone, whether you are gagged or not.  And for a bit of extra fun, your conscious mind will forget this conversation happened.”

 

He smiled at her.

 

“You will only remember this when you orgasm from the idea that women are animals to be raped,” the man had said, looking at her, and smiling.  “You won’t be able to stop once you remember, and you won’t be able to tell anyone, but at least you’ll remember.”

 

He paused, and then added.

 

“Remember briefly.  For, let’s say, 10 minutes.  And then you’ll forget again - and forget that you’re doing anything strange at all, until the next time you cum.”

 

He grinned.

 

“Have fun…”

 

===

 

And suddenly Rachel was back, fully conscious of herself, in her office, staring at a screen full of humiliation and objectification porn.

She blushed, and closed her browser, and then flushed its history.  Then she pulled her skirt back down.  And then slipped her panties over her ankles and pulled them up to their normal position.

 

She would have thought it was impossible.  Hypnotised?  Into wrecking her life?  Just because she had taken a silly little drug?

 

But everything she had done today had been all too real.

 

And in a little under two hours she was going to have to walk into a room full of men and give a talk about reducing sexual harassment - except that, of course, she wasn’t going to be able to say anything like that.  She was going to go in there, and take off her panties in front of everyone, and gag herself with them - and then if she didn’t give up at that point, she would do something worse - more embarrassing, more degrading…

 

She had to cancel the meeting.  She had to call a psych.  She had to…

 

She had to take a note!   If what she remembered was right, she was going to forget it all again, and soon.

 

She scrambled for a pen and a notepad.

 

“IMPORTANT,” she scribbled.  “You have been hypnotised.  A man made you…”

 

Made her what?

 

Hypnotised?  That didn’t make sense.  What had she been thinking?  Was this an idea for a story?

 

Well, whatever it was, it was gone.

 

She ripped the paper off the notepad, scrunched it up, and dropped it in the bin.

 

She had a meeting to prepare for.

 

(END)