The Critic

by All These Roadworks

Tags: #cw:noncon #dom:male #humiliation #hypnosis #sub:female

Jamal takes hypnotic revenge on the racist food critic who ruined his business.

The Critic
Story by All These Roadworks (2021).
This is one of 14 stories collected in my e-book The Sound of His Voice - Stories of Hypnotic Domination, available for only $3.99 at  If you enjoy the story, please consider supporting it by buying this book or one of the other titles in my erotica range.
(Click here to view the book in my store.)
Jamal couldn’t believe it when he saw the booking - Kate Lendle, the food critic for the Central Gazette.  The evil white bitch had ruined his last restaurant with a scathing review - she had claimed it was because the food was cold and tasteless, but he knew his food was impeccable, and he suspected her real problem had been that he was black. 
His restaurant had gone bankrupt and he’d worked years to pay off his debts and start over - and now she was daring to turn up to his new place, “The Golden”, and do it again?
But luckily Jamal had learned a few things in the years in between - spent some time studying - and he had a little something he was eager to try.
On the night of Kate’s booking, the restaurant was empty of other customers - Jamal had refused to take any other bookings.  Dressed in a sexy little evening dress that set off her blonde hair nicely, Kate clearly had no idea who Jamal was - didn’t remember she’d ever been to one of his restaurants - but her face made a little pout when she saw him, and Jamal knew for sure that she was the racist cunt he had suspected.
“Please, have a seat,” he said, and led her to a table.  He passed her a menu, and then retired to the kitchen to let her consider it.
But once in the kitchen, he put on a pair of noise cancelling headphones and a pair of sunglasses, and flipped a switch.  The music in the restaurant slowly faded into an odd, buzzing white staticky noise, and the mood lighting began to flicker, and then strobe.
He watched Kate in her seat look around for the source of the change - and then slowly relax, her muscles losing their tension, until eventually she flopped back in her seat like a doll, her eyes unfocused, letting the light and sound wash into her.
He left her like that for six hours.
When she came back to awareness, it was well past midnight.  The restaurant was dimly lit, she was still sitting in the booth, and Jamal was sitting opposite her.
“Good evening, you racist cunt,” he said.
“Excuse me?” she said, disbelievingly.
“Let’s just do a little test if the system has worked.  Kate, you’re a racist cunt, and an evil bitch.”
She opened her mouth, clearly about to yell at him - and then something happened.  Her throat moved, like she was struggling to swallow something.  The muscles in her face relaxed, and then she said, “I’m sorry, sir.  I *am* a racist cunt and an evil bitch.  That’s unacceptable.  What can I do to improve?”  Her eyes bulged at what she was saying.
“See, Kate, you’ve been through a little custom hypnotherapy program,” said Jamal.  “A work of my own creation.  And now you’re going to learn what it’s like to be at the mercy of a critic who doesn’t like you very much.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kate.  She looked like she wanted to leave, but her body remained relaxed, not going anywhere - and it would stay that way until Jamal dismissed her and gave her permission to rise.
“Your review ruined my last restaurant, Kate,” said Jamal.  “And I didn’t serve you bad food.  You gave me a bad review because I was black.  A little unfair criticism from you ruined my life - but don’t worry, because I’m going to *improve* you with some *very fair* criticism.”
She made an unhappy noise in her throat.
“From now on, you’re going to come to my restaurant every Tuesday and Thursday after I close for the night, and you’re going to order a meal, and you’re going to like it.  And then I’m going to criticise you on your appearance, behaviour and personality.  If I don’t like something about you, you’re going to be compelled to change it.  And when I give you a bad rating, you’re going to feel a need to punish yourself for it.  Understand?”
Kate squeaked.  Jamal took that as a yes.
“And,” he continued, “just to give you an extra incentive to become a woman I approve of - and because you’ve made a career out of eating like some snotty stuck-up bitch - I’m going to set you some rules about the way you eat.  And you’re going to be compelled to obey them until you become a woman who I approve of completely.”
“Please,” said Kate.  “This is insane.  Please stop.”
Jamal ignored her.  “Here are the rules.  One: you only eat in public, or in front of me.  Two: anything you drink, you will spill some on your tits.  Three: anything you eat goes in your cunt before it goes in your mouth.  Nice and simple.  Understand?”
She gaped in horror.
He reached out and slapped her cheek lightly - just a little slap, to show her who was in charge.
“Understand?” he asked again.
“Yes,” she said.
“Yes, sir,” he corrected.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
He pushed a glass of water across the table to her.  “Drink,” he said.
She lifted the glass, moving it towards her lips - and then, a few centimetres from her mouth, her hand tilted, and she watched in helpless humiliation as she poured about a third of the cup into her cleavage, soaking her tits and the thin fabric covering them.  Jamal watched with approval as the wet cloth began to cling to her attractive tits, and show the perky outline of her nipples clearly. 
The ritual complete, Kate drank the water.
Then Jamal put a plate on the table.  It had a small slice of hamburger on it - a quarter of a burger, cut away with a knife from the full meal - and four French fries.  “Eat,” he said.
Kate moaned.  Her hand went up to the burger - then down - then up.  She made a sound like she might start crying - and then her hands did something under the table, and a moment later they returned, carrying her underpants, which she had just removed.  She placed the panties on the table, then she adjusted herself again, spreading her legs and lifting her dress up to bunch around her waist.
Jamal leaned back to look beneath the table.  She had a pretty pink cunt, and to his amusement, it was visibly wet.
“Please don’t do this,” begged Kate again.
Once again, Jamal ignored her.
Kate took the burger off the table, and then, face bright red with humiliation, she lowered it beneath the table, spread her pussy open with one hand, and pushed the burger up into her fuckhole with the other.  Tomato sauce and mayonnaise squirted.  She had her eyes closed, clearly wishing this was all a dream.  She pushed it up inside her - and then, slowly, began to dig it back out again.  Each cunty handful of bread or meat went to her mouth, where she licked it off her fingers, and she repeated until she had got all of the food out of her pussy, and as much of the sauce as she could.
And then, finally, one by one, she dipped each French fry into her fuckhole, and then ate it.
“Good bitch,” said Jamal.  He took her panties and put them in his pocket.  “I’ll keep these.  And I don’t want to see you wearing any in future.  That’s my criticism for tonight.  Now get out of here - and I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
On Tuesday she came after midnight, blushing, face red with anger and humiliation, unable to resist the hypnosis.  He lifted her dress at the front door and confirmed she wasn’t wearing panties.  Then he sat her down and served her a glass of milk and another hamburger, and watched her slop the milk over her tits and push the hamburger up her fuckhole.
“How has it been, doing this since you were last here?” he asked her.  She couldn’t lie to him if he asked her a direct question - it was part of the conditioning.
“Awful,” she said, voice thick with anger.  “I wish I was dead.  I’ve been driving to truck stops in the middle of nowhere so I won’t see anyone I know.  Someone always sees me do it - they basically have to, because I have to be in public thanks to your stupid rules.  I’m lucky I haven’t been raped.”
“You *are* lucky,” said Jamal.  “Although it’s not like you don’t deserve it.”
“I hear the waitresses whispering,” Kate continued.  “They call me the ‘Cunt-food Bitch’.  They would have stopped letting me eat there except I think some of the truckers gave them some money because they like to watch me.”  She dug another mouthful of burger out of her pussy and licked it off her fingers, glaring daggers at Jamal.
“And how did you feel after our last meeting?” Jamal asked.
She blushed, and looked down.  “You disapproved of me… so I went home and undressed and spanked my pussy with my hand until I orgasmed from the pain.”
“Good slut,” laughed Jamal.  “Well, I still disapprove of you.  I can barely see your nipples through that fabric.  You need to make changes to your wardrobe, bitch.  First of all, you can get bras that will support and push up your tits from underneath, but not cover your nipples.  Those are the only bras you’re going to wear from now on.  And in terms of clothes - nothing that doesn’t turn transparent when it’s wet, understand?”
She glared at him, but said, “Yes, sir, I’m very stupid for not dressing that way already.  I’ll do better in future.”
And she did.  When she arrived on Thursday, she was wearing a thin white dress, and he could already see her bare nipples through it even before it became wet.
Further, to his surprise, no sooner had he let her inside the empty restaurant than she knelt in front of him, and began trying to take his cock out of his pants.
“What’s this?” he asked, amused.
“I’m stuck like this until you approve of me, right?” she said.  “Well, let’s get it over with.  I’ll make you happy, and you’ll let me free.”
He laughed.  “Initiative!” he said.  “I like it!”  He let her open his fly and pull out his hard black cock.  She wrapped her lips around it and he sighed with pleasure.  She was a skilled cocksucker, it turned out, plus the sight of the bitch’s pretty little mouth plugged with his dick was very arousing.
She teased and pumped his cock expertly, and before long he found himself cumming, filling Kate’s mouth with his sperm.  He frowned a little when he saw she wasn’t swallowing - but then laughed, after he pulled his cock out of her mouth, when she opened her mouth, filled with his cum, and deliberately drooled a little onto her tits, before swallowing the rest.  Anything she drank, she had to spill on her breasts, after all.  She was lucky, he thought, that she had decided his sperm was drink rather than food…
“Well?” she said, looking up at him.  “Are we done?”
“Whatever gave you that idea, bitch?” he laughed.  “This is an improvement, sure, but you’re a long way from having my approval.  Now get your ass over to the booth and get ready for your meal.”
She glared at him.  “I hate you,” she said.  “I hate you so much.”
“You know what?” said Jamal.  “I don’t need to hear that.  First piece of criticism, when you feel you want to say that, you’re instead going to tell me that you love me - and you’re going to find yourself *believing* it a little bit.  The more you want to tell me you hate me, the more you’re going to love me.”
Her face went red with rage.  She opened her mouth - and said, “I love you, sir.”  Something passed behind her eyes - the first little bit of believing what she’d said - and she looked like she’d just swallowed a bug.  He couldn’t help laughing again.
Dinner was spaghetti with meatballs, accompanied by a glass of red wine.  Her tits looked gorgeous, soaked in the wine, and he enjoyed the humiliation of her pushing the messy food up her fuckhole.  On one occasion she even started sucking one long piece of spaghetti into her mouth without realising the other end was still in her pussy, and the surprised expression on her face as she felt it slither out of her under the suction she was applying was delightful.
“How did you feel after our last dinner, bitch?” he asked her.
“You disapproved of me,” she said, blushing, “so I went home and put clothespegs on my clitoris and nipples, waited until they hurt so bad I was crying, and then fucked my pussy with a dildo until I was about to orgasm, before pulling all the pegs off and letting myself orgasm from the pain.”
“Damn, bitch, you’re creative!” said Jamal, impressed.  “Now, let’s talk about what’s wrong with you.  First off, the pitch of your voice is too low.  I want to hear a squeakier, high-pitched bimbo voice in future.  And second, your fuckbags are nice, but they could be nicer.  Go and get them enlarged.  I want you to look like a porn star, understand?”
Her hand instinctively crossed protectively over her chest, and she shrank back.
“I love you, sir,” she said - and then closed her mouth, cheeks flushed.  She opened it, and then said - “I really love you.”  She closed her eyes, clamping her lips shut, trying to deal with the adjustment that was happening in her brain.  Then she said, “Yes, sir, I’m so sorry my voice is unattractive and my tits are so small and disappointing.  I’ll fix them immediately.”
The results were very pleasing.  When Kate returned, her tits had been enlarged to bulging 34DDs, and she’d specifically gone for a fake, balloon-like look - “like a porn star”.
“Good evening, sir,” she said - and her voice was indeed higher and squeakier, like a child or a toy. 
“Good evening, bitch,” he said.  “This is an improvement.  You look and sound more like the stupid fucktoy we both know you are.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, blushing, and then, “I love you, sir.”
“I know you do,” he laughed.
She went to walk towards the booth, and he stopped her.  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked.
She looked down at his pants, and blushed.  “Sorry, sir,” she said, in the high squeaky voice, and dropped to her knees to perform a blowjob.
He enjoyed her lips again, cumming hard into her mouth and then watching her dribble his cum on her new oversized fake tits.
Her meal for the night was German sausages, with a glass of hot chocolate.  When she spilled the chocolate over her tits, he waited until she had drunk the rest, and then said, “I think you should ask me to clean you off.”
“I love you,” she said immediately, and then, “Yes, sir, would you like to clean off my tits?”
He moved to sit next to her, and lifted her giant new fuckmelons out of her dress.  They were gorgeous - they may be fake, but her nipples at least pointed the same direction.  He leaned down and began to lick the chocolate off them.
“You can keep eating,” he told her.
She moaned, and picked up the first sausage, and pushed it into her pussy.
To his pleasure, rather than immediately pulling it out and eating it, she surreptitiously worked it in and out of herself a few times, fucking herself with it.  Jamal moved down and sucked a little chocolate off her nipple, and Kate moaned loudly, before plugging her own mouth with the cunty sausage.
The next sausage went in and out more vigorously, and for longer.  Jamal was sucking and licking fiercely at her nipples now, and Kate was openly masturbating herself with the food.  She moaned louder, and Jamal said, “Your face cunt isn’t for making noises, plug it with that twat sausage.” 
“Yes, sir,” she moaned, and then made a muffled sound as she stuffed the cunty sausage into her mouth, taking it whole and sucking on it like a cock.  Her hand immediately went back to the plate for another one to fuck herself with.
“When you’ve swallowed the sausage in your mouth,” said Jamal, “tell me what you did after our last dinner.”
There was a pause as she swallowed the meat, then - in the ridiculous high-pitched bimbo voice - “You disapproved of me, and I love you and want you to approve of me, so I needed to punish myself.  So I fucked my pussy with a wire toilet brush until I orgasmed from the pain - and I filmed myself doing it, and upload the film to three internet forums.”
“Good slut,” said Jamal - and sucked as much of her tit as he could into her mouth, and then bit down.
She shrieked - and then orgasmed, bucking in her seat, squirting ejaculate over the sausage in her cunt.  He held the bite as she writhed, and only released it when she calmed down.  She was crying now, sobbing in raw, harrowed breaths - but still she brought the last sausage, soaked with her cunt juices and cum-squirt, up to her mouth and ate it.
The next Thursday she turned up with a baby’s pacifier in her mouth.  He had told her he wanted her holes plugged - a butt plug in her ass, which could either vibrate or give her electric shocks, her choice - and pacifiers in her mouth and her pussy.  She was to swap the cunt and mouth pacifiers every 30 minutes, to remind her that her holes were interchangeable and made for the same purpose, and to keep the taste of her twat on her tongue.
He let her remove the pacifiers - she had to give him a blowjob, after all - but he left the butt plug in.  He discovered to his amusement that she had bought one that both vibrated AND gave her intermittent electric shocks - part of her punishment of herself for not being approved of, along with another session of spanking her pussy to a pain-orgasm, this time filmed and uploaded to the internet.
Her dinner was a salad, her drink a glass of milk.  He licked the milk off her tits again after she spilled it, but this time he told her her dinner was “to go” - he made her stuff the entire salad into her fuckhole, and then leave the restaurant without pulling it out, lettuce leaves poking lewdly out of her twat.  She was to go take a walk through the red light district, pulling things out of her cunt and eating them as she went, and not leave the area or stop walking till she’d finished her meal.
And of course, he told her the things he didn’t approve of about her.
On Tuesday she was in ridiculously high heels, as he had instructed her.  She was no longer wearing dresses - just a pink G-string and a tiny pink bra that would obviously turn transparent when wet.  Her pacifiers and butt-plug were in place, and he told her with approval that no one would ever be able to mistake for anything but a brainless sex-toy now.
He took his blowjob from her, and then led her to the table.  Her dinner was a corncob, carrots and a large potato, with a milkshake as the drink.  But before he sat her down, he removed her butt plug, readied his cock, and had her sit on his lap - in such a way that his cock pushed up into her anus.  She squealed as his black dick penetrated her ass, but soon he had her ass cheeks settled against his legs and the full length of his cock in her bowels.
In this position, he had her start eating.  First she poured the milk over her tits, and then, as she picked up the thick corncob and started trying to work it into her cunt - it required some painful stretching - he had her tell him about his life.
“No one respects me anymore,” she said.  “Since I started using the pacifiers, certainly, but probably since my fake tits.  Everyone looks at me like a sex-toy.  I’ve been raped three times - once by my best friend…”
“And how did that feel?” Jamal asked.
She blushed.  “I love you,” she spat.  “I love you.”  And then a pause.  “I orgasmed every time.  Three times when my best friend did it.”
“And what did you do after our last dinner?” he asked.
“You disapproved of me,” she said, in that stupid bimbo voice, “so I stripped naked, and I did the thing where I put pegs on my nipples and clit until I was crying again, and then masturbated with the toilet brush, and kept telling myself that I was a stupid whore out loud in my new voice until I orgasmed - and I filmed it, and then sent it to my father, and my editor at the Gazette, and uploaded it to an internet forum with my name and address attached.”
She had the whole corncob in her pussy now.  He took out his phone and used it to take a selfie of her - tits soaked in milk, a whole corncob poking out of her twat, her body impaled on his black dick.
Then he started bouncing her on his cock.  He had a lot of control, and he’d already just cum, so he was able to fuck her ass for a long time - long enough for her achieve a complete orgasm from each of the three vegetables on her plate - corncob, carrot and potato.
Then he let himself cum, ejaculating into her anus - before immediately pushing her off him, and jamming the butt plug back into her, to hold the cum inside her.
“I don’t like that you treat cum as a drink instead of a food,” he told her.  “You’re going to fix that from now on.  And I don’t like how you let some of my cum not end up in your stomach - from now on, any cum you see is cum you need to eat.”
He looked directly into her stupid, bitchy, bimbo-ish, orgasm drunk face, and then went on.  “And I don’t like that you use birth control.  Stop.”
Her eyes went wide.  “I love you,” she said.
“I could never love a worthless racist fucktoy like you,” smiled Jamal.  “Now go home, take out  your butt plug, look down at what comes out, and enjoy your desert.”
On Thursday, Kate was a pathetic sight.  She gave him his customary blowjob - but after he ejaculated into her mouth, she then drooled the cum back out into a glass, and then used her fingers to fuck it up into her pussy - before letting it drip back out into the glass again and swallowing it. 
“What did you do after our last encounter, Kate?” he asked her.
“You disapproved of me,” she said, in tears, “so I punished myself by going to my own father, and cockteasing him till he let me give him a handjob.  He ejaculated on my face - I had my own father’s cum on my face - but some got in my mouth, so then I had to push my own daddy’s cum into my pussy, then dig it out again and eat it.  And I wasn’t on birth control….”
Jamal laughed and told her she was a good slut.
Dinner was a bowl of ice-cream.  He had a wonderful time watching her try to shove the soft, sticky, cold-but-melting food into her cunt, and then eat it afterwards.  She made a complete mess of herself, and he had no intention of letting her clean herself off afterwards.  Then he pushed her down on all fours and fucked her ass.
“When I cum in your ass, that’s your dessert,” he told her, and indeed, after he had cum he had the pleasure of watching her use a glass and her fingers to transfer his sperm from her anus to her pussy, and then to her mouth.
Afterwards, she looked up at him in desperation.  Once a proud, elegant critic, she was now a messy fake-titted bimbo whore, half-nude, aroused, and covered in melting ice-cream and sperm.  The mixture of humiliation, hatred, lust, and confused pathetic love in her eyes was so arousing he felt another erection coming on even after having cum twice already.
“Please,” she begged.  “Tell me how to make you approve of me.  I can’t go on like this.  Tell me what I have to become in order for you to approve of me and set me free.”
He smiled down at her.
“Well, the thing is,” he said, “there’s only one version of a racist white bimbo bitch like you that I’d approve of, slut.  And do you know what that is?”
She shook her head, no.
“It’s a version of you who knows what she deserves, and doesn’t want the degradation to ever stop.  That’s the version of you I’ll approve of.”
She wailed, a noise that might have been either horror or slutty lust.  “I love you,” she said, and he honestly wasn’t sure whether she was trying to say she hated him, or expressing some kind of pathetic gratitude.
“Now, let’s talk about some of the things still wrong with you,” he said.  “First of all, sluts like you don’t walk - they crawl.  You’ll be on all fours from now on unless a man tells you to stand.”
She whimpered.
Jamal continued.  “Secondly, I know you like hurting yourself with clothespegs.  I think that should be the normal for a slut like you.  If you’re awake, you have clothespegs on your clit and nipples.  You can take them off when they hurt too much, or after every two hours, whichever is sooner - but when you do, you need to immediately masturbate to orgasm, wherever you happen to be.  Then you get half an hour of relief, and then they go back on.”
Her hand went protectively to her tits.  “Please, no,” she said.  He ignored her.
“Third, I think it’s time to bring your career as a critic to an end.  The only appropriate job for you is whore.  I want you to write a review of the experience of serving yourself cum that’s been in your ass, by way of your pussy, and submit it to be printed by your paper.  Provide appropriate photos of yourself doing it, that show your face.  If they won’t print it, beg for them to change their mind, and offer to suck or fuck cocks if it will get your story published.  I figure that will probably get you fired, but if for someone reason you convince them, you can keep submitting a more degrading story every week until you are.  Then, once you’re fired, go find a brothel and get a full-time job as a prostitute.  Ask for the kinkiest and most degrading clients.”
“No!” she screamed, finally finding her voice.  Her face was red, her eyes were filled with tears.  And then - “I love you!” she shouted.  “I love you!  I love you!”  It was the most forcefully she had ever said it.  Her eyes crossed as her hypnosis reordered her brain around what she had just said, and she fell backwards slightly.
Jamal just laughed at her.
“You know what?” he said.  “I’m not without mercy.  I’m going to give you one final chance to get free.  All you have to do is tell me that you don’t like this, and you hate me, and I’ll let you go.  You’ll have to keep the fake tits, of course, and live with what you’ve done with your father, for example, but I’ll let you out of all the other rules.”
She looked up at him, knowing the impossibility of what he was saying.
“But,” he said, “if you instead tell me that you *love* me - well, I’ll keep you here all night, and fuck you in the cunt as many times as I’m able, and keep going until we put a black baby up inside that newly fertile womb of yours.  You won’t just be a little bimbo bitch - you’ll be a *pregnant* bimbo bitch.  How does that sound?”
She made a despairing, pitiful noise.
“Masturbate while you think about it, bitch,” he told her, and her hand went obediently to her sticky ice-cream soaked fuckhole.
He watched her play with herself, getting closer and closer to an orgasm, and then said, “Well, fucktoy?  What’s the answer?”
She swallowed, trying to find the words she wanted.  Her mouth opened, and closed, and opened again.
And then finally, in that amusing high-pitched childish bimbo voice, she said, “I love you, sir.”
And then she orgasmed, powerfully, noisily.  She orgasmed with humiliation because she knew that not only had she sold out her freedom and dignity by saying the words “I love you” - but, most degradingly of all, she had meant them.
As it turned out, it was Jamal’s second rape of her that night that impregnated her, but they had no way of knowing, so he kept going for most of the next two days to be sure.

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