The roar of the crowd was so loud it hit Candi with physical force even backstage, and she had a moment of terror so profound and personal that it very nearly cracked her conditioning and left her feeling like a person again. She reached down and wiped her sweaty palms on her hot pink hoodie, hoping it didn't leave a stain; she'd seen Barbie B in action before, and she knew all too well how quickly that blue-eyed bitch could turn the tiniest fashion misstep into a humiliating insult. This was Candi's first night behind the mic. She didn't think she could win, not really, but she at least wanted to lose in a less than total manner.

She swallowed hard, trying to make the lump in her throat go away--she hadn't had this much difficulty with her mouth since the first time she went down on her ten-inch dildo. She wished she had time for a quick edge or two, something to remind Candi that she was a good girl and that everyone out there roaring and cheering would be happy to see her go at it with Barbie B, win or lose... but it was hard when she imagined all those eyes on her. And she wouldn't even get to be naked.

The house lights went down, and the crowd quieted for a moment only to scream even louder as the stage lit up to reveal the turntable at the back of the stage. Candi could see from the wings a short, stocky Latino man standing behind the massive speakers, his dark hair clipped down to a stubbly buzzcut and his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses with spiral designs set into the lenses. He folded his arms in a dramatic pose, and the audience went wild with anticipation. And beyond him....

She was barely even lit by the spillover from the stage lighting, but Candi would recognize that distinctive flowing ponytail anywhere. Even when it wasn't bobbing up and down on a stranger's cock. Barbie B, the Marquis of Agree. The fastest mouth, the emptiest brain, and the tightest pussy in the whole city of San Francisco. Candi had watched her on stage a dozen times before, edging herself stupid from back in the sixth row with stars in her glassy eyes and hoping one day to be the one the crowds cheered for. She never thought she'd be matched up against her. Especially not on her very first night.

But she didn't have any more time to think about it. The Latino man leaned into his mic and boomed out, "Good evening, you kinky motherfuckers, and welcome to Fucktoy Freestyles, the rap battle for guys, gals, and non-binary pals who can't wait to tell the world all about their lack of vocabulary!" He paused, giving the crowd enough time to roar their approval. Candi never realized how loud it all was until she was on the receiving end. The hypnosis fetishists in this city sure as hell turned out for the arts.

"As always, I am your host, Emcee MC, and I'm here to moderate, dominate, and copulate for all y'all sexy bitches! Now let's give it up for our first duo, shall we?" The audience cheered loudly, and Candi felt for a moment like the top of her head was going to come off. She could feel her trance beginning to slip. The thick hypnotic fog around her stage persona thinned until she could almost imagine reaching out past it and finding Sheila McDade, accounts receivable coordinator for National Shipping.

But then Candi felt that delicious tug in her brain, the hypnotic leash snapping taut and reminding her who she really was. Sheila was just a dream, a boring dream that Emcee MC had already reminded her she didn't have to believe in. Candi was a hot, slutty, horny little fucktoy who didn't need to think about anything but pleasing her 'tist, and right now that meant impressing him with her freestyle skills. A smooth, sleepy calm descended over her mind, banishing her worries and leaving her blissfully obedient, as she heard the DJ begin her introduction.

"First, folks, let's give it up for our challenger. She's a first-timer here, but she's already a birdbrain with a mind drain whose every struggle is all in vain... let's give it up for the champagne of the profane, Miss Candi Cane!" Candi knew that was her cue, and she strutted out onto the stage without missing a single step in her platform heels. She knew as challenger it was her place to go first, allowing Barbie B the opportunity to rebut. It was a significant advantage, but the other woman had earned it many times over.

She struck a pose, threw back her hot pink hood to reveal her tightly braided hair dyed to a lustrous gold, and scooped the mic off its stand in a single swift motion. Time to show them all what she had. "I'm Miss Candy Cane, I got a head full of glitter! You see this ass, you know you gotta hit her! Watch spirals for hours, you know I'm no quitter! My brain's all scrambled like I smoked a one-hitter! Make me fuck you, your wife, your damn babysitter! Then tell me to post up my titties on Twitter! If you're a bad breeding daddy, I'll pump out your litter, and fuck up my every neurotransmitter! You know I'm a swallower, not a damn spitter--who's the sluttiest fucktoy? Don't ask, bitch, you know it her!"

The crowd went wild, but Candi knew that the first round was always the easiest. She didn't have to play off of anyone else's rhymes, she could go with something relatively prepared. It was next round she'd have to worry about... assuming Barbie B even let it go to a round two. The other woman came out on stage with her hips swaying from side to side like a goddamn metronome, mesmerizing the audience to the point where the cheer for her introduction subsided into a respectful hush as she took her mic and prepared to speak.

"Sorry, what were you saying? I was too deep to hear it," she snarled dismissively, her words snarled out through a pair of perfect blowjob lips. "I got a trance so profound, you can't even get near it. Is your mind feeling weak? Mine's so weak you can steer it--and then steer down my head to a cock that can spear it. When I drop to my knees? Oh, you know you'll all cheer it, 'cause my pussy's so wet that my thighs gonna smear it. You think your trance compares? Bitch, you know I don't fear it. And everyone here, yeah, they're all gonna jeer it. All my subject submissions, you know they're career shit..."

She did a spin on her stiletto heels, showing off her body. "And these tits, ass, and pussy? There's one slut here, and we're it."

Candi should have been mortified. She knew it, she could feel it--at least, she could feel it in the abstract sense that she felt all of the emotions that belonged to Sheila McDade. Sheila was no doubt feeling so small right now that she didn't even come up to the top of her own platforms, but Candi knew that her role... the role she was programmed so wonderfully to play... was to come back with a set of rhymes all her own. And Candi wanted to please her programmers. She threw back her head confidently and fixed Barbie B with a disdainful look in her hazel eyes.

"Huh?" she asked mockingly, playfully affecting an expression of confusion on her warm brown cheeks. "That rhyme scheme's too smart now for Little Miss Cane, I got too little thinky bits left in my brain. Can you break it down for me, girl, maybe explain? I'm distracted, defeated, it's too big a strain--all that intelli... um, smart stuff's way too much pain. You'll just have to use words that are smaller and plain, 'cause I'm so dumb I give everybody free rein to fuck me and tease me and drive me insane, until thinking of thinking can give me a sprain." She chuckled into the mic. "Not that you're hearing this fucktoy complain."

It probably wasn't perfect--Emcee MC probably noticed that she used the same rhyme scheme he did earlier, even if she tried to avoid most of the actual rhymes he picked. But it was a crowd-pleaser, especially on a Friday night when more than a few people in the crowd were surfing on some heady intelligence reduction suggestions of their own. And you didn't go with a scene name like Barbie B if you weren't at least a little bit proud of your ability to dumb down for your 'tist.

Sure enough, Barbie straightened her shoulders and went on the attack. "Girl, you call yourself dumb? You're applying to grad school. Even this dumb slut knows that you're nobody's fool. While the good fucktoys stare at the spirals and spool drool, you're off in the classes employing your slide rule. Ain't nobody using your back as a footstool, or turning you into their blank horny edge tool. You can't trance to a pocket watch, pendant or jewel, or sink into the depths of a hypno whirlpool--I don't want to be mean, gal, don't want to be cruel, but there's no way your rhymes can end this fucktoy's rule."

Candi almost believed it... but she couldn't help but notice the accidental repetition of dumb in consecutive phrases. It was a little thing, very tiny by anybody else's standards, but Barbie B sounded maybe just a little teensy tiny bit rattled. Maybe just a little. For the first time, Candi wondered if she might not have a sliver of a chance against the queen.

She decided to try something a little risky for her final round. "Oh, I drop for the watches, I drop for the pendants, I drop for the spirals to total dependence. I'll drop so damn deep I'll have fucktoy descendants, and drop deeper every consecutive sentence. My brainwashing verges on total transcendence, and all you can do is bask in its resplendence. I'll follow my program with zero amendments and attend on my Master and all his attendants. My subject skills just hit their final ascendance, and if you can't top this? I await your repentance."

And Candi Cane dropped the mic.

The crowd cheered so hard Candi couldn't even hear herself not think. A glimmer of astonishment flashed behind Barbie B's eyes for a moment, and Candi could tell that win or lose, she'd managed to rattle the veteran a little. She felt a warm surge of heat between her legs at the thought; her whole exquisitely crafted hypnotic persona was based around wanting to give the audience a good show, and the sheer sexual pleasure of knowing that she had fulfilled her programming perfectly like a good girl. She knew it wasn't over--as champion, Barbie got the last word as well as the first response. But this was a moment she'd be jilling off to for months.

Barbie wasn't the queen for nothing, though. She blew dismissively on her immaculately manicured nails and said, "You think that's the rhyme that'll cause me to break up? Oh please, bitch, that shit didn't rattle my makeup. This slutty girl look is too perfect to flake up, and I won't be standing here trying to fake up the pain that you think you can make this girl ache up. This isn't a hobby for smart girls to take up, us dumb sluts will rob all the money you stake up. You might be in San Fran, but there ain't no shake up, the queen stays the queen--this throne I won't forsake up, and when I snap my fingers you'll probably wake up."

And she did. Just. That.

There was a collective gasp from the crowd. It wasn't exactly against club rules--there were definitely restrictions about triggering a trance without consent, but nobody ever thought to make a guideline about waking someone up without permission. But everyone who watched Barbie B try to literally snap her rival out of her hypnotically crafted persona knew that it was more than a little bit vindictive. They'd probably be arguing for months over whether it was a power move, or a sign that she felt threatened.

But Candi--Sheila--Candi couldn't think about that right now. She was too busy swaying in place, desperately trying to hold onto the blissful fog that clouded her mind, wanting so badly to ignore the suggestion the other woman had planted despite years of conditioning to treat a finger snap as the end of a session... it was so hard. Her head reeled with confusion. She didn't know if she could hold onto herself any longer.

But then Emcee MC came out from behind the turntable and stroked her hand lightly, sending Candi back into drifting ecstasy. "Don't worry, folks, I'll make sure she's okay." He led her back to the DJ booth, then slowly guided her down onto her knees and undid his fly. Candi understood instantly what he was inviting her to do... and what it meant that it was her down there and not Barbie B. With a groan of pure, mindless pleasure, she leaned in and began to nuzzle her hypnotist's stiff cock with her lips.

THE END