Bianca lay on the bed, her body utterly slack and limp despite the occasional twitch or shudder. She was completely and totally naked, save for a pink leather collar with the word 'DOLLIE' spelled out in sparkling rhinestones on the nameplate that contrasted vividly with her mahogany skin. She stared without a trace of expression into a pair of mirrored goggles that rested over her closed eyes, goggles that plugged into a small device the size of an old portable tape player that rested on the pillow next to her head. Another cable ran to a pair of headphones that rested comfortably over her ears. Her breathing was slow and smooth and even, almost as if she was sound asleep.

She wasn't. Mallorie made sure of that. Every once in a while, the Caucasian woman would glance away from her book ('Behind the Palace Doors', by Michael Farquhar) and tap or swipe or draw a lazy circle on the tablet sitting next to her on the bed. And she'd be rewarded by the sound of a sleepy whimper and a shiver of helpless bliss, and the sight of Bianca's massive breasts jiggling and quivering in deliciously intense arousal. Sometimes she decided to reach over, then, and lightly pat the buzzing toy a little bit deeper into Bianca's slick, glistening cunt. Or give Bianca's stiff, tightly gathered nipples a swift and sudden pinch. Or lift up Bianca's limp, unresisting arm and let it drop onto the mattress with a thud.

Or just go back to her book and leave Bianca's mind to spiral back down into blank, insensate rapture. That never took very long. Even when Mallorie took a little break from reading about the scandals and vices of the Royal Family to devote her attention more fully to the app that controlled the vibrator buzzing away between Bianca's legs, the powerful hypnotic strobes that flashed in front of the helpless woman's eyes kept her so deeply entranced that she could only think about what was happening in her pussy for a few moments. As soon as Bianca became accustomed to the new rhythm of pulses and throbs, the patterns of colored light smoothed her mind back into blissful sedation once more.

Mallorie knew that she didn't actually have to play with the app. Bianca would have been perfectly happy to put on the light and sound machine, sync up the flashing colors to the hypnotic loop that Mallorie had recorded for her months ago, and let the vibrator pulse away in any one of a dozen default patterns that would give her just enough pleasure to slowly saturate her brain until she stopped thinking completely and simply gave in to the mind-blanking ecstasy. Mallorie didn't even really need to be on the bed, so long as she stayed close enough to listen for the tiny little mumbles that Bianca let out around her cock gag when she needed to come up.

But just like Bianca wanted her collar, Mallorie wanted to be near her good little brainwashed fuckdoll during these deep conditioning sessions. There was something so lovely about wriggling over just a little bit and pressing her thigh against Bianca's warm brown skin, feeling the sensation of intimate connection and knowing that her lover recognized that same touch even if she had no ability to process it consciously. There was something so fucking hot about occasionally resting her hand on Bianca's soft, jiggling tits and thumbing the nipple absently while she read or watched Netflix.

Bianca wanted to be a toy. And Mallorie didn't see much point in having a toy if she didn't play with it every once in a while.

Not that Bianca ever noticed. That was what these sessions were all about, when it came right down to it--Bianca had a depersonalization and objectification fetish that ran deeper than the Marianas Trench, and nothing made her happier than being hammered by powerful and irresistible hypnotic programming until she was as limp as a dishrag and as empty as a pretty plastic Christie doll. Noticing the ways that Mallorie played with her naked, helpless body would almost defeat the purpose; she craved the experience of coming up and out of trance without the slightest memory of the preceding two hours.

That... took a little getting used to. When they first started dating, Mallorie didn't think she was exactly vanilla; oh, sure, when she met her first girlfriend she really thought she was being exotic and adventurous when she asked for a finger in her ass, but she'd come a long way since then. Ropes, handcuffs, blindfolds, and even a flogger or two had made their way into her bedroom over the course of her time in the dating scene. But when things started to look like they were getting really serious with Bianca, and the butch black woman finally sat her down and explained to her why she sometimes just lay back and did nothing in bed, Mallorie's first response was a quiet, simple, "oh."

It wasn't exactly a bad "oh", as she quickly stammered to point out. Some of Mallorie's silence did involve a little hesitation, yes--Bianca was a political activist and community organizer whose usual wardrobe involved steel-toed boots and denim covering every square inch of her body from the neck down. Anyone looking at her would think she was unquestionably the top and Mallorie was absolutely the bottom in their relationship, especially when Mallorie knew from personal experience that her lover could literally bench-press her. (They were changing apartments. Mallorie tried to take a rest break by sitting on one of the kitchen stools and refusing to move. Bianca carried the stool and its occupant down to the sidewalk in one trip. It was a cute memory.)

But the other part... there was something incredibly intense about the rush of power she felt every time Mallorie contemplated the idea of taking all that strength, all that determination, all that vibrancy and slowly smoothing it into soft, blank, blissful compliance. She imagined watching the bright, vivacious light of intelligence and personality fading from those deep brown eyes to be replaced with placid, sleepy indolence, and knowing that it was because of something she said. Something she did. Because she had control over when Bianca got to even fucking think.

That night, she fingered her girlfriend while lying next to her and calling her an 'empty little dollie'. That was two years ago. Things had gotten a little more... involved since then.

The first step was really just the toy. Not that they didn't have any toys before that--Bianca had a strap-on collection that was as extensive as it was utterly perverted, one that she thankfully hadn't stopped using on Mallorie during the nights when she wasn't an empty little dollie. But a few weeks after they'd had The Talk, as they had come to describe it, Mallorie shyly showed Bianca a picture of a bulbous pink silicone egg with a long tail and said, "It's controlled by wifi. Here's the antenna, see? You can, um... put it in. And decide exactly how it hard it buzzes. Even from across the room." Bianca had taken all of about two minutes before deciding to give it a try, and most of that was getting the company's website to work with her janky old phone.

That first night with the remote control vibe took on almost a ceremonial atmosphere, with Mallorie spending what felt like hours teasing and rubbing Bianca's slick and dripping cunt until the toy slid in without the slightest hint of resistance. The whole time, she was cooing out Bianca's favorite phrases: "You're my empty little dollie", "I'm fucking your thoughts away", "You're a good girl for me now", and anything else that came into her head. It felt almost like babble, but Bianca soaked it all up like a sponge once the toy was inside her. It made Mallorie's pussy so wet that she wound up grinding herself on Bianca's thigh until she came.

Something about the dazed, drowsy look in Bianca's eyes that night sparked an association in Mallorie's head. She remembered seeing a woman look like that in one of those 'street hypnosis' videos that made the rounds on YouTube every once in a while, the kind of thing that popped up sometimes in her social media feed with a mix of 'so fake' and 'wish I could make a woman do whatever I wanted like that, ha ha' comments. Mallorie usually wound up on the 'so fake' side, but seeing the way Bianca had looked just... gone... made her wonder a little. She decided to do some research.

Three weeks later, she played her first rudimentary hypnosis file for Bianca and watched her lover's sharp, intelligent gaze slowly melt into dazed, bewildered bliss. Bianca went from 'okay, I'll give it a try' to 'can I please listen to the hypnosis thing again' in less than three days, and another week after that she was putting it on repeat as soon as she got home on the nights when she didn't have cooking or cleaning to do. They eventually had to put limits on its use--not that Mallorie had any problem getting Bianca to do what she was told anymore.

She improved the file a lot over the next year, learning how to sync it up with a meditation machine she found online after joining a community of like-minded individuals. (Which sounded a lot nicer than "finding a whole bunch of other pervs who liked ethically brainwashing their girlfriends into obedient fuckdolls".) She added soft music, refined the sound to add some binaural components that supposedly flatlined the brainwaves of anyone listening to it, and tweaked the language so that it hit Bianca's sweet spots a lot harder and made her go a lot deeper. Bianca tried to give feedback as much as she could, but after a while, they reached a point where the hypnotized woman no longer even remembered what was pouring into her ears while she was in trance. She only knew she loved it all.

The collar came next, an anniversary present that Mallorie spent weeks agonizing over after purchasing it. It felt almost like pushing her luck, like Bianca was going to open the box and deliver a lecture on human trafficking or the pernicious and inhumane legacy of slavery on African-American communities and the toxic symbolism of such a degrading and dehumanizing 'gift'. She had visions of getting dumped on the spot, of all Bianca's friends hearing about Mallorie's twisted kinks and her total lack of understanding of boundaries, of being one of the people that Bianca organized rallies against on a regular basis and not seeing it because she was too wrapped up in her perverted fantasies of having a brainwashed sex doll.

Of course Bianca loved it. She got down on her knees and held it up to Mallorie with trembling fingers to put on, and they spent the whole weekend in bed together.

The gag was the newest addition, only a couple of months old. It wasn't that either of them exactly had an interest in male anatomy, exactly, but that was exactly what was so weirdly hot about it; having a cock in her mouth, even a fake one, made Bianca feel as though she was obeying simply for the sake of obedience, complying solely because compliance had been programmed into her. Plus, the act of having her mouth completely filled made her feel deliciously passive, taking away the last little bit of volition that the hypnosis had left behind. She couldn't refuse, she couldn't argue, she couldn't even mumble vacantly in agreement with her programming. She was a mute and helpless fuckdoll. And it was everything she wanted to be.

Mallorie noticed as if from a great distance that she'd let the book gently lower onto the bed, that she was really just staring in rapt fascination at every quiver and shiver and shudder of her good girl's hypnotized form. There was a name for that, she recalled loosely, something that the people from the erotic mind control community called 'rapport trance'. When the Domme got so into mesmerizing and programming and brainwashing their subject that they lost track of the world around them, they'd kind of slip into a state of intense focus that made everything else seem... distant. Unimportant. Not nearly as exciting as the way their good little fucktoy sighed helplessly around the dildo in their mouth and clenched their pretty pussy around their buzzing, thrumming vibrator.

Mallorie rolled over, resting her cunt on Bianca's shin and beginning to grind. Bianca didn't move, didn't even show any signs of being aware that her lover was humping her leg like a needy little bitch in heat, and somehow that was exactly what made Mallorie so fucking wet. She had a toy, a dollie, a cute and mindless plaything that she could use like this without any resistance or even understanding of her own obedience. She was... she was completely in control. Totally in charge. Bianca's bright, independent spirit had been given to her, willingly and without hesitation, and subsumed into blank and placid arousal, and it was so, so incredibly fucking hot.

Mallorie let out an urgent, deep grunt as she came, squirting all over Bianca's leg with the intensity of her climax. Bianca didn't even notice. She lay there, a mindless object, completely unaware and unresponsive to her lover's grinding, needy release. But that only made Mallorie want to do it again. And again. And again....

THE END