Malice, mesmerism and mending

The Me That Could Be

by KonradKurze

Tags: #brainwash #dom:male #exhibitionism #pov:bottom #sub:female #urban_fantasy #awful_politics #Consensual #happy_ending #happy_slaves #political_changes

I started keeping a journal of all the dreams I was having after the hypnosis sessions began. They didn't have any particular pattern to how often they occurred but good god did I love them. 

The 'me' in these dreams was a contented and loyal slave of her shadowy, cabalistic masters. Her heart was filled to the brim with joy, her very being purged of hatred one orgasm at a time. Her mind was an eager sponge, ready to absorb whatever teachings her masters wanted to instill in her. Her obedience was the result of deep hypnosis and pleasure conditioning. She the sex knowledge of a seasoned lady of the night instilled in her by propaganda porn. And yes, you read that right.

Propaganda porn.

See, sex for pleasure wasn't an idea my dad wanted me to get used to. It wasn't proper for a woman of 'confederate heritage' to actually have fun when having intercourse. I was supposed to get pregnant, or try at least, whenever I slept with a guy. I was brought up to believe that birth control was sinful, detrimental to the success of the movement I was raised to be part of. 

So, when 'dream me' wasn't acting the role of a maid for her masters or hanging out with the other slavegirls, she was in her quarters watching porn with a hypnotic overlay. While she pleasured herself and had the sex acts inscribed in her memory, the girls featured in the porn clips would be turned to the cause of her masters. She'd see a girl squeezing a guy's cock between her breasts and sing the cabal's praises as she did so.

One dream in particular got my hot water running. I  wearing a harem girl's outfit and was called to the laboratory where one of my cloaked masters ordered me to drink some frosty green liquid, and I, of course, obeyed. I felt some tingling sensation in my breasts and to my surprise, I started to lactate. The cloaked man said that the master 'desired to taste the milk of a woman raised to be their enemy' and handed me a pair of breast pumps, telling me to head to the conference chamber so I could put my milk in their coffee. I joyfully told him 'I'd be honored to let them taste my nectar' and went over to the room where the cabal's leaders were meeting. I asked each member if they wanted milk with their coffee and when they responded 'yes' I put the pump to my nipples before putting the fluid in their cups.

When I was finished, one of my masters ruffled my hair and said 'as you can see, our hold over her is total.' Another one of them laughed, saying 'indeed, she happily provides us the liquid that would normally nourish her offspring.' I smiled and told them 'I will happily provide you the milk of an aryan woman whenever you wish." 

Things weren't all sunshine and rainbows though. I'd occasionally have these days-long periods where I felt like utter garbage. It didn't matter what happened over the course of my day, what I got accomplished and what I didn't, those dark emotional clouds would stay until dispelled seemingly at random. My friends noticed and while I appreciated their effort, they weren't able to snap me out of these funks when they showed up. 

When I discussed them with Daniel, we pieced together that my earlier nightmares and current depressive episodes were a sign of residual guild for turning my back on my family. If I wanted to break free, I needed to do away with that guilt. Baseless hatred was supposed to be my inheritance, and I needed to completely disgrace it if I wanted to be my own person.

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