I was enjoying the night.  I loved New Year’s Eve.  You could feel, taste the excitement in the air.  All the dazzling lights and sounds.  The laughter.  The hook-ups.  I watched the crowd in the small pub I sat in and fantasized about the couples.  Who would go home with who.  I saw this one woman flirting with a guy.  And yet, she kept looking at this redheaded woman in the back.  I hope all three of them got together.

People deserve that.  Even if for one night.  New Year’s Eve.  The time when everything seems possible.  When you can plot and figure out your next year.  When you can tell yourself you will do things completely different this time.  Sure, in the bottom of your heart you know most things will remain the same.  Most of your goals that sounded good with a glass of wine now two months in do not sound so glamorous.

Ah, but for New Year’s Eve.  You can dream.  Imagine.

I found myself lost in those thoughts, swept up in the magic of New Year’s, when my phone buzzed.  

Him.

My fingers tingled and my eyes lit up with excitement.  We made plans for later.  But, he had friends he wanted to see tonight.  And I, I wanted to drift through as many parties as I could.  Be an observer and enjoy after all the years locked up.

I paid for my drink and slipped out into the night.  It rained recently, which added to the humidity but also caused every surface to be a dazzling mirror, reflecting off the lights and excitement of the coming new year.

I accepted the call.

“Well, hello.”

“Heya.  I didn’t expect to hear from you,” I said.

“Bad timing?”

“Not at all.  You know how I love to listen to that voice,” I said, the first drink of the night already betraying my arousal.

“Down, girl.  Not until later.  We made plans.”

“I know.  I just want you to know I’m eagerly awaiting when we can be together.”

He laughed.  Such a soft laugh for a man with such a deep, mesmerizing voice.  And I mean mesmerizing.

“Seeing as it’s two hours until the new year, I thought I would call and give you an offer.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve been a lovely, adoring submissive for the past year.  I have taken great pleasure in breaking your mind and making you my perfect little plaything.”

His words hit like a hammer.  My arousal grew as I remembered a year of hypnosis, brainwashing, conditioning, and training.  I took a slow swallow.

“In fact, I’ve fucked your mind so much you probably don’t remember life before I got inside your mind.  Well, I’m here to give you a chance.”

“A chance?” I asked, puzzled.

“You have two hours.  I’m at the Red Bar, downtown.  Hanging around outside.  If you can reach me before the new year, before the countdown reaches zero, I will release you from all your conditioning and servitude.”

I leaned against the cool brick wall and put my head on my forehead.  “I--I don’t...what do you mean?  I thought we were--”

“Remember,” he said, with a snap.

My mind shattered.  I suddenly remembered things I forgot.  How I was a barista.  I served him coffee, every day.  Every day he flash tranced me.  Took me deeper.  And deeper.  Until I quit my job.  Left my life.  Showed up at his door, masturbating, drooling, on my knees.  He took me in and then he really mindfucked me.  Turned me into a submissive little fucktoy for him.

I blinked, wiping back tears.

“My god,” I said.

“Yes.  Now you remember.  And you have two hours to reach me.  To undo all this.”

“How do I know you will?”

“I’ve conditioned your mind.  You touch me, touch any part of me, before the fireworks start, before they say zero on the timer, and you’re free.  Nothing I can do about it.”

My head swam and I tried to get control of myself.  “Wait, you keep saying two hours.  What if I don’t make it?”

“Then you will go into a deep trance and contact me to come get you.  You will forget all this again.  And I will have you.  For another year.”

I shivered.  “You can’t do this.  I’ll-I’ll go to the cops.”

He chuckled.  “See you. Or rather, I hope I don’t.”

He ended the call.

I felt furious.  Taken advantage of.  Ready to fuck him, and a lot of things, up.  I looked on my phone at the distance from me to the Red Bar.  

Maybe a thirty-minute walk.

I smiled.  No problem.  I marched off into the night, my blood boiling.  I would be free of this.  And then I would strangle him. And no jury would convict me.  

I brushed past party-goers and drunks.  Nothing mattered.  All shapes and colors as far as I was concerned.  All that mattered started and ended with finding the man who had me as his personal slave for a year.

I remembered.  How every day I looked forward to seeing him more and more.  Until I stopped wearing a bra and panties.  Bent over the table to make sure he stared at my body.  How did no one I work with notice or care?

And my friends!  All year, hanging out with them like everything is cool.  Did they not notice how I saw gently because I had random toys shoved up my ass at all times?  That I was not allowed to cum unless at least two of my holes were filled?

I gritted my teeth.  I ignored the spike of arousal that came with remembering my anal training.  How easy he made it to accept things into my ass, to stretch it, to fill it.  How whole I felt when I had something inside of my ass while getting fucked or masturbating.  It felt wrong to not have a toy in there when I orgasmed.

I felt pain.  I looked down and saw my fists clenched so hard I dug my nails into my palms.  I took a breath.  I would be with him soon. And end this.

I saw a policeman laughing with a few people.  He was humoring a drunk guy trying to get a selfie with him.  I walked up to him, my body cold with anticipation.

“Excuse, me sir?” I said to the policeman.  He turned and smiled, tipped his hat.  I opened my mouth, ready to dump a year's worth of what happened to me onto him.

“I’m a horny little slut,” I said.

I held my mouth.

“Excuse me?” The policeman said.

“I said, I’m may look innocent, but I’m a depraved fucktoy for all to use.  I’ve had two cocks inside of my pussy at--” I bit my tongue and turned away in shame.  I stumbled back into the shadows and people as everyone around me laughed.  I blended into the shadows and in no time everyone forgot about me.

I cursed my mind.  It had to be him.  To make sure I couldn’t ruin him.  Asshole.  

“I’m not a fucktoy.  I’m not,” I said to myself.

My mind went soft, as I remembered him making me look into the mirror.  Stare into my eyes and repeat.

“I am a fucktoy,” I whispered to myself.  “I am a fucktoy.  I am a fucktoy.”

My arousal spiked out of nowhere.  My throat went dry.  I stumbled into an alley where a couple fucked against the wall.  I slid my hand down my pants.  Easy access.  No panties.  Always the way he wanted it.

Touching my pussy felt right.  Like something I denied myself for no good reason.  I leaned back and let out a heavy sigh.  It felt good to touch my pussy.  I needed to touch my pussy every day.  Every day.

“I am a fucktoy,” I said to myself.  “I am a fucktoy.”

Oh, it felt so good to say that.  I tried to fight it, but the pleasure.  Oh god, the pleasure made it so easy to stop caring.  Such a good fucktoy.  I’m such a good fucktoy.

“Want to join us?” The drunk voice of the man in the alley broke through my intense submission training.  The woman giggled and moaned.

“I’m a good fucktoy,” I whispered to myself, taking a step forward.

“One hour until the new year!” Someone screamed as they ran by the alley.

I paused.  One hour gone?  How? 

“Oh, I want to taste pussy against my lips,” the drunk woman cooed.  My pussy tingled.  All for her.  All for anyone that wanted.

I shook my head.  Removed my hand and tightened my pants.  God, my pussy smelled amazing.  I licked my fingers clean, as all good whores do.

I shook my head.  Fuck!

“Sorry, I have to go,” I said, stumbling back into the crowd.  The street felt slightly less humid and sticky than the alley.  I walked without thinking.  Bristling past people.  I needed to find him.  End this.  Stop being a good little whore.  Even though I loved being a good little whore.

I whined as my pussy demanded attention.  I tried to forget about it as I walked down the street.  All I saw was sex.  People openly making out with one another.  Grinding.  A few more public sex acts.  Men looking at women like prey.  Women seducing men with a glance and a flash of what they could have.  

Sex.

Sex.  Everywhere.  It overloaded my senses.  I slowed down, taking in every sight.  Fantasizing about every person fucking.  Everyone needed to fuck.  To have someone.

I wanted someone.  Someone to use me.  To treat me like the good little fucktoy I was conditioned to be.

I tried to move faster but my body slowed to a slow, leisurely pace.  It wanted me to look.  To drink it all in.  To be seduced by all the possibilities.

I wanted it.  Wanted it all.  Wanted the men.  Wanted the women.  I saw a few men and women making eye contact with me.  Lust in their eyes.  Fantasizing about what they would do to me.  I wonder what they would do.  If they knew.  That someone had been in my mind every day for a year.  Breaking me.  Re-making me into a perfect slut.  There’s nothing I wouldn’t do.

My mind flashed back.  Nothing I hadn’t done.  I remembered things.

I sat there while an entire circle of men jerked off onto me.  I smiled and helped them go over the edge with my mouth.

I seduced a few university student women and made them see stars with my tongue.  One of them still booty calls me to this day, needy for my touch.

I sat in front of the television, watching women sucking on cock, for hours.  Edged to the point I didn’t have a thought in my pretty little head.  Only wishing it was my mouth on that cock.  Knowing that I needed cock in my mouth.

Mostly, I remembered sitting there.  Facing him.  Looking into his eyes.  In the morning and at night, he took me into trance.  Conditioned me to his voice and commands.  So that his mindfucking grew more and more potent.  I would sleep listening to audio tracks he made.  It only took a month before I was completely reliant on him to think and be.

I shivered.  Why the fuck did that arouse me so much?

The conditioning.  It was the conditioning.  It had to be.  I fought hard, and picked up my pace.  I realized, with horror, that my trip down memory lane cost me nearly forty minutes.

Worse yet, I blacked out at points.  Now, I had five random names and numbers on my phone.  I flirted and promised.  I know I did.  Damnit.  

They would understand.  When I was free.  That I did it while conditioning, under some kind of brainwashing.  They would understand when I told them I didn’t actually want to do the things I probably promised them.

Right?

I crossed the bridge.  I could see the Red Bar in the distance.  Still a few minutes to make it.  I would make it.  

Then, I saw the crowds.

Downtown.  Of course.  The biggest crowd would be there.  I saw my work was cut out for me.  But, I was determined.  He would not get away with it.  I would win.

I fought through the people.  Outnumbered, shoved around, I faced a tough time.  More than once I found myself unable to progress further for a long time as the crowds proved too thick.

My heart beat faster.  A silent countdown in my head.  I knew my time grew short.  I had to reach him.  Had to make it.  

I saw the Red Barn.  My eyes locked onto the target.  I swam through the crowd.  Fought, pushed aside.  Nothing mattered.  

Then, I saw him.

Casually leaned against the bar.  Looking at his phone.  Not a care in the world.

I marched toward him.  Time to end this.

“Ten!” The crowd roared in unison.

I stopped.  My body exploded in a spontaneous orgasm.  I clutched my stomach.

“Nine!”

Another one.  I stumbled to the side, unable to stop myself from experiencing piercing orgasms.

“Eight!”

I stumbled to one foot.  The pleasure overwhelmed me.

“Seven!”

I groaned and fell on my hands and knees.  I huffed and puffed, my mind spacing out.

“Six!”

I screamed in pleasure.  I had to move.  Had to reach him.

“Five!”

I got to one foot.  I felt my pants soaked.  Wetness streaking down my inner thighs.  Every number made me squirt hard.  And before him, I had no idea how to squirt.

“Four!”

My face, dripping with sweat.  Flush.  Red.  I moved the sweaty hair out of my way and glared at him.  He looked up and saw me, surprised.

“Three!”

Holding myself, groaning and moaning like the good whore I am, I stumbled toward him.  Just had to touch him.  Just had to touch him once.  He looked at me with fear.

“Two!”

Mine.  He was all mine. I touched the curb.  Lifted a foot onto it.

“One!”

The orgasm knocked me off balance.  I made one last attempt to lunge at him, but the orgasm threw me against the wall. I moaned as the fireworks started.

Try as I might, I had to look at the fireworks.  One went off.  I felt something in my mind go dark.  Another one went off.  I realized my brain was shutting down.  I tried to fight it.  Keep remembering who I was, what I was doing.  But, my body was tired from all the orgasms.  And the colors so pretty…

More and more went off.  Soon, I blinked and stared at the fireworks.  Mouth open, drooling.  Nothing behind those eyes.  He snapped his fingers, waved his hand in front of me.  That look of fear disappeared.

“Well, well, good girl,” he said with a smug tone.  “You almost made it.  Almost.  But, now you’re mine.  For another year.  I’ll have to make sure next year’s trial is a lot more difficult.  I don’t want you getting any ideas your anything but a good fucktoy for me.”

“I am a fucktoy,” I whispered.

“Yes, you are.  All right, eyes down.  Time for you to start the new year off right.  I have just the thing for you.”

He put an arm around me.  I followed him, my mind heavy and slow.  Nothing mattered.  Nothing but him.

“Happy New Year,” he said, biting my ear.