We’d barely made it into the house when Sir started to toy with me, turning back towards me as I pushed the front door shut. “What do good soldiers do?” he asked me, his tone as nonchalant as if he were debating what we should have for dinner.

“Good soldiers follow orders,” I replied, automatically and obliviously. My stance stiffened a little, from slightly slouched and casual to more upright and attentive. My eyes fixed on him, my subconscious locking onto his words, listening keenly - while my conscious mind paused in its tracks, waiting patiently to resume.

“Your orders are on a need-to-know basis,” he continued smoothly.

“And I don’t need to know,” I concluded with a professional nod, understanding even while unaware.

Smirking, Sir issued his instructions, and I obeyed at once with a crisp, “Yes, Sir,” dutifully paying no attention to what I was doing. As soon as his classified commands had been carried out, I came back to my senses (as much as I was allowed to) and smiled serenely at him, my posture relaxing again.

He grinned back at me. “You doing OK, love?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Ye-esss...”

“What was that tone for?” he snickered.

“Well, usually, you saying something like that unprompted means you’ve done something sneaky,” I remarked, staring shrewdly at him.

He barked with laughter at that - or maybe he was laughing at me, as I continued to completely miss all the much more obvious clues that he’d done something. His mirth, tinged with derision, made me blush and squirm. It motivated me all the more to try and figure out what was happening, to push against any mental block he might have put in place - but I couldn’t find any evidence of any hypnotic skulduggery.

Whatever. I decided not to worry about it. He’d reveal what he’d done in time - or he wouldn’t. It wasn’t up to me, so there was no point troubling myself. In fact, maybe he hadn’t done anything at all, and I was being suspicious for no reason. (Living with a mischievous mind controller, not being able to trust your thoughts, memories or senses, does make you a little paranoid!)

I sauntered off in the direction of the sitting room, Sir at my side. He had his phone held up, the camera pointed at me, but I didn’t notice. On a level so deep I wasn’t aware of it, I knew to ignore it when he filmed or photographed me - to act naturally, as though the camera wasn’t there. As far as I was concerned, it wasn’t.

“Where are we up to with Masterchef?” I asked idly. “Did we watch all of last episode...?”

“No we stopped halfway through, it was getting too late,” Sir reminded me. “We can do the other half tonight - and the episode after, there’s nothing else on.”

“Sounds good. We can even see off the whole week’s worth if we feel like it - not like we have to get up in the morning.” A flickering pulse of pleasure went through me, presumably at the knowledge that I had another week and a half left of the Easter holidays. “I haven’t thought about what we’re having for supper tonight, by the way,” I added offhandedly.

“I’ve got it covered,” Sir reassured me. He shot me a smirk, adding, “I’ll even separate your food for you.”

I blushed. I had to keep the different types of food on my plate separate, a lifelong quirk of mine. Sir often teased me about it, remarking that he got the ‘anime obsession’ autism while I got the ‘picky eater’ autism. (Which, I’m really not a picky eater, it’s literally just the separating thing...!) It was nice of him to enable my idiosyncrasy - yet, it felt mean, when he was doing it with that snide little smile. “Thank you,” I said begrudgingly, in my grouchiest voice.

“You’re welcome,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry, love, you just relax and enjoy your holiday. I’ve got it all under control.”

“I’m so easily controlled.” I stopped in my tracks a few feet from the sofa, my eyes widening as my words sank in. “What the fuck -? I’m so easily controlled,” I said again, in the exact same tone of enthusiastic conviction. I stared at Sir balefully. “Oh, you dick, what did you do? I’m so easily controlled. This is not funny. I’m so easily controlled.”

Sir snorted with laughter, still aiming his camera at me like a paparazzo. “Wow, you seem very sure of that, Rain. Then again, we’ve got plenty of supporting evidence...”

“I’m so easily controlled,” I repeated matter-of-factly, and then clapped a hand over my mouth. “Gaahh... I’m so easily controlled. What have you done?! I’m so easily controlled. Aw, f-fuck - I’m so easily controlled...”

I pressed my palm against my forehead, my mind in a tumult. I was hardly unused to chanting about how easily controlled I was - it was one of Sir’s favourite mantras, after all, or a variation of it anyway. But what was really messing me up was the gap between, where I regained control for all of three seconds, and got to react to what was happening to me, and rant and rave, and try to resist - and fail, naturally. Switching back and forth between the compulsive, effusive mantra and the momentary freedom of speech felt like fractionation, fraying and fragmenting my feeble thoughts as I struggled vainly against the pre-programmed phrase.

“I’m so easily controlled. C-c’mon, man.” I gave Sir a beseeching look, but it instantly shifted into the glassy-eyed smile of a devoted cultist as I reiterated, “I’m so easily controlled. This - what - you - I don’t - I’m so easily controlled.”

I dissolved into flustered giggles, staring defeatedly at my feet. Sir was chortling before me, taking as much pleasure in my plight as ever. “Aaah-hah-haaah,” I laugh-whimpered. “I’m so easily controlled.”

“It sure seems that way,” Sir noted wryly.

“Rude,” I fumed. “Rude and unfair. I’m so easily controlled. I’m only like this because I’m so easily controlled - I mean, because you broke me! I’m so easily controlled. You - agh - you keep breaking my brain!!”

He couldn’t stop laughing at me, which made me humiliatingly horny. “In my defence, love, breaking your brain is so much fun,” he remarked over my continued repetitions. “You break so brilliantly. You’re so unbearably cute when you have no control - when you’re all confused and flustered and can’t stop yourself from doing whatever silly thing I want...”

“I’m so easily controlled.” I let out a high-pitched whine, still refusing to look at him. This was all making me very grumphappy (a term one of our online hypnokink friends had coined, which we used liberally). I was mortified, helpless, and so turned on, just from being made to repeat that one phrase. (At least, I thought it was just from that.)

Sir reached out and tapped me on the chin, making me flinch and lift my head, meeting his gaze at last. “Silly girl,” he sniggered.

“I’m just a silly girl, and girls are meant to be hypnotised.” I gaped in horror as the new phrase sank in. “Oh, what -? I’m just a silly girl, and girls are meant to be hypnotised.” I glared at Sir, who seemed completely unbothered by my ire. “Dude, that’s really not funny. I’m just a silly girl, and girls are meant to be hypnotised. That - that’s actually disrespectf- I’m just a silly girl, and girls are meant to be hypnotised.”

In hindsight, I hadn’t known when I was well off. Now I was stuck with this mantra, a much more demeaning one. Not just to me, but to all women!

This wasn’t a common thing for Sir, but it wasn’t unheard of. He liked to indulge in a little misogyny kink once in a while - declaring that I had to do what he said because he was the man of the house, joking about how he ‘got the upgrade’, telling me that girls couldn’t function without men to command and control them... and making me agree with all of it, against my volition. It wasn’t a reflection on either of our true beliefs - it was something I actively taught and educated against at work - but he found it hot. And, honestly, in this context, reinforcing our dom/sub dynamic, so did I. Being demeaned by him like that - being made to demean myself like that - made me super wet.

“I’m just a silly girl, and girls are meant to be hypnotised. For fuck’s sake... I’m just a silly girl, and girls are meant to be hypnotised. For real?! I’m just a silly girl, and girls are meant to be hypnotised.”

“Smile for the camera, silly girl,” Sir cajoled me, holding his phone directly into my sightline.

I couldn’t stop myself from beaming at the lens before me as I told it, “I’m just a silly girl, and girls are meant to be hypnotised.” Then I groaned loudly. “You’re filming this?!”

“Not just this,” he smirked. “You can remember how long I’ve had this out for.”

I blinked, realising that he’d been filming me since we’d got home. But why? I hadn’t been doing anything then - not until we got to the sitting room. Why would he be filming me at the front door? True, I’d thought at the time that he’d done something covert, but I hadn’t found any evidence of that. I kinda felt like I was being paranoid. But if he’d had his camera out, had there been something else going on? Or was he just messing with me...? It was really hard to figure it out with that sexist mantra distracting me, pulling my mind in two different directions at once...

“I’m confuseeeddddd,” I whined. “I’m just a silly girl, and girls are meant to be hypnotised. Awww...”

“Well of course you’re confused,” Sir said in a tone of mock sympathy. “You still don’t have every piece of the puzzle. How’s my poor silly Rainy-brain gonna figure out what’s going on if I hide things from you...?”

“I’m just a silly girl, and girls are meant to be hypnotised.” I pouted at him. “Well, yeah. Exactly. Big, dumb, mean - I’m just a silly girl, and girls are meant to be hypnotised.”

“Mind you, I can’t take all the credit. You do such an exceptional job hiding things from yourself, like a good soldier should.”

“Good soldiers follow orders,” I said primly, quickly adding, “I’m just a silly girl, and girls are meant to be hypnotised.” I exhaled heavily, my mind even hazier after being tugged in a third direction. “Ooof - double mantra,” I sighed. “I’m just a silly girl, and girls are meant to be hypnotised. Wait, so - what am I hiding...? I’m just a silly girl, and girls are meant to be hypnotised.”

He quirked a mischievous eyebrow at me, and said in an imperious tone, “Sergeant Jones - orders declassified.”

“Understood, Sir.”

And then I did understand, fully, for the first time that afternoon. I understood that the minute we got home, he ordered me to strip from the waist down and masturbate. I understood that the entire time I was trying to figure out what he’d done to me, and detecting nothing out of the ordinary, I was compulsively caressing my increasingly slick pussy. I understood that I’d still been stroking myself as I walked through the house, as I discussed our plans for the evening, and as I struggled against the phrases he’d implanted in my well-trained brain. And I understood that my devious dom had recorded lots and lots of video footage of me obliviously playing with myself - footage that would most likely end up on Discord for all our kinky acquaintances to see.

Of course, knowing what was happening didn’t mean I could stop. In fact, as a wave of shame, arousal and humility crushed me, I fingered myself even more vigorously, letting out a mortified squeak, my wide eyes now inexorably locked onto my dominant, my superior, my Sir. I would’ve gone completely non-verbal from fluster, if I didn’t have to keep saying, “I’m just a silly girl, and girls are meant to be hypnotised,” the disparaging phrase coming out in a plaintive, quavering tone now.

It was hard to argue with my own involuntary words now. I was just a silly girl - easily confused, easily controlled, rubbing myself silly without even knowing I was doing it. And girls - especially silly girls like me - were meant to be hypnotised. We needed to be hypnotised. It was an inarguable fact, an inescapable truth, an incontestable law of nature.

Smiling wickedly, Sir didn’t give me long to process what was happening before he reached out and placed his hand around my neck, gripping it gently but irrefutably. The feeling of his fingers wrapped around my throat sent another spellbinding surge of submission through me, his loose, possessive grasp rendering me completely compliant.

As if I wasn’t already. I couldn’t resist him at all, even if I wanted to.

“I’m just a silly girl, and girls are meant to be hypnotised,” I whimpered.

He walked past me, forcing me to turn and follow, pulled after him by a collar and leash composed of his hand and arm. He didn’t lead me far, simply bringing us to the couch a mere few feet behind. Sitting down, he gently lowered me to sprawl across the sofa with my head in his lap, my legs akimbo, my hand still magnetised to my cunt, fiddling frantically.

“I’m just a silly girl,” I mewled, but before I could complete my line, Sir let go of my neck and instead squeezed the lower half of my face, squishing my mouth out of shape - a clear sign to shut the fuck up.

“You can stop repeating that for now, toy,” he told me, in case there was any doubt.

“Yesh, Shir.”

Releasing me, he reached across the couch and slid his hand behind a cushion my left leg was resting against. “You’ve been at that for a while now, I wouldn’t want your fingers to cramp,” he said with a lewd grin. “Use this instead.”

I gulped as he drew out a glittering silicone shaft that looked like it was made of the purest amethyst - one of my favourites of all Sir’s dicks. My hand finally halted its insistent caresses as he pressed the dildo into my palm, and no sooner had he done so than I slid it into my slickened snatch, gasping and squirming as I did so.

Sir gazed down at me with an expression of deep fondness, not making any further move to torment me yet - simply enjoying the sight of me powerlessly pleasuring myself with his phallus, lost in ecstasy, completely under his control. Even though he wasn’t holding onto me any more, I didn’t feel I could get up. He’d put me where he wanted me, and I had to stay there, staring up at his adoring face while I speared myself with his thick purple shaft. I was so close to the edge, an edge I knew I couldn’t cross until he permitted me, because he owned me and everything about me, including my orgasms.

All of this couldn’t have taken longer than fifteen minutes. He’d been relentless with me ever since we’d got home, eroding my will and my dignity until I was nothing more than his erotic entertainment, a submissive sex toy lying across his lap. I had the sense that he had no intention of taking it easy on me tonight. He was going to break me.

“Tell me how this all makes you feel, Rain,” he commanded me. “No filter. No holding back. Whatever comes into your weak little brain...”

“I love this,” I blurted, fucking myself harder all the time. “I love this so fucking much... love being hypnotised... love being brainwashed... love being broken... I fucking love it...”

Placing his hands on either side of my head, he pressed his thumbs into my forehead. “Gnnffuhhh,” I gurgled, my eyes magnetically drawn upwards, just as they always are when he places a fingertip there - they have to try and look at it, to stare at it through my own skull. Except, with two thumbs there, my eyes couldn’t decide which to look at, and began rolling from side to side.

“Keep going, toy,” he urged me.

I let out a soft wail, thrusting his cock into me more and more rapidly. “Uhhhh... I love this... I love being, being your sex toyyy... n-no control... uunghhh, I’m so fucking brainwashed...”

“Yes, you are,” he sniggered, the gentle grip of his thumbs like a vice on my head, like they were pushing through my head and directly into my brain, pulling it apart as if it was made of clay. “I like that, toy - that could be another of your phrases.”

“I’m so f-fucking brainwashed,” I moaned, immediately absorbing his offhand suggestion and running with it. God, I needed to cum. I barely even recalled that it was my own arm mechanically impaling me - it was Sir’s cock, after all, so it was easy to forget that it wasn’t him. “S-so fucking brainwaaashed...” His tip was pounding into my depths faster and faster, fucking my body as his thumbs fucked my brain. I was sure I was about to tear in half down the middle. “S-so... fff-f-fucking... brainwashed...”

“Aaaand... fire at will.”

“Ah-ah-aaahhh!” I let out a high, ululating cry as I detonated, my back arching, my arms spasming, my legs rigid, his dick deep inside me. The orgasm seemed to go on and on and on for hours, an explosion heard around the world. When it finally passed, I sank back onto the surface of the sofa, completely limp.

Sliding his hand beneath me, Sir slowly sat me up, his palm planted on my back, his other arm around my waist. I blinked a few times in quick succession, my head nodding unsteadily up and down, my chin thudding against my chest. My arms flopped uselessly at my sides. I could tell something was wrong, but I couldn’t figure out what. I couldn’t think clearly at all.

“Oh, dear!” Sir’s voice taunted me as I lolled in his arms. “I think maybe you went a little too hard there, Rainy-brain. Or should I say, Rainy-no-brain. I think you came so hard, you just broke your brain in half!”

“Oh no my brain broke,” I burbled, my eyes crossing stupidly.

“That’s right,” he tittered, bouncing me gently in his arms. “You broke your brain, Rain!”

“Go broke brain.” Words streamed out of me like the waterfall of drool pouring over my bottom lip, as my shattered mind tried to talk through what was happening to me and found it more and more difficult with every moment. “Brain brin brone. Bah bye brain.”

“What a silly toy,” he murmured in my ear, yanking up my shirt and groping my right tit. “A silly broken toy. You really can’t do anything now, can you? You can’t speak clearly, or move, or think...”

“Brian been burn. Bain.”

“You can’t hold a pose, or stay upright.” He let go of me, his arms uncoiling from around my torso, and I slowly toppled backwards, my head landing on his legs again, rolling from side to side on his thighs as I continued to babble brainlessly.

“Bun bed broon. Bird baa.”

“Just a brainless, useless set of holes now,” Sir remarked, reaching between my legs and easing the dildo out of me. “Nothing more than a fleshlight, a cock holster, a cumrag... You can’t do much more than just clean my cock now, can you?”

“Brook?” I mumbled uncomprehendingly, in the second before he shoved the tip of the dildo into my mouth with a guffaw.

“Exactly. And I could just keep you like this,” he mused, idly squidging his dick around inside my slack mouth, making more of my saliva spill down my cheeks. “You’re quite amusing like this - very cute and funny, now you’ve become a total moron. But, wellll... I don’t really have much need for an immobile fleshlight. I need something more... useful than that. Something that can properly serve and obey me, instead of just lying there like a ragdoll. So, I guess I’d better fix your brain - at least as much as I need it fixed - so you can follow my orders like a good little toy soldier.”

He placed his hands on my head again, thumbs on my temples, and began to stroke them in little spirals, around and around and around. I shivered at the soft caresses, soothing waves spreading through my scattered mind.

“Feel me gaffer-taping your brain back together now, toy, sticking all the pieces in place,” Sir told me. “Feel them all getting stuck together, your brain reassembling, more or less repaired... It might not work quite right, but it’ll be good enough for the time being. I don’t think your language and decision-making centres are gonna work. You won’t be able to speak or act of your own volition - but you’ll at least be able to follow my commands...”

I felt it happen exactly as he described, the two halves of my brain pulling back towards each other, thick sticky tape wrapping around them, sealing them together tightly. I had all the right pieces in all the right places again, even if they didn’t necessarily work properly. He’d done a bit of a bodge job of fixing my brain, it had to be said. I’d complain if I could.

“Alright, I think that’ll do the trick,” he said at last, relinquishing his hold on my head and taking the dildo out of my mouth. “Sit up.”

I lurched upright again, my posture slumped, my arms lying loosely in my lap, my head bowed, a vacant, slightly sullen expression on my face. My eyes weren’t rolling like marbles any more - they stared directly forwards. I could just about manage to think now, and I was more or less aware of what was going on - I knew my brain had been broken, and Sir had stuck it back together. I couldn’t really process how I felt about it, though.

Behind me, he got up and left the room. In the minute or so it took for him to return, I didn’t move at all - although it wasn’t for lack of trying. I tried to move of my own accord, to speak or lift an arm or even look around, but my body ignored my wishes, the connections between it and my brain seemingly severed. I just stayed slouching on the couch, sitting side-on, staring blankly at the wall, my thoughts scattered and sluggish, a little perturbed at my body’s unresponsiveness, but neither panicked nor pissed off about it.

Sir came back and perched on the armrest before me, having substituted the dildo for a glass of water, which he held out to me. “Do you want some water?” I stared wordlessly at the glass in his hand, willing myself to take it, but my body wouldn’t listen. “Have some water,” he said. I immediately took it from him and took a big sip. Some of it spilled out of the corners of my mouth, but most went down my throat, sending a wave of coolness through me.

“Look at me.” I raised my heavy head and gaped at him, his face wearing an expression of curiosity and amusement. “Can you talk, Rain? Can you tell me how you feel right now?” I tried - I tried to tell him how weird I felt, how my brain still didn’t feel right, how I still couldn’t think clearly - but nothing happened. I just kept sitting there staring at him with a dumb look on my face.

“Tell me you’re my dumb, mindfucked puppet.”

“I’m your dumb mindfucked puppet,” I said at once, my voice thick like I had a head cold.

“Tell me you’re my naked pet zombie.”

“I’m your naked pet zombie,” I droned.

“Tell me you’re my broken toy.”

“I’m your broken toy.”

He grinned broadly, seeming absolutely delighted with me in this ruined state. To him, I must have been a masterpiece, the product of a barrage of different triggers and suggestions designed to shatter my psyche and reduce me to a pathetic shell.

He loved doing this to me. He loved to break me down, to destroy who I was and rebuild me as whatever he wanted me to be. He loved snapping my brain in half and then gaffer-taping it back together, fixing me just enough so I could obey his whims.

My awareness of that made me so fucking wet.

“Alright, stand up and take your shirt off.”

I did as he commanded, pulling my top off over my head and letting it drop from my numb fingers. My long brunette hair was left in disarray, strands of it floating in front of my face. I didn’t even have the willpower to brush them away.

“Hold your arms out in front of you,” he said as he got up too. Getting his phone out again, he photographed his nude slave from every angle, circling around me as I stood motionless in front of the sofa.

At last he stopped, standing in front of me with a beaming smile on his face. “This has been so much fun, Rain. I love you so much. I’m gonna go cook you a delicious dinner now. You go for a little walk around the house, and repeat those phrases I had you say - you’re my dumb, mindfucked puppet, my naked pet zombie, my broken toy.”

“I’m your dumb, mindfucked puppet,” I murmured, plodding forwards with heavy footsteps. “I’m your naked pet zombie. I’m your broken toy.”

He gave me a slap on the butt as I passed him, and then ambled away to the kitchen. “I’m your dumb, mindfucked puppet,” I continued as I circled around the room, letting my outstretched arms lead me in no particular direction. “I’m your naked pet zombie. I’m your broken toy. I’m your dumb, mindfucked puppet...”

Sir would finally fully fix my brain, and give me back as much self-control as I ever had, once our meal was ready. I would spend the rest of the evening recuperating, eating and watching Masterchef, getting much-needed aftercare from my loving owner. Until then, all I could do was trudge aimlessly around our home, declaring my degradation - my destruction - out loud, over and over again, drooling on my tits, a broken, helpless toy soldier, unable to do anything but obey.