I wake up with a dildo in my mouth.

It’s my favourite dildo, with a reasonably realistic size and texture - big but not too big, rough but not too rough. I’m very aware of it as soon as I come to my senses, sitting on the edge of my bed with a straight back, my head held up. My eyes, which had been staring emptily ahead, cross to look down at the protruding hilt, seeing that there’s still a good two inches or so sticking out of my mouth.

“Welcome back, sleepy head,” Sir sniggers from nearby. Managing to focus on something other than the sex toy stuck in my mouth, I see him sitting in the revolving chair at my desk, facing towards me with a smile, his laptop set up on the wooden surface next to mine. “Or should I say, sleepy giving head,” he quips - and then cringes, even as I give him a despairing look. “Yeah, that was terrible, let’s pretend I didn’t say that. How you doing over there?”

“Hungph,” I reply indignantly, gesturing to my unorthodox gag.

He raised an eyebrow. “So... pretty great, then? I mean, you are serving your natural purpose, as a cocksleeve...”

My whole body blushes, which he can see pretty clearly. I’ve gotten into the habit of not wearing any clothes when he’s around, somehow (hmm, I wonder how). Although frankly, when I’m at home alone during this particularly hot summer, it’s more comfortable to be naked anyway.

I reach up to remove the dildo so I can retort properly, and oh fuck I’m fucking my mouth with it and it feels so fucking good I can’t stop fuck the feeling of my lips running over that lush foreskin I need it I need to lick it I need to suck it I need to bury it in my face -

Wait, what the hell am I doing?

I’ve lurched backwards, one hand planted in the bedclothes behind me to keep me upright, while the other was frantically thrusting the toy down my throat. Blinking in bafflement, I let go and sit myself up fully again, glaring at Sir. Something went... wrong, there. I went to take the dildo out, but somehow ended up sucking it off. I don’t know what happened, exactly, but I’m sure my dastardly hypnodom had something to do with it.

His face is the picture of innocence, which is how I know he’s 100% guilty. “Oh, are we having a little trouble there?” he asks in a tone of such insincere sympathy, I’d laugh if my mouth wasn’t full. “Can’t you take it out?”

I narrow my eyes. Of course I can take it out! Any time I want, I can just take hold of it and shove it down my needy throat just like that, yeah, feed me that dick use my hot wet little mouth I can’t really breathe and it doesn’t even matter I need this more than air -

Choking and spluttering, I heave myself upright once more. I fully fell backwards this time, lying on the duvet ploughing the phallus into my face. What the hell is going on?!

I know Sir’s to blame, and he’s not even trying to hide it any more. Snickering, he says, “Yeah, sorry about that, sweetheart. I have some work to do before tonight, so I’m just gonna get that done now. I didn’t want you interrupting me, so I figured I’d gag you for an hour or so - that’s cool with you, right?”

“Gluurk!” I exclaim. It most certainly is not alright with me. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind, once I’ve taken this dildo out of my mohhh fuck yes give me that dick right in my slutty little facehole, I’m a needy little whore I want to be forcefed cock until I choke on it -

“Yeah, I thought it would be,” he snickers over my gurgling and coughing. “I know how much you enjoy my dick.”

Even as I give him a baleful look, a shiver goes through me. I kind of have come to think of it as his dick. Mind you, I’ve come to think of all my dildos as his dick (though I don’t have many). He doesn’t actually have one of his own, being trans and genderfluid, but he’s not at all reticent about using substitutes. And although he’s ace, he seems to get a kick out of using sex toys on me - particularly if he’s nowhere near me. He relishes being able to compel me to take his dick from a distance, watching from across the room, or even from his own home over a video call.

My infuriated stare goes unnoticed as he swivels away, a clattering noise breaking out, his fingers flying across the keyboard. I don’t know what ‘work’ he has to do, exactly - he’s a teaching assistant and it’s the summer holidays. He’s been talking about writing a novel, so maybe that’s what he’s doing. Then again, he’s just as likely to be playing Roblox.

I could go and look over his shoulder. In fact, I will. I’m just going to take this thing out firfuck that feels so good so right it’s what my mouth is for it’s just a fleshlight just a cocksleeve just a warm wet hole for Sir’s dick keep fucking my face keep fucking my throat keep using me like your sex doll -

Oh, for God’s sake!

Time passes. I stay sitting on the bed, fuming, my arms folded across my bare chest, my eyes burning a hole in the back of my own desk chair, the dildo still stuck in my mouth. It’s not uncomfortable, by any means - in fact it feels oddly soothing, kind of like a pacifier. I could imagine keeping it there throughout the day, just holding it between my lips, for a form of sensory stimulation as I carry out day-to-day tasks around my home.

But right now, I’d much rather be able to speak. I want to tell Sir off for having the audacity to gag me, and then sit himself at my desk and start typing away on his computer, like he owns the place! It’s so... presumptuous. If he was going to do work, why couldn’t he just go back to his own flat?! I know he plans to head home in an hour or so anyway, to get ready before we both go out and meet up with some friends in town. He could just as easily go home now and do his work there, rather than sit here and ignore me.

Of course - that’s why. That’s the point. He knows how it makes me feel, to give me a degrading suggestion and then leave me to deal with it while he does something else. He knows that however humiliating it is for me to periodically turn into a cock-hungry slut... it’s even more mortifying for him to then dismiss me entirely, to treat me like an afterthought, to turn his back on me and put my predicament out of his mind. I can choke and gag on his length over and over again, and it won’t bother him at all.

Fuck, I’m wet.

But that’s not the point! This is just plain rude. Never mind how much it turns me on, it’s still breathtakingly arrogant. I should tell him off. Oh my God yes take my mouth take my empty head I’m your blowjob dispenser I’m your free-use hole skullfuck me til I can’t see straight -

Damn it, why does that keep happening?!

It feels like the answer should be obvious, but my brain can’t make the connection. Sir’s probably done something sneaky. It’s all the more frustrating because I’m aware he’s responsible, but I can’t work out what he’s done, exactly. And I can’t stop myself - I can’t resist this manic compulsion to plunge his prick down my neck.

A few times I think about leaving the room and going somewhere else in my flat, to at least deprive him of the satisfaction of hearing me splutter behind him. But whenever I consider going anywhere else, I resume my hypnotically-enforced blowjob training. The same thing happens when I try to do anything else - like getting dressed, for instance. I was going to put a pair of knickers on - I turned towards my nightstand and reached out with one hand, while the other went to try and take out the dildo again. But I never reached the underwear drawer. Instead, I came to my senses lying on my side, curled into a foetal position, pistoning the phallus into my pharynx.

I can’t help myself. I can’t stop myself. The madness seizes full control of me for close to a minute, and when it clears I’ve still got a sex toy lodged between my lips. And it’s making me so horny. I really want to masturbate. But any time I do, any time I reach between my legs... well, that hand never reaches its destination. But the other? By now, I probably don’t need to explain what that ends up doing.

Clearly, I can’t trust myself to do anything. It seems like anything I do could be the trigger. So I resolve to sit perfectly still and stare into space, and wait for Sir to finally free me. I’m bored, fed up, and madly aroused, but I’ll endure. I’ll show him I can stand up to his stupid mind tricks.

I’m just gonna take the dildo out, though, it’s starting to annoy meeee fuck yes let me take that dick I’m such a brainless slut desperate for cock all the time I’m a fleshlight I’m an onahole I’m a cocksleeve I’m a cumrag no thoughts no will no mind no self just dick just dick just dick just dick just dick -

“See you in a bit then, love,” Sir cackles, patting me on the head as I writhe on the bed. “Looking forward to it!”

“Nurrk!” I grunt pleadingly as he strolls out of the room. No, he can’t leave yet! I’ve still got his dick in my mouth! He needs to release me from the suggestion...!

My front door slams shut in the distance. And at that moment, I feel something shift inside my mind, like the click of a lock. Tentatively, I reach for the hilt of the dildo once more and give it a gentle tug.

It slides free.

I gasp with relief. At last!

I rub my jaw with one hand - it aches from all the frenzied face-fucking. My other hand brings the toy between my legs and eases it into my slick snatch. I moan happily as I feel it inch inside me, stopping just short of full penetration.

My eyes widen. What did I do that for?!

I definitely didn’t consciously decide to do that. This must be another part of the suggestion!

Well, that’s just taking the piss now. I’m not having that.

I take hold of the dildo, and oh my fucking God yes that feels so right I need this so much fill me fuck me oh fuck yes right there harder harder -

“Nooooo,” I murmur, sprawled across the bed, my legs spread wide, Sir’s disembodied dick still buried between them. My eyes are unfocused. My mind feels like candy floss. I’m so cock-drunk.

And so it goes, of course. I keep trying to remove the dildo, but it always ends up going in the wrong direction - or the right direction, depending on when you ask me. I continually turn into an insatiable slut, impaling myself on Sir’s shaft, my lustful, degrading internal ramblings spouting forth uncontrollably now that I’m no longer gagged. My thoughts are getting more and more fragmented, the arousal and humiliation breaking my brain more and more by the minute. I can’t get off the bed. I can’t even sit up any more. Any time I try, I just end up fucking myself again.

Finally an alarm goes off on my phone, on the nightstand. Panting and mewling feebly, I reach for the device and silence the sound. The time is half past eight. I’m supposed to meet Sir and our other friends at nine. I need to get up and get dressed. The awareness of this fills me with energy and focus. I feel more cogent now, like I actually can get myself ready, at least compared to my mindfucked state of mere minutes ago.

But the dildo’s still stuck inside me. And I know what’ll happen if I try to take it out.

I send my dom a quick message: Please can I take it out now, Sir?

The minutes tick by as I wait for a response, propping my head up on my pillow and staring at the screen, biting my lip anxiously.

Then I see a little label appear: Seen at 20:34.

The bastard left me on read!

Whimpering, I stare down at the knobbly hilt protruding from my pussy. Now what am I supposed to do?

I do have some subject agency, although I’m barely aware of it most of the time. There is a small, hidden part of my mind that remains untouched by Sir’s control. If I really wanted, I could take out the toy, compose myself, and go out with my friends like an ordinary, vanilla woman.

But... another part of me loves the thought of wearing this thing out of the house. Of trying to act normal in public while this gorgeous rod is deep inside me, held in place and hidden from view by my jeans and panties. Trying to act like an independent, functional person, rather than a brainwashed, desperate slut, barely able to keep up the pretence as the night wears on... getting covertly fucked at every step, with Sir’s knowing eyes on me all the while...

The minutes tick by, time running short, as I stay reclining on my bed, quivering with lust and anticipation, and wait for my brain to decide whether it wants to listen to the sensible subconscious safeguard that will allow me to overcome the suggestion, or the ravening, oversexed, self-destructively submissive side that’ll keep blocking me from removing Sir’s delicious dick.

I think I know which one is going to win.