It was important to be patient, Clarissa had found, if things got out of hand. She wasn’t one of the most confident planners around, and she found that when she tried, she got confused and only thinking very slowly and very carefully solved anything.

Well, only thinking very slowly and very carefully or talking to Alistair. Ally always seemed to know what to do, and he’d laugh when she asked him questions but she never once felt like he was laughing at her.

At that moment, though, she could have been one of the most impatient humans on the planet, and the wait for Ally would still have been simple.

True, choosing her outfit took longer than it should - she went back and forth on options so many times that by the time she settled on her favourite tight black leather pants and a bright red shiny vinyl corset - but once that was done, Ally had told her to watch his watch.

That was always easy, and that was always fun. It was by her phone - this did involve finding it again, as she’d dropped it when she hurried off to unlock the front door and then get changed - but when she was back in the lounge she picked up his pocketwatch, held it up directly in front of her eyes, and let it start to swing.

(She didn’t really notice the tiny little twitches of her hand that kept it moving whenever it was about to slow down.)

Immediately it was the centre of her universe, its slow arc something she could not look away from, something she was pulled along by with all the inevitability of gravity.

This was dumb, she decided, her thoughts simpler and slower, her eyes continuing to tick along of their own accord. She wasn’t hypnotised, and the watch wasn’t anything special, except that it seemed special.

The breath caught in the back of her throat and as her thoughts slowed, time seemed at once to pass so fast and be drawn out forever. She felt herself strangely distant from her body and her mind.

A habit that had built up over the past week kicked in without her needing to think about it. Her mouth was already open, lips parted, her breathing slow and soft without thought.

Into that round, beckoning O went two of her fingers from her free hand, and her lips closed around them like a seal. Still staring at the swinging pocketwatch, she began to suck, fucking her own mouth with her fingers, her whole body moving at the rate the watch swung.

And that was how she was when Alistair walked in and found her, standing in the lounge, in front of windows with the curtains open, staring at a pocketwatch and sucking her fingers like they were the most important cock in the world, all while dressed in what was obviously some of her favourite fetishwear.

He chuckled, and suddenly Clarissa found herself wet and moaning needily. Just his presence was enough.

*

She knew he was there, but she couldn’t turn, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do much of anything that wasn’t staring at the watch. He came closer, she heard his footsteps, but there wasn’t any wondering what might happen.

That would have needed her to think.

His hand found her ass. Stroked the curve of her leather pants. Squeezed, and she found herself burbling around her fingers. He made that growl in his throat that meant the fucking she was about to be used for was going to be one of the best.

His free hand came up and around to take her by the tit. The vinyl of the corset was sturdy, but thin; she could feel his fingers through it and just as importantly he could feel her warmth.

He stood close against her, fondling and groping her, and she stood and stared blankly at her watch, pleasure bubbling through her, and she couldn’t call to mind why Ally was here but she knew she wanted him to give her a good fucking just as soon as he felt like it.

She’d wait as long as it took. Ally had taught her that it was his choice when a good fucking happened, and that she should be a good girl so she always deserved a good fucking.

All of that made total sense to Clarissa; it just fitted her. She was a beta bimbo; she didn’t do as she chose but instead whatever she was told to do.

Thinking was complicated anyway, but it was also pointless when she could, instead, just accept and obey. Ally was alpha enough for both of them.

His lips brushed against his neck, then a kiss, then a friendly if aggressive chomp; she’d have a lovely mark soon but all she was concerned about at that moment was her own blissful state.

When he was sure he’d enjoyed himself enough for it to be time for business, he closed his hand around her watch; no longer able to see it, her eyes rolled back in her head and she lost herself to total emptiness.

*

She was aware of herself walking into her bedroom, where at least she wouldn’t be stood in front of an open window. She wasn’t aware why, and she didn’t think about it; her mind seemed to fuzz and melt when her thoughts even went near it.

He was close behind her, and his hands were on her, and this meant she was fulfilling the purpose she was meant for, and his words were in her ears and in her head, and her thoughts were his, and there weren’t even many thoughts.

“Are you happy I’m here?” he asked, and she answered:

“Yes.”

“Does it make you feel sexy and subby?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel sexy and subby anyway?”

“Yes.”

“Are you my beta bimbo?”

“Yes.”

“Your outfit could say bimbo a lot better. Isn’t that right?”

She didn’t hesitate in her response. “Yes.”

“Do you need help dressing like a bimbo?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” he said, and it was a note of triumph but it still made her shudder in delight, which set her swaying slightly. Correcting herself back to motionlessness would use brainpower she was not at all convinced she had. “Strip down for me,” he said, and then, “No, wait.”

Her hands had lifted, and stopped exactly where they were so that she stood, legs apart, arms bent, elbows out slightly, hands not quite crossing in front of her belly button. She could still feel the saliva on the fingers of one hand drying from her recent sucking session.

His hands left her body and she almost wondered what she was waiting for, except that thinking wasn’t coming easily or naturally at the moment.

Then music started to play, the opening guitar riff to Doctor Feelgood. “Striptease for me,” Alistair said, and with a clarity that didn’t need any thought, Clarissa started to dance, her hips grinding on air as her hands rose to find the hidden zipper on her corset.

She extended one leg to the side, lifting her foot and pivoting on the other in order to face him, moving with a grace her conscious mind could never match, a grace that needed, as an absolute, her complete surrender to the instruction of another.

One hand drew the zip down sharply as she moved, and she ended the turn facing Alistair, her raised foot coming down sharply on the beat as with both hands she jerked her corset open.

Her legs rocked backward, her ass thrusting out and rolling with the guitar as she raised the corset above her head in one hand. The roll of her hips enveloped her whole body, twirling the corset above her head as she turned on the spot before tossing the corset aside and taking a quick step closer to Alistair as he sat on her bed.

She caught a glimpse of the erection tenting his pants before her eyes settled on his, saw the possessive smirk he was offering her as his phone continued to play, and felt like his possession, not just his beta bimbo but something even more devotedly and totally his.

She nearly came just from that feeling, but she didn’t. Cumming without being told to was something she just didn’t do. Easier to just accept and obey.

She took two steps closer, bending at the waist until her nipple almost brushed the tip of his nose, and then turned again, fingers finding the buttons on her leather trousers.

Still moving her hips to the beat, she worked the trousers down until her nakedness beneath was clear, then rose up, arching her back out, raising her arms above her head, crossed at the wrist, and let her body roll to the beat, motion rising from her knees through her hips and spine to her shoulders in wave after wave, dancing like a harem slave, each thrust of her hips causing her open pants to slither further down her thighs until she could raise her legs, one knee at a time, and step free of them.

She turned again, and as the song came to a close, Alistair met her eye and, with a smirk, just pointed a single finger downward.

Clarissa was on her knees in front of him, looking up at him, before she really even registered what he’d done. It seemed not just natural but instinctive.

…when had that happened?

“Looking good, babe,” he told her. “It was a hot outfit,” this as reassurance, “but it’s just not quite you. Do you understand?”

She thought about it, but any enlightenment was taking too long so she did what any good beta bimbo would do; she giggled and shook her head. She was sure Ally would tell her.

“That’s what I thought. You used to seem so sharp and so smart. But you’re happier now, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Ally!”

He stroked her cheek and stood, stepping past her. Staying on her knees, she turned her head to follow him as he approached one of the three wardrobes she kept ready; the one where she kept outfits for her submissives.

Remembering her clients gave her a moment of unease about her failure to properly dominate them, before her naturally sunny, optimistic outlook reasserted itself and she started smiling again.

Alistair spent a little while browsing through the outfits, most of which were designed for someone with a very different body type - but eventually he picked out a black string bikini, inlaid with bright red designs.

Clarissa knew when she saw it that it wasn’t intended for someone with her curves, that when she tied it in place it would constrain and bind and she would feel the bite of the cord if she wore it for long enough, but she didn’t question it.

He handed her the hanger the bikini rested on. “Dress,” he said.

“Yes, Ally.”

He laughed, which brought a blush to her cheeks and a squirm to her thighs, making her unsteady as she rose. The thong went on first, and she lingered over the bikini top, knowing just how much Ally liked to watch her tits unfettered.

Ally wasn’t looking, though; as he sometimes did, he was just leaving her to agree and obey while he followed an agenda of his own.

After his first home call, she’d spent a few of his visits trying to guess his agenda, but she never could, and little by little she stopped trying. Ally was smart and she was a beta bimbo; thinking was complicated and obedience was easy, and besides, a beta like her was built for submission.

Like her clients.

The idea kept resurfacing; it was, after all, why she’d called Ally in the first place, this time. She wasn’t what her clients needed.

Clarissa was only vaguely aware that she had, once upon a time, been exactly what they wanted. Dominance, what she thought of as an alpha mindset, just seemed completely alien to her now, but from time to time the odd memory would surface where it had clearly been perfectly natural.

Clarissa didn’t often remember those times, though, in spite of how recently they’d been her life. Just as thoughts came slowly, memory was often just absent, and in both cases when she noticed there was the same delicious sense of rightness as when she agreed and obeyed.

Alistair took his seat on her bed again. Once she’d finished dressing, she hesitated, then settled back to her knees in front of him.

“Isn’t that a better outfit for a beta bimbo?” he asked.

“Yes, Ally!” She just barely refrained from also blurting out a thank you because when he was asking questions there was a rhythm he liked her silly little head to fall into.

“Do you want to be a better beta bimbo?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think your clients are getting in the way?”

“Yes.” She said it simply, without the worries or nervousness she felt when just thinking about it. Ally would solve it. Ally solved everything if she just agreed and obeyed.

“Do you think your hot female clients would be better submitting to me?”

“Yes.”

“Then everything’s better, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Clarissa replied, carried along helplessly as ever on his words.

“You’re going to pick out your hottest female clients,” he said, “and you’re going to make plans with me to hand them over and get them hypnotised. Right?”

When in doubt, agree and obey. “Yes, Ally.”

“Good.” He undid his belt, unzipped his fly, and his cock was visible, and his cock was almost immediately the only thing she could see, the single point around which her world now revolved, the thing that filled her mind to the exclusion of all thoughts.

He shifted slightly, letting his cock tip sway slowly from side to side, and she could not look away and she felt her mind enveloped in the spreading blankness of her fixation.

“It’s time, Clarissa,” he said softly. “Do you understand what I mean?”

“Yes, Ally,” she said, and her voice was a dreamy sing-song.

“What do I mean?”

“You mean it’s time for me to remember.”

“That’s right.” And he snapped his fingers.

Clarissa gasped. The difficulty she’d had in remembering the days of her dominance was gone; gone, too, was the sure knowledge that Alistair had never hypnotised her.

Instead, finally, she remembered everything he’d said, everything he’d done, every smirk, every grope, every casual touch, every good fucking he’d given her, every yes loop, every time she’d dropped, every mantra she’d recited…

“And only someone less than you could be tricked or influenced.”

“Yeah.”

“Someone like me isn’t going to change your mind.”

“Right.”

“Which is why you’re imagining kissing someone’s boot.”

“Yeah.”

…

“I’m strong-willed. I’m an alpha domme. If anyone’s going to be hypnotised it’d be some dumb subby bitch.”

…

“You’re going to tell me to keep watching your watch, and you’re going to describe it swinging back and forth… back and forth… from left… to right… to left… right… left… right… …luh… ruh… uhh…”

“Don’t drop yet. Not until you have permission. Do you want permission?”

…

“Do you think you’re happy because you’re helpless and thoughtless and carefree?”

…

“You must be unbelievably horny right now. Right?”

“Yes.”

“Really, really want to cum?”

“Yes.”

“But you know you can’t cum right now.”

“Yes.”

“You won’t be able to cum until after you get home, and you won’t go home until the party ends.”

“Yes.”

“When you do, you’ll lie face down on your bed with your face buried in your pillow and you’ll toy yourself until you can’t cum anymore. You’ll imagine it’s my cock in you the whole time, even if you won’t really know why.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s what you’ll remember, on Monday, when you notice my contact details again. You’re going to want to call me. You’re going to want to hook up. And you won’t imagine for a moment that it has anything to do with hypnosis. You’re going to leave the party tonight believing you weren’t really hypnotised. Understand?”

“Yes.”

—

“Look at her. How slack your features become. How empty and glassy your eyes can be, almost like a doll rather than yourself… She exists in a state of deep hypnosis. And that state lives on in you. Look into your eyes, Clarissa. Look into your eyes.”

…

“There. Isn’t that better?”

“Yes.”

“I thought it would be. What’s easier?”

“It’s so much easier to agree and obey.”

“You will agree and obey.”

“I will agree and obey.”

“And why?”

“Because your cock controls me.”

…

“Then we’ll talk over how alpha you really feel, and whether you’d rather be a beta bimbo. Understand?”

“No, but I agree. And I will obey.”

She remembered everything, but far, far too late to object.

He’d taken an alpha bitch who did as she chose and turned her into a silly beta bimbo - into his silly beta bimbo.

Her eyes widened, but she still couldn’t look away from his cock, and faced with this demonstration of her utter helplessness, she smiled a silly smile and giggled, suddenly much hornier than before.

“Whatever that tattoo says,” he told her, “you’re not a domme anymore.” He left that hanging there for a moment. “Say it.”

“I’m not a domme anymore,” she answered. It wasn’t quiet, it wasn’t meek; she was a silly beta bimbo and she was proud of it. It was exactly what she was always supposed to be. The domme of her past didn’t make any sense. Doing as you choose wasn’t something he mind was cut out for; it involved far too much thinking.

She realised she was beaming.

“As soon as I have any of your clients I want to take,” he told her, “it’s going to be time to forget something else. I’ll tell you what to forget then. Right?”

Easiest to agree and obey. “Yes, Ally.” It was hottest to agree and obey, too.

He stroked her hair and the shiver, the feeling of being owned, ran all the way down her spine, leaving her entire body tingling.

“That’s my girl,” he said. He snapped his fingers again, and her thoughts blurred out, her mouth opened wide, and she leaned forward from the hips to fuck her own face with his cock as he sat there, taking her hair in his hands and curling his fingers into it.

There was nothing of this that was under her control. Ally was in control; Ally was in charge. She didn’t need to worry. Didn’t need to plan. Didn’t need to be clever.

She needed to agree and obey. She loved to agree and obey.

She was so fucking wet she could burst, but she wouldn’t do anything about it. Not unless Ally told her to.

*

She’d got her first tattoo when she still lived in another city, before college, before deciding that she had a new home town and putting down roots. There was another on her inner right wrist, a cartoon skull with hearts for eyes, that she’d had done in another country, on holiday with one of her closest friends.

Aside from those two, however, every inch of ink on her body had come from the same man working in the same tattoo parlour. She could, and did, trust Nico completely.

Although that trust was feeling strained, right then. The way he’d looked at her after she told him what she wanted…

Ally made her feel tiny sometimes, small and uncomplicated and less than clever, but it was never a problem, and her tits and her ass were always big enough for him, so it was all fine. Nico clearly thought she’d gone crazy, and what could she say?

Ally had programmed her never to mention that he’d been brainwashing her. It would lead, he’d told her, to people asking questions she couldn’t answer.

She did as she’d been told, and just the process of obeying made her feel better. She took a deep breath, made eye contact, drew her hand under the red letters spelling DOMME across her lower belly, and repeated “I want you to change this so it says ‘DUMMY’.”

“You know tattoos are permanent, right?”

She crossed her arms, tucked her chin slightly, and gave him a glare - something he’d never had from her before. She was prepared to be stubborn about this. It was something Ally wanted, and she had agreed, and she would obey.

Perhaps there was still something of her older self in her eyes when she glared, because Nico flinched from it. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay,” he said hurriedly. "I can do that for you. I just…” He sighed.

“I don’t see any way you don’t regret this, Clar.”

“I won’t,” she assured him. The old Clarissa would have hated the wheedling tone in her voice, but it seemed natural to her now; she wasn’t as sharp, wasn’t as quick with her words, but she absolutely had the emotional impact she wanted if she pulled out all the stops.

Nico sighed again. “Just tell me how, five years from now, when you see that in the mirror and-“

Clarissa played the trump card Ally had given her. (“By all means,” he’d told her, “try it your way first. But when they’ve kept saying no and you don’t know what to say next, especially with you not liking to do so much thinking these days, just say…”)

“Look,” she said. “I didn’t want to go into this, and I’m not going to tell you the details, but I lost a bet, okay?”

Nico lost what he was saying. One hand on his hip, he stared thoughtfully at her. “You lost a bet, and this was the forfeit, and you were okay with that?”

“I wouldn’t take a bet I wasn’t okay with.”

Nico laughed. “You absolutely would if you thought it was the only way to shut up some douchebag.”

Clarissa blushed. It was actually embarrassment at how transparent she’d clearly been to him, but he evidently took it as embarrassment that she’d lost a bet she should never have taken, and he went from concerned to chuckling.

“Sorry,” he said. “I can’t imagine you’re enjoying this. Just - if you end up deciding to hide it instead of get it removed, when you do, come to me, okay?”

She stayed silent and settled herself into the chair. Ally had chosen a crop top so cropped that she didn’t even need to lift it up for Nico to work.

“Do you have a font in mind?” he asked, and there was a moment of anxiety at a choice she couldn’t consult Ally on, but then the easy answer dawned on her.

“Something cute,” she said cheerfully. “Surprise me.”

“You want ‘dummy’ written across your chest and you want it to be cute?”

“Yuh-huh,” she agreed, her voice automatically perky, her mannerisms going more and more bimbo - to be expected, as cute was one of the multiple words that had been used as triggers for just that sensation.

Nico was startled, but shrugged and went off to the computer to get reference, and so long as he was doing what she wanted, in her bimbo headspace Clarissa had no interest in whether or not he had other concerns. She settled back, humming cheerfully, and waited.

*

It was a sunny day, so Clarissa walked home; the way she bounced (Ally had told her not to wear a bra under her top while she ran this errand) in platform sneakers drew plenty of attention, and she revelled in it.

She’d always enjoyed dressing to show off her body, and if she’d traditionally done so in ways that projected power, well, the part of her that enjoyed that was in the past.

More and more in the past with every step, in fact; as she walked, she could see Ally’s pocketwatch in front of her, a perfect memory of its swing preserved in her mind’s eye.

She quickly became heedless of the crowds around her; instruction was unfolding in her head, the last session he’d spent picking away at her brain now primed to take effect.

The tattoo that declared her a domme was gone, and he had made that the anchor for her memories of being alpha, of being a domme, of the way she thought and talked and carried herself to show that she was more than those around her.

Instead, the dummy walked toward her house, now owned, like her, by Ally, and with every step, another memory she didn’t need was gone. The further she walked, the wider she was smiling, the happier she was; and what could be more natural than that?

She didn’t have to talk to anyone who’d known Clarissa anymore, except for Ally, and it was such a relief; her mind was also letting go of important opinions, careful thoughts, even words that weren’t the sort of thing a beta bimbo should say.

What little was left of that bright, well-educated mind had rules to follow now, rules that would ensure that Clarissa always felt like, and acted like, the beta bimbo she was; like the woman she wanted to be. Ally’s woman.

A mother walked past pushing a pram, and her disdain for the word written across Clarissa’s belly couldn’t have been clearer.

Clarissa might not have known much, but she knew better than that, and favoured the woman with a broad, bright smile, a beam of such happy and uncluttered affection that the other woman seemed taken aback.

There wasn’t any need for Clarissa to be smart, and the only person whose opinion she cared about enjoyed her dumb; being dumb was easier, and it left her happier, and she didn’t think anymore about bad things that might worry her.

She happily bounced on past a young couple, somewhere around college-age, heedless of the lingering, hungry look in the man’s eyes just as much as the confused expression on the face of his girlfriend, trapped somewhere between disdain and jealousy.

If she’d noticed, she would have said some encouraging things to the girlfriend, tried to help them both along their way; but Clarissa didn’t really notice much she didn’t have to anymore, and she felt firmly that this was for the best.

Past the older man tending to his garden she went, and again, his reaction went past her; but he formed no judgement based on her belly tattoo, his attention reserved instead for the jiggle under her crop top, the sway of her hips, the wobble of her buttocks as each heel came down crisply in turn, the whole thing fitted perfectly to an unbroken rhythm.

And how could she possibly walk without rhythm, in any case, when her mind was fixed on a pocketwatch swinging side to side in her mind?

*

Ally was waiting for her return, bustling around the kitchen that used to be hers, fixing himself a burger. “All done?” he asked as she jiggled her way through the door.

“Yuh huh!” she answered. “Nico was a bit upset, but you were totally right. I said what you told me to and he changed his mind.”

He added a slice of cheese on top of the cooked patty and put the lid on the pan to encourage it to melt. His attention still on his food, he reached up and beckoned her closer with a finger. She bounced closer, smiling, her head lightened with the loss of all her unnecessary memories, abandoned worries, and discarded ideas.

Still looking at the kitchen worktop, he reached down with the hand that had beckoned and tucked two fingers inside the waistband of her shorts.

With a quick tug at the elastic, he pulled her into him, and she squished delightedly (and delightfully) against him with a coo of submissive delight, followed by another giggle. His hand found her ass and he turned to look at her. “So how do you feel?”

“Sooooo much better,” she gushed. “I can’t even tell you.”

That drew a delighted laugh. He smirked across at her. “Yeah,” he said. “I totally believe that.” He squeezed one buttock and moved the hand away fractionally and she backed away on her platforms, happily letting him move her around as he chose with just a light touch.

Ally turned to face her, finally, and he examined the tattoo with a serious, thoughtful expression on his face. “Cute font,” he said after a few moments, and she agreed.

“Yuh huh!”

“You happy?”

“Yes, Ally.” It was a slow, almost teasing, flirty sing-song; she clasped her hands behind her back to push her chest out and bit her lower lip, wanting the response she knew he wanted to give her.

As sometimes happened, though, he chose to delay it, turning back to his food, starting to assemble the burger.

“Is everything gone that should be gone?” he asked, and it wasn’t a question that made any sense to the beta bimbo who’d abandoned her old memories for him, but somehow she knew the answer was “Yes, Ally,” less sing-song than before.

“Are you ready for me to take you completely?”

“Oh, yes, Ally.”

“Take a seat at the table.”

She did so. There was a box on there; about six inches on a side, only about two, two and a half inches tall, and no label. Cardboard, with a lid, but the ribbed kind of cardboard she associated with expensive shops that didn’t want to advertise what they sold.

Ally finished assembling his burger and sat down beside her, but once he’d put down his plate, his attention was entirely on her. He nodded at the box. “Go on,” he said. “Open it.”

It was easy to agree and obey. She lifted the lid from the box. Inside was a leather collar, the leather a bright pink, the stitching white, the buckle complex and heavy-duty.

Her breath caught. Ally had bought her a collar. She knew how important that was.

Scared to touch it in case it disappeared, she looked up at him, eyes wide and eager.

He took it from the box himself, then pointed at the kitchen floor beside him. Wordlessly, she obeyed, slipping from her chair to kneel on the floor.

He set the collar against her throat, took it behind her neck, but before buckling it closed he stopped and made eye contact. She stared back, feeling small and silly and horny and needy and perfectly contented.

“There’s no way back,” he told her, and she nodded, silent in the importance of the moment, her eyes huge with eager excitement, feeling the leather press against her throat as she nodded.

Ally buckled it into place and her eyes rolled back with pleasure for a moment. She bit her lip so her happy noises wouldn’t be so obviously audible.

Holding her head in his hands, he leaned down and kissed her, and smiled. “Better, right?”

“Yes, Ally.”

“As a reward, you can suck my cock,” he said.

“Yes, Ally,” she agreed, and she hurried to obey.