I’m a magical girl, and I’m being raped. At this stage, I’m not even sure if I can continue to call it that. The way I moan around the thick tentacle stuffing my mouth is so obscenely enthusiastic that any onlooker would write me off as a cheap whore and move on. Tears no longer come, and instead of clenching shut my eyes now roll back with a pleasure so overwhelming it messes with my damn head. I’m a magical girl, I should be resisting this, but… euphoria breaks me apart like soft eggshell.

Eggs. Hahaha. I’m drooling down my chin as the alien tendril violates my throat and forces my jaw open because I’m not able to be fucked down there anymore while I’m still being used as an incubator. An egg depository. I tell myself it doesn’t feel good—that I serve my new masters unwillingly, and scorn them for each and every assault—but my body cannot lie the way my mind does. I’m wracked with ecstasy and maliciously grateful. When they first stopped filing my cunt I would rock my hips into the air helplessly, begging for that extra-terrestrial seed to flood my waiting hole like I’m an alien cumdump—like I’m Bree. Now, I don’t even think of my vagina as a sex organ at all. That soft pink tunnel, nice and warm and wet, is for the eggs inside of me to swell. The rest of my body has compensated for this change by becoming one giant erogenous zone. At least, that’s how it feels. Every slick tentacle running down my skin, binding me, sliding under my arms or squeezing my tits or choking me or doing whatever the fuck it does with my navel… it’s all sex. And not just in the recreational sense either. It’s reproduction; I can feel it deep inside, growing. Festering. A need to keep being good for them so this horrible paradise of pleasure and shame will never come to an end.

But still, I’m a magical girl. I wiggle my hips to help the cool pink tendril burrowing into my ass sink deeper inside of me and choke on the one making my jaw begin to ache. When it spurts its addictive semen into the back of my throat, I swallow like a good little slut. I giggle, delirious, sagging into the creature’s hold until I’m completely limp, panting against the warming flesh. The scent turns me into this, every time it visits: a mewling sex toy, so desperate to be fucked forever that I’ll debase myself gleefully, like I’m in direct competition with that traitor, Bree. Fucked forever. That’s right. That’s me! The tentacle slides out of my mouth and paints my torso with all the cum and spit I failed to swallow. I feel like a fuck up as its volume drools down my stomach and runs onto my thighs. I need to get better at swallowing. At pleasing. A true magical girl would… uh… wait, no, I’m getting mixed up again. I don’t want this. I don’t like this.

Again, my body tells the truth where my mind cannot. My tongue hangs out of my mouth, still dripping with delicious seed, and I lean as far forwards as I possibly can given my restraints. I’m a lurching bitch, with cheeks so red you’d think they were bleeding.

“Aaahhhh~!” Is all my failing consciousness can muster. Sentences are beyond me in this state. My jaw is tired, but I feel electric. Please keep fucking me, pleads my eyes. Please. Don’t stop until I’m yours. Don’t stop until I break permanently this time, like Bree. Don’t stop until I’m fucked forever!

“You look like you’ve had a lot of fun.” Bree. My mind snaps back into place. The alien is nowhere to be seen, but the scent of it—the one that deteriorates my ability to resist giving myself over to lust like a junkie—still lingers on my body. I am stained all over, making me feel like a disgusting piece of unwashed silicone you might discover in the corner of a teenager’s bedroom. How kind of Bree to talk to me, a lowly masturbation aid. We always were paired together, I suppose; the two blondes. The twin cumdumps.

“I uh… whuhh?” I’m confused by Bree’s sudden presence, and the disappearance of the alien being, but the moment I lift my head and a long line of drool hanging from my chin collapses onto the leather below, I understand well enough. My mind can be a little slow these days.

“You’ve been like that for almost an hour. Eyes totally glazed over. It was really fucking hot to watch, but I have duties to attend to after this.” Bree is grinning too much. It’s more garish than the blinding lights behind her.

“And wh-what duties would they be, exactly? Let me guess: whoring yourself out, willingly, to these… fucking things. Wait, how long have you been there watching me?” I lift my body and sit back up, swallowing the saliva that had been pooling in my mouth and taking a stab at my best indignant stare. I already know it’s a poor effort; I’m too exhausted to hate properly. Too fucking horny, too.

“That’s right, my love. I’m good at it, too. I can withstand two of them using me at once and I don’t even disappear into a cocoon of drooling denial after they finish.” Two at once? My mind reels. I can feel the saliva already beginning to build up in my mouth again as I fantasise about being stuck between two of them, hot and sticky and overstimulated. I don’t think I’ve ever been this horny in my life; it feels like I’m going to die if I’m not fucked again soon. Not used properly. What am I saying? I’m a magical girl, for fuck’s sake, not a magical onahole.

“Please, Bree… just… use that stupid god-damned machine on me again already and let me sleep. The eggs, they uhm… keep me awake. Between that and, well, everything else… I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind.” I almost bite through my lip to stop myself from saying any more. I’m one good push away from begging for more than just the machine right now. Bree is so attractive in this moment—even more than usual. That tight leather uniform is so pornographic. The sight, the scent, the sound… the black material glints and creaks seductively, and the flesh that appears where the leather ends makes me just as pent up. Her lips, her tongue… I want it all. Her fingers, her toes. I’m not falling in love with Bree, I can’t… that would mean losing. I am, instead, doing the only thing I can do to prevent that: I’m turning her into porn in my mind. This vapid blonde Judas isn’t really a person anymore. She’s the equivalent of a risqué cutout in a dirty magazine. I can’t be judged for wanting to get off to every inch of flesh in front of me, right?

“You mean the machine that rewrites your memories? Soon, Vee. Your exhaustion is intentional, stupid. You won’t be able to resist the alterations next time because you’ll be too weak and unfocused. Just a little more, okay? I know it’s rough, but it’s necessary.” Bree’s smile is razor wire, wrapping around my neck. God, I wish her lips were on my neck. “Don’t worry, I had to go through this stage too, and look how I turned out!” Gorgeous. She’s so fucking gorgeous. I can’t think straight at all. What is she saying?

“Bree, I—”

“I know, I know. You’re thinking I turned into a weak, pitiful traitor and you’re wondering how that’s meant to bring you comfort, but you—”

“N-no, I’m… I don’t really care about that right now. I… if you’re not going to help me sleep, then can you… can you…” I can’t release the words from my throat. I won’t. I’m already on the edge, if I take another step I’ll fall forever. Fall forever.

“I see! Maybe I overestimated your fortitude after all, hahaha. Some magical girl you turned out to be, begging your backstabbing bestie to fuck you.” She steps forward with a creak and a glint, and I’m completely powerless. My body yearns. It’s so intense that my mind slowly follows, like a child led by the hand. Or perhaps a dog on the leash.

I’m a magical girl. Truly, I am. I just… I need this. I need her. I felt so lost without something using me for the past hour that I apparently just stopped thinking all together. Sometimes not thinking is good. It’s a defence mechanism, right? I need to not think about how good it feels, how much I want more, whenever I’m pumped full of pleasure. Pleasure has a serrated edge; I’m bleeding all over. I need to bleed more.

“Whatever… just. Please, okay? You’re here to remove the eggs, right? You can do what you want with me after, o-okay? You love me right? Want me? I, ehe… I love you too, Bree.” I lie to her to get what I want. Desperation has me in a choke hold. “Finger my cunt, my ass… I don’t really care. Force me to eat you out if that’s better for you. B-Both, even! I just. I feel wrong. I feel so wrong, Bree.” I lick my lips and turn my head away, shame melting me down into a meek puddle that the adult material in front of me takes into her hands comfortingly. Her palms cool my cheeks and turn me back towards her. For smut, she’s surprisingly tender. A girl could fall in love.

“Oh, Vee. I’m sorry.” Her pitying look ablates my faux indignation, and I tug at my lower lip petulantly. Even just the feeling of her touching me at all is making me lose myself. “I do love you, and I want to give you what you’re asking for so badly. But I’m not allowed to make love to you until you fall for me. Until you’re head over heels for me as I am for you.” She smells like them, this close. I stare at the chrome device hanging from her shorts’ belt hoop and feel my stomach turn from how excited I get, knowing that she’ll at least be entering me with that, clinical as the process is. I’m not above getting off to such things. Not anymore.

“But… I-I do love you. There, I said it. I’m in love with you, Bree. Y-You finally broke me. Let’s get married.” I lie through my teeth, and not even very convincingly. When Bree removes her hands from my face and strikes me hard enough to make my hair whip in front of the throbbing pain surfacing on my cheek, I feel that I deserve it.

“Fffuck… that hurt, but… it felt kind of good? C-Can I have another? I love you, Bree!” What am I doing? What’s wrong with me? I’ve never entertained the idea that pain could be a desired sensation before, but when I fantasise about my best friend continuing to beat me—losing herself in the act while administering rough, physical admonishment—my entire body shudders with sick delight.

Bree’s expression gives me pause. Her wide-eyed stare is a sobering one. She looks like she just stepped in dog shit. She looks disgusted. Why am I still so turned on? Why is it only getting worse? The alien-owned slut, the self-proclaimed cum dump, is judging me? She isn’t the only one. I feel beneath her right now. Look at her, in that perfectly fitting uniform, and then at me, sticky with sweat and semen and pathetically ingratiating. I’m a stain on this nice leather chair.

I begin to drool. This feels good, and I don’t know why. I feel like I’m less than nothing; the feeling makes me lighter.

Then, the tip of Bree’s perfect finger lands upon my lower lip, pressing it down gently. My entire jaw buckles for her in an instant and my tongue prostrates itself worshipfully inside my mouth.

“Like a baby,” Bree remarks smugly. I want her fingers in my mouth so badly I can barely resist the urge to take them inside my self. But, the way she’s acting right now makes me want to behave. “Suppose it only makes sense you’d develop such a strong oral fixation after having your oozing honeypot neglected for so long. God, Vee, this is… maybe it’s not against my rules to finger your mouth a little.”

I gasp against that sultry digit, feeling myself getting dumber again. I hope to god that she isn’t just teasing me, because if her finger pulls away now I might actually fall apart forever. Fall forever. Fucked… forever. Fuck. I’m losing my mind. To what? Outside of that slap, which I surely deserved, they haven’t hurt me once. My torturers use pleasure as their instrument of suffering, which… is confusing. Because it feels so good. Too good. How is that a punishment?

“Vee, where did you just go?” Bree hums, sliding her soft fingertip over my tongue and stealing my attention back in an instant. My eyes soften and I make myself revoltingly easy for her. I want to suck on her fingers and forget, for a while, all of these contradictions filling up my head like useless debris.

“Mmhh. Ahmhere.” I sound like an idiot. I don’t really care, though. Bree’s fingers are slender, but warm. I take her index deeper into my mouth and feel giddy with delight when she rewards my submissive act by throwing a couple more digits into the fray. It’s only once I’ve sucked on them for a minute or so that I realise they taste like how I smell after being fucked. It’s the same taste I get from Erica when I eat her out, usually only when she’s drunk and pushing me down by the shoulders after insisting for the rest of the past week that she was too embarrassed. It’s a magical taste, and I… wait.

Wait.

Who… is Erica?

“I can see you thinking so much, Vee. Too much. Stop that, okay? Stop thinking. Keep sucking.” Bree’s words are a kindness wrapped in barbed wire. I let them slice across my mind gladly; forgetting is okay, sometimes.

I try my best to stop thinking. It’s shockingly easy to do, even if I can feel my mind racing in the background. I’ve tuned out all those mental processes cluttering my mind and distracting me from my task: to suck.

“Hehhhee.” My mouth moulds around Bree’s digits, which increase in number once again to a total of four. I’m drooling everywhere, and the fact that I don’t even care turns me on like nothing else for reasons I can’t quite discern. It’s like I’m in freefall, the wind ripping the clothes from my back and taking all my worries away. I just need to throw my arms up and scream, enjoy the thrill. It feels good to be cleansed of worry and doubt. All I need is suck.

I become a wanton slut for my best friend’s fingers. My tongue rolls over the grooves of her knuckles and flicks across her fingernails. I commit the shape of every single digit in my mouth to memory and I gag for her like a devotee when she permits me to take them deeper. This is heaven. I don’t really understand what’s going on anymore, my head feels so fuzzy and light, but this is maybe the greatest moment of my entire life. I don’t love Bree, I can’t, because that’s their evil plan, but I think I’m falling for her fingers. She’s just a doll, so it’s okay. She’s just porn, so it’s no wonder that I’m getting off so much.

“I think you have hearts in your eyes, Vee.” I can’t tell if Bree is mocking me or praising me. I don’t know anything anymore. I’m really good at this not thinking thing. I just suck, and decide to stare up into her eyes, pleading for her to keep on taking. What an exhausting week this has been, kept up long into the night over and over while being helpless against my own sexual urges every time they’d come to use me for my warmth. I’m just a glorified heater and an incubator to them, but… it’s different with Bree. She loves me. I know it’s only because they made her, but it’s still true. Bree loves me. So I know that she at least thinks she’s doing what’s best for me right now. Taking care of her love.

My head hurts. I can’t fucking remember why I’m not supposed to enjoy this. Her fingers are saviours, and I’d be stupid to deny them. Wouldn’t I? I… I don’t have anyone to ask that to. If I keep fighting off the feelings that make me happy, then I’ll have nobody in my corner at all. So lonely up here. If… If I let Bree be my ally, then I won’t be all on my own anymore in this, right?

My gaze softens even more. I’m letting Bree in. I don’t want to be alone anymore; I don’t want to be scared, or confused, or angry. I want to live in this moment forever, her porcelain skin manipulating my tongue and testing my gag reflex as her smile makes me high.

Then, Bree attempts to remove her fingers. “Fun as this is, pretty girl, I do have duties to attend, like I s-agh!”

What happened? Why is Bree crying out in pain all of a sudden?

“Vee! Stop! You’re hurting me…” Oh. Me? I… oh! I didn’t want the fingers to leave, so I clenched my jaw and bit down on them to hold them in place. I didn’t even realise I was doing it! You can’t blame a girl for acting on instinct, right?

“S-Sorry,” I blurt, releasing her digits and cringing when I see the dash of red beneath that glass skin of hers. I half expect her to strike me again, but then I see her hand trembling and guilt pierces my gut like a spear. Her eyes are filled with fear.

“You hurt me,” states the wounded girl. My euphoria disappears just like that, and in its place comes grief. I am a horrible person.

“I’m sorry, Bree. I-I didn’t mean to bite. I… thank you for distracting me.” I feel like I’m about to cry, but I hold it back. I’m a magical girl.

“For using you?” Her words should piss me off, but I’m too apologetic right now to argue semantics.

“Yes… thank you for using me. I… again, I’m sorry.” My chin is soaked and my hair is a complete mess. How much longer can I stay here, in this chair? I want to go home, but… at least I have Bree here. I can’t lose her. “Please forgive me, okay? I just got carried away, ‘cause it felt so good…”

“Feels good to lose, doesn’t it?” Her voice is low, her destructive smile slowly creeping back onto her face.

I pout, looking away and muttering under my breath, “I’m a magical girl.”

“Yeah? Then I’m your enemy, right?” Why is Bree being so cruel now? “I’m not a magical girl anymore, Verity. I’m a traitor. And regardless of what you believe, I chose this.”

Why is she doing this? Panic takes hold of me. I can’t afford to lose Bree now. She can’t be my enemy. “That’s… whatever. You’re still nice, so…” Doesn’t it just sound like I’m sympathising with one of my tormentors? Giving them excuses while they strap me to a chair and rape away my common sense? Maybe, but… it feels rewarding when Bree lightens up at my agreeable response.

“Yeah. I’m nice.” Bree ruffles my hair, and the kind touch makes me whimper very softly. “Good girl, Vee. You can choose, too.”

I can choose?

“It’s wrong,” I reason, weakly. She knows I’m tempted. Or, to be more specific, she knows I’m jealous of her. Bree has no struggle, no worries. Bree isn’t tired or lonely, and can accept all of this as perfectly okay. I have my mantra, and it keeps me tethered, but…

At some point, being a magical girl started to feel like a curse.

“Would you like a kiss, Vee? You can make your mind up after.” Bree drops her knee onto the leather seat, between my spread-open thighs, and tenderly brushes my messy hair behind my head. Her touch on my neck feels electric.

“A… a kiss? Really?” My heart lurches in my chest and I stare at her lips like a girl possessed. Like I’ve never kissed anyone before. “I want it. A kiss,” I reply honestly, never wanting her to act cold with me again. I just couldn’t bear it.

“C’mere, Vee. I love you, okay? You can say it back this time, and I won’t hit you. Even though you don’t really mean it yet.” Why would I want to? Why do I want to? Bree’s lips press against my own and my eyes flutter closed. They’re so plush for something so dangerous. I’m transported back to the park bench in my memory, lifting my head up from Bree’s lap as she leans her down to meet me. We kiss, and it feels so right. It’s perfect. Her mouth tastes like strawberry. I’m dying against such softness, forgetting insignificant details like ‘this never fucking happened’, ‘Erica’s my girlfriend, not Bree’, and ‘flutter!’

Hearts cascade. The illusion fades and I remember that my friend wouldn’t want this.

I don’t pull away. Bree might not want it, but… even with the lies removed, this feels so good. Her softness is real. I feel so wretched for returning the immoral kiss so eagerly, wanting dearly for her tongue to force its way into my mouth so that I have something to suck on again. Maybe I really do have an oral fixation, one they trained into me. Trained. That word makes me feel less than human; this kiss makes me feel the same. It’s heaven and hell wrapped together in a single, sugary melding of lips that whispers temptation into my ear. This kiss, should I let it linger, is suicide.

I forget to cut it short, and when Bree finally pulls away I feel so lost without her lips on mine. I miss her warmth already.

“There, you can say it now. Go ahead.” The blonde goddess wants me to say the words that made her strike me the last time I said them. It doesn’t make any sense, but I can tell that I’m being manipulated somehow. I won’t say those words again, I can’t. It’d be different now… a confused part of me might accidentally mean them. Instead, I decide to speak from the heart—a muscle I trust far less than I used to, but certainly more than my brain.

“Kiss me again?” I plead, not caring how I sound. Bree appears to be elated with my reply, steepling her fingers and beaming brightly. Much brighter than the rest of the room.

“I love you too, Vee.”

How many days has it been since Bree kissed me? Since I kissed her back? There’s no night or day in this featureless white room, and so without proper sleep I’ve lost my ability to keep any record of time. Maybe that was yesterday, maybe a week ago, maybe longer. At least they take care of my bodily needs and clean me every now and then, else I’d stink like a pigsty right now. Instead, I just smell like sex. My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I realise that I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been used like a cheap sex toy, and how long ago it was that I could feign any sort of resistance to being treated as one. The deprivation really helped get me hooked on them, and now I can’t even bring myself to hate this while I’m left alone, with relative clarity. I don’t know if I want to be a magical girl right now, I just want some proper fucking sleep.

“Good morning, Vee!” My best friend… my Bree, walks into the room with a pep in her step that makes my traitorous heart jump.

You love her, it says, with a mechanical whirr from above my head.

I don’t, I remind it, annoyed at how often I have this miserable back and forth.

But you could, whispers the machine, using my heart like an amp. Thump, thump, thump. I don’t have a retort for that one.

“I’m going to put you to sleep now, and… I’m going to wake you up.” The beautiful girl leans her creaking leather form against the wall as she stares up at the esoteric jumble of wires and mechanical arms above us.

“Uhm. Thanks. I really need to sleep… but I’m going to resist again. You know that, right? A week of sleep doesn’t sound half as bad to me now as it did last time. Didn’t you just say it’s morning? Guess I’m nocturnal now, heh…” My lips are so cracked from constantly licking them—funny how that works, isn’t it?

“You’re breathtaking, is what you are.” Bree swoons. She seems even more into me than usual; I suppose they’re still conditioning her too. I wonder if she has a room like this one, somewhere.

“Are… you going to kiss me again?” Once more, I wet my lips. I just can’t help myself anymore. I don’t feel like the same person who first woke up in here. I’m a magical girl, but only because I tell myself I am. My body is a contemptibly honest thing.

“What? No, I’d never do something like that until you’re ready. It’s against my rules.” Bree seems taken aback at the fact I’d lie about something like that, and I realise her memory must have been deleted. Just like that? I suppose that’s fine, it didn’t mean anything anyway.

It meant everything.

“Shut up!” I yell louder than I’d meant to. It was supposed to remain in my head, but now Bree stares at me like a skittish fawn. I feel devastated, hating to see my… my best friend so startled as a result of my actions.

“I love you, Vee. We’ll be together after this. Forever.” Her hand falls onto my thigh, and I groan with want.

Together… forever? Falling forever. I’m a magical girl. I want that. I’m a magical girl. I want to be together with Bree, because it feels so good. I’m a magical girl. It feels so good to be loved. I’m a magical girl. It feels so good to be kissed. I’m a magical girl. It feels so good to be penetrated. I’m… Jesus fucking Christ, I’m a mess.

“Can you put me to sleep now, please?” I ask so kindly for my slaughter.

“Of course, my love.” Bree starts the machine, then straddles my lap on the leather seat. I yelp in surprise and feel my body heating up tremendously. My face is the worst culprit, turning bright red as Bree wraps her arms around my neck. The silver device she retrieves from her belt, which I had mistaken for an egg extractor despite being empty right now, lines up with my cunt and I realise it’s something much simpler: a double-sided dildo, curved like a smile. As my best friend pushes it inside of me, I thank her breathlessly. I don’t know what’s happening, I thought I was being put to sleep, but I can hardly care when the tide of pleasure drags me under. I start to float in deep waters, feeling Bree’s body hug tight against mine as our hips kiss. Didn’t she just say this was against her rules?

“Keep looking at me, okay Vee? Never turn away from me again.” Her hands cradle my burning cheeks and I nod into them like a lobotomite, not able to focus on anything but how good everything feels. I’m falling in love with feeling, and instead of saving me from it, the light ahead only makes it feel better.

The machine whirrs. Arms descend from the ceiling and once again close around me. Except this time, it closes around us both. Locks me and Bree together with little space to pull away even if I wanted to—which, shamefully, I don’t. She’s so pretty, even too close to focus on. My hazy painting smiles and my whore meat buckles. The light shines from behind, and the glass fibres penetrate my brain through my ears. Everything slows.

“I’m a magical girl,” I mutter, remembering that I need to strengthen my resistance now or I’m done for. This is my last stand. “I’m a magical girl,” I repeat, over and over, while Bree’s hips rock against mine and I hit my first orgasm after only a minute and a half of stimulation. The feeling assaults me relentlessly, endless tingling touch turning me into a single-minded slut. Except, I’m still holding on.

“I’m a magical girl.” So long as I don’t forget this fact, I can dispel every illusion. My hearts will flutter forever, and rob myself of a black love I’m not allowed to accept.

“Vee. Sleep.” In place of that robotic simulacrum of Bree’s voice is the real thing, this time, so close that I can feel it. Her voice is soft and quiet; it makes me feel safe. It makes my eyes begin to droop.

“I’m a magical girl,” I remind her, needing to be heard. I’m so very tired already, but the feeling is intense. We’re sharing it this time, the feeling. Together, like a duo. Isn’t that what all of this was about? It sounds kind of…

“I know, good girl. Now sleep.” Her words make me feel special. She makes me feel special. Before repeating my mantra this time, I hesitate. I stumble. I’m starting to hate myself for denying her. She’s so beautiful and kind.

“I… I’m a magical girl.” The glass fibre touch finds and isolates my memory. A park bench, a gorgeous woman, and a kiss that lasts forever. I want to live in that fantasy, for just a little while. Is that so fucking wrong?

“Sleep, Verity.” Bree’s lips envelop mine. The curtain closes. Darkness.

The next thing I know, I’m back on that bench, in the middle of the park, on a picturesque summer’s day. Bree plucks at my hair playfully while I lay my head in her lap, staring up at her. I’m a magical girl. She’s divine, and she’s mine. I feel so lucky to be able to call her my girlfriend… but, wait… no, that’s not right. I’m… I’m a…

“I’m… a magical girl?” My eyes gently cross. I’m completely overwhelmed. When Bree kisses me again, the confusion goes away. I need her to save me.

“Vee…” She pulls away and holds my head by the chin so tenderly, like a goddess. “You can stop saying that now, okay? You get to decide what you are.” The machine whirrs away, tiny tendrils invading my head all working towards softening me up for this moment. I’m aware that I’m being brainwashed, they… they haven’t tricked me into forgetting that. I remember that I’m a magical girl, that I can hoist up my wand and take all of this make-believe romance away, but for what? For a more bitter, insecure Bree who no longer even exists in the present? For a Verity so broken and trained for masters she rejected? If I bite the hand that feeds, I’ll just be damaged goods. If they send me back to Earth, I won’t be the same… so it’s absurd of me to act like I’d be wrong for choosing them over what’s already lost, wouldn’t it? I’m no good for Erica anymore, and choosing Bree would keep me sane. I don’t owe anybody anything, do I?

“You can choose, too.”

Right. I can choose to stop being Erica’s girlfriend, she doesn’t own me. I can choose to stop being a magical girl. I can choose to love Bree, regardless of the trivial details surrounding our romance. I can choose to become property if it would truly make me happier than not being owned ever did. It did for Bree, that much is obvious.

“Bree… how… how do I let them win? How do I make it so I wake up yours? I… I can’t help but resist.” I say it like fighting them is wrong, but why would I care about right and wrong anymore? Pleasure is my moral compass now.

“That’s what I’m here for, baby.” My Bree giggles and kisses me again. She gives me mind melding kisses that make me easier to control. She kisses me until this scene is real—a memory from my past—and I kiss her back more passionately than I’ve ever kissed anybody. The feeling and the light finally become one again, and history is rewritten.

I fell in love on that park bench.

Hours pass, or maybe only minutes. I’m woken up by Bree nibbling my shoulder as the dildo yet fills us. I wasn’t entirely sure what was supposed to happen when I woke up, but it turns out to be much simpler than I’d anticipated. The second I lay my eyes on her, I know that I’ve let them successfully brainwash me. The first sensation that overcomes me is relief, and the second is overflowing love.

“Hey there.” The wires slide out of my ears and the arms return to the ceiling. Bree is all over me; kissing and grinding and laughing. She’s as pleased as I am now that we can finally be intimate without the barrier of shame or our rules to overcome. We’re one whole now, as it should be. I still don’t understand how that works, really, but I’m willing to learn now. I’ll happily let them train me so long as I get to hold onto her.

“Morning, Vee,” she replies, in a sing-song voice, “welcome to the rest of your life. You’re not a magical girl anymore, right?”

The question I’d been waiting for—dreading, even. Where I had been in Bree’s lap mere seconds ago, in that summery park, she’s now in mine, like a kitten dressed up in a fetish costume. She’s still porn to me, but that’s no longer a degrading thing to be. I’m so glad they can change my perception like that so easily, where on my own I’d been so frustratingly stubborn. She asks the question I’d been dreading, and I’m surprised to find that the answer comes easily. I feel so grateful to our new overlords.

“No, I’m yours.” This time, I kiss her. I’m forceful with my other half, as is my right, and she mewls like a sex-pet at the firm, confident treatment. This feels so right. This is exactly what we deserve.

“Forever.”

END OF PART TWO