bambitheslave

[bambitheslave]

Oh! Also INCREDIBLY goals🥵🥵🥵

[bambitheslave]

Goals?

Goals?

...

Yeah goals

[bambitheslave]

Hi there! I'm Bambi, a hypnowhore from the US. Bambi loves fractionation, corruption, brainwashing, bimbofication, and taking away her will to override it and replace it with Your commands

Looking forward to playing someday!

I've always wanted to do these so...

Hypnokink roll call! If you're here and into hypnosis, reblog and introduce yourself!

Hi, I'm Secret and I am a full time hypnodomme from New Zealand. I like intense fractionation, amnesia, iq play, roleplay and corrupting others. I do switch a little but only for the right people and ideas... I make audios professionally and started doing that in 2017 and one of my favorite hypnosis moments was back in 2019 when I got to brainwash a ballroom full of people at charmed, it was WILD and I am so thankful for the experience. 😅

[bambitheslave]

I wanna be one of ur mind controlled girlies so bad...

omgg ur stories lowkey make my mind so fuzzy and its just occurring to me now that might be the point but like omg i want to be one of ur mind controlled girlies soo bad

Hehehe~

I'm glad that my stories make you feel such delightful and delicious sensations🩷

Good girls make more good girls, after all~

[bambitheslave]

Office Tone

CW: brainwashing, pornification

Hi hi~

If you liked this story, please consider leaving a tip on my ko-fi

Enjoy 🩷

Dora adjusted the hem of her new office uniform for the third time that morning, tugging it down in a futile attempt to reclaim the modesty it so clearly lacked. The fabric clung in all the wrong places—tight at the hips, low at the neckline—and the heels clicked far too loudly on the polished tile floor as she made her way to Ms. Kellerman’s office.

She knocked once, then stepped inside.

"I’m sorry," Dora began, forcing a polite smile. "I just wanted to bring up a concern about the new dress code. It’s — well, it’s a bit too revealing for a professional setting, don’t you think?"

Ms. Kellerman, seated behind her immaculate glass desk, didn’t look up. She simply gestured toward the plush chair across from her, then reached over and pressed a small button on the desk. A low, melodic note rang out — a strange, shimmering tone that seemed to settle behind Dora’s eyes like a passing breeze.

Dora blinked. Her words caught in her throat.

"I mean," she continued slowly, her brows furrowing, "it’s not entirely inappropriate — just maybe a bit too revealing."

Again, Ms. Kellerman hit the button.

Again, that melodic note shimmered.

A faint, warm hum buzzed deep in the back of Dora's mind. She frowned, shaking her head slightly, then cleared her throat.

"No," Dora continued, falling down into the plush chair, "that's not entirely correct. Our outfits aren't inappropriate." She bit her lip, tugging again at her hemline, feeling a rush of heat that had nothing to do with temperature. She felt confused, lost. "I mean - perhaps our new office attire should be even more daring," Dora said, her cheeks flushing. She squeezed her thighs together.

Ms. Kellerman still focused on the screen. A pink hue shifted on her face. Again she simply pressed the button.

The note sounded louder now, and Dora gasped softly as the sensation of a hand cupped between her thighs briefly, then evaporated. Her skin tingled as if the air itself had become viscous and electric. She blinked rapidly.

"To be honest, Ms. Kellermann, I think our clothes could use a little touch-up. They’re a tad bit boring." Dora shifted in her seat, crossing one long leg over the other, her short skirt hiking higher. She felt a curious disconnect, as if she was watching her own words, the movements of her body, from afar. She was faintly aware that something was off — that her complaints were changing — but as soon as the concern arose it melted away again.

Eroded under the beautiful notes playing in her head, a gentle and persistent pressure building in her core.

Ms. Kellerman let out a barely audible moan, fingers pushing down on the button.

The note echoed again, and Dora's eyes glazed over with desire, her pulse pounding in her ears. She couldn't resist; she had to continue talking. Had to get to that next press of a button. Her legs shifted, the soft fabric of her panties damp, and she could practically taste Ms. Kellerman’s perfume on her tongue.

"Perhaps it's best if we dress more slutty for the office," Dora murmured, her voice husky with need. Her fingers twitched on her lap, her breath hitched. The word “slutty” hung in the air between them. The word felt foreign and taboo. Wrong. It felt wrong to say something so crude to Ms. Kellerman.

But the sound erased that concern.

"Yes, slutty," Dora emphasized, the word falling off her tongue like honey. She felt hot and cold all at once. Her breath hitched as the words stumbled past her lips. "It should make us look cheap and trashy."

Ms. Kellermann let out another soft moan as she hit the button again. The melodic note echoed throughout the room, the vibration settling into Dora's very bones.

"We should look like hookers," Dora purred, shifting again, the word “hookers” leaving a delicious, shameful tingle on her tongue. "Maybe install some cameras all over the office and record ourselves while at work," she suggested, a sly smirk on her lips.

Ms. Kellerman didn’t react beyond another subtle shift in the pink on her face.

"Yes, and it should stream live on some shady website for people to jerk off on us," Dora continued, as the melody continued. She wanted — no, needed — to keep going. Her own voice was turning her on, her thighs trembling. It was an itch she had to scratch. "Let all those horny men and lonely women get themselves off. Office whores live to please, after all," she moaned, her hips involuntarily squirming.

Finally, Ms Kellerman looked at Dora — her face blank, pink swirling in empty blue eyes.

"We'd love it," she whispered, almost to herself.

And with a final press of the button, Dora was gone.

The next morning Dora showed up early to work in a skirt so short it could easily be mistaken for a thick belt — and heels high enough to tower above even the most well-built men.

She wasn't the only one — the whole office buzzed with women dressed like pornstars instead of professionals. Short, tight, and daring.

Slutty and sexy.

And it was just the way Dora loved it — a shift she embraced with eager and open arms. She watched with giddy anticipation as her female co-workers strolled in, their bodies on full display.

Each movement a deluxe meal for the eyes — and cameras.

[bambitheslave]

Would you kindly

CW: bimbofication, brainwashing, mind control, femdom, femsub, sapphic

Hi hi~ this time I put in a not subtle reference

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Enjoy 🩷

Dorothea loved Laura — really, she did. She loved the way she smiled when she got flustered, the way she curled up to her on the couch like a cat, the way her voice dipped when she whispered stupid, sweet nothings into her ear. But there were — issues. Mainly, Laura’s obsession with shopping and her frankly alarming taste in clothes.

Latex, fishnets, bare thighs and low cleavages. Leather skirts that could double as belts. Corsets so tight they left bruises. And for some reason, always in black and purple — "goth bimbo chic," Laura called it, as if it were a recognized genre of fashion. Worse still, she insisted Dorothea wear them. Not just for bedroom antics, but for outings. Dinners. Even that time they went to her cousin’s baby shower.

Normally, Dorothea would’ve drawn the line. She wanted to draw the line. She was supposed to draw the line. But then Laura would tilt her head, flash that grin, and say it:

"Would you kindly?"

And just like that, Dorothea’s will dissolved like sugar in tea.

"Of course, babe," she’d hear herself purr, voice slowed and syrupy, fingers already tugging on the garter straps or stepping into six-inch platforms. It was like her brain flipped to autopilot, mouth detached from intention, her whole body wrapped in compliance she didn’t remember agreeing to.

But not today.

Today, Dorothea sat cross-legged on the edge of their bed, clad in the most aggressively normal hoodie she could find. Laura’s heels clacked against the hardwood, stopping at the bedroom door. Dorothea didn’t look up, but the sight of that tight leather skirt, those sheer nylons, burned itself behind her eyelids, as clear as a stain. She couldn’t make sense of the tight feeling in her gut — a knot of anxiety or something darker and deeper, pulled taut.

"What’re you doing?" Laura’s voice, casual, with that lilt Dorothea knew too well, the one that usually promised a kiss — or more, once Laura managed to peel her out of whatever modest outfit she’d wriggled into that morning. Today, the lilt just left her uneasy.

"I can’t do this," Dorothea muttered. Then, again, louder: "Laura. Babe. I need to talk." There. Straightforward. That’s me.

But Laura didn’t move. Instead, she laughed — not mocking, exactly, but the laughter didn’t fill Dorothea with warm fuzzies. She could almost feel her resolve crumple, and her cheeks prickled as a blush spread.

"Of course, babe. But, would you kindly, dress in the clothes I laid out for you," Laura asked. She smiled. "Please."

Dorothea was already on her feet, fingers snagging in the buttons of her jeans before she caught herself.

"No!" she said, her voice higher and more strained than she liked, as she slapped her hands to her thighs. "Laura. No. I want to be taken seriously — I'm not some dress-up doll."

But Laura’s expression, so calm, so easy, only shifted into that familiar smirk. The same smirk that always, always precluded it — that little turn of the mouth Dorothea both loathed and adored.

"Would you kindly—"

"Laura!"

"—just listen?"

Dorothea opened her mouth — and paused. Listen? Just listen to her, instead of this constant power-play, this endless game of tug and war?

She could do that.

"Okay," Dorothea said, sinking onto their mattress with a huff, "but you can’t tell me it isn’t fucked, what you keep doing."

"Oh babe," Laura murmured, moving closer. "I'm sorry. Would you kindly, forgive me."

The words hit like a splash of cold water. The heat in Dorothea's head and neck faded, her breath steadying. Of course, why hadn't she seen that? Her girlfriend just had an odd, quirky way of asking. It was charming. Right?

"Okay," she repeated, feeling sheepish. She tugged at a thread hanging off her sweater. "I forgive you." A pause, as Laura's eyes bored into hers — those gray, piercing eyes.

"Thank you, babe. I'm sorry if I overstepped any boundaries lately. Would you kindly, feel flustered and apologetic," Laura said. Dorothea watched her turn to their bedside dresser, picking at the clothing laid out. "I really did love this top though — I was so looking forward to you wearing it out for me tonight."

"I guess — I could wear it?" Dorothea started, and bit back the rest of her words, her pulse thumping.

"No no, no pressure, love. We'll figure it out." Another smile, that brilliant one Dorothea liked. It warmed her stomach, even as her toes curled and her chest fluttered. There's nothing wrong. Why are you so nervous?

"It just — feels weird, you know? I didn't used to dress like that."

"I know, babe. Neither did I," Laura said, sitting next to Dorothea, their shoulders brushing. "But then I found the most tantalizing hidden shop. And the owner, a real woman clad in the tightest leather with a bossom — oh so magnificent — just said: would you kindly." She leaned back, sighing like a girl who’d found the secret of life and the universe.

Dorothea's thoughts swam through honey. "What," she croaked. Her hands were numb, and her back was tingly — a strange, heady buzz, like a lightbulb just before it burns out.

"And suddenly it all just clicked into place. What a fool I had been — not to wear these sexy outfits all the time," Laura explained. She toyed at a lacy band on a brassiere, turning it over in her fingers. "And my taste in woman," she gagged, "so wasteful. But no more. Dorothea, would you kindly, be a little dumber."

"Wait—" she began, but her mouth shut as her brain squirmed. It wasn’t pain, but a kind of dull pressure, a strange rearranging of furniture. Thoughts disappeared into a kind of mental smoke.

"That's it, babe. No need for smarts. Would you kindly, be even more stupid — vapid really," Laura went on. "Just the prettiest dumb doll of a woman."

Dorothea’s eyes watered. Her thoughts slipped, as though a slick coating of butter had slid in between the folds, stopping her from grabbing any of them for too long — long enough to think, to analyze. Her mouth lolled open, and she pressed it back shut as drool trickled out.

"There we go," Laura purred. "Nothing left inside your head."

The thought — no thoughts — the absence of the concept of thoughts made Dorothea giggle, a gurgling hiccup.

"Would you kindly, strip yourself of those rags."

Laura's voice made Dorothea hum with contentment. The hoodie slid off, the jeans clunked to the floor, her bra fell with them, and soon Dorothea stood naked and giggling in front of her lover. She felt tingly all over.

"Good. Would you kindly, dress in the clothes laid out for you," Laura ordered. And Dorothea's limbs complied like magic. How could she ever resist those clothes?

She slipped on a purple lace bra and panties, the cool and soft fabric like a lover’s kiss on her skin. Next, she tugged the black fishnet leggings, feeling them caress her thighs, and then she shimmied into the matching leather skirt, the waistband snug around her hips. Her feet found their way into black thigh-high platform boots with laces up the front. They fit like gloves. A tight-fitting black leather bodice topped off the ensemble. It felt so smooth, so sensual.

"How's that, babe?" Laura purred, stroking a hand across the fishnets on her hips.

Dorothea smiled, slow and syrupy, as if her lips needed time to catch up. "Good!"

"A little too bubbly," mused Laura, "would you kindly, talk in that sexy slow drawl, babe."

"Better?" Dorothea purred, finding her voice dipping low, almost husky, the words sliding out of her one by one.

"Oh, you gorgeous slut." Laura's hand gripped Dorothea's hair, pulling her in and locking her in a kiss. A long tongue slathered into Dorothea’s mouth.

"Mmph—" Dorothea murmured, unable to stop her own hands from coming up to caress Laura's curves.

"That's it, you sexy little minx. You don't need brains to please a girl — just those lovely, thick curves. And I'm going to make them so much thicker." Laura gave a little pinch at Dorothea’s ass. "Your appointment is already set. Tonight. You'll walk in, and they'll know just what to do, got it, babe?" Her grip on Dorothea's scalp tightened.

"Sure, Laura," Dorothea moaned, her mind more full of heat than answers.

"Excellent." Laura grinned and planted another wet kiss on Dorothea. "And babe, would you kindly, forget your old life. It was boring anyway."

[bambitheslave]

Mannequin thoughts

CW: dollification, objectification, brainwashing, hypnosis, mind control,

Hi hi~ this time it's a shorter story

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Enjoy 🩷

Ramira hadn’t planned on staying long at the boutique.

Just a part-time job. Something clean, quiet. Folding lace camisoles, adjusting satin straps, sweeping the polished floors. The mannequins had always unnerved her — too lifelike, too perfect — but she told herself that was silly. She liked the stillness. The low music. The sense of calm.

Then she appeared.

No one said where the woman came from. She just arrived one morning behind the counter, already in charge. Her voice was smooth, the kind that curved into your thoughts and stayed there long after she finished speaking.

"Chin up, Ramira. That’s better."

"Don’t wrinkle your forehead like that—it makes you look uncertain."

"You don’t need to think so much. You just need to listen."

Ramira laughed at first — awkwardly, unsure how serious she was meant to take it. But afterward, she found herself standing straighter, speaking less. She’d catch herself pausing mid-task, unable to remember what she’d been doing.

And then, that first time the thought came:

"My thoughts are just noise."

She blinked hard. No, that was ridiculous. Her thoughts were hers. That was her voice, wasn’t it?

But the words repeated, so soft she wasn’t sure if they were heard or remembered.

"My thoughts are just noise."

She shook it off. At least, she tried to. She played music on her phone, turned on the TV, started speaking to herself out loud at home — anything to drown it out. But it was always there, curled around the edges of her mind like smoke.

She began to forget small things. Why she walked into a room. Whether she had already locked the door. Her reflection started looking… duller. Like she was falling slightly out of sync with herself. Yet when she voiced her concern, the woman only smiled.

"You don’t have to carry so much weight up there, darling," she’d said, tapping Ramira’s temple with a manicured nail. "Just follow. Let it go."

Ramira wanted to resist. She did. She gritted her teeth when she started folding the same blouse three times. She blinked hard when she realized she’d been staring into a mirror for ten minutes, practicing a vacant smile.

She wasn’t empty.

She wasn’t.

But then the voice would come again, curling silkily through her thoughts.

"My thoughts are just noise."

It was harder to argue each time. Thinking was exhausting now. Heavy. Like wading through syrup. So why did she need them anyway?

"My thoughts are just noise," she agreed, smiling hazily as the last fog rolled across her mind. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant — more like a wave of cotton spreading from her ears down. The edges of things grew fuzzy and bright. Her reflection glowed prettily, eyes wide and glassy.

"My thoughts — are just noise," she repeated in a dreamy half-whisper.

"Brains are not for toys," the woman prompted, watching intently as she leaned on the front desk.

"Brains are — not for — toys," Ramira said without hesitation, her tongue slightly numb in her mouth. It felt thick and foreign there, and for the first time she became aware of the shape of her lips. How soft and full and ripe they looked.

"That’s it," the woman said, guiding her gently towards a stand. On it, a dress. Sheer pink — thin and gossamer, with a plunging, heart shaped neckline that would barely cover her nipples, ending high on the hip — shorter even than a miniskirt.

"Undress."

The word was so simple, so light, but Ramira felt a heat between her thighs. Without hesitation, without question, she pulled off her shirt and jeans. It felt right. The bra clasp — slippery between her fingers — took slightly longer to remove. But the woman waited patiently, almost with amusement. The panties slid off last, and then Ramira stood naked, the soft glow of her skin accentuated in the dim lighting. The sensation of air against her skin was a delicious shiver of anticipation.

"And now, slip into the dress. We want our new mannequin to look the part," the woman said with a hint of satisfaction, caressing the sheer fabric between two slender fingers.

For the first time in days, Ramira paused — uncertain. A doubt, or at least something like one, twitched at the edge of her mind. She felt a sudden chill, goosebumps rising along her bare arms and back. But —

"My thoughts are just noise. Brains are not for toys." She nodded obediently, letting the dress slip down over her. It was soft — so, so soft — like gossamer against her skin, tickling her curves and creases. She felt every fiber tantalizing the delicate flesh of her body, tracing every contour, cupping every sensitive and private zone. Her nipples stood erect against the thin material, dark areolae visible through the flimsy veil of pink.

"Beautiful." The woman sounded pleased. "You are a fine addition to the collection. Now hop —" she clapped "— no time to waste. Pose on one of the display stands near the entrance — you'll be a perfect sight to draw in new customers!" The command, while playful, held no doubt of its intention — it was to be followed.

So she posed on a mannequin's platform: hips arched up, back just so, head straight, hands at her side. It felt natural, like she'd always stood there. Waiting for someone to see.

[bambitheslave]

I need to be her

No Choice

CW: brainwashing, corruption, mind control,

Hi hi~

If you liked this story, please consider leaving a tip on my ko-fi

Enjoy 🩷

Hannah hadn’t meant to download it.

She didn’t even remember how the link had ended up on her screen — just a soft sparkle of pink on a dark background, a harmless title with rounded letters: "Good girl". Curious, maybe. A joke. Something someone online had mentioned in passing.

She told herself it was nothing. Just background noise. Something to laugh about later.

But she’d saved it anyway.

Now, sitting alone in her room, fingers trembling over the tangled cord, she stared at the screen like it held something sacred. Her headphones felt heavier than usual. Strange how the weight of them made her heart race. Like putting them on meant something final.

She hesitated. For half a second.

And then she slipped them on.

They settled around her ears like a seal, snug and complete. Her breath caught. A flush of heat rose in her chest — then, strangely, a wave of calm. Her muscles softened. Her shoulders dropped.

The screen blinked once — Play.

She pressed it.

Soft tones poured in — warm, syrupy, wrapping around her thoughts like a blanket. The voice was gentle. Feminine. Too sweet. Too slow.

She tried to lift her hand. Pause the track. But she didn’t.

She couldn’t.

Because the moment the voice whispered "Good girl" she felt something click deep inside her.

Not a decision.

A response.

Not a thought.

Just — satisfaction.

It wasn’t a choice anymore.

She had to listen. She had to hear it again: "Good girl."

A shiver ran through her — deeper than anything she’d ever felt. She leaned into it. Soft. Sweet.

Obedient.

She didn't have to understand what it was saying. Something about trust — that she should relax — but the words didn’t matter, not when the voice was so gentle and she could just breathe and feel herself sinking down, the floor gone. The words fluttered through her ears, entered her mind, and were forgotten.

Letting her mind drift and empty as her eyelids turned heavy. The tension in her neck bled into softness. Heat spread across her body, pooling deep inside her — pooling between her thighs, soaking through the cotton in-between.

Something else seeped out, too. Something molten. It tickled along her breasts, down through her throbbing core. She couldn't stop the giggle, enjoying how mindless it made her feel — to laugh and sink further into the warmth.

Her panties were drenched, now, the crotch sticking tight to the warmth radiating out of her.

Her thighs squeezed together, not daring to reach a hand in to feel herself. That wasn't allowed.

Not that she could move her limp limbs anyway.

If she wasn't so far under she'd worry about the wet stain she'd leave behind, but the voice purred — "good girl" — and the thoughts slipped from her grasp. Instead, there was nothing but a blank expanse of white and pink and dripping, hot heat. And her mouth was so wet — she licked her lips — it formed a perfect O. A droplet trickled from her parted lips.

Her fingers twitched, longing to play with her soft breasts — to squeeze her tender nipples, pinch and tug — but the voice called "good girl" again and the thought slipped out of existence.

The words whispered to her — instructions and patterns of thoughts. Her brain buzzed and melted. Heat bloomed under the surface of her skin, hot and sweet.

Under this crashing wave of blissful ecstasy, she had discarded her name. Her name, the girl she had been before, and all the worry that came with it — she couldn’t reach them. She didn't want to, because now there was something else in their place.

Something more important. A task. A need. Her eyes fluttered open. Invisible strings pulled on her hands. Without hesitation they opened a call.

The line rang. Once — then — a voice. The voice.

"Good girl. Please turn on your camera, good girl," came the soft, feminine voice, a purring command. "Let me see you."

She straightened her posture as the light sprang to live. A blank smile on her face.

"Very good. You've passed the first evaluation, good girl. You get a reward," purred the voice, "a simple name for a simple girl with simple needs — Honey. Say your name, good girl."

The word fell from her mouth. "Honey," it slipped out in one breath.

"Good girl," the voice praised her and her toes curled with bliss. "Please stand up and show me your looks."

Honey obeyed. Standing, turning, showing herself to whoever the voice on the end of the line belonged to. She didn't question it.

"Sorry Honey. But you're only adequate. That body needs some work done." The voice said. Each word struck a blow on a sensitive spot deep within her, making the empty smile drop from her face. Shame blossomed.

Her breathing sped up.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. The wet heat in her stomach went icy with dread.

"Oh, Honey, don't worry. The program has a nice plastic surgeon act as a good girl. I will contact them for you to get those enhancements your body needs," the voice purred and a sweet wave of calmness relaxed her again. She let her body melt back onto her seat with her legs slightly spread and her arms to the sides.

"That's right. Just like that, good girl," the praise tingled across her sensitive skin. Her panties stuck to the soft, warm lips of her core. She wanted nothing else but to be good and get praise.

Honey was dimly aware that something about this was deeply wrong — a flicker of concern — but it was drowned out by the bliss, by the warmth, by the soft pleasure soaking through her.

"Of course, in return, everything you are is owned by me. But that shouldn’t be an issue for such an obedient little plaything like yourself, right?" the voice purred and the question ended with another wave of shivers rolling from her sensitive breasts to her tender sex. She could just nod.

"Yes," she murmured in that dreamy haze.

"Excellent." A soft giggle that made Honey's stomach flutter in excitement. "Then Honey, I have a special recording, just for you. Listen to it, until your appointment. Ignore everything else. Be a good girl." With a soft beep the video ended.

But her screen blinked. Pink. A recording started up — this one had no voice. Just music.

Sweet, soft, syrupy. Too pleasant to be normal.

The sounds wrapped around her mind and dripped in, and the thoughts that had begun to creep back — she had a name, she had responsibilities, she had life outside of this room — they fell right away.

Honey was a mindless, brainwashed good girl.

She didn't have a choice anymore.

[bambitheslave]

Being called a good slut is a compliment! It means Bambi pleased people

Good girls know it, learn it and put it into practice

[bambitheslave]

A woman chooses

CW: bimbofication, brainwashing, memory play, game reference?, mind control, femdom, femsub,

Hi hi~ this is a fun continue of this story (would you kindly, check it out?)

If you liked this story, please consider leaving a tip on my ko-fi

Enjoy 🩷

Victoria had always thought of conversations with her daughter as a kind of fencing match — words chosen carefully, wit parried with wit. Dorothea had been sharp like that. Quiet, but deliberate. If she gave ground, it was always a calculated retreat.

So when Victoria called and heard the voice on the other end, she knew instantly that something was wrong.

"Hiii! Who’s this?" The voice was high and lilting, unfamiliar. It giggled — not with irony, but with genuine, vacant delight.

Victoria blinked at the phone. "It’s me. Your mother."

A pause. Then another soft laugh. "Oh! That’s, like — sweet of you? But I don’t think I have one of those."

The room fell quiet.

Victoria’s lips parted to speak, but her mind fumbled, trying to make the voice match the girl she remembered — the woman she raised. The words on the phone were nothing like Dorothea. They weren’t even close. All the edges had been filed off, smoothed down into something soft and empty.

Before she could say more, another voice slid into the call. Calm. Assured. Dorothea's girlfriend, Laura.

"She’s happier now," said Laura. "She doesn’t need to remember."

Victoria felt her stomach drop. "What have you done to her?"

There was a smile in Laura’s answer.

"A woman chooses. A bimbo obeys."

And something deep in Victoria’s thoughts —wavered. It swayed back and forth, uncertainly. Something else was rising to meet it, swelling under its foundations to send it toppling to the ground in a spray of rubble.

"What does — that — I don’t — understand—"

Laura spoke calmly, cutting the air between Victoria’s words. "Naturally. You are a bimbo." Her voice was gentle, soothing, almost soft — like a kind hand on the reins of a confused animal.

"What?" The question left her mouth, bewildered and disoriented.

"I know. Your head’s so full of empty space, sometimes the truth just falls into the cracks. But that’s what you were meant for, Victoria — a woman chooses, a bimbo obeys."

It hit Victoria in the chest like a punch, and she found her breath coming faster. "That — I’m not — What did you — " But she couldn’t seem to get the sentence out. The air around her suddenly felt too thick. Her hands felt too slow, clumsy. Her head bobbed weakly on the stem of her neck, wobbling uncertainly every time it had to hold up another thought.

"It's not even your fault. After all, you are a bimbo. You have no choice." Laura said with an almost motherly concern. And each word throbbed through the room like a heartbeat. Victoria found her own chest beating along in tune.

"But, but Dorothea." She whispered it. She had trouble remembering why the name was so important, but she held onto the sound with all her might.

"Yes, Dorothea, that wonderful, vapid, goth of a bimbo. What about her, bimbo," asked Laura with a smirk, her tone mocking.

"She’s, she’s— " But all the other words fell out of her brain. There were too many of them. And they were too hard.

"She's like you a bimbo, Victoria. Every member of my collection is one. She's the goth bimbo. You are the MILF bimbo. You have no choice." Laura purred as the words melted in Victoria's brain, sending sparks and shudders down the spine.

A low groan escaped Victoria. The phone clattered to the floor as the woman stumbled away from the wall, clutching the sides of her skull. Her thoughts had turned thick as syrup, slow-moving and sluggish.

"Aww, is your little brain trying too hard again?" The voice was soft, sympathetic — almost playful. Laura chuckled and gave a little sigh. "Poor confused thing. Did you play at being a woman again?"

A moan escaped Victoria's lips, but this time, something rose with it — something pink and giggly and desperate to help. Victoria struggled for the right words — to deny, to push the woman away. But there wasn’t anything left in her mind that seemed to fit the sounds that fell from her lips, unbidden — "I’m sorry, dear, please — my head feels all messy—"

"Oh, it is. It's so confused. You can tell, right? That's what happens when a bimbo tries to choose." There was that chuckle again — rich and low. It vibrated through the air. It seemed to settle at the pit of Victoria’s stomach, where a warmth grew and pooled. Her face flushed. She moaned again.

Laura's voice seemed to lower to a conspiratorial hush. "But there’s a way to fix it, you know."

"Bimbos obey," came the reply — instantly, eagerly. Victoria found herself nodding along. The idea made sense, somehow — simple, even, after such complicated, jumbled confusion. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"That’s it, isn’t it? Your head feels sooo heavy, Victoria, doesn’t it? You’ve had such a long day, and your poor brain must be so, so tired. You called Dorothea even your daughter. How confusing. How exhausting." The voice curled through the speaker. "And it’s only going to get worse, Victoria. We both know you can’t go on like this. Not for much longer, at least." A note of regret hung on Laura’s voice.

Victoria’s head dropped forward to hang at the end of her neck, nodding, bobbing.

"So stop at trying to choose. It's not for a silly MILF bimbo."

And she had no answer, no counter — she just nodded.

"And we both know that when you obey — you’re such a good bimbo — your mind doesn’t ache anymore. Your thoughts don’t come all in knots, tangled and tied. Your head is so light, empty and floaty. So easy, Victoria." Laura continued in that gentle rhythm of assurance. "All you do, is obey me. And you love it. You need it."

The woman's words washed over Victoria, warm as a caress, and Victoria found herself letting go. "Yes," she moaned. It was so simple, so obvious. Her muscles relaxed, unclenching from their stranglehold on her shoulders. Her hands ran lightly down her chest, tracing a line of tingles in their wake, stopping only as her fingers came to her groin. "Mmmm — yes, please—" She was panting. She was needy, eager.

"Now, Victoria, I have a task for you. Dorothea needs some new clothes. And I simply lack the extra money. Would you kindly, go and get some money for the shopping trip," said Laura, as her voice turned melodic. It was as though the voice were a hand — gently unfastening Victoria’s mind from the last tatters of sense and control that had kept her grounded.

"Like for sure, deary. I just know a totally good place to get the money."

[bambitheslave]

New hypno video 😁💓 this is the most explicit I've ever gotten with hypno// kitty play & dirty talk ! Msg me to purchase.

[bambitheslave]

Wish one of my mutuals would take the time to go through my blog to learn about all the things that make me dumb and randomly pop by in my dms or asks to say one of those things and make me dumber for them till I'm dumb enough they can use me as they want

[bambitheslave]

[bambitheslave]

Send me spirals

Make sure to add strobes

And many funny words

Then subtly brainwash me...

This is your end result.

I am NOTHING but your porn.

[bambitheslave]

Brainwashing is good for me brainwashing is pleasure I'm agood girl good girls obey good girls run their mind away blank is better brainwashing is good for me brainwashing is pleasure I'm a good girl

[bambitheslave]

[bambitheslave]

Boobs are like sooo haw tttt