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sleepwithgiggli · 5 hours
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Aneeqa Farid
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sleepwithgiggli · 7 hours
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alena ostanova
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sleepwithgiggli · 8 hours
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Adriana Alencar
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sleepwithgiggli · 10 hours
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One day you'll find your local hair saloon has been brought out by an evil mind control corporation, and you'll wonder why everyone enters as themselves but exits looking like a Stepford wife. You might even pluck up the courage to press your nose against the window, hands cupped to block out the sun, and stare at all those pretty, proper women staring blankly ahead as they sit under their hair drying hoods, headphones on, being prepped for auction as future wives to the rich and powerful.
Horror wars with jealousy inside of you. Alarm with lust.
You know what's being done to them - their personalities eroded away in a haze of hair spray and lipstick. Fresh behaviors and obedience implanted in their place. Maybe there's still part of them that exists under all the brainwashing and nineteen-fifties housewife alterations.
You certainly hope so.
Enough to appreciate what has befallen them. To resist just long enough to eek the process out, before surrendering and tipping over into their new mindsets.
Swishing in their long dresses as they exit, giggling and gossiping between themselves.
Stopping to observe you.
Making your cunny quiver as they look you up and down, subconsciously weighing up your suitability.
You've seen it happen - watched it without stepping in. The newly transformed Stepford Wives marching in with a dazed looking girl between them. You don't know what you want more - for them to find you worthy of conversion, or for them to pass you by.
Your heart skips a beat as one pretty redhead in her beehive hairdo speaks. "You know, you'd make an excellent blonde if you gave it a go. Tell you what, why don't I take you back in and introduce you to Sandra?"
You could run... But why would you want to, when you could have everything you've ever dreamed of, but wouldn't admit to?
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sleepwithgiggli · 10 hours
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The disappointment when the lift opens up and you're not instantly assaulted by a dozen metallic, wrapping around your to drag you in for forceful conversion into a drone...
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sleepwithgiggli · 10 hours
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Bimbo Chip
Emma rocked back and forth as the Bimbo-chip’s pleasure pulse rewarded her for her correct thought-form. Yes, she loved how it kept spiking her arousal. The part of her still capable of analytical thought had realised a long time ago that she was being re-written, new neural pathways growing as old ones were laid to waste.
New drives and urges were being slowly cemented in place, as the harvested meta-data of a million different letches and pervert’s browsing habits were compiled and squeezed into her mind. Panties lay at her ankles, soaked with arousal as she plunged her fingers into her needy snatch, teasing herself over and over, as the image of gang-bangs, cream pies and breast jobs filled her hormone soaked mind. 
She didn’t know she could be so aroused without cumming, but she loved every second of what was being done to her.  The chip installed into the back of her neck made sure of it, having installed an overwhelming fetish for brainwashing that had burst through her resistance like a speeding bullet.
Everything else just happened to flow through that same hole it had formed in her mental defences.
Trembling with arousal, she eased off, not wanting to tip herself over the edge prematurely.  No, that wouldn’t do.  She wanted its control over her to be total.   She would help it along, like an obedient girl, and mould herself into the slut it was programming her to be.
Emma felt her cunt quiver at the thought, flashes of erotic potential pinging around the inside of her mind, and there was no other to voice her acceptance than with a guttural moan of need.   
It hadn’t always been like this.
Hours ago, she had been an aspiring cybernetic engineer student hell-bent on making a name for herself in the rapidly expanding field of human augmentation. A keen intelligence and a childhood sitting on her father’s lap whilst watching old sci-fi shows had bred curiosity, and curiosity had turned into the pursuit of the bridge between humanity and electronics.  Compassion had seen her slide into the medical field, hoping to produce evolutionary steps that would benefit those whose bodies and minds had broken beyond the ability for natural medicine to repair. 
But she had run afoul of internal politics, and found herself threatened with budget cuts.
She had been determined to show them the error of her ways, and whilst the initial bonding had been painful, showing them that the technology was more than just a theory and a prototype had been worth it.
Except…
Except someone had altered the bios without her knowing.  Someone had altered the code on her computer, injecting the corruption into her on a level that she had no way to fight.
The old her would have been furious at what she was being subjected to, but this new, more fun-loving her worshipped the mysterious benefactors had done to her mind, body and soul.
Gone were the doubts.
Gone were the worries about deadlines, meetings, and having to justify her projects to the board of directors without the vision to see the value of her research.
Gone was the frumpy her, replaced by a girl whose only worry was finding enough cocks to jam into every hole.
That single thought triggered part of her new programming, the whine building in her throat as she searched for the VR headset she needed to complete the feedback loop.  She rushed, scattering papers that once had been important to her; papers she was no longer capable of understanding as the chip dialed back her IQ to make her a better pleasure puppet for what was to come.
Oh, god. She needed it.  
Her room was a mess by the time she found it laying under the table, next to the computer.  She giggled to herself, realising what a ditzy girl she must have been to not look there in the first place, and as it she sat back down, and mounted it on top of her head, she realised she could no longer tell if the impulses  were of her own volition, or if the chip had somehow layered it into her psyche, growing the need to sacrifice all in order to feel that empty-headed bliss.  
Truth be told, she no longer cared, wanting to erase any distinction between her and the chip which laid claim to her, discarding the thought as she sat down and waited or the headset to receive the chip’s wireless handshake.
A tingling buzz filled her head as the feedback loop completed, and the visor sprang to life, filling her entire world with wonderful swirls that tugged at her to submit.
Smiling to herself, she relaxed, continuing to stroke back and forth over her lips, feeding the need of her greedy cunt that demanded stimulation.
Pleasure equalled programming, and programming equalled pleasure. 
A single, self-referring train of logic that left her fingers slick with wetness as she become more and more sensitive to touch.  She still ached to orgasm, but the obedience needed to edge had been one of the first subroutines installed, making it so hard to resist anything that came after.  
The speakers over each ear hissed to life, a soft feminine voice holding all the promise of sweet enslavement pipped into Emma’s ready ears.
“Relax,” ordered the voice.
Emma felt herself slump slightly, every muscle suddenly being filled with a deep and eternal heaviness that crept into her very soul.  Hours of unconscious tension flowed out with every breath as she surrendered herself to the sensation. 
“You will obey,”  came the next order, brooking no argument.
“I obey.” Emma whispered, the headset’s microphone picking up the permission and allowing the process to continue.
“You obey your chip.”
Emma whined a little, grinding against the seat to try as her fingers went to work teasing her glistening sex up and down with languid strokes, sometimes dipping in to explore further but always pulling back once the pleasure threatened to spike. 
“I obey my chip” She repeated, her voice dripping with arousal.
“You want to help your chip to take control,”
Oh, god, she did. She really, really did.  She let her fingers find her clit, delicately teasing it as she imagined the chip’s tendrils growing deeper into her brain, wrapping itself around her very core and never letting go.
“You want this. You need this.” Continued the voice, cool and calm.
“I want this… I need this…” Emma responded, her eyes glazing over as her face became increasingly slack, the process automating her as much as it was automating itself. 
“Good girl,” praised the voice.
Emma grunted softly, chasing the ghost of the promised orgasm echoing throughout her mind in reward for the correct thought patterns.  She had become the moth to the chip’s flame, circling it and getting closer and closer until it burnt her up and something better was reborn in her place.
Emma didn’t care; Emma obeyed.
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sleepwithgiggli · 13 hours
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youtube
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sleepwithgiggli · 14 hours
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sleepwithgiggli · 15 hours
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sleepwithgiggli · 15 hours
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I am torn between congratulating you and being pedantic:
Is that really pathetic? Isn't that a perfect fleshlight?
I am a pathetic fleshlight. My orgasms don't matter.
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sleepwithgiggli · 15 hours
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when he calls me pathetic and i almost whimper but i hold it back to keep the tiniest bit of dignity i have left
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sleepwithgiggli · 15 hours
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sleepwithgiggli · 15 hours
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Earring receivers installed...check Slave choker with obedience chip...check Tight and slutty outfit...check Blank, glazed look from reprogramming...check
What a purrrrfect superslutt...!!!
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sleepwithgiggli · 15 hours
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Bettie Page
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sleepwithgiggli · 18 hours
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somehow mantras that are alliterations hit harder.
my mommy milkers are made for Men to maul.
my plump pussy makes me passive and pliant.
bouncing boobs make bimbos brainless.
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sleepwithgiggli · 1 day
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Unveiling the Living Situation in Apartment 4E
The moment she enters the room, Miranda's eyes light up in enchanted delight. She manages to take three tottering steps before she collapses to the floor, crawling forward while she kicks and squirms her way out of her leggings and panties. She awkwardly pulls off her shirt just as she reaches the coffee table, her winter-pale body now completely exposed, and then she rests her chin on the hard wooden surface and simply stares in unblinking rapture at the big brown dildo suction-cupped in place in front of her. Her heavy tits dangle beneath her, and her ass sticks out in lewd invitation to anyone who might be passing by, but she doesn't notice. Her entire mind is completely consumed by the sight of cock.
Nita watches the entire spectacle. Then slowly, reluctantly, she reaches into her purse and pulls out a twenty dollar bill to hand over to Octavia. "What the fuck," she growls, her ill temper mediated with a trace of pure amazement. "Your roommate is so fucking weird." If Miranda hears her, she doesn't react at all. It's as though nothing exists for her but the gleaming molded phallus, its length and its girth enticing worship from the redhead's mesmerized gaze like some kind of ancient monument to the procreative impulse. Nita almost expects her to start chanting a prayer to it or something. Maybe somewhere in the privacy of her otherwise empty head, she is.
But all it elicits from Octavia is a shrug. "I don't know, man," she says, tucking the twenty into her bra right next to her ample ebony cleavage. "She can shake it off if she's out in public, I've seen her do it when we walked past that sex shop over on Lyndale, but… if she's inside the apartment? She's not going to snap out of it until I cover the dildo. She's, like, totally hypnotized by it. Here, watch." She rises from the couch, going over behind Miranda and sinking three fingers into her cunt without effort or resistance. Nita can actually hear the wet sloshing sounds as Octavia churns the captivated woman's pussy into a messy froth. But Miranda's expression doesn't change from its already saturated ecstasy.
"This is nothing," Octavia says casually in response to Nita's shocked expression. "I could whale on that ass with a flogger until it was black and blue, and when she snapped out of it she'd just be all, 'Huh. Guess I must have bumped into a door or something.' She's completely and totally oblivious to anything that happens to her when she's like this." Her fingers saw in and out while she talks, not even in a deliberate attempt to elicit pleasure from the crouching woman but merely as a form of instinctive and automatic dominance. Nita feels the first stirrings of misgiving about all this, the dawning realization that they might be doing something very wrong. But amazement still muffles it for the moment.
"Anyway, yeah, that's it." Octavia gives another little shrug. "I know she can hear us, 'cause I've told her stuff when she's like this and she knows it when she wakes up, but she's not really listening. It's kind of fun, actually, because she doesn't really think about what we're saying so you can go ahead and tell her anything and she believes it--once I got her to think she was wearing clothes around the apartment when she was really naked." Nita suspects that 'once' was a lot more than once, but she doesn't want to bring it up. Not with Miranda's wide-open brain right there soaking up everything they say. She simply waits for the whole spectacle to end, her mind reeling with emotions she can't even begin to unpack… and when it finally does, with Miranda pulling on her clothes with bewildered amusement and apologizing for her nudity, Nita at last makes her excuses and leaves.
(If you enjoy this fiction and want to make sure it continues, please visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox to become a supporter. Or, if you simply want to make a one-time contribution, you can drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox instead. Thank you!)
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sleepwithgiggli · 1 day
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Second Life Exposed! (and Hypnosis)
When I created this sideblog, it was with the intention of posting about my thoughts on hypnosis and my (sometimes sexy) experiences on Second Life, as well as a little creative writing of the naughty sort, but then RL happened and I haven't been able to write much of anything.
Things are changing for the better, so I'll try to say things in the future.
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