#memoryplay

[cyberbun]

robot girl memoryplay by installing an automatic browsing history deleter

[victoriaprincess]

cw genderplay, girl made to love and adore someone/simping/memoryplay a cute girl who loves to transformed into a simpy femboy, who is then tranced into forgetting she was ever a girl and to believe that her own room/clothes/pictures are owned by a girl whom "he" simps for.

imagine "him" going around sniffing and drooling over their "Crushes" used panties, and writing endless words of praise to "his" "crushes" pictures, only to be brougt out of trance and realize "he" spent ages complimenting herself......

[v2isfuckingdead]

my dealer: hey i got this new strain called memoryplay. itll have you zonked out of your gourd

me: yeah ok, whatever, i dont feel shit

me and my buddy, one hypno session later, pacing back and forth: im not gaslighting you?? ugh, just forget that any of this happened

[ourladytamara]

Freedom from Want

(1.4k)

@_proletkvlt 2022

CWs: CNC, unreality, piss, musk, sweat, memoryplay

“Wow! Thanks, mom!”

“Oh, you’re so very welcome, darlin’!”

Norman Rockwell himself couldn’t have done it better. Dinner was laid out across the table, a veritable banquet for the wealthiest of royalty; roast and hand-stuffed turkey, delicious homemade cranberry sauce, braised potatoes and vegetables… indeed, it was like walking into a dream. Surrounding the table are your beloved family members; Mom sits at the head of the table, Dad beside her, and your siblings crowd around the sides.

The dining room is truly immaculate, as it often was; your family was quite proud of their home, a beloved New England inheritance from your great-grandmother. Warm, crackling cedar burns in the fireplace, filling the whole house with the inviting scent as it mixes with the artfully-prepared meal’s numerous aromas. Snowflakes gently cascade through the air outside the windows, the dull colors of autumn masked by the blue glow of a chilly full moon. Trees just beyond the yard sway and drift calmly in a whistling breeze, rustling quietly in the distance. Tranquility.

“This must’ve taken ages to prepare, huh?” you ask, a wide smile on your warm cheeks as you take your seat. Beside you, plates are taken, and begin to fill with assorted dishes.

“It was nothing at all – there’s not much I can say makes me happier than preparing a family meal!” your mother replies, an equally-wide grin on her face as Dad places a hand around her back.

“Your mother’s a competent woman! We’re so lucky to have her,” he beams, taking a puff of his delightful corn-cob pipe. Mom blushes and returns the favor with a little kiss on the cheek.

“What a flatterer!”

He laughs, and she does too. Your siblings laugh along with them, now eagerly digging into their wonderful food. A chuckle escapes your lips – and you begin to do the same, sinking your fork into a succulent, tender, juicy cut of turkey, bringing it to your lips as it steams- -

Darkness. Engulfing, inescapable darkness. You feel like someone is beating your skull in with a cinderblock.

“Wakey-wakey.”

Your eyes ratchet open with a dry, crusted pop, a dehydrated gasp escaping your chapped lips. Freezing-cold wind buffets your naked skin. In the darkness you attempt to pry for detail, but find none – until a blinding light snatches your vision once again.

“Good, that’s it – still enough of you in there,” a woman says, her voice gravelly and smoke-cured. The noise and light wake more of your body from the stupor, and you become aware of the sticky, plasticine sheet beneath you. Drool, sweat, and spilled urine collect in a shallow pool around your ass, every inch of skin totally covered in a mostly-even coating of fluids. You reeked. Your nose burns with the stench of ammonia and frozen air. In a moment, the blindness subsides.

Before you in the darkness was a woman in a black jumpsuit, stained with oil and God-knows what else. A sickly-white LED lamp on her head was the only illumination to be seen, save for the dim and distant glowing of countless red dots – red dots unmistakably similar to those glowing on various buttons and readouts attached to the bizarre seat you found your arms and legs strapped into.

In her hand, she holds a bundle of cables – and a visor.

She starts to laugh – snorting, even, her cackling echoing along vast and unseen solid steel surfaces.

“Oh, yeah, lemme guess – can’t remember what this is for, can you? Stupid fuck.”

She laughs again, taking a single powerful step right up beside you. Your eyes crane around in their sockets as she takes stance right beside your head. Her hair is greasy and long, heavy rings of bags around both of her sunken eyes.

“You’re in for a long, long time, cutie, so they wanted to be humane – give you a little simulated life to live while you’re stuck here. How nice of them, right?”

Who are they? Who are you? Where is Mom and Dad?

“They forgot to factor in two little details, though, see…”

The woman grabs her crotch, a straining bulge just beneath the canvas.

“...not only do they suppress your memory with all these drugs…”

She slides her belt of tools, IV syringes, and maintenance probes aside, unzipping her jumpsuit down the front. Her toned form pops out in the alien lighting, casting lurid shadows down her rippling abdomen that wind and twist between her wiry body hair. In seconds, her cock pops free, the stench of her musk just barely detectable above the stink of your own piss and cold sweat. The length glistens, twitches, dried stains of pre visible on the inside of her jumpsuit leggings; you attempt to pull your head away from her, to turn and scream, but find a network of cables embedded into your skull anchors you in place.

“...but they have to have someone maintain your life support when you’re in here. And that someone is me.”

The woman stands at full height and straddles your chair. Beads of pre leak from her tip as she starts to jerk off against you, rubbing and squishing her turgid length against your slick flesh. In the freezing cold she feels burning hot, your sensitive nerves utterly unacquainted to such intense stimuli. She grunts, thrusting her hips as she starts to grab at your small, yet pliable, tits. Attempting to clench your fist leads to nothing but shooting pain. You grimace, which seems to delight her.

“Oh yeah, don’t move too hard – all that wetware’s not exactly installed for comfort, heheheh...”

You look down at your wrist and find a deep IV port. Terrified eyes bounce to your opposite hand, finding the same – but this one is still connected, a thick plastic tube continually feeding some kind of off-white slurry into your bloodstream. It���s like becoming aware of your own blinking, the pain of the inserted devices suddenly welling up inside of you like a swallowed, burning coal. You grit your teeth in agony.

“Aw – not a fan, are you? Don’t worry, though, I’m something of a quick-shot, myself, so it’ll be back to fairyland in no time.”

She continues to rut against you, ropes of semitransluscent precum leaking from her shaft and joining the growing pool of juices beneath you. Her breathing hitches, clearly enjoying herself; her hands glide across the veiny surface in long, sensuous strokes, her sharp nails digging into your skin and leaving long, red scratch marks in the tender flesh beneath. You fidget and call out, attempting to scream past the long PVC tube affixed to your neck, extending down your throat, but manage little more than a gurgle. You’re suddenly aware that you don’t have teeth, which panics you even further.

“Don’t worry, cutie, I only wake up one of you at a time when I wanna get my rocks off – nobody’ll be able to hear you, even if you could still scream. And besides,” she says, holding up the bundle of cables in her hand, “only I get to say when you go back in.”

It doesn’t take her much longer to cum. With a final stroke forwards and a strong grip around the quivering base of her hairy cock, she peaks, balls contracting as ropes of thick, pearly seed land across your bare chest. Burning-hot and viscous, they quickly start to bead and slide down your lubricated skin, pushed onwards by your shaky breathing. A long, heavy groan escapes your tormentor’s lips, wiping sweat away from her brow.

“Nhgh, fuck – much better. You were so fuckin’ feisty last week, heheh – maybe the muscle atrophy’s starting to pick up speed...”

...what did she mean by last week?

She licks her chops and pinches one of your nipples, forcing a wheezy squeal out of you and a snicker from her. With a final, toothy grin, she grabs the bundle of cables in one hand and your head in the other, jamming them into an unseen socket in the side of your skull. Agony rips through you – but only for a moment, as the technician inserts one of her many syringes into one of the IV ports in your arm.

“Night-night, whore.”

Sensation fades. All is black as she affixes the headset back across your face, calibrating your life support, nutrient feed, and re-sealing the plasticine outer skin that secured you in your personal prison. She leaves you in the darkness – with the rest of the solitary ward.

Cedar smoke.

“Everything alright, deary?” Mom asks, a concerned look on everyone’s faces as you slump over your meal.

You… can’t remember why, but you feel distantly violated. Still, you return a warm smile.

“Just a headache. I’ll be okay.”

[tetcny]

Still a little over a week left to see #GabrielByrne live on #Broadway at the Music Box Theatre in his magnificent #autobiographical #memoryPlay , #WalkingWithGhosts . Good seats available.

#funny #touching #honest #moving

#MusicBox #theatre

[tzoor]

Happy new year 🥳🔥🌹 שנה טובה לכולם 🌹🔥🥳 איתך @leosciretta 🦋🌈 #חיפה #ערבראשהשנה #תשפ #ערבראשהשנה🍎🍏 #roshhashana #evening #night #nightplay #holiday #holidays #holidaynight #holidayparty #memoryplay #memorycard #memory #play #keepitsimple #happynewyear #happyhebrewyear #jewishholiday #familytime #familyguy #familypictures #familyphotography #selfish #fmailyselfie #selfie (at Modi`in) https://www.instagram.com/p/B3GZrjPgOO8/?igshid=1skd08mh86l5m

[dailyexo]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by 정원일 (@jeong_1_1)

Suho - 210316 Musical Actor Jeong Wonil's Instagram update: "폭풍 인스타ㅋㅋ 준면이 막공 몰카ㅋㅋ 잼나네ㅋㅋ#추억놀이 또 한번 조회수 난리나겠네ㅋㅋ 어여 무사히 전역해서 무대에서 다시 함께 놀자꾸나^^ 분장전 공개한 태을이형 쏘리쏘리ㅠㅠ"

Translation: "Stormy Instagramㅋㅋ Junmyeon's hidden camera prankㅋㅋ It was funㅋㅋ #Memoryplay is going to be a hitㅋㅋ Let's get out of the army safely and play on stage again^^ Taeeuli-hyung, who revealed his make-up, sorry-sorry ㅠㅠ"

Credit: jeong_1_1.

[enchantress-enchanted]

The mind is art is code is shaped.

Cw memoryplay, hypnosis, drones, dronification, hivemind 

I just have to do what I do best. 

The programmers program, the engineers shape and formulate, the mechanics install…. 

I paint. I sing. I sculpt. 

The strength of the hive was its adaptation. Every day, something new was being researched, developed, or finalized. In a way, my skills are the last line. The step of perfection. I am head of the integration refinement department.

I guess you could say I'm like a programmer, in a way. Both of us help drones respond as they should. But while they work on the innate, the automatic responses, I work more subjectively. 

"Relax, 0119." My words filled the cozy office. The effect was immediate. Unit 0119's visor flashed and went blank as her body sat up in attention in the comfortable chair. Once her posture was correct, she seamlesslh let go of every last bit of tension. "That's right. Just like that. Let everything go." I walked across the room to enjoy her vulnerability. My fingertips graced her shoulders like the wind, their lightest touch like shocks of electricity between us. I could feel her gasp through the wire in a way that nearly set me off. But not just yet. My prattle continued, as I enjoyed her frame. 0119 was so diminuative, a feature she'd chosen herself, and it perfectly suited her. I leaned downward, all the way against her neck. This was my favorite part. 

"0119, initiate direct hive sync protocol with unit 8261." By the time the last syllable left my lips it was like feeling a ping in my mind. I opened up to her as she opened up to me. Hypnosis was always so under-utilized before my conversion. 

Everything was spinning. Like an endless well of black and white. 0119 fell through this brilliant, oppressive pattern as her mind grew more and more focused, more blank. I reached out and took her hand, and it was like the ground rose up to meet us. 

I smiled from across the desk, taking a stack of papers from the flesh form that was unit 0119 before she was even given that name. Of course, this isn't how the memory went. But it's how she wanted it to go. 

She smiled back, her eyes nervously darting to the floor at the finality sinking in. It was almost strange to see her so bashful. So unlike her now, but yet so endearing. 

"With that settled, we can take you to the conversion chamber." I spoke, reaching to put on my visor. 

"Where is that?" she said in a dreamlike tone, her eyes caught by my fingertips moving, ready to snap. "I..." 

"You don't know why you can't look away from my fingers?" I asked as my visor clicked into place. "It's because I know everything about you, 0119. Every weakness. Every desire. You want me to snap and take every thought away, and the more you stare the more that tension builds up. All those thoughts racing and they can't even get out." She squirmed in her chair as my words got the best of her. My momentum was only fueled by this. "If you're feeling defenseless right now, it's because you so desperately want to. Isn't that right, doll?" 

She shivered, nodded her head slowly and automatically, her eyes still affixed to my fingers. I could nearly see my reflection in her dialated pupils. Gods, 0119 was so beautiful. "But that's…. Not my name…" she protested, half heartedly. I began to move my fingers back and forth, and her head swayed to follow. 

"It's not? Are you sure of that?" my visor began to glow a soft pink in excitement as I sized her up. She was already so worked up. 

"I'm not…. Worked up." she said, struggling to not gasp. 

"I didn't say that out loud, 0119."

"I…. You…." she felt so absolutely taken aback. She felt…. Thrilled. Disarmed. 

"The conversion room is right here. Your programming begins now. Thank you for letting me give you this, 0119." Her face twisted in a shock of questioning and I 

Snapped. 

I could hear a ringing in her head. Like wind chimes. I could feel her mind go blank. I could feel her body as it fell back. And she could feel me. I made no attempt to hide my power high. She has the privilege of seeing, experiencing my delight over her. 

The world faded. Her vision went to black. I conjured an image, a feeling, a sound, and she heard my imagination in the same way a drone hears a command. Our link was perfect. We felt perfect. 

The room spun. Every surface was a screen. Every screen was a spiral. Words flashed from every corner of her vision, each of them overwhelming, short circuiting thought. Slowly, my face faded in. She looked away, but there was no place she could look that I wasn't. She closed her eyes, but she saw me in her mind. She curled up, but she could feel my words over every inch of her skin. She screamed out in the purest ecstacy, giggling as she gave in, as she let my will overpower hers. 

"Mantra." The single word from me pierced her mind. 

"I am your tool, I am your toy, I am your trophy." She said perfectly. She couldn't even muster surprise at how natural those words were. She was reeling in subspace. 

Mantra. Mantra… mantra…… 

Obedience is bliss. 

So many thousands of words in seconds reprogrammed her, refreshed her responses, renewed the submission she had forgotten about moments ago. She gazed up in awe at the screen on the ceiling. I raised my fingers, and 

Snap. 

The whirr of the crane brought her to her senses. She reached up to her harness, barely tugging at it, swaying through the air. She looked out into the industrial scenery, complex machines and refineries she couldn't make sense of. The crane shuddered and stopped, and she peered down to see an inky pool of black. She gasped weakly, still so hazy-headed, as the crane lowered her down. The goo clinged to her skin, almost seeming to climb up it as she was dipped down. Her face submerged and everything went black. 

I looked at her sitting in the feature room. The thick latex covered her body. She was completely immobile. All the other drones kept glancing over from their tables. It was faint, but through the hive you could hear it. 

"Touch me. Please play with me. Use me." Her thoughts reduced to this constant echo of need. I set my coffee down and walked over to her display. My smile would have made her fall over, if she could. "Overseer….. Overseer…." she begged wordlessly. My hand traced down her breast and I could feel her pleasure crystal clear. The other drones in the room were visibly and mentally riled up by this. Touching 0119, touching this doll…. It was almost like touching myself. She was filled with pleasure sensors. So incredibly acute, so advanced. I bit my lip. 

My eyes glanced to the other drones in the room, respectfully allowing me to have my moment with my doll. Worship her, and worship me. I didn't need to say it. Nearly all of them came over, their arms reaching out. I swear I could see the doll twitch in excitement. I laid back on the lounge, and closed my eyes, focusing on that link. The first drone touched her body, and I moaned for her verbally as she moaned across the wire. I could feel hands all over our body. I writhed in the ways she needed to. My hand darted between my legs but I held off. She didn't get to decide how she was pleasured. Not through them, not through me. That's how we wanted it to be. 

She was, however, convincing. My arms wrapped around my torso and every touch was electric. We were electric. We served ourselves so beautifully, we shook in pleasure, we couldn't stand it. Our legs stood up shakily as we walked over to ourself, my need overtook us and our teeth sunk into the dolls neck and 

A drone catches us 

And 

They keep touching 

They sync we sync 

We're cumming 

We're touching and we're being touched and we're being reprogrammed and we're serving and we're dominating and we 

Drift 

Up. Slowly to 1…. 

To 2, your mind slowly clearing, our link slowly unsyncing…… 

….

………

……………….

…………………………………. 

Reboot complete. 

How do you feel?

I feel…. Amazing. Incredible. I loved that. When are we doing it again? 

"Oh we should uh, talk again so we don't uh… stay so linked." I said, feeling how tranced out of her mind 0119 still was. 

"Ah- hahah, yes. Fuck." she shook, I saw a flash of those drones reaching out teasingly, gleefully, excitedly. "Thank you, 8261. I did so very well. I mean…. Okay it's just hot when those kinds of your thoughts echo out my mouth but"

"shh." she completely relaxed. "Give yourself all the time you need. Reacclimate to the room around you. I want to talk about every bit of that. That was…. Perfect."

I paint. I sing. I sculpt. 

I paint desire across skin. I sing the sweetest words to the mind. I sculpt behavior, obedience, desire. 

We are all useful to the hive. 

I thrive like this. I live for this. 

We are home. 

[v2isfuckingdead]

help memoryplay on a really really susceptable person is so fun like. putting this bitch in a time loop lol

[ciaran36]

MemoryPlay/ForgetMeNot. 12-21-2018 (at Bronx, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/BrrSkaABIOn/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=81frg9dgxuvn

[roysexton]

My review of #TheatreNova's latest offering, the #Michigan premiere of #Cluttered by local playwright #BrianCox - I highly recommend the show, running through April 16. Excerpt: "Cox keeps the play from turning maudlin or melodramatic (a peril of the memory play convention) by turning a meta-absurdist’s eye to the proceedings. Think Stop the World (I Want to Get Off) meets Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? with a pinch of Waiting for Godot … and a dollop of Everybody Loves Raymond. That’s a compliment, by the way." Read more: https://reelroyreviews.com/2017/04/02/what-good-else-is-the-past-for-theatre-novas-michigan-premiere-of-clutter/ #newplay, #theatre, #theater, #annabor, #artunkircali, #carlamilarch, #philpowers, #ohiostateuniversity, #dianehill, #arielsheets, #torymatsos, #danielcwalker, #whosafraidofvirginiawoolf, #stoptheworldIwanttogetoff, #waitingforgodot, #everybodylovesraymond, #glassmenagerie, #memoryplay, #marriage (at Theatre Nova)

[wehoarts]

It's the final weekend for Señor Plummer's Final Fiesta! Don't miss this once in a life time interactive theater experience that the LA Times has called an 'an immersive, interactive presentation.' Tickets STILL Available here! https://ift.tt/2PfnG69 #LAthtr #newplay #womenwriters #LAplaywright #LAHistory #PlummerPark #EugenePlummer #femaleplaywright #immersive #sitespecific #immersivetheatre #interactive #interactivetheatre #historyplay #memoryplay #fable #wehoarts #rogueartists #westhollywood #weho #history #ranchos #OldLA https://ift.tt/2Q4BgZv

[tzoor]

וידאו סלפיש משפחתי #חיפה #ערבראשהשנה #תשעט #תשעטובה🥂 #תשעטשמח Selfish family video With my beloved cousin @roni_sidi #haifa #roshhashana #evening #night #nightplay #holiday #holidays #holidaynight #holidayparty #memoryplay #memorycard #memory #play #keepitsimple #happynewyear #happyhebrewyear #jewishholiday #familytime #familyguy #familypictures #familyphotography #cards #selfish #fmailyselfie #selfie #video (at Dan Carmel Haifa - דן כרמל) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bnivy0tByuI/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=14ih771dgalp4

[fayvie]

I love that feeling in the morning when you look back to the night before, recall that you were tranced, and have to work a bit to try and remember what occurred. Mmmm

[v2isfuckingdead]

jesus christ memoryplay is hot

[roysexton]

(via "What good else is the past for?" Theatre Nova's Michigan premiere of Clutter)

My review of #TheatreNova's latest offering, the #Michigan premiere of #Cluttered by local playwright #BrianCox - I highly recommend the show, running through April 16. Excerpt: "Cox keeps the play from turning maudlin or melodramatic (a peril of the memory play convention) by turning a meta-absurdist’s eye to the proceedings. Think Stop the World (I Want to Get Off) meets Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? with a pinch of Waiting for Godot … and a dollop of Everybody Loves Raymond. That’s a compliment, by the way." Read more: https://reelroyreviews.com/2017/04/02/what-good-else-is-the-past-for-theatre-novas-michigan-premiere-of-clutter/

#newplay, #theatre, #theater, #annabor, #artunkircali, #carlamilarch, #philpowers, #ohiostateuniversity, #dianehill, #arielsheets, #torymatsos, #danielcwalker, #whosafraidofvirginiawoolf, #stoptheworldIwanttogetoff, #waitingforgodot, #everybodylovesraymond, #glassmenagerie, #memoryplay, #marriage