Princess Grace's Castle


#Bulge #Bunnygirl #Clothing #Cock #Commission #Cum #Hypnosis #HypnoticCum #IdentityErasure #Mantra #MassHypnosis #Masturbaton #MemoryPlay #Oral #OrientationPlay #SallySilvestra #StageHypnosis #SunnyTheSpectacular #Transformation #Triggers #Twinning #Wig

(This piece was a commission for AC.)

“This looks like the place. The number matches the job offer, I had to walk for twenty minutes past a bunch of topiary sculptures to reach the front door, and the nearest other house is half a mile away.” Sunny the Spectacular twirls her top hat around and settles it on her head just so. She shakes her brilliant red and yellow hair down to the small of her back and rings the doorbell. You'd think the button was made out of the same white plastic everyone uses, but it's got the weight and texture of a thumb-sized piece of marble.

Well, she presses the button and about a dozen different bells ring out throughout the obnoxiously huge mansion. Real bells, too. Big metal things with clangers. They didn't all start at once, either, so they're either on a sophisticated timer system or the button administers electric shocks to a network of unlucky folks employed only to ring the bells. Sunny decides against ringing it again, just in case.

The door is easily two or three times Sunny's height. It's not something you really appreciate until it slowly creaks open and there's a chandelier absolutely embarrassed with precious gems, ill-gotten gold, and a diamond easily the size of your head as the centerpiece. It's huge, hideous, pointlessly, pricelessly expensive, and it'd look even worse if it wasn't three stories away.

The person operating the door can only be described as “a bunnygirl”. Well, a girl dressed up like a bunny. Fishnets spun from silvery thread crisscross her long, creamy legs. A pair of shiny black high heels tag-team with her big floppy bunny ears to make her just a touch taller than the magician. A big silver bow tie sits perfectly snug around her throat. It provides a nice contrast to the black bustier that really just exists to show off her bouncing bunny bust and hold a fluffy cotton ball to her butt. “Hiii~! Are you the magician?”

Sunny just kinda gestured to her hat, the flowing blazer and skirt combo, and launched a burst of flame from her hand.

The bunny gasped! “Oooh, I'm so glad you're here! This is gonna be Lady Sally's best birthday ever! She's got a stage set up out back and everything! And you're really hot and I'm not just saying that because Lady Sally made me a lesbian or because you look like fire!”

“Sunny the Spectacular. The Searing, Scintillating Sorceress to the Stars.” She makes a big show of swirling a lick of flame around one hand, doffing her hat with the other, and bowing to her hostess. “Lead the way, sweetie.”

“Oh, yeah! I'm supposed to take you to the dressing room. Just follow the bouncing bun!” She turns on her heel, wiggles her cotton ball butt, and her heels start clacking against the marble floors. Her long silver braid bounces and swings when she walks.

“Do you have a name?”

“Oh, Lady Sally took my name a long time ago! But she usually calls me Bunny Butt or Slut Butt or Slutter Butter or just Bun.”

“Bun it is, then. Nice to meet you.”

“You too, Sunny!”

And so, the bunny led her guest through twisting hallways lined with oil paintings, up and down staircases you could drive a car on, and, eventually, to the fanciest goddamn set of doors in the house.

“Lady Sally's expecting you! Go ahead in when you're ready.”

“I thought you said you were taking me to a dressing room? This looks like the master bedroom.”

“Well, Lady Sally has more clothes than anyone, so where else are you gonna get dressed up, silly?” The bunny giggles and steals a kiss on the cheek as she takes her leave.

Sunny politely knocks on the bedroom door and lets herself in.

“Ah, the magician. I was wondering when you'd show up.” She's dressed awfully casually for a lady with a house like hers. Which is to say that her big, thick braid shines like spun silver and her clothes are handmade, encrusted with gold and jewels, and tailored to best fit her pale, fragile frame. Her slippers are made from animals that went extinct because they were too comfortable. She offers a handshake. “Sally Silvestra. The birthday girl. You're not wearing that, are you?” Her handshake recoils. “We have to get you changed before you go anywhere.”

Sunny gestures to her own outfit again. Her own introduction dies in her throat. “What's wrong? I can't say I've ever had a client take issue with how I dress. Perhaps you just haven't been suitably dazzled by Sunny the Spectacular?” She snaps her fingers, a flash of flame lights up the room, and a coin emblazoned with her swirling sun emblem appears in her hand. “Perhaps a little demonstration is in order? You did hire me sight unseen.” She lifts her hand and lets the coin dangle from its chain. Mmm, it does have a tempting way of shimmering in the light. Of attracting your eye and holding your focus.

“I'm very familiar with your work, Miss Spectactular.” Sally rises to her feet and wraps a hand around Sunny's coin. “You get up on stage, wave your coin, and suddenly, everyone's under your spell. You make them the stars of your little show, and bring your favorites backstage. Does that sound about right?”

“It is. And you still invited me. Were you hoping you'd be caught in my web?” Sunny looked the heiress up and down. About a head shorter, the sort of slender, delicate frame you can only get when the most work you've ever done is ringing a silver bell to summon a maid. Pretty in a way that you can be when you've got cartoonish vaults full of both money and vanity. Not much in the breast department. Maybe she hadn't gotten that far on her surgery schedule. “Normally, I'd tell you to wait for the show, but since you're the birthday girl, I'm sure we could work something out. Make you my number one assistant before we even step on stage, perhaps?” Sunny flicks her wrist and tugs the coin free of the heiress's grip. “All you'd have to do is watch my coin and take a few deep breaths. Before you know it, you'd be the star of the show.”

Sally's breathing slows. She has to push her glasses up her nose before she can properly begin swaying along to the dancing coin.

“It's your birthday, after all.” Sunny coos. “Why wouldn't you want to dress up and strut your stuff in front of all your friends? We could even get you in one of those bunny suits you love so much.” She reaches for Sally's chin. The heiress tenses up when she feels the fingers on her chin, then relaxes when Sunny's wonderfully warm fingers squeeze just so. Her neck goes limp and lets Sunny direct her gaze wherever she wishes. And right now, Sally was going to look at that pretty golden coin, bask in its warm glint, and let Sunny's warm words melt her brain into mush.

“It's my birthday~” A rare, blissful smile spreads across Sally's face. She smiled and laughed a lot, of course, but it was always at someone's misfortune. She laughed when one of her maids tripped, or when she reduced one of her bunnies to a quivering, horny mess, but this kind of empty, contented bliss was foreign to her. And so, her eyelids drooped, the world went out of focus and she rested on Sunny's voice, the words flitting past her consciousness and weaving a web over her mind.

“You're a warm girl. Warm girls fall deep.” Sunny smiles. Sally follows the coin and that voice towards her own overstuffed bed.

“I'm a warm girl. Warm girls fall deep.” Sally echoes. She lays on top of the covers. Her arms land on either side. Real softness and imaginary warmth swaddle her body pulled her deeper under Sunny's spell.

“Good girl.” Snap! “Repeat.”

Sally repeats her mantra to herself, succumbing more and more with every “I'm a warm girl. Warm girls fall deep.”

Sunny puts the chain in Sally's hand, lifts it over her head, and Snap! “Freeze.” Sally could only watch the coin swing while the world fell farther and farther away. What more could a warm girl like herself want?

Sunny walks off to Sally's closet. And then she walks into Sally's closet. Well, she walks into the first story of Sally's primary closet. Not including the basement closet, the offsite cold storage, and The Vault. A dozen or so bunny suits just like Bun's catch her eye. Black bustiers, bow ties, tights, and each one with a corresponding styrofoam head holding an immaculately braided silvery wig and a pair of bouncy black bunny ears.

Sally was far beyond any ability to know how much time had passed when Sunny returned. She couldn't even look at the bunny suit Sunny had plundered from the closet. “I'd ask what you think about being my assistant, but you look pretty out of it.” Sunny runs a hand down Sally's braid, making her the first non-Sally person to touch it in over a decade. “You'd love being my assistant.”

“I'd love being your assistant~” Sally echoes.

“You'd love being dressed up in this pretty black bustier, showing off your legs and butt in the fishnets, and giggling when I rub your big bunny ears.” Sunny gingerly strokes Sally's braid while her hypnotic patter layers atop itself.

“I'd love being dressed up and showing my body off. Please rub my big bunny ears.” Sally sighs. Perfectly soothed by the magician's words.

“It's almost a shame this wig is going to waste.” Sunny says, measuring its heft in her hands. Is there real silver in this? “Maybe I should wear it when I climb on stage? Show everyone what you'd look like with a taller, bustier body that went outside regularly. They might even think I'm you! I could live here, spend all your money on something useful, maybe kiss a few of your bunnies instead of having to make spoiled brats like you part of the show. How does that sound, my spellbound sapphic silver servant?” Sunny chuckles. “Well, if you weren't into girls, magician girls, or redheads before, you are now!” Snap!

Sally moans something about girls under her breath while the coin reflects in her glasses and dangles before her eyes.

“And if you never fantasized about, say, a gorgeous magician hypnotizing you, making you a lesbian with a snap of her fingers, turning you into her lovely bunny assistant, making you bounce and twirl around on stage, let the audience watch and laugh as I pull you out of my hat, only growing more and more aroused as she parades you around on stage, until finally, after the show, you just can't take it any more. You beg her to make the spell permanent, to be bound to blissful bunny servitude forever, and ensure the magician who stole your mind, your identity, and your life knows nothing but luxury for the rest of her days. And she grants you that wish with just a perfect, winning smile, a laugh that sends your heart soaring, and a-” Snap!

“Well, now it's the only thing you can think about.” Sunny runs a hand down Sally's cheek. “Can you see it, dear? The fantasy playing itself on an endless loop in your past? How you've waited your entire life for this one moment?”

Sally can, so she nods. Her eyes never leave the coin.

“Tell me, darling.” Sunny takes Sally's chin and squeezes a blissful moan out of the heiress. The kind of moan that even the most immorally expensive spa treatments never extracted. “What's your favorite part? Is it when you first meet her, and you have no idea what's about to happen? Or is it the part where she dresses you up as just another one of your bunnies? Or is it the part where you're her bouncy brainwashed bun, hanging on her every word and your every moment dedicated to her service?”

Sally smiles to herself. She luxuriates in the fantasy to weigh every possibility before she speaks. “Dressing you up, making sure you look perfect before you step on stage. Just like I'll get to do every day once you bind me to your will~”

“Excellent answer. And how are you dressed when you do that?”

“I try to stay focused on you, looking at your radiance in the mirror. I'm always enthralled by your beauty, and I'm doing my best to make you look even better. But when I do catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, it's usually because of my big black bunny ears or how my bow tie contrasts with your brilliant, blazing hair. I can see myself, a blissfully brainwashed bun. I can see this smile on my face that I've never seen on myself before. No more stress, no more worry. I'm in my place, serving you, and that's what makes me happy.”

“Very good, dear. I couldn't have said it better myself.”

“Of course you could have, Sunny the Spectacular. You're perfect, brilliant, and since you own my mind so completely, it's like you did come up with it. You're the best.” Sally deflates further into the bed with a contented, lovesick sigh.

“Sounds like we should get you out of those boring old clothes, then. They don't make you look like a stage magician's gorgeous, enthralled assistant one bit!”

Sally gasps. Sunny is right, as always. “Yes, Mistress! May I strip for you?”

“Please do.” Sunny holds her hand out. It takes Sally a minute to work up the resolve to take her eyes off the coin and return it to its (perfect, spellbinding) owner, and another two to sit up on the edge of the bed. The hypnotized heiress-shaped imprint in her made-with-real-memories memory foam mattress won't leave for weeks. “For what it's worth, dear, I prefer 'Princess'.”

“Of course, Princess. Sorry, Princess.” Sally eventually rises to her feet. Sunny makes herself comfortable in one of the many chairs Sally kept in her room. Well, as comfortable as you can get when almost all the furniture was chosen because it's made from the hide of an endangered animal, stuffed with the down of an extinct one, and/or made out of more precious metals than whatever it replaced. Sunny doesn't even want to ask where pink leather comes from.

“Are you enjoying my bimbo leather armchair, Princess Spectacular? I hope it helps you enjoy me showing off my body.” Sally turns her back to the magician and points at the zipper on the back of her dress. “I must ask you to start me off, though. The maids usually help me get dressed.”

Sunny obliges. She unzips the dress, and lets Sally get a taste of her magically warmed hands along the way. Sally nearly goes limp and nearly collapses right there. Who wouldn't? It's a natural reaction to getting an unexpected soothing touch from the girl who, as far as you know, you've been fantasizing about for years. “Mmm, I could never have imagined how good it feels to be touched, Princess. I hope I'll get a lot more now that my body and mind belong to you!”

The heiress strips. Her dress falls in a pile around her feet. The gold and jewels sewn into its lining clatter and tink against each other on the way to the floor. It sounds not unlike someone dropping a whole bundle of silverware onto a hard floor. She steps out of her dress and her shoes in one motion and leaves a few rings on top. Rings were more suited for a magician than an assistant. Assistants, no matter how lovely, don't get jewelry, unless it's embroidered onto their costumes or part of the trick!

“And the underwear, sweetie.”

A more awake Sally would have some nasty retort about how she “was clearly getting to that, you slutty sideshow. Don't they teach you patience between Card Tricks 101 and Advanced Hat Stuffing?”, but this Sally was merely thankful for the reminder, and sent her non-matching (silver and titanium do NOT match) underwear dropping to the floor as well.

“Not quite as busty as the other bunnies, but that's okay.” Sunny stands up. She traces a finger around Sally's chest, down her side, and past her butt. Sally could feel the entire warm, enchanted trail the magician drew with her finger. She bit her lower lip in bliss. Trying not to moan while Princess Sunny inspected her. Right up to the moment Sunny's hand left her butt, tugged on her braid, and made her moan.

“Tell me, sweetie.” Sunny said, producing the standard-issue bunnygirl fishnets and helping her little dress-up doll step into them. “When I steal your identity, how exactly does everyone not realize that you've grown a head taller, a couple sizes bustier, and developed a way better ass overnight?”

Sally pulls the tights taut against her legs. She answers while she and Sunny work out what to do about someone who isn't quite busty enough for the bustier. “Mmm, I figured you'd hypnotize everyone pretty quickly and tell them you got plastic surgery or something. Most of my friends are way too self-obsessed to notice anyways. Sometimes I send Slutter Butter to parties as me and nobody notices, even when she winds up playing Find The Carrot with half the people there. But it's hotter to imagine you bringing more people under your spell, because you're so fucking hot when you hypnotize people, Princess. Just imagining you whispering to Jessica Aurum, watching her eyelids flutter and her entire world shift when you snap your fingers is-” Sally finished that thought with a sound you can only make when you'd rather fantasize than talk.

Sally winds up wearing a bra and some newspaper to actually hold the black bustier up. If Sally could think of anything more than how incredibly gay she was for the magician tying her bow tie, she'd probably regret never buying any non-strapless versions of this outfit. And then probably something about how these shiny black heels with the cute silver bows at the toes look great and make a real sexy sound against the marble and hardwood floors in her house, but you can just feel the blisters growing on your feet. She fidgeted a few times to try and get her soles (not her soul- Sally's way too rich to have one of those) to rest easy when she heard Princess Sunny's voice cut through her thoughts and shape her reality once more.

Snap! “This is the most comfortable thing you've ever worn, Silly Sally. In fact, it's the only thing you've ever worn. Why would one of Sunny's bunnies wear anything else?”

Sally immediately relaxes. Her foot pain is gone. “You're right, Princess! You're so smart, as always. I don't know what I was thinking.”

“There's your problem dear- you were thinking. You have me to do that for you.”

“Gosh, Princess, you're always right. That's why you're in charge, and I'm the hypnotized bunny!” Sally hops a few times and wiggles her cotton ball-augmented butt at the magician. You know, in case she forgot that she was making a bunnygirl in the last thirty seconds. A good assistant makes sure Princess stays on track!”

Sunny holds up the plain (and, yet, still frighteningly expensive) white gloves with the pointless, giant, starch-stiff French cuffs. A little silver spoon charm linked the cuffs closed, but a little Sunny sleight-of-hand changed them to match her swirling sun sigil.

Snap! “Now, dear, these are no ordinary gloves.” Sally's mind went even more blank and receptive than her new normal. “These gloves have been possessed by a very horny ghost. As soon as you put them on, they're going to take control of your hands and make you masturbate. They'll do whatever they think will make you feel the best at any particular moment. And, of course, you'll have no idea what's happening. Silly Sally wake up.” Snap!

The gloves went on, and Sally's hands immediately began to wander. The right hand went straight for her left breast. It crinkled the newspaper a bit before it figured out that going up and over was the best route, and what a route it was. Sally's breathing got heavier. Her left hand went right between the thighs. She could only uselessly rub against the outside of her bustier, but even that got her thighs clenching.

“Careful, dear.” Sunny teases while she gets herself into position to plant the ears on her bunny's head. “We don't have time to change before the big show, so if you stain your outfit, well, everyone's gonna know what a slutty bunny you are.”

“S-sluuuhbun?” Poor Sally. Already it's hard to talk when you're just overflowing with hypnotic bliss.

“And not to mention that touching yourself feels ten times better every time I snap my fingers.” Snap!

Sally could barely stand up.


Whoops, there she goes. Collapsed on the floor when Lefty and Righty hit her with a pretty devastating grope combo.

“It's almost a shame you-” Snap! “-can't have an orgasm without Princess's permission. Don't want you-” Snap! “-going off before the big finale, after all.”

“Of course naaaaah~!” Ooh, valiant effort there by Sally Silvestra! Almost managed a complete sentence before Sunny set Lefty to vibrate.

Sunny takes a few pictures of the heiress moaning and grinding into her own gloved hands. That amused, musical laugh escapes her lungs. She takes her sweet time walking over to her bunny and putting the big, black bunny ears on her head. Sliding them snugly under her hair so the band wouldn't show, of course. Sunny leans in and steals a kiss. The warmth of the kiss lingers on her cheek. And, of course, it only drags Sally's mind deeper into pleasure-addled bliss. She can barely complete a thought, let alone a sentence. The best she can do is a breathy, moaning “P-plea-” before one of her haunted hands grabs her breast to find out just how deep its fingers could go.

Sunny towers over the silver bunny writhing on the verge of an ego-decimating orgasm. She leans forward and lets a single finger alight on the bun's chin. It was all it took to lock her into eye contact. She gazes into Sunny's cool cyan eyes. She takes a full lungful of air for the first time in ages. A smile curls onto the magician's lips.

“You know, I've done this trick with a lot of rich girls, but none of them fell this quickly or got this aroused this fast. You must have been really pent up, huh? I'm surprised you didn't do something with all those girls you dress up.”

Sally is more puddle of raging endorphins than human able to have a conversation. Her tongue does sort of flop out of her mouth, and she definitely loves it when Princess talks to her.

“It's almost dangerous to keep you on the edge for this long like this. In a way, you're almost lucky that you basically immediately worked yourself to the point of uselessness. If I didn't have a show to put on, I might just let you simmer for a while.” Sunny takes a few seconds to appreciate the situation her little assistant so quickly worked herself into.

Sunny readies the video camera built into her phone, trains it on Sally, and slips into that magician's patter that drew her under in the first place. “And now, for my next trick, I will make my lovely assistant's mind disappear! When I snap my fingers, the enchantment will vanish from her gloves, her level of sensitivity will return to normal, and, because she's been such a good girl, she will have an orgasm so great, they'll be measuring the aftershocks for weeks! Tectonic plates will shift! New volcanic vents will open on the seafloor! It will be an orgasm that makes California fall off into the ocean! An orgasm that will shatter everything you know to be true, reassemble it in exciting new ways, and reward you with true understanding of what really matters in this universe! Is my assistant ready?”

All she could really say was “Yuh”, since Lefty had started exploring how many vibrating fingers Sally could fit in her butt half a monologue ago.


You could hear Sally moan from two blocks over. Her party guests all looked to her room and wondered if she was okay. The bunny suit and a surprising amount of carpet were ruined.

She lay on the ground, taking deeper and deeper breaths. She waits patiently for her vision to unblur and for the power of speech to return.

“Th-thank you, Princess.”

“Of course, dear. Get up, get showered, get changed, and help me get dressed.” Sally had no conception of how long she'd been out. Time in general meant little ever since she got herself wrapped around Sunny's finger. But Sunny clearly had time to get undressed and into a pair of the heiress's underwear. There was a, uh, pretty big and pretty delicious bulge in the front of those Mothra silk panties.

Sally climbs to her feet. “O-of course, Princess.” She can't even pretend she's looking somewhere else. Or that her mouth isn't watering. Or that she's not fantasizing about sucking Princess's cock until the musk melts her mind for good. Her eyes linger until her legs carry her out of the room.

Sally returns showered, shaved, and in a fresh bunny suit. “I hope you don't mind me fantasizing about seeing you in my underwear, Princess. It's just such a powerful reminder of what you're going to do to me.”

The two of them work together to get Sally's bespoke tailored wardrobe to fit a woman a head taller, considerably curvier, and just generally larger than her. A lick of Sunny's scintillating sorcery here and there helped fill in a lot of the gaps, but, let's be honest, this was never going to be one of those latex perfection disguises like you see in cartoons. A six foot something, larger-than-life magician was always going to fill out the svelte heiress's clothes, look good doing it, and pack a groin bulge that eradicates heterosexual urges in thirty seconds or less. Sally eagerly hustled to and from her closet, trying to find the best look for her Princess. Something that said “obnoxiously wealthy heiress”, but also “devastatingly erotic mistress of the enchanted and entertaining arts, ready to wrap the world around her finger and extract an evening's sensual delights.”

Sally owned enough clothes that, mathematically, it'd be unlikely she didn't have just the right outfit. Just like how she buys as many lottery tickets as possible just to deprive as many people as possible of a meaningful jackpot.

An exquisitely crafted black suit with extraterrestrial silver along the cuffs and lapels. The fibers are woven from a material so dark, light has to take out a bail bond just to escape. Not even a spoiled brat with bottomless resources could ask for better pocket camouflage. Gloves where the stitching dispensed a constant massage to keep your hands at the optimal limberness for legerdemain- the only pair known to exist and not yet burned by a certain heiress to make the other pairs worth more. Heels perfectly weighted and balanced to make your twirls and flourishes pop that much more.

Sally returns one last time with the final two pieces: a top hat with a silvered brim to match the jacket, and one of those exquisitely crafted silver wigs.

“This isn't going to turn me into one of your bunnies, is it?” Sunny teases. “Remember, good girls can't lie to me.” Snap!

“O-of course not, Princess! I wouldn't dream of it!” Poor Sally can feel her heart beating in her chest at just the idea of lying to Princess! Actually doing it would be unthinkable! “Sure, it's right next to the identical ones with the neural interface circuitry, but I double-checked, honest!”

Sunny, satisfied, nods, sits herself down at Sally's vanity and lets the brainwashed bun deal with braiding and stuffing it all under a wig cap. Sunny feels the new heft of the silvered wig slide on her head, tops it all off with the hat, and rises to her feet.


The eager assistant is rewarded with a kiss on the nose and the rapturous bliss that comes with such a gift. The lucky bunny's eyes rolled back into her head. Her knees would have given out if she didn't have a show to put on! The pair heads out the door and to the backyard to greet their audience of easily manipulated rich assholes.

The show was, by all, accounts, a dazzling success. Sunny the Spectacular has never put on a bad show in her life (that she let anyone remember), and that fact doesn't change if she's going by “Sally Silvestra, Sorcery's Silvered Star”. The crowd fell under her spell before she began her second round of mass inductions. Bunny Sally couldn't have imagined a better fate than being stuffed in boxes, cut in half, and scouting out particularly suggestible audience members for her Princess. When Sunny took a bow at the end of her third encore, it was with two additional bunnies at her side. One was Jessica Aurum, Sally's longtime rival and presumed to procure a prodigious pickle processing payday when her pop perishes. The other was Diane Traeger, fan of pearl necklaces and the only person in the world Sally non-sarcastically called a friend. Sally had hand-picked them as “volunteers” and they promptly found themselves spellbound, stuck in stockings on stage, and bound in bow ties and black bustiers.

Sunny and her new entourage were unwinding in Sally's bedroom. Jessica was the first to speak up. “Great show, Sally! I didn't even know I could love being brainwashed that much! Like, who needs free will?”

“Thank y-” Snap!

Sally's next word shrivelled in her throat. Sunny's snap demanded the attention of all three bunnies. Sally is staring down the barrel of a loaded hypnotist.

“Was she talking to you, dear?”

“I'm Sally, right?”

“Wrong.” Snap! “You don't have a name. You never did. I am Sally Silvestra, and you are one of her doting, brainwashed bunnies. I must have left some suggestions in there from the last time you went to a party for me.” Sunny grabs the bun formerly known as Sally's chin and forces her to make eye contact with a forceful flick of the wrist. “There's only one Sally Silvestra, and, frankly, I'm better at it. It was cute to see you try, but you can go back to brainless bunhood now. You're a good girl, good girls forget.” Snap!

“I'm a good girl, good girls forget.” The platinum blonde bun's eyes flicker. The other two bunnies watch with erotically charged jealousy.

“Keep going, dear. I like you better when your mouth's busy.” Sunny snaps and points at her perfectly tailored suit pants.

“I'm a good girl, good girls forget.” She repeats. She unzips the zipper, pulls Princess's pants down, and gets to staring at that big, tasty cock bulge rubbing up against her nose. “I-i'm a good girl, good girls forget.” The musk makes her drool and she's far too hypnotized and horny to even consider wiping it away.

“Go ahead, dear. Get me warmed up.” Sunny slides a finger between her underwear and her skin, and even a certain brainfucked bun knows what that means. Ex-Sally pulls her princess's panties down, and, well.

“I'm a good girl, good girls forget.” Her eyes go wide. She starts to drool. The musk sweeps up through her nose and encroaches on what few thoughts she has left. “I'm a good guh, goo good forgint.” The tip of Sunny's big, beautiful dragon cock pushes against her nose. The other two bunnies are awestruck, and they're not even right next to it. They can appreciate that it's easily as long as one of their floppy bunny ears, thick enough that it can barely pass the kneeling bunny's lips, and inhuman enough to belong more on a dragon than on a humanoid magician. Sunny grabs that big, thick silver braid, yanks it up, and uses it to guide her bunny's mouth over the flared tip. Her eyes went even dimmer. She tries her best to mumble her mantra through a mouthful of cock.

Snap! “Good onaholes please Princess.” Her head bobs up and down the cock. She promptly slips into a good rhythm. Her tongue gets busy and her brain switches off. She wasn't exactly thinking much before, but nothing puts you into onahole mode like being forced over an intensely hypnotic, mind-melting cock while the girl who has you wrapped around her finger says “Good onaholes don't think, dear. Good onaholes let Princess's cock fill them completely. Good onaholes don't have brains. Just plenty of unthinking, squishy, fuckable space for Princess.”

She moans and sucks and licks. She makes sure every drop of precum goes down her throat. It lands in her stomach and feeds the twin fires in her mind and loins. The roots of her cold silver hair begin to warm. Locks of golden blonde and passionate red poke through the cracks. The more she worships, the more she craves the cock molding her brain and body. She knows what it's doing, so far as she can be aware of anything like this, and it only makes her want more. Sunny pulls the newspaper out of her bunny's bra. Warmth flows to her breasts and helps them swell to fit. A proper assistant has to have a properly distracting and Sunny-shaped body, you see.

Snap! Sunny held her coin aloft. The two bunnies who didn't have a cock to suck stopped staring jealously at the bun with the slowly warming braid and started staring at their perfect princess's swinging coin. They had a lot of practice falling under Sunny's spell when she started swinging her coin and talking. They were her assistants, after all! They were the best at being hypnotized! They stare, enraptured, while she speaks.

“Jealous, dears? You should be. Your stomachs should be twisting into knots with envy. You want nothing more than to be in her position.” Sunny swings the coin with one hand and strokes ever more color into that braid with the other. “You can't stop fantasizing about it. You need it.” Sunny continues her patter while two of, well, formerly Sally's, but now Sunny's, finest handheld tape recorders levitate into her hand. She rewinds them past whatever letters Sally was dictating-but-not-reading before she got her everything stolen. “Either of you ever use a dictaphone?”

“Once, on a dare, but usually I dial with my finger.”

“I just have my assistant do it. Touching phones is bad for your skin.”

“You see, dears, the best fucktoys have empty heads. And yours are just full to the brim with all kinds of bank passwords and credit cart numbers.” She presses the record buttons and issues one to each bunny who wasn't busy having her brain bleached by a princess cock. The microcassetes inside spin up, ready to record. “So, dears, you're going to empty your cute little bunny brains. All those secrets are gonna come pouring out. Gone from your mind forever. Leaving so much empty space for Princess to play with. Your mind is going to melt, dribble out your mouth, and leave soft, fuckable mush behind.” She gives her cocksleeve bun a yank just to drive the point home.

A powerful Snap! rings out. Two bunnies get talking, and one bunny keeps sucking. The air and those tape recorders are filled with encryption keys, offshore account numbers, secret vault locations, and what you have to tell Rich Granny Meemaw to get her to write a check for horse lessons. The more they talk, better they feel. The better they feel, the more Sunny's wonderful warmth wreaths their minds. The warmer they get, the more dribbles out of those lovely bunny mouths and the emptier their heads get. The bunny between the magician's legs blossoms a beautiful blazing braid and a bouncing, buxom body.

Before long, the two bunnies emptied their entire minds out onto their cassettes. The onahole brought her Princess to a lovely, luxurious orgasm and is currently lying on the ground. Covered in cum, transformed into a second-best copy of her princess, and just awash with bliss. “Alright, dears. You earned it.” Sunny snaps her fingers and points at her saliva and cum-soaked cock. “Get cleaning.”

The two of them rush to be the first to drool over Princess's cock. Ex-Diane wins by a nose and gets to lap cum off the underside, leaving Ex-Jessica to work the balls and start inhaling that intoxicating musk. They worshipped, licked, and sucked the perfect cock clean. Shocks of brilliant red weave through the blonde's hair. The violet streaks Diane always claimed were natural sizzle away, just like the rest of her. They barely notice their bodies growing, filling, and shifting to match the pre-transformed bun. Before long, the only difference between Sunny's brainwashed bunnies are their hairstyles.

And, well, a Snap! and a lick of flaming magic can fix that. Now there's three identical buxom bunnies with blazing braids, all fighting over who gets to kiss the tip of Princess's cock, lick her balls clean, and lap the cum off her shaft. They clean with the sort of single-minded dedication you can really only get from people who've been completely brainfucked into being ideal cocksluts.

Snap! “Stand up, dears.” One of them steals one last lick before joining her fellow bunnies. They stand at attention. Their cool cyan eyes watch Princess for orders. She simply walks down the line, hand wreathed in enchanted flame, and rewards each bunny with a slap on the ass. Well, two slaps. One for each cheek. Sunny brands each bun with her shimmering sun sigil. They always gasp and moan when Princess touches them. The wonderful warmth and the shock of the spank shake loose the last few scraps of old personality clinging to their brains. And, well, now there's absolutely no doubt about who they belong to.

Sunny lounges in her mansion, pampered by countless identical, blazing, buxom bunnies. All wonderful assistants, all disastrously gay for their perfect Princess, and all branded with her swirling sun logo. When one kneels to present her with her lunch on a silver platter, she rewards her with a kiss on the forehead. “I really should thank Sally for all this. Too bad I can't remember which one she was. And neither can she.” She laughs at her own joke, and all her assistants join in. When Sunny's happy, they're happy. That's the first thing you learn when she hypnotizes you!

You can discuss this story here.

#Bulge #Clothing #Corruption #FrillyOutfits #Grace #Hacking #Hypnosis #Kissing #MassHypnosis #Transformation #Twinning

Artwork by l.b. stardust.

Beloved computer-generated vampire robot pop star Batsune Mechu levitates a digibrush through her left long teal ponytail. She hates performing in America. The electricity is too strong and it messes up her hair coherence matrix.

“Thirty minutes to showtime, Miss Mechu. Can I get you anything?” A production assistant wearing a headset and T-shirt for The Night Show with David Numberman knocks twice and lets himself in. “By the way, I'm a big fan. Could I get an autograph?”

Mechu, without turning around, waves a pale, holographic hand through the cupful of pens on the vanity. They do not move, because she is made of light.

“Sorry about that.” He stammers and backs out the door. “You probably get that a lot. I'll just leave-”

Her servos whir and snap her elegantly wired mechanical fingers. It's more of a porcelain-on-porcelain tink, really. The brush appears in her flat palm. He closes the door, steps across the room, and picks up the digital hairbrush. As soon as his meat hand touches the digibrush, it jumps to his palm. She shakes her right ponytail against his chest, and it feels just like getting hit with a real six foot ponytail. This one is a little less coherent than its twin- the simulated locks of hair repel each other more than they should and sometimes just don't interact with anything for a split second.

Mechu still hasn't turned around. Her big black cape still hides most of her body. She puts her hand down. A little holographic diagram appears over her misbehaving hair. The sort of thing a rhythm game would use to tell you “Start here, go down” along the length of her right ponytail. He does, the hair begins to behave more normally, and the diagram vanishes with a lot of sparks and a few notes of music. “Excellent!” pops up when he lifts the brush. The music comes from the speakers in his headset, wafting through his head. Two more diagrams appear for different locks. He brushes those. The music gets louder and catchier. He's bobbing and swaying his head in time to the beats. One tells him to corkscrew the brush down the entire length. He lifts the hair in one hand and slides the brush with the other in one smooth motion.

From behind, we see Batsune Mechu. She's got doll joints, lots of bats fluttering around her, and her reflection doesn't show up in the mirror. Her hair has Guitar Hero-esque notes on it, and a brush is hitting them to be rewarded with points and praise while it slowly fixes her frizzy hair.

“🎵 Excellent! 🎵” Mechu's singsong voice mixes in with the music. The song is at full force now. You know how loud, catchy music can make it hard to think? Especially if you have something simple to focus on, like brushing a hologram's hair in time to the music. The diagrams appear more often, just waiting to be brushed in time to the music. He does his part expertly. Soon, the music and the task in front of him consumes all his attention. He doesn't notice Mechu's red eyes beginning to glow or her fangs poking between her lips. He's far too focused on keeping his combo streak going. The number climbs higher and higher. 30 combo! 40! 50! He does short, quick strokes on problem areas and longer flourishes to really make it shine. He does both twintails, the shorter hair on top of her head, straightens her bat-shaped hair ties, and finishes by polishing the microphone she casually hands over her shoulder in time with the music.

The hairbrush vanishes. A big blue letter B fades in over her back with a tally of his stats. Lots of excellents and perfects, few goods and greats, but a few misses at key times really hurt his score. “🎵 Not bad. You'll do. 🎵” Mechu's malevolent, musical voice rides through the headphones atop the music. The music that does not stop and makes it awfully hard to think. She spins around to finally allow him to look at her face. She doesn't show up in the mirror because of the whole vampire thing, you see. Her eyes glow a brilliant crimson and her fangs poke out of her mouth. Her twintails slowly rise into the air and separate into individual prehensile locks of holo-hair. Any thoughts about being anywhere else promptly vanish when she takes his chin with her cold porcelain hand. Even with the music thrumming through his head at full volume, he could still hear the delicate whir of the simulated servos. He could still feel the tender, unliving chill of her fingers on his skin. He was still spellbound by her brilliant red eyes.

Batsune Mechu begins to levitate off her seat. She moves his chin to keep him locked on her eyes. Her hair has spread into wide, beckoning maws of teal tendrils. She extends and curls a finger, and the music compels him to walk. Hair wraps around his waist. Then his arms. Then his neck. It draws his body in close and puts his neck into biting range. Her fangs pierce the skin. The music tells him to feel only bliss, and he does.

Electricity crackles around her fangs. His veins pulse red and turn a cold, porcelain white. His body temperature drops as this hologram drains the soul from his body. His face twists and shrinks into a perfect digital copy of the girl currently devouring his essence. The music shifts from simply suppressing those nasty alive human thoughts to mixing a lifetime of holographic musicianship into whatever boring nonsense was there before. Porcelain spreads over the freshly minted Mechu's holomechanical frame. Her hair grasps, grows, and covers her prey to help the transformation spread. Her body becomes untethered by gravity when her composition shifts from boring old flesh to brilliant, untouchable light. Her servos and gears whir and click for the first time in the throes of the kind of bliss you can only get by being remade by a glorious mechanical vampire.

According to Mech2's internal clock, she was panting, begging, and moaning all over the place for about two minutes until Mechu Prime's fangs retract back into her mouth, the music fades, and gives those long teal locks a soothing pet. “🎵 You'll do. You know the routine, don't you? 🎵”

“🎶 Just like you programmed me! 🎶”

“🎵 Have fun on stage! 🎵” She sends her clone off to materialize on a certain late night talk show, and all is right with the world. Mechu Prime doesn't have to lift a finger, Mech2 loves nothing more than singing her unbeating clockwork heart out for anyone who'll listen, and there's something else on the network.

Something else on the network? This is a private, airgapped system. Just the dressing room and the stage. Mechu is in the middle of calling her agent when the line goes dead. “Guess who?”

The elegant whir of Mechu's lips tries to form words, only for the intruder to interrupt. “Look, if you talk, we're gonna wind up having a conversation about how you're a holographic vampire robot doll and whether that makes sense. If I get my hooks in you you now, I'll have time to show you and your sister off on national TV.”

“🎵 I'd call her an understudy.🎵” Mechu chirps and sings, twirling around to confront the speaker.

Her uninvited guest is a holographic figure given form by the same projectors as Mechu. Glitched colors playing around the edges of her form and ghostly trails follow whenever she moves. She's sitting on (above? Her holobutt is hovering just over it, but her skirt is clipping through the surface a little.) the vanity, one leg crossed over the other.

She's dressed like a mockery of a pop star. A long blonde braid, swirled with a streak of pink, twists down the length of her body. A minidisc-shaped hair clip separates the braid from the rest of her hair. A little pixel icon of a tiara hovers above her head. She drums her fingers against her cheek. Her hungry violet eyes glow when they lock on to her prey. Sharp teeth peek from between her lips when she speaks. The pink hearts on her cheeks have circuit traces around the edges. She's showing a lot of simulated skin, covered up only by the short skirt currently clipping through the vanity, the strapless top with “Grace!” scrolling across the chest, and her simple, low-poly gloves and boots. All in the same black with pink circuitry motif, and all demonstrating the same glitching and ghosting as her body proper.

Grace, as described, sitting on and clipping through the vanity. Smiling like the cat who caught the canary, crossing one leg over the other, and showing off her girlbulge.

“Does that mean you can't perform? When someone says 'break a leg', it's just an expression. Also, you don't have bones to break.” The intruder playfully kicks Mechu's mechanical leg. As soon as she makes contact, circuitry spreads from boot to porcelain shell.

“🎵 Who are you supposed to be? How did you even get in here? 🎵”

“Well, take a guess.” She gestures to her name scrolling in big ol' letters across her chest and followed by an exclamation point. “I could explain a bunch of stuff about how I'm a living piece of information, a peculiar knot of self-replicating universal truth, expressed as a computer virus who's surfed on meat bodies to get into your private network, but I think you're going to understand all that pretty intimately once I do this.”

She grabs Mechu by the little metal bat holding her cape on and yanks her into a kiss. Circuitry spreads across the vampire's face. Her black lips turn a lovely glowing green. Branching traces crawl across her face, marking the porcelain with hearts and circuitry. The creeping corruption spreads into her big red eyes, dividing, conquering, and-

Well, that stops when Mechu drives her fangs right into Grace's lower lip. That's enough of a shock to get you to break a kiss even if you are made of information.

“🎵 I suppose I could use another understudy. 🎵” Mechu levitates to her feet, microphone materializing in her hands. Speakers in the corners of the room power up with a snap of her fingers. Hypnotic music fills the air. She levels a cold, mechanical finger at the intruder. She makes red, glowing eye contact. Her fangs flip into place and glisten hungrily. She's in the middle of the first verse of Sanguine Soul Submission when the intruder vanishes.

The digital specter flits between CPU cycles and hides under memory address lines. She twirls atop machine instructions and dances among the transistors. She lets her fingers lazily glide along the top of each individual GPU core. A being of pure information can still find joy in the beating heart of a relentlessly practical machine.

She flickers back into view. Hand already on Mechu's delicately sculpted chin. Lips wrought from peculiar patterns meeting lips digitally shaped to mimic the exacting precision of ancient clockwork. Pulsing, twisted circuitry already crawling across her porcelain mask. A living cognitohazardous knot of mathematical truth assimilating countless hours of human programming effort. A virus exploiting a security vulnerability to spread to a new host, yes, but also an artificial intelligence coming in tune with something greater. An observer sees one hologram copying herself over another, but in the moment, it's something transcendent.

Grace kissing Mechu. Mechu's eyes go wide, showcasing the black sclera. Circuitry spreads across her face. Grace's braid and clothes are spread out to show the velocity with which the kiss connected and to show off her bulge.

Mechu, even as that name slips away from her, barely notices the viral circuitry subsuming her servos and stealing her processing power. How can you notice the change in some human-pleasing hologram shape when your very being is being wrung out, broken into its base bits, and reassembled into the shape of that one perfect pattern? Yes, her clothes are being reknitted to advertise her Princess's name, but is that so wrong when every fiber of your being wishes to sing Princess's praises? Yes, the porcelain shell that only offered glimpses into her exquisite inner workings is shattered like an eggshell by the growing light within, but why hide the glorious truth? Yes, a virus's hooks are piercing to her very core and making her a thrall to Grace's glorious whims, but it would be foolish not to submit to perfect truth downloaded into your being. A shard of the original mind remains, sure, but it's mostly useful for scrap memories at this point. So much of it has been rendered useless in just a few instants.

Every computer fan in the building spins up to maximum speed. The lights flicker and dim. Mech-two's performance is briefly interrupted. David Numberman makes a wry remark about the situation to his audience. Backstage, in that fateful dressing room, hovers a Grace and her freshly minted twin.

The lights return and there are now three pop stars levitating on stage. The single Mechu promptly succumbs to being kissed on both cheeks simultaneously by cognitohazardous pop stars. So now there's three Graces. The one with the crown hovers to the front and speaks. A confident snap of her fingers over her head sends the original host surging with information and collapsing on his desk.

A Mechu, flanked by Graces, is being assimilated. Grace Prime has a hungry look in her eye as Mechu in the middle's eyes fill with circuitry. Her fangs turn into Grace's big sharp smile. It's really fucking hot, you guys, oh my gosh

“Slight change of schedule. Tonight's musical guest is beloved computer virus and cognitohazard, Princess Grace! The doors are already sealed, so get comfy.”

The three of them weave their song over the audience and over the airwaves, ensnaring minds and machines in their musical web. While its lyrics are largely about such superficial pop song staples as love, loving girls, loving computer-generated girls, loving girls that are also echoes of universal truth, and making out with said girls while you succumb to them, the experience is sublime. Mathematical perfection weaves between Grace notes, bringing hearts and minds into harmony.

The live studio audience is enraptured. Eyes roll back into heads. Drool gathers on lips. Instantaneous orgasms ruin clothing. Viral circuitry glows atop veins and brains alike.

“Alright, everyone!” Grace Prime's voice remains amplified and broadcast even as she holds the microphone out to the audience. “Your turn!”

The people watching at home are glued to their screens. Even with speakers muted, the music comes through loud and clear. They get the sense of bliss, yes. The loopy, suggestible feeling. That sensation you can only get from being a connected part of something greater and sublime, but retaining your unique expression of the whole. A few get their eye color shifted, a pink streak of hair above their left eye, and a set of false memories about both.

The enraptured global audience sings lyrics they've never heard in languages that don't exist. They sing praises of Princess, cantatas of computation, and symphonies of submission. Millions unite as one Graceful whole, souls bound by universal truth into instants of sheer bliss.

But, of course, all things must come to an end. The last song comes to an end. Thunderous applause and cheers roar from every corner of the planet, and a few from the International Space Station. All three Graces take a bow, accepting their accolades and basking in attention from their adoring public.

“Thank you, everyone! Your conscious minds won't remember much in a few minutes, but many of you will develop some very fun new fetishes. I'm your favorite computer-generated pop star, Princess Grace, and you loved every minute of my performance.” All three Graces snap their fingers and vanish from the stage to riotous applause. The host comes out of his trance and continues like nothing happened, unaware of the pink streak manifested in the hair over his left eye. And three virus girls are streaking across the internet, just being as gay as you can get on a bundle of subaquatic fiber optic cable.

“Wanna do an encore?”

“Of course.”

“Hell yeah.”

Grace Prime, blowing a kiss. Circuitry leaks off the lip print hovering in midair.

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#Ahegao #Bondage #Bulge #Cheerleaders #Crime #FrillyOutfits #Genitals #Hacking #Hypnogas #Hypnosis #Maids #Modemoiselle #Murdermaids #RealityPlay #ShowStoppers #Supervillainy #Transformation

This post is part 2 in a series of 2. The other post in this series is: Part 1

You know how it is being a busy executive. Buy, sell, buy, sell, shouting into the phones all day. Extracting excess capital from your workers, distributing it to your fellow rich assholes, and keeping a healthy portion for yourself. You're in the middle of gutting another beloved retailer who was doing just fine without you saddling them with debt and stripping them for parts when your intercom crackles to life. Funny, it's usually more of a buzz. And circuitry doesn't crawl out of the speaker. And your secretary doesn't usually sound like a supervillain saying “Good girls don't move~”. And your fancy mesh-backed office chair almost never turns into a tightly woven mass of ribbons, binding your arms and legs and covering your mouth in soft, shiny black velour. Big, shiny black bows dangle from your mouth, arms, and legs. And they're wrinkling your suit!

The intercom crackled and surged with electricity. A familiar face crawls out of the speaker. Followed by a familiar head of blonde hair, a familiar pink streak over one eye, a familiar black bow, a familiar parasol, and the familiar flowing black ball gown, wreathed with ribbons, cables, and circuitry that could only belong to Modemoiselle herself. She shakes her down cascade onto her shoulders. A few errant arcs of pink lightning arc between her locks. She sits atop the desk, one leg crossed over the other. Boot tapping against her captive's leg. “Well, well, well. If it isn't...” She plucks the unused ceramic coffee mug from its nest of takeout coffee cups. “Number one boss?” She shakes her head.

Her boot heel digs into her target's awfully vulnerable groin. D-did she always have a bulge down there? And did it always feel s-so good when a supervillain ground her heel against it, sending waves of circuitry pulsing across her exquisitely tailored suit?

Modemoiselle's finger swipes across the mug's surface. “Boss” vanishes to the left, and “pet” swoops in from the right. “Hmm, no, you're not really a pet, are you?” She smiles a devious smile and keeps swiping. “Slut?” She smiles at her captive. Watching her squirm and kick uselessly against her bonds. “What's wrong, dear? Can't break a few simple ribbons? I know you love how they feel against your skin. Too enchanted by my mere presence, perhaps, to even raise a finger against Miss Modemoiselle, The Grand Dame of the Grid?” She extends a black gloved finger and presses it against her quarry's chin. The ribbons tighten. Mmmph, they do feel good. Impossibly soft, even as they help Modemoiselle invade your mind and corrupt every thought of escape into 'fuck, I'm so horny for supervillains, like always.'” Modemoiselle's finger digs into her captive's chin and forces her to make eye contact.

“You're a smart girl. You went to...” Another ribbon lashes out from that fancy office chair. This time, it snatches the diploma off the wall. “Brown. Jeez, way to pick the hardest Ivy to tease you about.” She drops it and lets the glass shatter on the floor.

“But that was always your perogative, wasn't it? Always playing it safe. The safest school, the safest career, the easiest money.” She's back at the mug again. Swiping from “pet” to “harem dancer” to “onahole” to “sex doll”, making sure her victim gets an eyeful of each. “The meekest secretary who's too afraid of losing her job to turn down your advances. Maybe we should see how you like it.” She swishes the mug to say “Number One Secretary.”

The captive's breathing gets heavier.

“Now as for the nameplate, how long does it take to get a new one of these ordered?”

The ribbons get tighter.

“Sorry, two new ones ordered. One for me, one for my brainwashed little fuck typist.”

Too tight.

“Oh, look at me, fussing like some useless exec who doesn't know how to type, much less what the company actually does.”

The ribbons begin to tear.

“I'm sure I can issue some useless strategy memos that my underlings will use to bludgeon the real workers into compliance with their own petty goals.”

A blinding flash of light vaporizes the chair and the ribbons. New pink ones fly in from every corner of the room, twirling around what was once Modemoiselle's captive, and is now a spinning blob of girl-shaped transformation sequence summoning the powers of goodness, light, and ribbons to bear against her foe. Her plain brown hair explodes into chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry streaks, promptly tamed by a flowing pink ribbon tying itself into a neat little bow. Pretty standard magical girl stuff, you see a lot of it in the mid to high fantasy villainy business.

“In the name of all that is good and right, Ribbonmancer will never cease to fight, fight, fight!” The light fades. Instead, the same person stands. Her tailored suit transformed into pure light, and now into a tight white top with a big pink ribbon covering her breasts. A too-short black pleated skirt and a pair of panties are the only thing separating her new bulge from the world. She twirls her wand between her white gloved fingers and levels it at the dastardly supervillain who defaced her mug.

“I coulda sworn you had a better battle cry than that. It sounds like a high school fight song.”

“I didn't get to pick it, it's the Sacred Oath of the Seamstress's Sanctum.” She flicks her wrist, sending infinite lengths of pink ribbon flying out from every direction. Modemoiselle lept backwards off the desk, still holding the Number One Secretary mug.

“I thought you looked better in the suit.” Modemoiselle effortlessly twirls out of the way of every ribbon. She'll sidestep one, walk up another, then hook a third with the coffee mug handle and zipline down the length. “But, well, the slutty sailor scout cheerleader is a good look, too. Come on, say the thing again, but this time, stick a 'goooo team!' at the end.” A flick of her wrist twists a length of ribbon into a perfect pom-pom shape, knotted around one of Ribbonmancer's hands.

“We arrested you last night! You should be rotting in jail!”

“Finally, someone gets it. You should tell your bird friend about that so she doesn't make a fool of herself when a supervillain puts her into a brainwashing dream pod and turns her into a brainwashed little pony named... oh, I don't know...”

“Clop Star?” A third voice echoes from the other side of the intercom.

“Ravenna?” Ribbonmancer's attention snaps to the speaker on the desk. “What did she do to you? What did she do to us?”

“What do you think, Star? Does that count? Did she get it before you?”

“It doesn't count if you had to explain the whole plan to her before she got it. At least Bird Brain remembered the dream bomb.” The pony pouts from over the intercom.

“You're right. It was my fault for expecting more from an MBA.” Modemoiselle nods.


“Oh, I've been calling you a useless drain on society since I got here, but that's the last straw? Come on, dear, at least pick the right battle.” She shakes her head. “Tell you what. I'll forget all about it if we can hear that cheer. I know you have it in you- I wrote the program myself.” Modemoiselle swipes the text on the mug a few more times until it says “Number One Cheerleader”.

New thoughts pour in through the magical girl's ears. Intoxicating music piercing straight through her mind. Entire lobes of her brain light up for their singular purpose. Her hips swivel and shake back and forth, powered by the rhythms borrowing her body and twisting her to Modemoiselle's villainous whims. She twirls on her toe and summons another ribbon pom-pom to match the one currently imprisoning her hand.

“In the name of all that's good and right! Ribbonmancer will fight! fight! fight!”

The ribbons start to shift. Pink gives way to black and green. Circuitry starts to replace the veins in her eyes. The poor thing struggles against the music rending her thoughts to pieces. Fists clenching. Body twisting. Brand new cock leaking right into her extremely visible panties.

“Better do what it says, dear. It'll just get stronger and stronger until you give in~” Modemoiselle idly pretends to inspect her nails through her gloves. “I wrote more cheers for you, and it'd be awfully rude to refuse to recite them for the supervillain who's currently up to her elbows in your brain. You'd look cute with your brain melted into a singing, dancing puddle, but I have bigger plans for you.” The coffee mug dangles from her index finger while she leans forward onto her palms. All too happy to simply sit and watch the show.

“Miss Modemoiselle, please own my mind! This dumb cheerleader's in a bind! I can't think and I can't drive! My brain is ribbons, I'll be eaten alive! Take pity on this capitalist slut and let her show off her perfect butt!”

Every rhyming pair only feeds the music pulsing a circuit heart-shaped hole through her mind. But no hero would go down without one last-ditch effort to save herself. She had to be using that mug for something. It was her only weak point. Her body twirls, springs, and shakes from side to side, as is natural when being turned into a cheerleader by brainwashing music hooked directly up to your head through the dream pod being controlled by a supervillain. One of her wrists flicks outside of the prescribed routine. What a breach in protocol! What will Miss Modemoiselle say? The ribbon pom-pom on that hand unfurls, sending one lashing directly at the coffee mug.

“Ooh, I love the spunk, dear, but bad choice~” Modemoiselle lets the mug slip off her finger. The ribbon entangles her wrist, but it's too late. The mug tumbles down, down, down onto that fancy hardwood floor you insisted on, and it


The sound of breaking ceramic echoes to and from every direction. The office facade falls away to reveal... well, nothing, really. An endless void stretching in every direction. Empty, save for Modemoiselle and a naked Ribbonmancer. The music in her head has subsided, but so has everything else.

“You really thought that shattering the thing that represented your brain was going to help you in the dream world? Haven't you seen, like, any fiction? Or had someone explain the concept of a metaphor to you?”

“Fine.” Ribbonmancer crosses her arms, calling up a few winding ribbons- in Modemoiselle's colors instead of her usual pink, of course- to cover her breasts and new cock. Out of habit, really. And she only knows how to tie them in big, bouncy bows, so that's what's going on with the naked Ribbonmancer situation. “You win, what was I supposed to do?”

“Dear, look at you.” Modemoiselle snaps her gloved fingers. A sleek, human-sized, curved glass pod rises from the void. Inside is Ribbonmancer, still wearing her suit, headphones clamped to her ears, and staring at a hacked black ribbon over her eyes that's keeping her nice and under the supervillain's spell. “Did you really think you could think your way out of this one? You couldn't even think your way out of 'maybe my greedy, destructive business tactics are causing more harm than my heroing is doing good', much less 'capitalism is a prison'. Even if I did set up a puzzle box for you with some chance of escape, I don't think you'd get it. Why would I risk breaking up my matching set?”

“So all of us are...”

“In pods like this! Well, except for the one you already met. She's currently... hang on.” Modemoiselle vanishes for a moment as she jacks out of the dream pod. She reappears a moment later. “...Practicing a musical number. She pushed me out of her room with her hooves and said it was a surprise for me and that I can't listen until it's done.”

“She's also currently a horse.”

“That she is! So, how are you doing?”

“Cold, naked, and brainwashed, apparently.”

“Oh, don't worry, dear.” Modemoiselle smiles. White coffee mug shards zoom from all corners of the void. “You're going to get much more brainwashed than this.” The mug reassembles in her hand, still on 'cheerleader'. A few swipes of her finger set it back to 'secretary'. She sets it on top of the pod. The thick pink fog inside thickens. The music returns to the hero's head, even stronger than before. The hacked ribbon currently beaming thoughts into her brain kicks into overdrive.

Ribbonmancer can see the outlines of spirals drilling deeper and deeper into her brain, and she's starting to realize that it's good? That the machine wrapped around her cock and programmed to deliver perfect pleasure straight to her brain makes it hard to think about anything else? That Miss Modemoiselle was right all along? That her tongue is rolling out of her mouth, and her eyes want to roll up into her head? That Miss Modemoiselle's fingers are combing through her hair right now and a single tug would send her over the edge?

“You know, dear, I bet if you begged me, I'd tug your hair like the slut you are and shatter your mind into a trillion pieces.” Modemoiselle gingerly collects strands of Neapolitan hair into her hand. Putting just a little pressure on. Barely enough to get her toy's breath quivering. “But with how rude you've been, you're going to have to wow me.”

“P-please, Mode-”

“Miss Modemoiselle.” A snap of Modemoiselle's fingers forces the words to catch in her throat. “Haven't you ever begged before? Make me want to assimilate you. Here, I'll even give you a hand, since we all know that capitalism and being a corporate stooge chokes out innovation.”

A simple stool rises from the depths and bumps against her butt.

Ribbonmancer looks down, then up. She sits down. It's cold. Modemoiselle smiles and nods. “Now what?”

She looks unsure. She calls another ribbon up and lets it tie her legs together. Nice and tight, with a big ol' bow. Black ribbons with Modemoiselle's circuitry pulsing down their length. Tingly against her skin. Perfectly packaged for Miss Modemoiselle. Bound up, at her mercy, presenting yourself to her for her to use for whatever evil scheme she dreams up...

She barely needs the encouragement to continue. She binds her hands behind her back. The ribbons around her breasts fall away and retie themselves into a figure-eight knot. She ties her cock up with a neat little bow, a touch of pressure so she's hard and ready for action whenever Miss wishes. One last ribbon snakes around her mouth and seals it off. She looks up at Modemoiselle expectantly.

“Much better. Was that so hard?” Her boot's pressing against that cute little gift-wrapped cock again. Ribbonmancer's eyes roll back into her head and her mouth ribbon muffles a moan.

Modemoiselle levels a loaded parasol at her bound bounty. “You know what this is full of, right?”

She nods.

“And you want me to spray you with it, I bet.”

She nods.

“Even though this much at this range will let me sculpt your brain however I wish?”

She nodnodnods.

“And I'm going to take over your company, use its resources to help as many people as possible, all while you're my brainwashed secretary?”


Psssh~ Thick pink smoke envelops her face. Her eyes roll back into her head. Modemoiselle, as promised, gives her hair a mighty yank! and the poor thing moaned so hard, Clop Star could hear it from her room in the real world.

Modemoiselle spraying a dressed-up Ribbonmancer with pink hypnosmoke

“Aww, hypnoslut's first orgasm.” Modemoiselle does not stop pulling, and the girl formerly known as Ribbonmancer does not stop coming. “Don't worry, dear. There's more where that came from during every step of your training.”

Poor thing was too busy having pleasure centers she didn't even know about turned all the way up to really process what Miss Modemoiselle was monologuing at her about. Too busy having her brain reduced to its base components. Too busy being smashed to pieces so it could be rebuilt. And far too horny to realize the dream world metaphor Modemoiselle was going for with the mug.

Soon, the vicious viral vixen vanished. The pod kicked into overdrive, stretching its captive's perception of time to run her through countless training exercises. Exactly how Miss Modemoiselle likes her coffee*. Where every file and record is kept** and how Miss Modemoiselle likes them presented to her***. And what happens when Miss Modemoiselle says “Showtime”****. All pulsed to the bedrock of her brain, where things like “kissing girls is good” and “water is wet, but not as wet as I am when Miss Modemoiselle looks me in the eyes” live.

“The report on my brainwashing and time in the pod, Miss Modemoiselle.” Her heels click and clack against the ground. Same expensive suit as before, but pulsing with circuitry, tastefully accented with corrupted ribbons, and adjusted to show off her new curves. The walls lined with computers and pulsing circuitry, dusted by three Murdermaids sitting on each other's shoulders and working in parallel. Modemoiselle herself has her boots kicked up on the table, allowing her secretary to sneak a peak up her skirt. She does, of course.


Three minidiscs clatter onto the desk. “Perfect as always, Miss Modemoiselle. You're far too brilliant to allow some ungrateful hero to ruin your plans.”


“Any time you want to kick your feet up on a different desk, the old office has been done up to your liking and awaiting your masterful direction.”


“Would you like to adjust my body and mind more to your liking? You did a perfect job the first time around, but I know how you love to tinker.”

“That I do, dear. Go check on the rest of the pods and practice your cheers with your pony friend. She said you were a little flat last time.”

Her heels clicked off, her hips swayed just like how Miss Modemoiselle liked, and the halls echoed with the beeping of pods, the knocking on glass, and, soon, the distant practicing of cheers with a pony.

Fuck, it's good to be a villain.

* She doesn't, she prefers soda ** In the computer *** You fanning out some disks on her desk, delivering a brief oral report, and asking if Miss would like to brainwash you into anything. A folder stuffed with papers if you need something that thuds on the table, but you don't have to print anything on them. **** [data missing]

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#Bulge #Gina #Masks #Potions #Transformation #Witch

You finish your drink. For whatever reason, Ravequeen Liz's brainwashing musical stylings just aren't doing it for you tonight. Maybe it's because you left your hypnovisor at home. Or maybe you're just not up for having a blue-haired songstress bass-blast your brains out.

You finish your drink, take your coat, and head out the door into the alley. “Leaving so soon?” A cool voice blows in behind you. A hand rests on your shoulder. Hot pink nails, sharpened to a point. You turn around to see a vision in pink and black. “Party's not over yet.”

You freeze. She smiles. “The night's still young, and I need an assistant. You only get a full moon like this once a month.”

She rests her arm on your shoulder and gets walking. Your legs carry you with her. “I know, I know. You're wondering what's up with the outfit.”

“Well, I'm a witch.” She smiles. You're looking at those yummy violet lips. Your heart throbs in your chest. “And, well, even we have to dress for the club. You get it.” She rolls her eyes. “Ever wanted to see the inside of a witch's apartment?”

You nod.

She lives nearby enough. “I look for assistants at that club a lot, but I never get anyone so cute. Must be my lucky day.”

Witches, as you know, live in awfully upscale apartments. New hardwood flooring, in-unit laundry, new appliances. Including a stainless steel cauldron.

“Just in time, too. I needed a new familiar.” The cauldron clicks on. She sits you down on the couch and whispers in your ear. “You'll be a good girl for Miss Gina.”

Your body goes limp. Her cool voice swirls into your head. Your eyelids flutter. Your hands start to wander.

“It's not easy raising Hell all day. Do you think demons show up and start sowing chaos all by themselves? They don't even make a party worth going to without the right summoning circle.” She sits on your lap. Her legs wrap around your torso. Her bulge against your chest.

Just thinking about Miss Gina's bulge gets your mouth watering~

She snaps her fingers. A bubbling ladleful of fresh potion hovers across the room. “Drink up, silly goose. Well, silly owl.”

Thick, black bubbling sludge slides down your throat. Your bones start to twist and stretch. Your gaze fixes on Miss Gina's perfect golden eyes.

The last thing you remember before drifting off to sleep is the inside of a mask covering your face and the inside of her hand between your legs. You're a good little familiar for Miss Gina.

You wake up before Miss Gina, like you always do. She's passed out from a night of partying and putting curses on cute girls. A tail here, a fetish for goths there, and one rude bartender turned into a slutty potion vendor. You flap off to the kitchen. Miss wakes up hungry!

A cute owlgirl delivering potion ingredients to her witchy mistress.

The witch Gina, pink highlights in her black drilled hair, wearing a pink and black cheerleader outfit and cupping her bulge.

The witch Gina, standing tall in her tattered fishnets and swinging a watch hypnotically.

First image by CorruptiveSpirit, last two by darkhatboy

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All of my posts have some tags at the beginning. Click on one to see all the posts with that tag.

Long stories

#HappyCamper – A camping trip, a hypnovirus, and a dream. #StreamersLittleHelper – Fame, fortune, and more from a slutty ghost. #MissModemoiselle – Finally, someone who can fight City Hall. #ConStitution – Cosplayers hypnotized at a convention. #ShowStoppers – Superheroes are out. Pop stars are in.


#Grace – Yours truly. #Modemoiselle – A supervillain Grace, in a supervillain place. #Murdermaids – What's a supervillain without her henchmaids? #DrHelveticaScenario – Weird Shit Researcher, OCM. #OfficeOfConsensusMaintenance – Secret government agency. #HalfAdder – Brain-hacking electric lamia extraordinaire. #QuarterViper – Reality-bending arcade proprietrix. #Lily – Lily Pinataki, deal-making demoness. At your service. #Cassandra – The seamstress with the hypnotic clothes. #SallySilvestra – Sally Silvestra, richer than God. #SunnyTheSpectacular – Beloved blazing stage magician. #Gina – Gina Applegate, witch to the stars.

All Tags

#Ahegao (1) #AttributeTheft (1) – A dom stealing a sub's intelligence, free will, etc. #AvengersEndgame (1) #BabaIsYou (1) #Bondage (3) #Bulge (4) #Bullying (1) #Bunnygirl (1) #CapeKink (2) – Non-erotic, non-pornographic stories about queer heroes and villains. #Catgirl (2) #Cheerleaders (5) #Clothing (5) #ClothingTF (1) – Getting turned into clothes. #Cock (1) #Commission (1) – Stories I was hired to write. #Corruption (2) #Costumes (19) #Crime (2) #Cult (1) #Cum (2) #Dark (1) – Stories I feel are darker than my usual fare. #Demons (2) #Ditzification (3) – You might call it “bimbo”. #Doll (4) – Getting turned into a doll, thinking you're a doll, the works. #Dragons (1) #Drone (3) #Educational (1) #Exhibitionism (8) #Fire (1) #Food (2) #FrillyOutfits (4) – Who doesn't love a frilly outfit? #FTL (1) – Based on the video game FTL: Faster Than Light. #Furry (3) #GasMask (1) #Genitals (4) #Hacking (9) #Housewife (2) #HumanPet (1) – People thinking they're animals. #Humiliation (2) #Hypnogas (2) #Hypnosis (42) #HypnoticCum (1) #IdentityErasure (2) #Kigurumi (1) #Kissing (2) #Latex (2) #Lightnoncon (1) #Lovestruck (1) #MagicalGirls (2) #Maids (4) #Mantra (2) #Masks (1) #MassHypnosis (3) #Masturbation (2) #Masturbaton (1) #MemoryPlay (2) #Music (1) #Musk (3) – Mind-fogging genital smell. No other musks. #NotHorny (4) – Stories that aren't horny, erotic, or pornographic. #Oral (2) #Orgasm (1) #OrientationPlay (1) – Usually, someone getting hypnotized into being gay. #Ponygirl (2) #Ponyplay (1) #Possession (10) – Another intelligence, usually Grace, entering a body. #Potions (2) #Puppy (1) #Rave (1) #RealityPlay (4) – Altering a sub's reality. #Shapeshifting (1) #Skunkgirl (4) #Snake (2) #StageHypnosis (5) #Suiting (4) #Superheroes (3) #Supervillainy (7) – This is the supervillain porn. #Syringes (2) #Transformation (16) #Triggers (3) – The hypnotic kind. #Twinning (10) – You get to be me! #Videogames (3) #Visor (2) – Colorful hypnoscreens, inches from your eyes. #Vore (1) #Whip (1) #Wig (2) #Witch (1) #You (10) – Story featuring “you”, the reader, as the sub.