Holy Hypnosis Purity 2
* * *Phillip and I don’t talk about the bathroom incident, so I try not to think about it. Try not to think about how I spent hours on my knees in the bathroom, fingering my wet pussy as my brother’s cum slid down my petite, teen body, until my moans finally died down enough to hear the newscaster’s query for donations—and then, mindlessly, I’d stumbled out of the bathroom to find my purse, walking naked with my fingers stuffed up myself, until Phillip had caught me searching aimlessly, and shouted, “Jodie! What the hell?”
I don’t remember much about what happened after. There were a lot of tears. A lot of blaming my phone—which my brother had gone into the bathroom and angrily broken, smashing it against the floor with the fury of a deranged ape. Maybe I had showered again, shaking as I washed him off of me, or maybe I had just crawled into bed and slept, with his semen drying on my teen tits….
Maybe I’d just imagined the entire thing. It’s hard to remember clearly, especially because I don’t want to, and I’ve been distracting myself by shopping online for new cute clothes. Mine are all so dreary and depressing. A good girl should dress to impress. A good girl should be eye candy, showing off what God gave her.
“And who’s paying for all this?” Phillip asks me when several boxes show up on the doorstep later. “Jodie, I looked at your credit card statement and you’ve blown through hundreds of dollars this month! Donations to The African Coastal Foundation? Now boxes of shit from Cute N’Glitzy? I’m not made of money, you know….”
I blink at him with wide, watery eyes. “I was just trying to help—and I needed some new clothes. I’m sorry.”
He sighs. “Well, you’re going to have to do more than just clean and cook to pay me back. You owe me personal errands and shit. My truck’s been having radio problems. I’ll borrow your car for work if you’ll take the truck to the mechanic for me.”
That seems like a good trade-off, and I quickly agree, promising not to spend any more money unless I ask him for permission first. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately. I feel gross and itchy in my old clothes, and I can’t stand to wear them for more than a few hours before I’m stripping them off for fear of breaking out in hives. So obviously I had to buy new ones that fit better (and expose my skin more so that it can breathe.)
And the donations were done out of trying to be a good person. But am I really a good person if I’m donating other people’s money? My brother’s hard-earned money, at that?
Not really, I think bitterly.
But it’s hard to feel guilty when I take my new purchases into my bedroom to try on. I gaze at myself in my floor-length mirror, shocked at how good I look in a jean miniskirt with a tight, pink tube top. My flat midriff looks amazing, all tanned and toned, and my ass peeks out of the bottom of my skirt, my new thong panties making the round globes pop enticingly. I don’t even realize that the old me would never dress like this, with no bra on, nipples poking out of the tight, ruched top.
I don’t feel like I’m suffocating in my clothes anymore, I think gleefully.
“Everyone’s going to think I’m cute,” I whisper to myself, shimmying in front of the mirror and making my perky tits jiggle.
Even my big brother, my mind hums blissfully.
I don’t know why that thought fills me with equal parts dread and joy. I shouldn’t want my brother’s attention like that, but it’s nice to look good for people. I’ll attract a husband quicker dressed like this, and Phillip will be glad to marry me off, I reassure myself. God wouldn’t want me to hide myself away, after all.
Driving Phillip’s big truck down to the mechanic is hard in my new, pink heels, the six-inch stilettos awkward on the pedals.
“Hi!” I giggle at the mechanic as he stares at me in shock.
It’s Casey Andrews, a boy I went to high school with but never really liked—since he was always kind of a wild one, always getting weird piercings and tattoos, and I’ve always been conservative, chaste, and Godfearing.
“Jodie Evergreen? Is that really you?”
“Yessir,” I drawl at him, winking and loving the way his eyes trail down my nubile body as I step out of the truck; he looks like he wants to take a big bite out of me. “This is Phillip’s rig though. It’s having stereo issues.”
“Oh, that’s no problem,” he says, blushing slightly, his eyes stuck on my pointy nipples. “You can wait in the lobby—it’s air-conditioned and there’s free popcorn.”
I like the way the men in the lobby all look at me as I walk in, their gaze sweeping up my long, bare legs and sticking on my skirted ass. Any one of them could end up being my husband, I think distantly, taking a seat after grabbing a magazine. I cross my ankles primly, a hint of embarrassment coloring my cheeks as I wonder if I’ve gone a little too far with my outfit because my asscheeks are definitely sticking out by the way the cold seat touches my sensitive skin. But no . . . of course not—because God wouldn’t want me to hide my fertile, young body when it’s most breedable, right?
I’m such a good girl, I think to myself. And good girls should get married and reproduce!
Casey comes in and gets me in what seems like the blink of an eye, excited to show me the work he’s done on the truck’s stereo system. I pretend to understand as he explains what was wrong with it, and then he starts flipping through the stations, playing music that I would never in a million years listen to (since I only listen to the Christian channels).
“Sorry, you probably still hate rock, huh?” he asks my scrunched-up face. “How about pop music? All girls love that stuff, right?”
I don’t have to tell him that I never went to the popular girls’ ‘dance parties’, dressing up like Madonna or whatever, by the way he teasingly laughs. The stereo sounds great, clear and sharp, a bouncy beat coming through the speakers.
A man rap-sings and I blush at the sensual lyrics; at the steady “Oh-oh” of the background singers.
The background singers pipe up, their rich, feminine, black voices filling my ears about something being a ‘good vibration’.
My mind blanks out, not hearing anything else by Marky Mark and his band. The song becomes one long, sexy blur, making me thrum from head to toe, the beat reverberating all through me, making my clit pulse, my nipples throb, my heart pound like a war drum as I soak through my tiny thong, girl-fluids dripping down my legs and onto my stilettoed feet.
“Easy there,” Casey tells me as I sway, and I don’t realize that I seem suddenly drunk, clutching awkwardly at him and the truck’s driver-side door. “You okay?”
“I’m horny and breedable,” I titter at him, my big blue eyes full of heat; I pull down my tube top, letting my bare breasts pop free as he stammers, “What?”
“Jesus,” he hisses, pushing me towards the open door of the truck and blocking the view of me with his large body. “If you wanna fuck around and get services for free, you gotta be a little more secretive! You’ll get me fired otherwise. Get in the truck.”
I moan as he lifts me into it, his large hands warm on my bare midriff. He snickers at me, shaking his head. “When did you become such a little slut?”
Good girls aren’t sluts, my mind hums. Good girls are helpful, demure, and breedable….
“I’m a virgin,” I tell him, spreading my legs to show him my chaste pleasure hole, pulling the thong to the side, giving him a good view of my tight, pink slit.
“Fucking hell!” He pushes me back into the passenger seat as he climbs in and starts up the truck, gunning it around the shop and into a nearby alleyway. “I don’t have a condom—and I’m not gonna take your virginity. So if you don’t wanna pay, you’ll have to use your mouth….”
Good girls worship on their knees, my mind buzzes dreamily. Good girls get ejaculated in—they must seed their fertile wombs.
I’m so mindlessly horny that I can’t help but beg a little, “Please, I’m so horny. Breed me?”
I’d be so grossed out if I truly knew what I was doing, but I spread my virgin fuckhole open wider, pushing my hips into the air.
“God, I want to,” he mutters, pulling me up so that I wrap my slender arms around him; I nuzzle into his tattooed neck and press my exposed tits against his muscular arm, whimpering, “Please….”
I mewl as he shoves one hand up my short skirt, palming my wet pussy.
“You really never fuck anyone before?”
I moan as he slips a broad finger inside me, not realizing that the normal me would be horrified that some grungy mechanic is molesting me in a dirty alleyway, my virgin cunt gripping around his oil-stained fingers as he slowly stretches me out.
I whimper, “Never….”
“You’re so tight,” he whispers, grabbing the back of my neck and kissing me hard and deep.
I’ve never kissed anyone in my entire life before, especially not like this; Casey’s pierced tongue invades my mouth, and if I weren’t out of my mind I would find it slimy and gross, but it feels so hot and wet and primal, his hold on me possessive, his musky scent all I can taste, smell, breathe.
“Please,” I whimper, humping his hand desperately. “I need you to cum in me….”
I’m so good and young and breedable. God would want this. God would want me to seduce a strong man into ejaculating inside my fertile, teen body.
“I can’t knock up a chick on drugs . . . sorry,” Casey mumbles, grabbing my hand and forcing me to squeeze his bulging hardon. “But you’re gonna suck me off if you want to drive on out of here scott-free.”
I don’t hear the threat in his voice, with as horny and dumb as I feel, or understand that he might call the cops on me for acting so weird, for possibly being under the influence in public (not to mention driving ‘drunk’, if that’s what he believes I’m doing). I don’t even really understand what he means by drugs, my entire being one shivering mess as he pumps his fingers in and out of my pussy rhythmically, making me whimper and moan sluttishly.
“Please,” I moan, helping him unzip and then letting him guide me down, to pray correctly above him.
His pierced cock would terrify me if I weren’t dropped deep, and instead of pulling away and screaming, I bend over, my skirted ass in the air, my knees digging into the rough bench-seat of my brother’s old truck. I suck Casey’s dripping cockhead into my warm, willing mouth.
“That’s right, suck me off fast—I’m on the clock,” he demands, pushing at the back of my blonde head in encouragement.
I don’t choke as his cock hits deep into the back of my mouth, my blue eyes merely watering as my body accepts its true purpose, letting Casey fill my teen throat up so full that I can hardly breathe. His piercings rub coldly on my wet, inner skin, but I don’t notice as I slurp and suckle and drool all over him.
“You’re good at this,” he breathes, “keep going, almost there.”
I moan around his cock as he gropes at my full tits, pinching my little nipples eagerly. I’m being such a good girl, I know, and praying so demurely on my knees, worshipping Casey’s throbbing cock. It balloons further into my throat as he pushes me down harder, burying my enraptured face in his pubic hair.
“Good girl, ready?” he asks with a groan.
I don’t move as he holds me in place, my lips and throat stretched around him while I swallow mindlessly, something inside me singing: I’m such a good girl, such a pure girl, serving a man and fulfilling my true purpose….
“Fuck yeah.” He grunts, his cock spasming hard inside my mouth, thick jets of cum shooting straight down my teen throat, into my waiting belly. “God Jodie, you’re a fucking superstar….”
My mind zaps back into consciousness. Why can’t I breathe? What is this liquid shooting down my throat? What the hell’s happening to me?
I pull back sharply, earning an irritated, “You didn’t swallow it all!” as I swat at the thick arms trying to keep me in place. My mouth feels bruised and tastes sharp and bitter. I stare at Casey Andrews in horror. Why the hell am I in an alleyway with him? Why is his penis out? Is that sperm still coming out of it?
Is it in my MOUTH?
“What did you do to me?” I shriek.
“Whoa now. This is why I don’t fuck with druggies,” he snaps. “I’m gone and you better get gone, too, Jodie. I’m serious. I don’t want any fucking trouble because your head isn’t screwed on straight.”
I wipe at my wet lips, tears splashing down my cheeks as he bails out of the truck, leaving me disheveled and confused. Did I accidentally seduce Casey with my cute outfit? I blink down at myself, shaking.
Am I dressed like a blowjob tramp?
These clothes feel right though. I’m supposed to look good for others. I’m supposed to show what God gave me.
But maybe I need to be more careful with it, I consider, my lower lip trembling as I carefully move into the driver’s seat. Some bad actors, like disgusting, tattooed Casey, might get the wrong idea. I’m supposed to attract a husband—someone to take care of me. At least I think that’s what this is all for.
My mind feels too raw and strung out to think clearly. For a moment.
“Phillip’s going to be pissed,” I whisper, staring at myself in the mirror and trying to wipe away the smudges of mascara on my flushed cheeks.
Because who knows what Casey is going to start saying about me, and I can’t really lie, because only shitty, bad girls are untruthful. My stomach turns as I realize that I need to tell my big brother everything, starting from the beginning.
The meditation. The weird reactions to it. The newscast stuff . . . and now, what just happened to make me blank out like that? What just happened to make me suck Casey’s dick?
It was a song, I think. An early nineties song….
I drive home in silence, too scared to listen to the radio in case I go mental again and have an accident or something. Phillip is thankfully still at work, so I have time to clean up and prepare what I’ll say to him, making sure to mentally prepare all the important details, while still being respectful and chaste in speech….
Why can’t I bear it!? my mind shrieks, my hands shucking off my ankle-length, conservative, grey skirt.
My rational thoughts don’t want me to approach Phillip in my new clothes, but I can’t seem to keep on my old ones. My face burns with shame as I pick up my discarded miniskirt.
“I can’t wear this,” I tell myself, not realizing that I’m talking out loud like a crazy person. “Because it’s soaked with my—”
Horny fluids! my thoughts finish for me.
But I can’t help but pull the skirt on, shivering with delight at how nice it feels, tight around my slender hips, my bare ass peeking out of the bottom. It makes me feel confident. It makes me feel sexy. For some reason, it even makes me feel good and pure.
“Underwear?” I ask myself, picking up my new thong and cringing at how wet it is with girl-fluids.
Even though I’d bought a few extras, I can’t seem to put them on. The skirt is already soaked enough, and it feels nicer to go bare and let my most sacred place air out.
Plus, the thong seems like overkill. I was born without covering myself, so it’s naturally pure to expose my wet pussy, right?
Somehow that doesn’t seem right, but I ignore the little alarm bells blaring deep within my consciousness and put back on my tight, pink tube top. Honestly, it’s much more straightforward just to wear what I was wearing when I got Phillip’s truck fixed, I decide, even if the thought of him seeing me like this makes everything inside me tighten with anxiety.
“Maybe I should try to figure out what song was playing on the radio,” I whisper to myself, because Phillip will want to know once I explain everything, so I grab my laptop and get into bed with it.
But what if I can’t find it? I don’t listen to popular music, and I have no clue what was even popular way back in the nineties, so I’m forced to listen to track after track of random hits (choosing only the ones sung by male artists, since the main vocals were definitely male).
My mind races as I watch time tick away. I keep clicking desperately through song after song. These tunes are all funky and weird, but not the one I’m looking for—and I know that my brother will be getting off of work soon.
I’m about to give up when a vaguely familiar, upbeat tune hits my ears. Is this it? I’m so excited that I forget what it might do to me, and by the time the backup singer wails out about good vibrations, I’ve been stupidly bouncing along to the music instead of shutting it off in time.
My mind drops but I keep bouncing. Everything feels so good, an intense thrumming zipping through me. Praying on my knees earlier had made me so horny, because I was being so good, so demure, so breedable. I don’t realize that I’m stuffing my fingers up my bare, teen cunt, the memory of Casey’s deep groans as I pleasured him vibrating inside my skull. I finger myself faster, coating my hand with excitement. It felt so good sucking his cock like a good girl. My purpose is to be a good girl. To please God—to please men—to be a vessel of pleasure.
Something inside my brain changes permanently: being a good girl means being a good pleasure vessel.
‘Good girl,’ I hear Casey’s voice deep inside me, and I cry out as I suddenly taste his salty spunk again, can feel it sliding down my throat and coating my belly.
“Jodie?”
I freeze, my orgasm stilted as my brother’s questioning voice reaches my ears. Shit. Did I blank out again? I blush as he knocks on the door, knowing that he’s concerned about what-I’m-doing-in-here (you wicked slut, my aching mind hisses—but then I think: you were doing what you’re made for….)
“Uhm, one second,” I stammer, clicking off the song as I fix my clothing and wipe my hand on my blanket. “You, uh, can come in….”
He peeks his head in the door, his blue eyes widening as he sees me. “What the hell are you wearing?”
“My new clothes,” I chirp, partly ashamed but partly convinced that he’ll really like them. “My old ones made me look frumpy.”
“Did you get my truck done dressed like that?”
He looks angry. I cringe and nod, blinking against the sudden wave of uncertainty that crashes over me. I’m supposed to make the men in my life happy, especially my older brother, who has given everything up for me—like starting his own family. But I’m also a breedable adult that needs to advertise. It’s God’s will. And following God’s will is what makes me good and pure.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I can see your ass and tits, Jodie!”
“It’s the church,” I bite out. “It all started at the church. Pastor Alistair started doing guided meditations and, oh my gosh, Phillip, I don’t know why they affected me so much but—”
“You’re babbling,” he snaps. “What’re you trying to say?”
“It’s changed me, I think.”
His face goes from red to pink, like he’s considering what happened between us in the bathroom. “Yeah,” he says softly. “So what, you’re uh, slutty now?”
“No! I’m . . . breedable.”
And a pleasure vessel for men, my mind chirps.
His face turns red again. “So you’re fucking around? Letting any guy who wants to have his way—”
“No!” I shake my head violently; why can’t I form compelling thoughts anymore? It’s like my brain doesn’t want to work right, like I’ve become stupider, all the blood swelling in my tits and clit. “I did mess around with Casey a little,” I admit.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” he yells again. “I’ll kill him.”
“I—only with my mouth.” I pause as Phillip makes a choked noise, a vein in his forehead popping out. “The truck repair was free.”
He looks really strong and tall, and I keep noticing how his eyes drift back to my hard nipples, then dash down to the curves of my ass. I widen my legs while maintaining eye contact, showing him my exposed, bare cunt.
“See, I’m still a virgin,” I tell him, smiling demurely as I spread open my tight, teen slit with my fingers.
He closes his eyes, his jaw clenching. “What’re you trying to do to me?”
I know he’s about to storm off by the way his hand grips my doorknob, his body shaking with intensity.
Tell him everything, my mind insists, and so I start to babble again, but try to really hone in on how I’d chosen some sort of word, and that I keep hearing it (but that I don’t know what it is), and that it makes me feel and act different.
“You’re acting different enough now, Jodie. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”
I let myself cry when he slams the door behind him, not knowing what to do. I’m supposed to make him happy. I’m supposed to bring him pleasure. I’m supposed to make him want me, I realize, but the thought feels so slimy and obscene that I don’t realize I’m hitting the ‘replay’ button for the song on my computer, just to get lost in the bouncy tune again so that I don’t have to think so hard about everything.
It’s turned up loud to cover up my sniffling. Then, I’m not crying anymore, mindlessly fingering myself to another orgasm instead of worrying about what my big brother thinks of me as I’m dropped down deep.
“You’ve been blaring this stupid song for hours—oh, Jesus, Jo….”
I don’t hear my brother come into my room later, or see the way he looks at me, his eyes angry and confused at first and then resigned and interested. My skirt is rucked up over my hips, my bedspread soaked with my girl cum, my tube top popped up over my perky tits as I finger myself desperately. I look like a little, teen pornstar, but don’t realize it, as lost as I am in the endless orgasms I’m giving myself, in the knowledge that I’m becoming the ultimate vessel of pleasure, so young and ripe for breeding.
“You shouldn’t do this in front of me,” Phillip says, slowly walking up to the bed. “Or are you going to claim you don’t realize you’re doing it?”
I hum at him through another intense climax, my eyes glazed and empty. I’ve been dropped so long that I don’t know who I am anymore or what’s going on.
He grits his teeth. “You want me to fuck you, is that it?”
“Nnghh,” I mouth, spreading my legs open further.
Phillip blinks at me in shock, slowly sitting down on the bed beside me. “God, you’re so fucking wet.”
Something in my head kicks on, latching onto male resistance melting. I need to be bred. I need hot cum in me. I need to be cleansed and purified by giving myself into another’s pleasure.
“Please,” I whimper, reaching for him with my free hand.
He groans as he leans in, whispering something about how good I smell, and then we’re kissing, his salty-sweet taste filling my mouth as his tongue slides sensually against mine.
“You like kissing me?” he asks, pulling back slightly. “You aren’t supposed to. It’s incest, you know.”
“Mmm,” I hum sluttishly, grabbing onto him tighter.
I pump my hips up, desperate for him to mount me. The song is still playing loudly from my laptop, screaming about good vibrations.
“I can’t take your virginity, sis,” he whispers, his large body moving over mine, pinning me to the mattress as he kisses me harder. “But there’s another hole I can use….”
I’m so mindless that I don’t even realize what he’s saying, but if I could understand him, I’d be horrified to know that my ass is about to be pumped full of cum by my older brother. The normal me would break down screaming and crying at the violation—and the brainwashed me would feel like a failure that I didn’t get him to breed me properly.
But in the moment, I don’t resist. I don’t even flinch as he pushes his cockhead against my slick heat, using my own lube to penetrate the tight pucker of my ass. His pleasured groans fill me with a sense of relief, a sense that this is where I was supposed to end up all along: pinned beneath my older brother, his muscular body thrusting on top of me, his thick cock shoving its way into my virgin ass, stretching me open as he grinds hard against me.
It should hurt, but it doesn’t in my mindless state. I whimper in bliss, held in his strong arms, my teen ass stretching deeper and wider as he pummels me soundly.
“You wanna act like a little slut, get treated like one,” he grunts, pumping into me even harder, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my bubble butt, the other hand clasped around my throat, squeezing until spots form in my blank eyes.
I don’t respond, just shiver and moan, and Phillip moans back as I clench around him, his pace quickening. It feels so good, so right. Being a good girl means giving my brother pleasure. A good girl is a receptacle of man-seed. A good girl takes whatever she is given and accepts it demurely.
The normal me would be mortified and have a panic attack over the sin I’m committing, but when Phillip curses and cries out, ejaculating hard and deep in my virgin ass, my pussy flutters wildly, climaxing so intensely that I squirt.
“Jesus, Jodie,” he murmurs, and it’s like a rubber band snapping me right in the brain; I’m suddenly alert, the throbbing in my ass painful, my brother’s bulky body on top of me suffocating, the hand clasping my throat absolutely terrifying.
Is my older brother assfucking me!? I scream internally, reactively pushing him away.
He rolls off, looking down at me in confusion. “What?”
My voice comes out small and watery. “You—you weren’t supposed to do that.”
Like that, a little thought niggles, my sore asshole clenching painfully (because if anything, he was supposed to cum in your cunt, another thought blares, you’re a breeding receptacle for men).
“You seduced me,” he whispers angrily back. “It’s like you’re out of your mind with lust one moment, jerking off in front of me, begging me to do things to you, and then the next moment you’re….” He pauses, the anger on his face shifting, lighting up. “You’re Jodie….”
“Huh?”
“Your name! It’s what brings you back….”
I blink at him, the tears in my baby-blue eyes drying. Is it my name that brings me out of my strange mindlessness? I can’t really focus on the beginning or end of it, so it just feels like a blank space in my head when I try to concentrate on it. Instead, all I can think about is that Phillip just came in my ass, and that even though I’m supposed to be a pleasure vessel for men, that whatever just happened was completely wrong.
“You raped me,” I choke out, and a sharp pang of lightning zaps my brain as I see his face twist up.
You’re hurting him, my thoughts tell me. You aren’t being a good girl.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out as he jumps off my bed. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I know it’s my fault.”
“I’m sick of this shit.” He knocks my laptop off my bed, making the song stutter to a stop. “Fuck you.”
I’m so shocked that he’s said such a horrible thing to me that I can’t speak, the pain in my ass nothing like the pain blooming in my heart. Fresh tears pool in my eyes as he glares at me, snarling, “You’re the one acting like a fucking whore and begging me to—you know what, forget it. Just fuck you, Jodie.”
What the hell just happened? my brain blares as he leaves my bedroom.
Phillip and I have never fought like this—and I have no idea why I’m doing the things I’m doing, or what it means for my future living here. I curl into a ball and cry, looking down at my broken laptop and wondering how I’m going to figure out what word it is that’s causing so much trouble in my life.
Because I have to figure it out, right?