The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was the morning of December twenty-fourth, and Christmas Eve was going to be that night. Tessi was looking forward to that; she enjoyed the various milestones that popped up throughout the year, of course, and the various holidays that went along with them. But she had a particular love for the festive, holiday season, and the best of that entire season culminated in Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. So after a lot of waiting— making it all the way through the entire year to the current point, Tessi was excited that it was finally Christmas Eve morn. She was already happy, but as the day progressed, she’d only become happier.

Year over year, Tessi loved Christmas, both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but this year was more unique. Last Christmas Eve, Tessi had still been single— at that time in her life she’d been happy as her single self. In those days, she’d looked ahead and understood she’d end up in a serious relationship later. But it hadn’t been anywhere close to starting. A relationship would happen later.

The time to be in a relationship was now, and that was what was happening for her. Now, Tessi was with Matthew. They’d been together less than a year, and this was to be their first Christmas together. That made Christmas more special.

Since they had only been together for less than a year, their relationship had not yet reached a point of deeper commitment. They spent their time together— and Tessi believed they had already fully fallen in love, but they had taken no steps to really join their lives. There was, so far, no combining of finances, there was, so far, no discussion of getting married. The only way they were joined was in the time they passed together. And so they did not live together, nor were there any plans for that. Tessi had her own apartment, and so did Matthew. That was the current status quo, would likely remain so.

Tessi sighed and thought over everything again. She knew who she was; down to her appearance. Knew that when she looked in the mirror she’d see red curls in abundance, and that they’d hang as long as her sternum if she brought them past the front of her shoulders. Knew that if she turned to the side and considered the profile of her body that she’d see a pair of C-cups sitting on her chest. And as sure as she knew these things about herself, she now also knew, just as surely, that she was in a relationship with Matthew— it was another fact of life and identity to depend on.

On the eve of Christmas Eve, December twenty-third, Matthew had come over to Tessi’s apartment in the evening. It had been a pleasant surprise to see him— the times they were apart were hard for Tessi, now that she was so in love with him, so having him turn up had been a delight. He’d stayed over, and now, in the morning, they were together in Tessi’s double bed.

Tessi had woken up first, to reflect on her happiness, but now she thought it’d be fun to fuck Matthew awake.

She sat up in bed, shifted things until she had a hand on Matthew’s cock, working it awake with a handjob.

At first, Matthew remained asleep. She kept pumping him. He was definitely getting hard now— her current plan was, once he was hard enough, to mount him and get him into her pussy. She was almost wet enough herself to manage it.

A few more moments passed like this, and then Matthew opened his eyes; he seemed please to have been woken up with pleasure.

She gave him a smile. “I’ll mount you in a minute,” she promised him.

But Matthew frowned.

“Couldn’t you put me in your mouth instead?”

Tessi frowned. She really disliked giving blowjobs.

She waved him off with her free hand, and he clearly took the message.

“Well then thanks a lot, Tessi!” Matthew snapped. He sat up in the bed, and used both his arms to shove at the arm Tessi had extended so she could work his cock with her hand. This forced her to break her grip, and stop the handjob in progress.

Matthew stood from the bed. “You’ve ruined my day now!”

The mood had changed so fast, Tessi felt like she’d gotten whiplash. She could only watch as Matthew gathered his clothes off the floor and started to dress himself.

“I’ll just have to go to work like this,” Matthew grumbled. “Feeling how everything has been ruined. I’ll feel like this all day.”

He’d gotten his dark dress-pants on, and his collared, blue button-up shirt. They had both spent the night on the floor but neither was too wrinkled.

He was still, clearly, irritable.

When he spoke again, there was quite the amount of reproachfulness in his voice. “Will you even bother to come over to my apartment for Christmas Eve tonight?”

Tessi wasn’t sure why that was the thing that did it. Until now, she’d been in a state of shock from the sudden shift. The harshness of his tone there, though, finally made her burst into tears, and then she couldn’t control them. She just shook from the intensity of her crying.

Matthew was straightening his shirt which was a little off-center— and then he was pulling at each of his sleeves, both of which had gotten a little bunched up in places, and neither of which had yet reached their full intended arm-length. He was looking at what he was doing, and not at Tessi, but it was clear that he could hear her sobbing. He wouldn’t even dignify her suffering with a glance, which only made her sob harder— the image of him was blurred through her tears.

“Obviously I’ll come over tonight,” she hitched out. “I want to have a nice Christmas with you.” Her voice sounded weak, and feeble.

He still wouldn’t look at her. She felt so discarded, and overlooked. Her body was being shaken, wracked by her tears, and he still wouldn’t look.

He had gotten his shirt centered— the button-line down the middle of it now in line with the middle of his torso, and he’d gotten his sleeves unbunched— each cuff was now around a wrist. He looked professional and presentable, and because she loved him, he looked beautiful to her even in such a mundane outfit. But he still wouldn’t look at her, and hearing what she said, he only nodded— left the bedroom, then left the apartment, slamming the door behind him as he did.

When she heard the sound of her apartment’s front-door slamming, it made her about ten times more depressed. It was a signal; it made Matthew’s anger even more real, to her. It reminded her that she was alone now. That she’d be alone all day. Originally, Matthew had planned to spend today here, with her. He wasn’t going to stop in at the office at all— even though they’d offered him overtime to do it. Now, he would clearly rather be at the office than with her— all because she’d ruined his day by refusing to give him a blowjob.

She just didn’t like giving them— the entire time they’d been together, she’d never given him one, and usually he didn’t ask. Then suddenly, today, he’d practically insisted on having one, and when Tessi had remained consistent to her values and her level of comfort, he’d freaked out on her, and punished her for being as she was.

Tessi dropped her head into her hands, supporting it there, sobbing into her hold. She felt her shoulders working up and back, then down again, with each successive sob. She felt her tears on her palms— her eyes burned with how hard she was crying. Her breaths, her inhales and exhalations, had all become gasping and heaving. It was a physical struggle to continue crying as roughly as she was, but her body was doing it instinctively. She couldn’t help that. She was this sad— sad enough that this was the only appropriate response her body could make to her emotional state.

It wasn’t fair. Matthew knew Tessi didn’t like giving blowjobs, knew she was unable to force herself into doing it. He’d been fine with that before. Why had he changed his treatment of her today? Why couldn’t he respect her natural limits when it came to sex? She couldn’t do oral sex— why couldn’t he understand?

She cried a while more. After another fifteen minutes or so, the frequency of her sobs decreased. She was sniffling more than sobbing now.

She sat up straight again, wiping at her eyes, then dragging her nose along the back of her right-hand. Every few seconds her breath hitched oddly. She was on alert every moment, waiting to see if she would break into sobs again— but for the most part, she thought the crying spell had passed her by.

She might as well do something productive. She had Matthew’s present, but she hadn’t wrapped it yet. She could wrapping it now, just so she had something to do. It might give her something else to think about— or, at least, it might function as a distraction.

She stood from the bed. Her body hung heavily where she was occupying it.

She walked to the closet. She’d left his present on the closet shelf, and got it down.

It was a small present, in terms of size, but a large present, in terms of significance. She had called a special resort and booked a weekend getaway there for both her and Matthew— they had never gone on any trip as a couple yet, and the thought of getting to be alone with Matthew in a romantic place had seemed very exciting to her— she’d gotten a particularly good deal on it, too, since she worked at a travel agency and had a personal relationship with many different organizations within the travel industry. She’d paid for it all herself, but she’d gotten a voucher for the sake of symbolism; the gift was something held in her name, in an account— nothing that could be tied up in a nice bow. But this symbolic voucher could go in a little box, and that box could be wrapped up prettily. She set to work bringing this vision to fruition.

When she’d paid for this a few weeks ago, and gotten the symbol to represent it, she’d been sure Matthew would love it. Now she felt completely insecure. Probably he’d hate it— or he’d think she’d spent too much money on it. He’d say they hadn’t been together long enough to lavish such expensive gifts on each other. Or he’d tell her she’d bought something extravagant for him that he didn’t even want. Maybe trips like this were completely uninteresting to him— or even downright offensive.

This shifted her mood. She was still sad, so, so depressedly sad, but now there was a new feeling that went along with this sadness. Now, she was also disappointed. Maybe Matthew would’ve liked the gift once, but now there was a good chance he’d let what happened that morning ruin everything else, including this gift. He was turning out to be so superficial. He valued sex way more than anything else.

She shouldn’t have let herself think about any of this. That had been her mistake. Shouldn’t have let herself dwell on it. She was sitting on the bed with a little former jewelry-box that was wrapped in blue-icedesign paper, and her eyes were misting with tears again, because she’d let her feelings creep up on her again, let them get the better of her.

And there was a feeling now. It filled her heart. A wistful, longing feeling— she didn’t know exactly what it’d show itself to be, if she expressed it, but she did feel it was there.

She was in her early-20s now, but this was the kind of feeling that would have been more at home in her when she’d first become an adult. The kind of feeling that demonstrated a naïveté in youth. That sense of believing in magic and that all things would work out for the best in the end. That speaking one’s longing would actualize it.

Neither fully understanding nor trusting it, Tessi nevertheless let herself express her longing. As she spoke it, she realized that she was wishing a Christmas wish, the deepest desire of her heart in that moment. She spoke it with a broken voice, and her eyes spilled more tears as she did.

“Please,” she said. “It’s my greatest wish that Matthew never again ask for a blowjob— that he never asks for one, or for anything else naughty that I don’t feel I can do; and that he likes the present I got for him. Please, please let him like the present I got him. Let this gift he receives from me be the best gift that he’s ever received in his life.”

Saying it felt like it gave her some kind of a sense of closure inside. And saying it felt somehow like she’d done something definitive.

She brushed this feeling off, telling herself she was being silly.

Feeling like she was rising from a dream, Tessi stood up from her bed. She left the present she’d wrapped for Matthew on it. His was the one she’d wrapped first, because he was that special to her, but he wasn’t the only person she’d bought presents for, and his wasn’t the only present that she needed to wrap. She had more wrapping paper out in the living-room, and that was where she’d left all the other gifts she hadn’t wrapped yet. For the vast majority of cases, she had already found good boxes to put each gift in, and she’d gone so far as to tape them up, but she still had to put wrapping paper over them.

She set herself up a little gift-wrapping station on the coffeetable, and she turned on the tv for company and distraction as she continued wrapping gifts. It was, so far, working well enough; keeping her mind off her feelings.

She hadn’t checked which tv channel she was watching; she hadn’t even bothered finding the remote, she’d just walked to the tv and pressed the power-button, and then sat down at her gift-wrapping station.

But whatever channel it was, the programming seemed appropriately seasonal. Some kind of Christmas show as playing— the show’s host was a man, dressed up fairly convincingly as Santa. He had the long white bear, the rotund belly, the red suit with the white cuffs, the big black belt and black boots— gold eyeglasses that rested on his nose in a very grandfatherly manner.

Tessi stopped what she was doing for a moment. Actually, the costume was incredible— a lot more detail had been put into this Santa-outfit than typically was put. It looked like it was made of expensive velvet, and that the white tufts of the cuffs were made of real tufted fur. Polar-bear fur, Tessi thought at first, then laughed off.

Well, why should she pay attention to some random Christmas show anyway? Who cared if they splurged in their costume department and used expensive, potentially rare fabrics in making their pieces? This was meant to be background noise, and she was supposed to actually be wrapping presents up right now.

She put her concentration on wrapping the next boxed-up gift, and for some moments, she was consumed in this activity; cutting paper, folding it, taping it; slowly the pile of unwrapped boxes on one side of the coffeetable were moving to the other side, but as they went, the transition transformed them from presents unwrapped to presents wrapped.

In the back of her mind, there was a vague sense that someone was watching her, but she was paying such close attention to what she was doing that it was easy to ignore the feeling and only think of what she was doing with her hands as she worked.

After she finished wrapping the latest present she’d been working on, she felt a little tired. She exhaled a sigh of exhaustion, and sat back on her sofa, dragging the back of her hand across her forehead.

As she did this, her eyes happened to flicker up to the television screen— and startled a little where she was sitting.

Santa— no, the Santa-costumed host, she reminded herself, that wasn’t really Santa, couldn’t be. They just did such a good job mimicking Santa that it was hard to remind herself he wasn’t the real thing.

But regardless, Santa seemed to be looking right from out of the tv, directly at her— had he been the presence that made her feel watched? She was looking into his twinkling blue eyes, and for that instant, was completely sure that she was actively making eye-contact with the actor who was playing Santa on this Christmas show. It felt a little bit unnerving.

He had only been looking at her for the past few seconds— like he was watching her, as unnerving as that was. But now he suddenly started forward in the Christmas throne he sat upon, as if for a moment he had been so fixed in focus that he’d partially zoned out.

Now he seemed to rouse himself, and once he’d settled again, he spoke.

“Tessi,” and his voice was as booming as Tessi had always pictured Santa’s voice would be. They really had done a good job casting him, she thought.

“You tapped into the Christmas spirit when you made your Christmas wish. Soon, you will receive a visit from three Christmas ghosts— they are the sexy ghosts of Christmas. Expect their arrival.”

He lapsed into silence again, but kept looking at her— or that was how it felt, anyway— he seemed to fix in focus again, and then further zone out, as he had done before.

Tessi stared at the tv. At the now stationary-Santa. The whole experience had been bizarre. The Santa-actor’s voice had boomed— but it’d been so loud it had seemed louder and closer than the speakers of Tessi’s tv— it had seemed, instead, that Santa was really in the room with her— speaking into her room from that close of a range. She couldn’t believe it was true, though. Three ghosts? The sexy ghosts of Christmas? Who had ever heard of anything so ridiculous! And anyway, Christmas was not a holiday that was supposed to be associated with sex. It wasn’t Valentine’s day, for goodness sake.

The image on Tessi’s tv flickered— Tessi startled. The Christmas show, with its Santa-host, was gone. Now she was looking at a regular talk-show. It was still somewhat Christmas themed— they were discussing the best places to get last minute Christmas gifts— but it was totally different from the last thing she’d been watching.

Tessi frowned. Her head ached from the confusingness of it all— was she fully awake now? Maybe she had drifted off for a brief five-minute nap. There was no trace of the other show, so she must have imagined the entire thing.

It was weird. She hadn’t thought she was tired enough to fall asleep again, and especially not so soon after she had woken up in the first place. But whatever.

She brushed it off, left the Christmas-themed talk-show on for background noise, and continued to wrap up the rest of her presents until she’d gotten them all finished. As she worked, she only ever half-listened, but a part of her was alert, waiting to see if the other show came back. It never did— just the same talk-show kept playing. That was fine. She was a bit shaken up; all the Christmas discussion was a little soothing.

When Tessi had finished she sat back in satisfaction at a difficult task well done.

Tessi continued on with her day, and didn’t think anymore about what had so far happened in it.

It felt just like any other day, honestly. And that was a nice feeling. What had happened with Matthew had really shaken her up and after that disruption it was nice to return to normalcy.

So Tessi basked in the feeling of typicality; the feeling of everything being just as it had always been and just as she had come to expect. There were no other disruptions; everything was behaving in just the way it should. That made her comfortable, and that made her happy.

On any other day, she would have sat on her couch and continued watching tv. So this was what she did today as well— something about the day felt so universal to the rest of her life that, for a moment, Tessi felt she had traveled through time. Or at least that she had found some way to step outside of time’s bounds— this day could be yesterday, it could be tomorrow, it could be any date from her life in the past calendar year or in the calendar year to come— there was nothing so distinct about this day that it could be marked as Christmas Eve of the current year.

And then, after this pleasant limbo, there was further disruption. Someone rang Tessi’s doorbell, and that, she had not planned for, nor expected.

Tessi had been kicked out of her peaceful, restful state of time-transcendence. So now she had to go and deal with what was happening. The doorbell had rung, so she needed to get up.

She did so, leaving the couch, and headed for the front-door of her apartment. With a sigh at being further disrupted, she pulled the door open.

The person there was a complete stranger to her, and just looking at her made Tessi feel uncomfortable. It was a woman who was standing there, beyond Tessi’s doorway, but she was dressed so immodestly it made Tessi blush. Her attire was so scant, Tessi was embarrassed just looking at her. Things that people tended to keep private were well exposed on this woman, in this outfit— her top practically revealed the entirety of her breasts, and the bottom article that went with it did the same, but for her vagina, all but revealing that, as her top did for her breasts. She looked like eroticism made flesh— like someone who was inherently sensual and who enjoyed all things tactile. She wasn’t middle-aged, either; probably in her early twenties like Tessi was, so that meant that all of her assets were perky and in good shape. Tessi hated looking at her, and wished she could stop, but part of her was so surprised at finding this woman there that she couldn’t shift her gaze to look somewhere else.

Had she thought the woman was eroticism made flesh? Tessi’s eyes combed over her again. No, that wasn’t the right way to think about her. She was sex, made manifest, it seemed to exude from her every pore, pure and undiluted. Like she was a radiator putting out heat. Tessi felt she was being washed over in what the woman exuded and she didn’t like it. Sex was fine; she liked it alright, but it was something that, in the grand scheme of things, was pretty unimportant. So seeing it distilled into a person was not pleasant for Tessi. If she had been someone else, she might have appreciated the arrival of this woman. But she was Tessi, so distilled sex in the form of personhood was lost on her. She could not appreciate it.

But the woman kept standing there, radiating that erotic energy out there. Standing there like sex was the only thing that mattered, and the glow to her skin was that of someone who has made more than one orgasm, who has had many— and just in the way she stood, her body seemed to promise that the secrets of pleasure she knew were secrets she would share with anyone lucky enough to become her sexual partner.

Tessi, also, did not much appreciate seeing a woman presenting herself in a sexual light, being a woman herself. She had always thought of herself as straight.

Tessi had been so initially bombarded by the woman’s general aura she’d barely noticed what she was wearing, beyond how skimpy it looked.

Now she could see her visitor’s attire was festive-themed— like a bad play on a Santa-suit; a velvet-red bikini-top which really only cupped the woman’s underboobs, and a velvet red bikini-bottom, which really seemed like more of a low-cut thong; her vaginal-lips sucked on either side of the thing strip of fabric. The bikini-bottom was also velvet red, and both were topped with white-tufted fur; polar-bear fur, Tessi had thought earlier, in seeing that other Santa, and still thought now; it had an air of magic about it.

On the bikini-top, Tessi was fairly certain the tufted fur was only there to cover the woman’s nipples, and even this, it did only barely. If Tessi stared hard enough, she could almost see the pair of them peeking out from behind what hid them.

To finish her outfit, the woman was wearing velvet-red slippers with more of that tufted white; and she had an askew Santa hat resting on her head. Her hair was blonde, and only so long as her shoulders.

Tessi was straight, wasn’t she? She had never been interested in woman before— had it taken just this woman to wake the inclination in her? She was certainly looking carefully at each of the woman’s most sensitive places quite a lot for somebody straight.

Tessi was still pondering this when the woman at last opened her mouth. The voice she spoke in might have been one Tessi could have predicted; she was sex made manifest, sex distilled— and so was the sound of her voice. Her body language before had promised a sharing of secrets, but her voice seemed to promise this doubly-so. It took Tessi a moment to even understand which words this woman was saying to her.

Her voice was just so… sexual sounding. It was eroticism, it was seduction, it was husky and low and whispering, the kind of tones one expected to hear when they were wrapped around someone and holding them closely in the night.

The kind of tones that might speak the dirtiest fantasies imaginable, the kind of tones that might say words which were just a bit harsh, where that harshness was understood to be all part of the game and only resulted in further lubrication for the female listener.

Tessi had never spoken in tones like these. She’d never been spoken to in tones like these. How straight was she? Hearing this woman speak had her imagining being tangled with her somewhere in a bed, a little at her mercy, learning her lessons of pleasure and fully enjoying herself.

She at least understood the words that had been spoken.

“I’m the first sexy ghost of Christmas,” the woman— or perhaps the ghost?— had said.

Finally processing what had been said, Tessi had an extreme reaction. Of all the things she’d thought the woman might say, the statement she’d actually made didn’t even rank as probable amongst Tessi’s would-be other guesses.

Ghosts weren’t real. They didn’t exist. This woman was crazy, there was no way she could be a ghost— (and no part of Tessi was disappointed at the thought that a ghost could not embrace, nor fuck, as Tessi had practically been fantasizing moments before.

In fact Tessi was feeling enraged now, as well as taken aback. This woman could not be a ghost. She was repeating the same thought and knew it. But she couldn’t be. She looked so corporeal, so flushed and warm with life like she would feel so good to hold… couldn’t be a ghost, no, no, no… so this woman was deliberately wasting Tessi’s time for no reason, and Tessi simply would not stand for that.

Mostly on impulse, Tessi grabbed her doorhandle and swung it hard so that her door slammed in the jamb.

And then, before she could even exhale a sigh or relief, Tessi turned, saw the woman was now standing behind her in the apartment. So… maybe that was one point in favor of her being a ghost. She’d either just transported herself or passed through solid matter, wall-matter or door-matter, or she’d transported and passed through both— human beings couldn’t do that.

Having been forced to face the possibility of the supernatural, Tessi was now very terrified. Before, she’d only been a little bit touched by a sense of unease, but now it was so much more than that. Her body flooded with panic, and even though this was her own house, she was turning back towards the door and fumbling every time she tried to open it.

Here was another supernatural potential: the door was unlocked, yet it was stuckfast and she could not get it to swing free. She would’ve gladly run from her home and never come back if she could only have gotten the door open.

She felt something cool brush her, and understood the ghost was now behind her. In the process of trying to turn and see, she happened to look up a bit, and that was when she saw golden flakes falling. The ghost was dumping those on her, whatever they were!

They gave Tessi a strange feeling when they touched her. Like snowflakes that melted immediately upon skin, though no snowflake quite did that— the ones still falling glittered as Tessi looked.

And she felt calmed, as if by magic, calmed and still herself, but unable to really fully control her body. This stopped her pulling at the door, but even if she’d kept that up, it wouldn’t have helped. She felt like all of her strength had been drained out of her.

The ghost was now speaking again, in that seductive, alluring tone that she used.

“I am here to fulfill Matthew’s most deep wish. It’s the first thing he wishes for when he wishes for anything, and he gives into superstition that way occasionally. He wishes it ardently, and with his whole heart. And what he wishes for is for his girlfriend to become like me; to become sex, made manifest— wishes she would be deeply in love with him, wishes she would accept everything he said as completely right and the smartest thing in the world. He wants his girlfriend to be so beautiful he can just look at her and enjoy. Just look at her, and get aroused.”

It was the most horrifying thing the ghost could have said, as far as Tessi was concerned, but the ghost was still speaking. “He wished for this even before you were his girlfriend. But now that you are, he wishes it would happen to you.”

The panic broke free in Tessi again, and she tried to find the strength to turn back towards the door and again attempt escape, but she felt more of those dissolving snowflakes falling onto her skin. More of them this time, lulling her mind… putting it so shallowly, so lightly into sleepiness and perfect receptivity; her eyes stayed open, but her own will was far away from her, her sense of willpower greatly reduced.

“I’m going to turn your breasts into extremely sensitive zones. I’m going to turn your lips, your vagina, your ass— all into extremely sensitive zones of sensation.” It was a husk. The first sexy ghost of Christmas was now prowling towards Tessi, who was too shallowly sleeping to be able to step back in anyway. And because her mind was ready, open to accepting anything, hearing the words was enough to make her believe them, even though she didn’t want them to be true.

Tessi really didn’t know anything about ghosts, or how they worked. But the way this ghost was approaching… she looked confident that she would be able to make herself corporeal, make her touches be felt.

She had reached Tessi. And when she extended her arms to make contact, Tessi felt it. The little part of her that had lamented losing the opportunity of fucking this woman upon finding she was a ghost was much cheered up now.

The ghost stripped Tessi, and dragged her to the floor. She began to masturbate Tessi’s body, handling her breasts first, and continuing from there. Stroking her lips, stroking her vagina, reaching under her, stroking her ass, using faster and firmer touches. She lay herself over Tessi’s body and started gyrating against her while all the time kissing her on the mouth. The way she touched seemed to be magic; because everywhere she did seemed to wake up.

She just so truly felt every brush of contact that each one was like an awakening; but it was like each part of Tessi’s body had been dormant many levels down; they came up one level of wakefulness, then Tessi was more responsive— then another— and she was more responsive; it seemed liked her sensitivity would rise endlessly.

But Tessi didn’t want this. She found the strength in herself she’d sought before, and when she could, grappled with the ghost grinding on her— only to receive more golden snowflakes. This happened cyclically, wearing Tessi down more every time, but finally, it seemed that her will had completely dissolved— she was awake, but had no willpower at all, not anymore.

Was this sleep, or was this waking? It felt like dreaming of a void, only she was so wakeful even within it— it was just that her will was asleep, her will asleep, the rest of her awake while it was dormant; part of her brain had been turned off. The only emotion she felt inside was peace.

And as the ghost kept fucking her, it kept raising her body further up the levels from dormancy. Each zone of her body always waking up more, becoming more sensitive; rising forever, never stopping— the sex just made her increasingly horny. Each touch was perfect, and her every response was immediate overwhelming arousal— and then even more of it. Infinite increase.

Dreaming that way, where one part of her mind kept falling deeper asleep, and the rest of her kept waking further up; to new levels of awareness she’d never had before— that made time pass strangely; made her feel she was underwater, watching sunrays being distorted by ripples of liquid; but at last, the ghost was climbing off of her, preparing to leave. The dormant part of Tessi’s mind was still dormant.

“Whenever you get aroused, the scent of your body’s fluids will make everyone else around you horny, too. It’ll help them have incredible endurance sex, with almost mystical stamina.”

Tessi’s mind accepted this— because it was still open. In just saying that, the ghost had changed reality.

Tessi felt the ghost was still standing close to the front-door, looking back at her, watching Tessi lie there naked on the floor.

“Matthew has one other wish, so what we’ve done today isn’t enough. I need to make sure his second wish is granted too, so I’ll be sending the second sexy Christmas ghost on Christmas day. It will fulfill Matthew’s wishes. And next time, it might fulfill some of your wishes, too.”

These truths dissolved in Tessi’s mind like the golden snowflakes had dissolved through the surface of her body and into her— the second sexy ghost of Christmas… fulfilling more of Matthew’s wishes… maybe some of her own…

That would happen… that was the right thing…

There was no sound to signal the ghost was going. After all, she did not have to open the door to leave. She was able to exit by supernatural means. But despite the fact that Tessi had neither been able to see nor hear her go, suddenly, she just knew she was gone in some further inexplicable supernatural way. And the second she knew this, that part of her mind put deeply to sleep immediately awoke— all of her mind awoke— she was consciously aware, thinking the way she normally did when all was well— and finally, she sat up from where she had been lying on her back in the front-area.

Once up, she felt more clearheaded still.

At some point in that dreamlike experience— at at least one point, Tessi had wondered if she were asleep or awake. She was left with the same question now. Had that been a dream, or had it been reality?

Then she laughed at herself, and shook her head. It must have been a dream— everything that’d happened was just too fantastical.

But then… why was she naked, coated in old sweat, and smelling of sex?

Those two oddities weren’t enough to convince Tessi that any of the prior occurrences had been real, however. They had all been just too strange for her waking mind to integrate into understanding, and to accept.

It had been a dream. That was fine.

Enough of sitting here, reflecting on her dreams. She understood why she was such a mess now: clearly, the erotic dream she’d dreamed had aroused her body. But that meant she was grimy and gross now. She wanted a shower.

It only took her a minute or two to get there. But as soon as Tessi turned the water on, she realized something was incredibly wrong.

The water was hot— the problem wasn’t with the shower, but with her.

The second she felt the water touch her breasts… when she turned, felt it run down her back to her ass— facing forward, run down her front to her pussy… it made her instantly horny when it touched just right.

It disturbed her that her body responded like this; that it kept responding. Every single time the water hit her body again, it responded like it was feeling the water for the first time; which meant the instant horniness kept looping, overlapping itself, making her hot in the sense that was not temperature based at all. She felt so flushed— felt something so irrepressibly rising.

She tried multiple times to leave, but all she could do was submit to the water’s onslaught, standing there and shuddering, perpetually on the brink of orgasm.

Finally, when the water turned cold, she turned it off, and, finally able to exit, took a towel and then headed to her room to get dressed.

Standing in her room, Tessi toweled herself off, twitching violently every time the towel dragged against a sensitive area. She felt as helpless in the face of her arousal as she had when she’d been standing under the showerhead. Finally, she was dry enough. She got a bra out of her drawer, and put it on like normal.

The second it was in place, she realized what a mistake she’d made. The bra itself was resting right against her very hard and painful nipples, and just feeling it brush there was doing something… inside her— she felt the pressure to bear down, and couldn’t resist— a long stream of fluid squirted out of her, into her panties, soaking them.

She’d heard of that happening to other women before— though usually it happened when they were having sex. Sometimes, if just the right spot was touched inside, if they got just turned on enough— then they would squirt.

But Tessi had never squirted in her life, not until now— and now she was so pathetically horny that just feeling her bra brush her nipples was enough to make her squirt, and make her squirt a lot. Regarding her reflection, it looked like she’d pissed herself— so much wetness it was like she had emptied her bladder. Except this was not urine.

She sighed. She couldn’t wear a bra then, not if it would keep making her squirt every few seconds.

After that, Tessi’s day went on more or less as expected; she kept herself busy, following her typical patterns and routines. The entire time there was a bit of a pit in her stomach though. All day long, she could only think, Matthew hadn’t arrived yet, and she was so worried about disappointing him. She didn’t want to disappoint him again; she’d already done it once, and it didn’t matter that it had been so many hours before. It had happened once in the past, she didn’t want to repeat it in the future or the present.

He finally arrived, in time for dinner as promise, but he was cheerful, now.

Going into the office and working overtime on Christmas Day had clearly been good for him; it was clearly the thing which had had a mood-boosting effect on him.

Seeing him cheerful like this, Tessi realized she didn’t want to do anything that would ruin this wonderful mood of his. Speaking about her strange dream— or her problems in the shower— or getting dressed— all of those things were bizarre, they were things he wouldn’t be expecting, wouldn’t know how to handle or interpret. It was better to hide these experiences from him, Tessi decided. She wouldn’t mention them to him. Even mentioning them would feel too much like risking everything.

Now, Matthew was standing just inside Tessi’s doorway, having closed the door behind himself. Tessi smiled at him like everything was normal, even though inside she felt so unsure, uncertain about where things between them stood.

She thought she had sold normalcy well. Just from looking at her, Matthew wouldn’t notice how carefully she’d dressed to make sure nothing would stimulate her. She had a ridiculously loose top that was tight at the collar, and then basically just mushroomed its fabric out so far on all sides it covered her but barely touched her— it looked like a bold fashion choice, not like a necessary measure. She was believing her own performance, imagining that she was just as normal as she was pretending to be.

She had spent most of the day cooking; this had resulted in a typical holiday feast, turkey, stuffing, potatoes, and the like. She had a pie cooling on the counter too.

She described this menu to Matthew, and he joined her at the table. They agreed to eat first, and exchange gifts after they were done.

Tessi enjoyed her meal at first until she reflected on her situation more fully.

The sensitivity in her breasts wasn’t the only problem. Her vagina, and her ass, were also equally sensitive, and she could feel her panties brushing them both.

Every time she felt the material of her underwear touching her, it turned her on more, and made her spurt further lubrication.

And she was realizing something else about her shirt. While she was upright, standing still, the fabric mushroomed enough not to touch her. But sitting down, with her arms resting on the table, and leaning forward? This bunched the fabric in such a way that defeated the goal of wearing the shirt to begin with. In the current configuration of her posture, her shirt material did brush her breasts, and did brush her nipples. They were hardening even now, as she was sitting in her chair. It was uncomfortable.

She tried to focus on eating her food, but the more she tried to ignore her arousal, the more obvious it became. Soon her thoughts were drifting away, turning towards a kind of mindlessness. She finished her dinner without even being aware of it, and somehow got through collecting all the dishes and taking them to sink without knowing that either.

She became aware only long enough to realize she was washing the dishes, but as soon as she started that task, her mind drifted again, this time towards sexual fantasies— imagining fucking and loving Matthew so many ways, touching him and being touched by him, holding him and being held…

Matthew sat at the table. His place had been cleared away. He was feeling reflective. Tessi’s kitchen was visible from her dining area, so he could see her doing the dishes. He was watching her, because she seemed off. There was something wrong with her— he’d felt like that all night because she’d barely spoken at any point in their shared meal. But now she seemed even more out of it than previously.

He frowned and tried to watch her with more care. What was causing her to behave this way? So far he’d seen nothing that could explain it… No hints were presenting themselves now, either. He kept watching her.

Something else was happening that Matthew wasn’t aware of. Below the level of thought, below the level of understanding, something was reaching long fingers in and touching him there. It was the scent of Tessi’s arousal, speaking to his unconscious self. He didn’t even understand what was happening to him or why, but he was becoming aroused too. His cock was getting hard, all just in subconscious response to Tessi’s arousal. He still didn’t know this was happening. He was immersed in experiencing the sensations of arousal, lost in his hardness, in his craving and desire. He didn’t care why it was happening anymore. It was just such a good sensation.

Completely instinctually, he rose and walked into the kitchen to stand behind Tessi.

As led by instinct as him, she turned to look over her shoulder at him, and, further propelled by instinct himself, Matthew lunged forward and captured her lips in a kiss, even at such a strange twisting angle.

On Tessi’s side of it, the second she felt Matthew’s kiss, it broke something in her. Her heart spilled so much passion out into her. It completely overtook her, and she was submerged in it, practically blind, only following feeling. Had to keep feeling things like this… acting on things like this… she surrendered to the kiss, just followed it.

The dish that Tessi had been holding in the water was dropped into it. Tessi fully turned around and Matthew embraced her. They were chaos as they collapsed to the floor of the kitchen, and they were chaos as they tore clothing away; and they were chaos as Matthew mindlessly thrust his way into her, bit by bit until he was fully enveloped. Tessi was shouting her enjoyment, genuinely meaning it, but the effect it was having on her emotional state was nothing so ecstatic. Actually, it was the opposite of ecstasy— it was a numbing. The more she was fucked, the emptier she felt, the more far away and distant.

This made it difficult to linearly follow their fucking; to stay present with it all the time that it continued. Tessi was only partly roused out of her stupor when she realized Matthew was speaking to her.

“Tessi,” he was saying. “Can you give me a blowjob now?”

This morning a similar request had ruined everything. Tessi had refused and Matthew had become bitter.

But no immediate refusal of this type came, not now that the same question was being asked by evening-light instead of morning-light. For Matthew, this gave him a few seconds to hope. He so wished she would give him a blowjob, wished for it so, so desperately.

It would have been typical of Tessi to refuse again. If she had been feeling like her normal self, this is surely what she would have done. But she was so turned on, so awfully, awfully turned on. Becoming numbed in her mind wasn’t the same thing as her body shutting down and ceasing to feel arousal. She was more turned on than ever. Could only think about doing sex, experiencing sex. The only reason there’d been hesitation was because Tessi had been momentarily lost in Matthew fucking her pussy.

But now she understood what he’d asked, and without even considering it, she moved and started sucking gently on his cock.

She kept sucking lightly for a while— it had felt like the easiest thing in the world to stop fucking on Matthew’s dick with her pussy and trade it for her mouth. Slowly, she became more confident, and started to suck more.

And then a thought arose out of complete mental silence. What am I doing?

This caused her to actually think about what was happening. She was sucking Matthew’s cock. Something she could never do, something she never wanted to do! This was wrong!

They had shifted around so Matthew was under her instead, and she was on her stomach with her mouth over his cock. Now she scrambled away.

Pulling away didn’t stop her arousal, though. And her arousal was taking a new form. She’d never craved this before, but suddenly, her asshole was feeling sensitive. Pleasant… she wanted something back there, up there, she wanted Matthew to stuff and fuck his way up there…

“What’s different, Tessi?” Matthew asked, craning his neck up to look at where Tessi was crouched.

“My ass,” Tessi whimpered.

Matthew’s eyes sparkled. “Would you like to be fucked in there?”

Tessi whimpered again, and shook her head. No, she didn’t want things like that. She never would.

“You do want that, Tessi,” Matthew pushed.

“Fine!” Tessi’s willpower once again collapsed with her giving in.

Matthew got off the floor, and helped Tessi up. The two of them went to her bed— Matthew put her facedown on it, and started fucking in her ass.

It seemed to go on forever. She was wet, and he kept dipping into her slickness with his hand, pulling out of her, spreading it on himself— kept fucking deeper into her, but it took ages for him to get all the way there, and even once he was, he kept fucking her for hours more. Over this period, Tessi’s thoughts shut down. She could only think of sex— she was too horny to even formulate words. Eventually, she fell asleep, curled around Matthew.

The scene between Tessi and Matthew in the hours before, which showed them fucking each other wildly, might not have been the most domestic or heartwarming scene, especially because that fucking likely wouldn’t have happened had Tessi been feeling more like her typical self.

But the scene of Tessi and Matthew curling up together to fall asleep, that had domesticity and comfort and intimacy written all over it.

Across town, in one particular house, the image was completely different. There was a woman there, in that house, a woman in her early twenties like Tessi, with long and dark hair, a woman with only b-cup breasts. She was by herself late on Christmas, wearing a warm bathrobe. But she was completely alone; there were no scenes of domesticity, intimacy or comfort here— no images of relational warmth either.

This woman was Sloane, and she was spending a very lonely Christmas on her own.

She was trying not to feel too bad for herself— she’d made herself a fancy hot chocolate with expensive chocolate, and she was wearing an expensive robe; she was sitting in her most comfortable chair. But it was still a pretty pathetic celebration of Christmas, Sloane thought. She just couldn’t help feeling bad for herself.

She was only in her early twenties, but Sloane already felt very deep regret— especially novel because she still had so much of her life ahead of her. But years previous, she’d had a change at building a relationship with someone she really cared about, and she’d thrown it away.

Sloane sipped her hot chocolate and sighed, thinking about it again. Christmas Eve shouldn’t be spent on melancholic rumination, maybe, but that was how Sloane was so far spending hers.

In those days, Matthew had been interested in her. Even now, she remembered the image of him fondly: his dark hair, like hers, though maybe more black than brown— his slim frame… he had been so in love with her, and he’d been something to look at. Probably still was, though she never saw him anymore. He’d been more than just a treat for her eyes, though. She’d felt so much affection and care for him. She hadn’t quite been in love with him herself— but that hadn’t changed his feelings. He’d told her how in love with her he was, and asked her out, and without even really taking the time to think about it, she’d refused him, and that had been the end of their chance.

They’d stayed friends after that, without any difficulty. And Sloane had been pretty unconcerned— she’d really thought about the fact she rejected Matthew, certainly never regretted it. It never entered her mind; she had been so completely uncaring towards the topic.

But Matthew, as most mature people would do, had moved on with his love life after Sloane’s rejection. He’d started dating a woman called Cybill, while continuing to be friends with Sloane.

Cybill had been Sloane’s same age— and this was a few years ago now, so at the time all this had happened—Matthew’s declaration of love, Sloane’s rejection, Cybill’s entry to their lives— Sloane and Cybill had both been nineteen and Matthew had been three years older.

Cybill had been a blonde to Sloane’s brunette— she’d had short hair to Sloane’s long, had had c-cups to Sloane’s b’s; had been more filled out and full-figured than Sloane’s slim elegance.

And Matthew had been happy with her. Incidentally, Cybill had been Matthew’s last girlfriend before Tessi— but he’d been happy with Cybill at that time. It had really bothered Sloane to see. It took her a while to realize, but eventually she understood that she regretted rejecting Matthew. She had regretted rejecting him ever since then.

Sloane shook her head, sipped her hot chocolate some more. A little pathetic, all these years later, to still regret a past decision so much. Especially since she’d fallen in love again herself— she’d heard about Matthew and Tessi getting together, too, though she never saw either of them. It’d left her with a sour taste in her mouth, had completely defeated the temporarily bitchy sense of victory and superiority she’d felt upon hearing Matthew and Cybill had broken up.

She shouldn’t care what Matthew did, or what she herself had done years before. She was in love with someone new also— she too had moved on with her love life.

She might still be making bad decisions there, though. It was possible. The man she’d committed herself to couldn’t give her equal commitment back. He was married to someone else. He wasn’t willing to leave her.

He was her colleague at work— and choosing him had probably been foolish; but she hadn’t known he was married until after they’d fallen in love, and then it had felt too late to end things.

He wanted to spend Christmas Day with her, in the morning, and abandon his wife. It always hurt when he went back to her though.

Her thoughts were slipping in a direction that was pretty morose. She shook her head to try and stop them. Her lifestory didn’t start and end with Matthew. She’d experienced a lot outside of him. There were plenty other sources of fulfillment and excitement in life besides Matthew— he wasn’t the only source of all good things in the world. And Sloane had had plenty of experiences over the course of her most recent period of years, so she should remember that.

For her, one of the best sources of fulfilment and excitement was sex. Sloane loved having sex, loved having it in any position, and was usually willing to try any creative sex act at least once. She was a fairly open-minded person in that way; she was willing to have new and unexpected experiences. More often than not, she enjoyed those experiences in full; and even when she didn’t, she sometimes enjoyed component parts of them. And in all cases she learned new things; new things she could add to her arsenal of sexual skills, her arsenal of things to ask for in order to enhance her own pleasure. Learning new skills and learning new knowledge— to Sloane’s mind, that was never anything but a victory.

This willingness had led her, even, to experimenting with another woman. She’d mostly done it out of curiosity, and then felt bad after. That sexual partner had actually been attracted to other women, so she’d valued that sex more than Sloane had.

These days, Sloane wouldn’t necessarily call herself completely one hundred percent straight… but she was so straight the difference hardly mattered. Her non-straight inclinations only went so far— maybe this far. If Sloane were ever with a male partner who wanted to include a third partner in a sexual encounter, she’d genuinely enjoy interacting with that third partner, unbogged down by obligation or resentment. But that was as far as Sloane’s non-straightness went. It certainly didn’t go far enough for her to think that she ever could have been happy with a woman instead of a man, or that a sex-life spent only fucking women would ever have satisfied her.

But the fact was, women who were actually not straight, they didn’t want to fuck mostly straight women just so their boyfriends could fetishize it, and Sloane had to respect that. Women fucking each other meant something more to those women, something different. So Sloane did respect that. She’d never experimented in front of a man.

She’d had her various thrills and excitements, she thought again, her mind drifting back to her underlying sadness.

Her life was going well— but still she had that one, deep regret. She never should have rejected Matthew.

Her reason for rejecting him seemed stupid to her now. She’d only done it because she’d liked having Matthew as a friend. That had truly been her only reason. It wasn’t that she’d thought he would be a bad partner in anyway; or that she didn’t believe she could ever fall in love with him. When she got so annoyed by Cybill’s presence, she realized then that she did love him and hadn’t known it before.

But truly, the only reason she hadn’t wanted him as a partner was because she’d already had him as a friend. She’d been so worried that the friendship would be at risk; that if they actually tried to get together, it would end badly and then their platonic bond would be destroyed beyond any hope of repair. It seemed a foolish fear now— the platonic bond probably just would have made their love for each other deeper— would have made their relationship more fun. It had all been such a missed opportunity. If only she…

Trying to protect the friendship had been stupid, as it turned out. In the end it had fallen apart anyway.

That had been a little Sloane’s fault. She had ended up so resentful and bitter about Cybill that she’d constantly made disparaging criticisms about her, sometimes to her face— so then Cybill hadn’t wanted to spend time around Sloane anymore, hadn’t wanted to go anywhere that Sloane was going to be— and then when Cybill made alternate plans, Matthew had often preferred to go with Cybill over sticking with Sloane— so then gradually over time, as Matthew had chosen Cybill more and more, Sloane had seen him less and less, and finally, they had completely fallen out of touch.

She shouldn’t have rejected him, she thought again. She should have said yes and go on that date. They might be married now if she had. Or if she couldn’t have done that, she should have told Matthew the real reason she hated Cybill— should have told him she’d realized she’d fallen in love with him, and she was jealous. She hadn’t done that either. He probably would have left Cybill for her. Again, they might be married now.

Instead, he was now dating Tessi. And Sloane was lonely on Christmas Eve.

Sloane sighed. She’d spent practically all of Christmas Eve this way, just getting into a worse and worse mood all the time. And while sadness was sad… it was also boring. And banal. Sloane wanted something else, wanted something to take her mind off of things.

She had been staring off towards her wall as she sat in her comfortable armchair— really, she’d been staring off into the past. She was ready to be more aware of the present again.

She leaned forward and got her television remote off her coffeetable, and pointed it at the tv. She tapped the power button, and turned it on.

The first thing the tv showed to her was a Christmas program. She’d been hoping to turn the tv on, and then set the controler down again, but Christmas programming only made her more depressed. She kept flicking through the channels. One Christmas program after another. After another. After another. She just wanted a distraction! It was unfair. Every single Christmas program only reminded her of how lonely she was. She kept looking through the channels, one after the other.

After about the tenth tv-channel it was hard not to feel demoralized. Instead of switching the channel yet again (to something that would, undoubtedly, turn out to be just another Christmas program), Sloane sagged into her chair defeatedly, let the remote control hang loosely from her fingers. She’d probably have to turn the tv off in moment— there was probably nothing on, now, that wasn’t related to Christmas.

Before she could motivate herself to sit up a little straighter and turn off the tv, though, it started behaving oddly. Suddenly, it was showing a sequence of images in sequences— images that were moving fast, that were almost flashing themselves— moving almost too fast to see? What channel was she even on, anyway? The Christmas program that had been on before had left no trace of itself— and now, those images… flickering, speeding past, cycling… it was giving Sloane a headache— but she was so tired suddenly, she felt she couldn’t even lift her arm to press her hand to her forehead. She blinked against the visual onslaught but it did not help her at all.

There was a figure emerging from the images— seeing it made Sloane a little nervous.

It was like the images were being projected over this figure— she was always standing there, but the images, which seemed almost translucent over her— they kept changing as she kept staying constant behind them.

She was clearly a fully-grown adult woman, but she was very well proportioned, and beautiful. She was dressed scandalously, though. She wore something that looked like a pathetic attempt at a Santa’s-elf costume; a little green vest with longsleeves that ended up been a midriff top exposing her underbreasts— and a pair of similar green shorts which just cleared the woman’s pussy. The base color of both was green, but the sleeves and trim of the shorts were striped red and green, and she wore a drooping green elf-hat.

When she spoke, her voice seemed to boom at Sloane from all corners of the room— frightening Sloane even more— but the sound of it alone was a hypnotizing sound— and the sight of the woman alone was a hypnotizingly erotic sight… Sloane couldn’t look away.

“I’m the second sexy ghost of Christmas, Sloane!” The woman said. The walls of Sloane’s own house seemed to shout it at her.

“I am a complete and total bimbo. You don’t need to be stupid, like me— I’ve been dusted in something magical to help me with my words because usually I struggle to speak… You don’t need to be stupid, but you do need to be hypnotized. You do need to learn. It’s good to be hypnotized. It’s so, so sexy, just like me. It will bring good things to your life. Let me scrub your mind clean, and put new things in your head!”

The words assaulted her every sense; the ghost looked like she was physically inside Sloane’s tv, pressing her hands against the glass like she was in a tank.

Every sound the ghost made— every flash of her image that Sloane saw felt like it took a scrubber, a bristlebrush to her brain and just scraped and scraped brain contents away. It was so rough and brutal— she expected to feel blood coming out of her nose and ears.

But there was no blood, anywhere. She was just being very violently brainwashed— with words and images that scrubbed in what her brainpan held— but not physically. With hypnotic power. With brainwashic power.

No! As a matter of principle, Sloane had to fight.

“I won’t give in to hypnosis!” She shouted. But she was still staring at her television screen. “I won’t be brainwashed!”

But she was watching the way the ghost kept rocking forward onto where her hands rested on the glass— watched how her whole body undulated— watched how her huge breasts pressed up on the glass too.

That image was the scrubber brush. Scrubbing her brain raw. And there was as a light— that seemed like it contracted; from every edge of the screen to the center in quick snatches of color. A pulsing, flashing, hypnotic signal. A pulsing, flashing, brainwashifying signal.

“Sloane,” the ghost purred in her bimboish, bedroom-voice. “You’re already being deeply brainwashed.”

The signal was getting into her head. The look of the ghost, too. Sloane had to… love Matthew… she had to love him, one hundred percent.

The ghost hadn’t said that out-loud. It was held somewhere in that contracting signal, which flashed like the capturing of a camera; it felt like it was doing the same to her eyes that it was doing to the screen. The signal started at every outer edge of her eye, on both sides, and then contracted to the very center of her each pupil— for a second, at the pinpoint of each light-contraction, she only saw a point of white light— and then her vision was normal… but it all kept happening…

She had to love Matthew… she already did, her mind confusedly protested.

But it wasn’t enough, the signal was telling her. She must only think of him, she must think of nothing else, she should desire to do everything for him. Doing things for him should make her happy— that happiness should motivate her— into doing everything he wanted. Into doing everything for him. She must do everything for him and think of nothing else. She must let her love for him take over her life. Take over her mind. She irresistibly must.

The signal contracted again, through the screen. It simultaneously contracted into Sloane’s pupils through her eyes, and she saw the two points of white. The signal told her this— and the sight of the second ghost, gyrating and dragging her breasts up and down the glass— she was not-straight enough that seeing such a beautiful, erotic woman, turned her on in itself… seeing such a beautiful, erotic woman being so wanton… and the hypnosis… the brainwashing… it was probably doing this to her too, but somehow she was becoming incredibly aroused. So much she didn’t know what she was doing anymore. The signal, the moving ghost, they both communicated so quickly to her mind now she couldn’t understand what they were teaching her— but soon Sloane found herself masturbating.

One hand was rolling her clit between a thumb and a finger— the other hand was rolling a tensed nipple between a thumb and another finger. Sloane grunted, squirmed into her masturbation, staring— the signal contracted inside her pupils— the ghost filled her vision— her mind was led into a deeper entrancement. Then a deeper one.

Further time passed this way. Impossible to know how much. As impossible as it was to think of resisting. All the time Sloane just fell down deeper into her entrapment. When she found she was moving again, she realized her body was once again doing something without her deciding to direct it. She was going in the bedroom. Getting her favourite sex-toy. Coming back, sprawling on the floor.

It was a double-ended dildo— it could be used by two people, or, if its curve was inverted, for one. She was so hopelessly aroused, it slid in so easily— even into her ass— in the course of her masturbation, so much of her lubrication had run back there.

She got it in her ass first, deeply, then got it into her pussy. She was humping on the ground— the curve of the dildo ran inwards, under her, like a descending arc— and if she hit it against the floor, it forced the dildo deeper on both sides, and also made it vibrate hard for a moment. So she humped the floor. She dragged her breasts against it, debauchedly, like the ghost in the tv; her nipples were getting raw from the carpet-fibers— still she stared up at the screen. Now she spoke— grinding, one hand on her clit, the other at her asshole, stroking where the dildo went in. Her voice was small and pathetic— the voice of the deeply-entranced. “I must love Matthew, I must do everything for him, I must let my love for him consume me…” and she banged the arc of the doubledildo on the floor, she touched at her asshole, at her clit, scraped her nipples raw on the carpet— felt the banging vibration into her chin that rested on the carpet and her eyes were up watching— she kept hitting deeper and deeper levels to the experience, to the mental state; and when she did it, it made her masturbate harder. And when she masturbated harder it brainwashed her deeper so she masturbated harder so it brainwashed her deeper— her heart raced, her breath was fast— her body pushed beyond the breaking point too many times— her eyes rolled back in her head. She fell, exhaustedly, asleep.

Christmas morning arrived; Tessi woke up more in front of Matthew than beside him. She was on his side of the bed, mostly between his legs and a lot farther down his body— like she’d been giving him a blowjob when she’d fallen asleep— or maybe she’d moved herself and had been trying to give him a blowjob in her sleep.

He was not awake yet— for now, she was the only conscious one.

She lamented not sleeping on her side of the bed. Because she liked her side of the bed.

She’d woken up in front of her boyfriend. That was out of the ordinary. It wasn’t the only thing.

She’d woken up horny. Her memories of the night before were a bit hazy, but she remembered the morning and the day before that clearly, and they explained a few things. Or at least offered possible explanations. She’d gotten all turned on like this because of how sensitive she was now— and even sleeping through the whole night had not put an end to her arousal. Her entire body still buzzed with pleasure.

It was better that she’d woken up first. Better that she was the first person up and Matthew was still sleeping.

She wanted to keep things that way. Getting up would, with any luck, remain a secret, and Matthew wouldn’t wake for a few more hours. She was afraid if he woke before then, they’d end up fucking again.

Moving slowly so as not jostle Matthew too much, she started to leave the bed. There were a few tense moments, but she made it up, and moved into the kitchen for coffee.

She stood in front of the coffeemaker as it worked on her cup. But she was naked, and it was December— the apartment was cold. As she stood there, waiting for coffee, she couldn’t help but shiver in place. A little tiny shiver might have been okay, but it was really more like a full-body shudder; this made her shake, head to foot, and when she shook— her breasts… jiggled— her nipples… contracted—

And she was orgasming, squirting, spurting outwards in a stream, some of it hitting her thighs, running down them.

She hadn’t taken the time to get dressed out of a self-protective instinct. She’d been thinking of the sensitivity in her body, worrying about it being brushed by clothing. And she’d been worrying about spending too long in the bedroom, lest Matthew wake and reach for her. If the touch of clothing would have been bad, the touch of Matthew’s hands would have been a nightmare. She’d been just too afraid of becoming aroused upon his next touch of her— staying naked had seemed safer. Clearly there was nothing entirely, perfectly safe.

She hadn’t even had the chance to drink her coffee when her solitude was interrupted.

This visitor was a woman— dressed like a Santa’s-elf, but looking like a bimbo… the worst bimbo Tessi had ever seen, ludicrous breasts and stupid eyes.

“I’m the second sexy ghost of Christmas!” The ghost exclaimed; her voice had a bit of the lilt in a laugh about it. “It’s time for the second Christmas wish.”

Tessi hated the ghost and yet couldn’t help being attracted to her. Her breasts were bursting out of her green vest.

Tessi’s mind whirled. The second Christmas wish?

“But Matthew already got what he wanted! I can’t resist giving him all the sex-acts he wants; blowjobs, anal sex, anything— I have to give it to him— I can’t stop myself, and it feel so good for me! That was what he wanted! Why would he need a second Christmas wish? This whole stupid ghost thing is done! Nothing else is supposed to change!”

Tessi didn’t totally accept the changes that’d already happened— but better to live with those changes than new, additional ones!

The ghost shook her head, putting her hands on her hips. “Matthew’s desires aren’t only your job. It’s not up to you to be an eternally horny woman delighted by obedience and always hanging around Matthew’s side.”

Tessi frowned— this confused her. That had seemed like the expectation yesterday, when the first ghost had come— and with this second ghost here… what’d happened with the first ghost had been real, then. It hadn’t actually been a dream. And this wasn’t a dream right now, either. She still didn’t understand the ghost’s statement.

“Matthew’s kept this a secret from you,” The ghost continued to speak. “He’s even kept it a secret from himself, to a degree. But he wants to replace you with Sloane.”

Tessi felt her heart cracking; not completely coming apart, not completely shattering— but cracking— she always liked imagining that Matthew really loved her— loved her more than anyone he’d ever loved before, loved her more than anyone else anywhere else in the world. Being told by a ghost that there was someone he wanted more than her… loved more… it hurt.

The ghost had just barely finished saying its most recent words when suddenly the apartment’s doorbell rang.

It filled Tessi with a sense of dread. A few minutes ago, she’d have feared Matthew waking up and trying to seduce her again. Now, she was afraid when she thought of who might be at the door. With ghosts involved, all sorts of awful things were possible. But one possibility was so much worse than all the others. And maybe life was still a little bit kind… maybe that wouldn’t be who it was…

So Tessi was just too afraid. Too afraid to even open the door herself. She could only stand there in the kitchen— but the doorbell rang again. Then it was no longer a mystery as to whether Matthew had woken up or not, because he emerged from the bedroom, heading for the door to open it.

Tessi could only watch in further dread as he went. He got there, and pulled the door open to see who’d rung the bell and woken him up. He hadn’t looked Tessi as he went by.

Matthew himself was still feeling groggy; but the second he saw who the visitor was, it cleared his mind.

Sloane was the one standing there; she was naked— her nipples were two points of tension; her pussy was streaming, and as the door was open, she swooned forward and Matthew had to catch her in his arms.

“Oh Matthew,” she sighed, once caught. “I love you, I love you more than anything— I only want to be with you. Only with you!”

Something he had waited so long to hear from her.

Matthew looked down at Sloane, who was in his arms. He felt completely disoriented— and so, so bemused over what had just happened. He’d wanted Sloane to love him so long— but why should she decide she loved him now? Why should she come, and literally throw herself in his arms?

But he could smell the scent of her sex… and though he wasn’t totally aware of it, it was pulling on his mind unconsciously… Sloane exuded that scent of sex… and it was irresistible… it was such a good, wonderful scent…

The desire, for both of them, was too strong. Matthew lowered Sloane a little further, from where she’d hung in his arms until she laid on the floor. He’d come out naked, so in a second he’d buried himself in the warmth of her pussy. Then the two of them were fucking vigorously— vigorously, and with no delaying of any kind— they fucked right there in the entrace of Tessi’s apartment, and her front-door was still opened into the hallway. They didn’t care about that— they were fully focused on each other.

Tessi had stood there and watched all of this happened, having had a perfect view of it from the kitchen. But at finally seeing them fuck, and fuck with such evident love for each other, Tessi could not stop herself from breaking into heavy sobs that hurt to cry. Hurt physically.

The ghost spoke again. “Tessi,” it said, a little warningly. “It’s time for things to move to the next stage.”

Tessi barely heard this, because she was still crying so much— and still watching the fucking going on through blurred tears.

There was a rattling sound, which called Tessi’s attention away.

The ghost was holding out a Christmas present— wrapped in green and red striped paper, to match the striping on the ghost’s sleeves and shorts’ trim.

The ghost shook it again, now that it had Tessi’s full attention. Whatever was inside that gift-box had to be somewhat big, at least— for it to rattle inside like that.

“Just for you,” the ghost coaxed, and shook the present again for effect.

Tessi reached for it— the present was passed immediately into her hands.

Happy at least that there was something to distract her from Matthew’s betrayal, Tessi unwrapped the present quickly and opened the box.

She was looking at a dildo.

“It’s a bimbofying dildo,” the ghost explained. “Any bimbo-to-be who fucks herself with it will become a bimbo for real, and forever.”

Tessi’s fleeting moment of happiness ended. Now she was back to being terrified again— worse than before— she could only stare at the horrible gift, promising herself she would never use it, never let it touch her, never let it enter her.

“Matthew wants someone to love, someone to make love with, and make love to. Someone to have an adventurous and fulfilling sex-life with. But that’s not you. That’s Sloane. He also wants a stupid empty-headed bimbo, one with no intelligence at all— a zero-intelligence bimbo with humongous tits, and a humongous ass— a bimbo with lips so fat they look like a pair of inflatable rafts.

He wants someone to become that for him. And that’s not Sloane. That’s you.”

He really did want to replace her! She meant nothing to him!

That gave her a sour feeling. It made his betrayal worse.

The dildo was a ridiculous shade of pink. It looked like pink vomit. And in noticing this, Tessi realized she was looking at the dildo.

This immediately frightened her— because the second ghost had never explained how this dildo bimbofied its victims. Certainly, inserting it into one’s pussy probably sped the process up. But the dildo might have other methods of bimbofying too… even looking at it, just with her eyes, might be enough to bimbofy— even holding it just in her hand.

Tessi’s eyes were locked on the thick, pink tube sitting on her hand— her mind was going over the fact that she was still looking at it. It definitely felt like it was doing something to her, something that could not be explained by the basic facts of the situation: she was standing, she was looking, she was holding the dildo in her hand.

That did not explain why it seemed the dildo was— almost breathing. Definitely pulsing; shrinking, expanding, in and out.

Every time her eyes tracked this kind of an expansion or retraction, they seemed more primed to track the next one. Just by watching it, it was drawing her in— this was starting to feel a lot like the brainwashing that had happened before.

And this was something that was still bothering her, too, even as she stared. She could not pinpoint the moment she had started to watch the dildo. That was a lost moment.

The ghost had given her the dildo. Then it had seemed she was already looking at it— but not like she had started right that moment— as if she had somehow already been looking at it for five or ten seconds. Like the dildo had flashed some kind of light at her that had stunned her, or shut her brain down temporarily.

There seemed to be a recurring missing moment of this nature. She kept looking at the dildo, which meant at some moment she kept choosing to watch it.

Except she had no memories of this kind of moment. Could not remember a single time she’d chosen to keep staring— like the dildo was somehow continuously stunning her, so she could only ever experience the act of continuing to observe, could only come to the experience in its middle— could never have the moment where she chose to continue. Maybe it wasn’t her choice at all— but all of this was so abnormal. She’d never stared so long at an object before.

Tessi’s eyes were still fixed to the dildo’s image. She didn’t even think she was blinking. The dildo no longer seemed to be breathing— now it appeared to be glowing— maybe flickering— it had such a halo around it, actually, that it was like the thing was hovering, gliding through the air above her hand. Something that could break the rules of reality like that was a thing enchanting— a thing bewitching— Tessi came to the experience’s middle, she was continuing to look…

If the dildo was flickering, it was showing a portal— when it wasn’t there or it was, it showed a door— Tessi was getting a vision through this door. It made her deeply hate the nature of this dildo, made her hate everything about it. This was an evil dildo— a cruel one. Something terrible, something unthinkable, something that never should have existed. It had dark designs, and it wanted to spread them in the world. It should be stopped, and stopped forever!

But now she could see how it was meant to be used— the dildo was putting the vision in her head to brainwash her with it. It was long, with an arcing curve— it could be used for two bimbos at once, one on each end.

For a moment, that was the brainwashing image Tessi could not resist— the arc inverted— so it curved up instead of under— one dildoend impaling one bouncing bimbo— the other dildoend impaling the other bouncing bimbo. The one bimbo had red hair— the other’s hair was black. Was this some kind of an impression of memory? Were these two bimbos the dildo had once bimbofied in the past? Tessi was lost in the powerfully hypnotic jiggling of their breasts— seesawing on the fuck…when one bimbo forced herself down on the end of the dildo that was in her, it drove the other end of the dildo so high up into the other one that that bimbo was forced to squeal.

Tessi stared with her mind’s eye— the redhead jumped down on her end. The other end shot up so painfully high into the black-haired bimbo; so high, in fact, that, even with the dildo in her pussy, the black-haired bimbo was pissing out a squirt.

The image changed. It was no less hypnotic— now there was a blonde bimbo with a brunette, but their backs were facing to each other— one dildoend was in the blonde bimbo’s ass, the other dildoend was in the brunette bimbo’s ass. And still they seesawed on the fuck— the blonde bimbo throwing herself down, shooting the dildo up into the brunette bimbo— so high, where it was never meant to go— Tessi saw the dildo bulging out through the brunette bimbo’s back.

Tessi’s mind was stunned. The onslaught of hypnotic, brainwashing imagery had been too much for her mind— she hadn’t been prepared to fend against it, and now her mind felt so soft and mushy… since she had been shown images of bimbopairs, temporarily, her mind believed she must belong to a bimbopair. She was too sensitive to think for herself— the brainwashing was so powerful that even being shown an image made Tessi believe she was being given a command. She was supposed to belong to a bimbopair. She couldn’t even question the belief, it had already taken root in her mind too deeply.

The dildo sensed where Tessi’s thoughts had gone— and while its purposes were only helped by Tessi’s susceptibility, and her own obliviousness to it, it was not helpful for Tessi to be looking around for a second bimbo partner.

New brainwashing commands. They made Tessi sway on her legs, and gape. Yes, for some bimbos, bimbofication was a partnered activitity. For some.

But in this case, the intended use was for Tessi to use both ends of the dildo simultaneously. She was watching a figment of herself now— standing in the very place she was standing in real life.

She saw the envisioned-Tessi squat. The fat front-end of the dildo was shoved up into Tessi’s pussy; the envisioned-Tessi only reacted by making a facial expression that reflected ultimate pleasure.

Then the back-end of the dildo, at the other end of the dildo’s curve, was shoved up Tessi’s ass. Envisioned-Tessi pushed the curving arc up— forcing both sides of the dildo higher up into her— kept pushing until the arc had conformed to her flesh and the dildo couldn’t possible go any higher.

The dildo was implanting this idea in her. It was brainwashing her with this vision, flickering it before her mind’s eye, transmitting the fantasy of itself being used into Tessi’s helpless brainwashable head.

She looked at that arcing curve, flush to her envisioned-flesh, forcing both dildoends so far up into her body in both holes. That curve was so long both ends of the dildo easily fit into Tessi, and went so far up— both ends were spaced so apart from each other…

Tessi felt her whole body flushing in humiliation as she was forced to watch the vision in her head. The brainwashing vision she could not shut out. She was not a lewd person— she’d never wanted to know there were dildos that could reach both holes at once— she hated even having to possess that knowledge, let alone entertain the thought— but the vision wasn’t stopping. She watched her envisioned-self squatting, bulges visible behind both holes where the dildo was going into her.

Envisioned-Tessi began rocking in her squatting position— making the bulge at the front hole a little bigger as the dildo shifted naturally with the movement of her body— then she rocked back, and the same thing happened with the hole in her ass.

Back and forth— it was further humiliation to realize, but Tessi was being brainwashed even now, by the image of herself rocking— rock… rock… she should plug herself with the dildo… it was irresistible to plug herself with the dildo…

She couldn’t deny what was happening to her. The dildo was transmitting this vision directly into her brain— no other dildo in the world would be able to do that— but this was a magic dildo, just like everything that had happened throughout the past day had been magic, too. This was one more supernatural and mystical happening. But she felt truly pathetic— she was being brainwashed, being controled by a dildo— not even a person. Being brainwashed, by a dildo’s brainwashing vision.

The magic dildo was brainwashing Tessi by magic…

Why was she thinking so many variations on the same idea? A new feeling of horror spread through her. Those weren’t thoughts, those were reinforcements. They were rewards. Each one triggered a tiny orgasm in her— each one brainwashed her deeper, forced her brain to open up and make itself even more vulnerable to the next round of brainwashing… she wasn’t choosing her thoughts anymore— not all of them, at least. The dildo was making her reinforce herself. Then rewarding her for obeying.

She didn’t want rewards from it. She hated it! She wanted to scream her hatred, but she felt trapped inside her own head. The best she could do was think a thought very deliberately in the dildo’s direction. Showing it she was aware of it. I hate you. I don’t want your ridiculous rewards!

But she deserved rewards. Because she was being a good bimbo and recognizing her situation. She was being brainwashed (her pussy spasmed) by a magic dildo… the dildo was forcing her to watch a vision of herself rocking on it, being fucked in both holes, deeper in one than the other depending on gravity. The magic, magic dildo… flickering… transmitting… glowing… hovering. She couldn’t protect her mind.

She should plug herself. It was irresistible to plug herself. Envisioned-Tessi rocked… rocked… she should plug herself… she couldn’t resist plugging herself— she was attracted to the dildo like it was her lover— already parts of her were learning to love it, and feel affection towards it— she must make love to it— let it make love to her— the attraction was undeniable. The dildo was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen and she had to be allowed to have sex with it.

Someone needed to help her. Someone needed to save her. With how drawn she was feeling towards the dildo, she was not going to be able to keep herself away— to stop herself from using it. The Christmas ghost would not help her— the Christmas ghost was conspiring against her— but there were still two other human beings here with her— and though both of them were working together to betray her, and were actively betraying her at this moment, there was still a chance they might show her empathy.

With the dildo in her hand, she ran from the kitchen to the entrance hall— being even closer to them now, she could see them better. Their fucking looked even more passionate at this proximity.

“Help!” Tessi shrieked— a bout of hysterical tears broke loose for her, and then she was sobbing that hysteria out— so, so sad, so scared— she wished she could drop the dildo from her hand, but her hand seemed locked around holding it.

Shrieking for help had been ineffectual. Sobbing in hysteria was now proving to be just as ineffectual. Neither Matthew nor Sloane even bothered to look up at her— that didn’t look like it was about to change very fast— not if she sobbed harder, not if she shrieked louder. It was like they didn’t even notice she was standing there, right there, directly above them. If they did realize she was there, then clearly they cared more about their own gratification than they cared about Tessi’s well-being, let alone the future of her independence and her dignity. She never should have expected empathy from them. She shouldn’t have even hoped for it. Clearly, a pair of people who were prepared to work together to betray her weren’t going to care about her happiness. She’d only hoped for it because it had been her only chance. And she’d thought she knew Matthew, thought he was the kind of person who would always help her, no matter what.

Inside Matthew’s mind, he really was mostly thinking about fucking Sloane— how good it felt, how good every single thing she did felt. How could any one woman be so sexy? There were other women in the world, obviously— they might be fun to look at for a few minutes here or there, but they weren’t sexy, sexy, like this one woman was to him.

It was, perhaps to the outside observer, callous of Matthew, to not even care about the distress his current girlfriend was in. But this callousness wasn’t entirely Matthew’s fault. There were unconscious operating forces at play— the scent of Sloane’s sex was practically magical in itself— and it had snared his unconscious mind in its spell and all he could do was follow along with his instincts. Down where he was not aware, that scent kept tying his mind up tighter and tighter in its trap. With every new second, he was thinking more and more of Sloane. Of fucking her.

They had both just completely ignored her— it left Tessi feeling she didn’t know what to do. Her arms were hanging, useless— that was impression more than it was fact— because one arm was still bent, one arm was still holding the dildo up as it sat on her palm. It was just that, even that hold seemed to flop and sag— even that hold seemed limp— in every muscle of her body, there was a physical despair, a giving up on hope. That was why all of her seemed to hang, whether one part of her or another was being upheld or not.

She had no idea with to do with her arms, what to do with any part of her body. She was in the middle of a crisis, and she’d just been left there, to handle it all by herself— she felt like a hitchhiker, who had just watched the last car drive off into the night without her. Or she felt like a shipwreck survivor treading water out in the open ocean— watching the last plane fly over head and off into the night, leaving her alone. She was unrescued. She’d been abandoned in the middle of this disaster— the only person who cared she was there was her. The only person who would offer her any help to escape, was her. And did she have enough strength within herself to be uniquely responsible for something like this? She’d expected outside help, and gotten none.

Matthew and Sloane had been her one strategy. Her one hope— she hadn’t even thought of saving herself, because part of her already knew she didn’t have the strength to pull that off. So she’d skipped over the idea of herself as her own savior— she’d counted on Matthew and Sloane. That had been where help would come from, that had been where the solution lay.

And then, they had given her absolutely nothing. Worse, they had completely ignored her. She was alone.

She felt so ashamed of herself. It had been good to try asking for help, even if that request had been so embarrassingly denied. While the dildo had been brainwashing her, there had been an impulse brewing in her. An impulse to fight back— but until she’d thought of running over to Matthew and Sloane she hadn’t been able to figure out how to create an outlet for that feeling— she’d been too brainwashed for that. So, good that she’d asked for help.

But shameful that her request hadn’t even been acknowledged, let alone granted. She was exactly where she’d been before— standing, with the dildo in her hand— it was starting to brainwash her again.

She’d been holding it with fingers wrapped around— now she held it just with open-palm support. It was glowing. Hovering… flickering… opening the portal… transmitting the vision… skipping to the most effective part… envisioned-Tessi squatting on the floor, rocking her hips to seesaw-fuck herself with the double-ended dildo held inside.

She must stop thinking about shoving the dildo inside herself. Having it there. Except she wasn’t the one thinking about it. The dildo was thinking for her. Making her think of it.

Touching it was probably making it worse— it was probably sending her energy through contact as much as through magic.

She concentrated on the weight of the dildo in her hand. Yesssss… a part of her brain purred it. That part of her was already been taught to love what was happening to her.

The dildo was brainwashing her visually, brainwashing her by sending her its vision— yes, that was undeniable. But feeling the way the dildo sat in her hand— she felt like it was brainwashing her through touch, too. It was putting disorientating sensations into the place she was supporting it.

In one second, the dildo made itself five times as heavy. Then in the next second, it seemed to make itself five times as light… the constant varying of the dildo’s weight confused her head— it made her feel like her body was being spun in circles— the dildo was brainwashing her in two different was at once.

It was even more confusing when the dildo appeared to be hovering— and yet could be simultaneously sensed as a physical presence on her palm.

She had to get rid of it.

She tried to pull her hand rapidly out from underneath it, to make it fall. Her hand didn’t move. She tried to wrap her fingers around it, to leverage a good throw and send it far across the apartment. Her fingers wouldn’t wrap.

In asking for help, she’d shown her mind how to resist— so this time, at least, as she was being brainwashed, she was managing to resist more. So far it wasn’t getting her anywhere. Dropping, throwing— both dead ends. She had no choice in holding it. But if she did have to hold it— then she could hold it out, far away from herself.

Tessi extended her arm so far her shoulder-socket was aching— then she strained to get her arm even a little farther out. It was truly the fullest extension possible. Further, and she would dislocate her shoulder. The dildo was as far away as she could get it. And she shouldn’t make it be far from her. She should make it close. She should put it inside her.

“No,” Tessi sobbed. “I don’t want to be changed by a magic dildo! Please, I don’t!”

The longer the dildo transmitted to her the more powerful it became. The insistence of the impulse inside her brain was like a tension headache now, throbbing harder every time she tried to resist. She must plug herself. Must make love to the dildo.

Her body shook from the strain of resisting— every pore on it was expressing sweat, sweat-drenching her— and every muscle held within was twitching, trembling— spasming— but she was still resisting. It was impossible, but she was doing it.

She was so caught up in this epic struggle that it took her a moment to realize Matthew was looking up at her. Finally, he was paying attention to her— maybe he would help her after all.

He was getting ready to say something. Tessi’s heart lifted in hope.

“Tessi,” he said, in a chiding tone. “You really should stuff yourself with that dildo.”

She hated him in that instant. She’d wanted help to come from him— not hindrance. His saying that only made it harder for her to resist when it was already nearly impossible. It made her triumph impossible. As long as she’d been physically to submitting to a marathon for the sake of resistance— and managing it— there’d been some hope she might eventually find the strength to defeat the dildo.

Why hadn’t he kept his mouth shut? At least he hadn’t been actively causing her failure before as he had ignored her. She wished he’d ignored her again, instead of speaking.

But Matthew had spoken, and made the dildo victorious. Even more shameful— she, a human being, had lost a war against a magical sex-toy. Because her boyfriend had sided with the sex-toy!

Tessi’s motivation crumpled. She’d struggled so hard, fought so valiantly, with all the strength she possessed, and even forcing herself further than that, to places where there was no strength to support her and she was just managing it by utter willpower. But all of that was shattered in one statement from Matthew. She’d had to figure out even how to resist, but she’d figured it out— even in the face of so much dildobrainwashing.

Now she didn’t know how to resist anymore.

Matthew’s statement was a brainwashing statement. It pushed Tessi’s mind into a trance, where all thoughts were muddled.

It opened her up for the dildo to brainwash her even harder and even deeper. Matthew had the power to brainwash her in one phrase, because her conditioned brainwashing from the day before still worked. She’d been taught, when the first ghost had fucked her, that she must obey Matthew. That she must listen to him. His commands now had the power to entrance her.

She felt the memory of her first brainwashing session deepening her trance. The first ghost… fucking her… changing her head… reinforcing those changes through pleasure… being reinforced after, when she’d been fucking Matthew all last night and into this morning… reinforced so strongly… forced to obey…

Her trance was becoming deeper. The dildo had forced her brain to access the memory… the memory had deepened her… she had been brainwashed by Matthew, because she belonged to Matthew. Her programming was irrefutable. She must do what Matthew wanted, she must do whatever that was whenever he said. It didn’t matter how much it inconvenienced her, or hurt her. Didn’t matter if it made all her actions to this point futile. The trance compelled her. Matthew’s control over her compelled her.

The dildo didn’t seem to care that Tessi had a master other than itself— the commands of that master served its own evil purpose, and the dildo seemed very utilitarian. It just made use of Matthew’s influence.

Tessi’s body was tensed with the need to obey. Her behavior must show her obedience. It must demonstrate, it must illustrate— whatever Matthew said, anything he said, everything he said… she must follow all commands. The only appropriate emotional reaction to doing so was supreme happiness.

Her mind was trapped in trance. Her body was remembering her programming. The dildo was directing everything— playing the vision in her head, keeping the unlocked memory close and repeating, all as it kept beaming further powerful brainwashing energy into her head— Matthew’s command was the only thing she could hear, it was echoing in her ears, the dildo was forcing it to play in her head.

You really should stuff yourself… you really should stuff yourself… circling her mind like a drain.

Tessi had lost the ability to close the hinge of her jaw. It hung open, her mouth a wide ‘oh,’ like she’d been caught by surprise in being exposed to the potency of the brainwashing she was undergoing. She could feel drool spilling past her lips— didn’t know it, but her eyes were clouded over— everything in her head was so clear. The only appropriate response to hearing Matthew’s command, to being consumed by it— was happiness. And she was so incredibly happy!

She was experiencing a correct response. Matthew had commanded her, so she felt happiness. Matthew had brainwashed her with his command, so she felt happiness… Matthew had entranced her so she felt happiness… all she felt now was total acceptance. Of course she must do as Matthew told her. Of course she must obey his every command. Hearing him give her a command only filled her up full of motivation. Motivation to obey— eagerness to obey.

Her body tensed again, needing to express that obedience outward.

There wasn’t even a second’s hesitation. Both Matthew and the dildo were in control of her body now and she responded to both of her masters. She crooked her arm in closer, bringing the dildo closer to her, and in one swift move, she stabbed the dildo into her pussy, pushing it so high up that it hurt in the best way.

She bent against its arc, forcing the other end back towards her ass— then stabbed it in there.

Her only response to this was happiness. The only correct response to this was happiness.

And in the wake of that happiness, there was something else too. The second the dildo was fully in Tessi’s body, a portion of her humanity died. It was better that she think of herself as an animal. A desperate, panting animal that couldn’t stay up on hindlegs. A desperate panting animal controled by its impulse to mate. An animal, that needed to mate the dildo inside itself.

Her clouded eyes stared. Mouth, drooled. Her body tensed again with the need to obey— the dildo controled her brain now. She must mate the dildo. She must mate the dildo. She had not the strength to remain up on her hindlegs.

She crumpled to the floor— getting into a squat in a way that was vaguely familiar. Her hips were completely opened outward. The dildo was spearing her insides on both ends. The curve of its arc was flush to her slit.

She rocked all the way forward. Felt the dildo stabbing in her belly. Rocked all the way back. Felt the dildo stabbing in her intestines.

This completed Matthew’s command.

That deepened her trance, but it also allowed part of Tessi’s mind to wake up, and become conscious again. She’d obeyed— and no new command had been given by Matthew— so she was partly restored to herself.

What was she doing? She didn’t want this! This was a bimbofying dildo. A brainwashing, bimbofying dildo!

“I don’t want to be a bimbo!” Tessi screamed, but her body was trapped in the motion of the rocking. She could feel the dildo— could feel her pussy bulging around it from its girth—

“I don’t want to!” She shrieked even louder. She had been forced to rock backwards. She could feel the dildo— could feel her anus bulging around it from its girth— there was a second, after each shift of the dildo, where there was a pain in her head.

A pain, like someone had taken something sharp to shave off a portion of her intelligence— her mind was a little dimmer in the wake of each movement.

She remembered watching her envisioned-self rocking. There had been hundreds of motions within that cycle.

If she moved that many times really, she’d have no intelligence left at all!

Tessi burst out in sobs, feeling hysterical again. She had to get the dildo out. She grabbed it by its arc, and tried to extract it.

But when she got it to just a shallow penetration of her ass, then it was deeply penetrating her pussy— when she got it to just a shallow penetration of her pussy, it was deeply penetrating her ass. One hole trapped the other one.

It was impossible to remove.

A rocking motion forward— that sharp scraping to her brain, that dimmed it. A shudder through her body— had her breasts become a little larger? Her asscheeks, too? They both felt a bit heavier.

She’d be a better judge of if her breasts and ass were growing or not if she were smarter. She was really missing the intelligence that had already been stripped from her.

A rocking motion backwards. Her brain, scraped over— intelligence decreased. Breasts heavier. Asscheeks heavier. Lips heavier— her lips too? She’d be a better judge of it if she were smarter… the motion scraped her smarts out of her head and grew her breasts, ass and lips— the link was clearer now.

She was sobbing the entire time. But her body rocked. Her brain was scraped. Her breasts and ass were inflated. Her lips were inflated. She kept trying to stop herself rocking but her body wouldn’t stop— she couldn’t make it stop— it was hellish. She rocked.

Tessi sobbed even harder. She was getting so swollen— the pain in her head was firing almost constantly— it hurt even trying to think of the scale of intelligence she’d lost. It required higher brainfunctions that her mind no longer knew what to do. Relative to where her body had started, her tits, her ass, her lips were all already huge— but they still looked proportionately sized when considered with the rest of her. They were going to get worse. She sobbed more.

She felt the dildo aggressively penetrate into her torso from the pussy-end. Sobbing was an incorrect response. Trying to remove the dildo was an incorrect response. The dildo was bimbofying her. The only correct was response to that was happiness. It was as much her master as Matthew was— the only acceptable response to Matthew’s control was happiness. So the only correct response to the dildo’s control was happiness. She must follow the compulsion. She must be happy, and express her happiness.

A laugh bubbled up out of her lips, as the dildo ravaged her ass in response to her rocking backwards. Breasts… heavy now… why… Tessi laugh?

Something else bubbling up inside, had to come out through her mouth like spitting up.

“A gaa ohhh toohhhh taahhhh baahhh dooooo baaaaa.”

Heaviness of her ass— the world dragging her down by it. Heaviness of her breasts— the world dragging her down by it— either end— pushed deeper because dragged… brain hurt… everything so, so heavy…

She… was… so… much… stupider… now. And she had a headache. Not just from her intelligence being scraped away, but because now, it took extra concentration to make sure her sentences contained all the words they were supposed to have— her brain wanted to leave words out because it was easier. It was more fun. It was happier-making. No, that hadn’t been right. What should she have said instead? She felt like her skull was splitting.

Those stupid sounds… had been happy sounds…

Rock. Forwards. Head…. screaming in pain… breasts… lips… heavier— world— dragging her into… that forward rock… with more… mo— mo— mo—monentnum— nonintmem— momentum. Splitting-skull headache again. Could she even say nouns anymore? Real words? If she focused… enough to split her skull— could she just manage— she just wanted to hear herself say a real word! Please!

But why should she want to? The question was syrupy and comforting. It was easier. It was more fun. To babble like a stupid bimbo.

The only correct response to her situation was to babble joyfully. To babble joyfully, and drool like an idiot.

Resisting wasn’t fun. She shouldn’t resist. She should grab her clit with one hand and smush it around with her fingers. That was what she should do.

Her hand was there almost instantly. Smushing. Smushing felt fun. Smushing felt good. Tugging, pulling, twisting around. Made Tessi cummy, cummy and drooly— cummy drooly Dummy felt good… happy… had to express…

“Booo, daaaa, dohhhh gaaaa deeee…”

Dummies didn’t notice how wide their grins were. Dumbies didn’t notice when their grins were so wide they pulled the corners of their mouths until they were sore. Dumbies just drooled from their mouths and pussies. Dumbies just smushed their clitties harder, smushed their clitties more. Dumbies didn’t notice when that made them smile wider— made the corners of their mouth hurt more— smush, smush, it made Elly cummy… smush, smush— rock, rock— a hurt in her head— Dummy was so dumb… dumb…

Dummy only cared about getting fucked. Dummy should only care about getting fucked. Getting fucked, being plugged in both holes, that made Dummy happy. It was the only thing in the world that could fill Dummy with joy.

Dummy wouldn’t respond to anything else because Dummy was too dumb to understand anything else. Dummy was happy. Dummy should be happy. The happiness was the only thing filling Dummy’s head.

Dummy had to keep thinking about the pleasure she was making in her hand. No, there had been no contradiction in that order. Dummy didn’t even know what a contradiction was. Dummy shouldn’t wonder about it. Think about it. Dummy shouldn’t think. Don’t think. Smush, smush— a smush smushing of Dummy’s clitty… Dummy was cummy… cummy… Dummy had a cummy clitty… Dummy touched and cummied, then Dummy was dumber— then Dummy was happy— then Dummy smushed— cummied… dummied… cummied, dummied… cummied, dummied, cummied… dummied… don’t think, can’t resist… don’t think, can’t ever resist, too dumb to resist…

Dummy was squatting next to Matthew and Sloane. Matthew and Sloane still got to have names. Matthew and Sloane were people. Not Dummy bimbos like Dummy. Dummy had been close to Matthew and Sloane when Dummy’s dumb dildovulnerable brain had been defeated by Dummy’s bimbofying dildomaster— so Dummy was still close by to Matthew and Sloane.

Dummy felt the dildo shifting in her pussy. Dummy cummied— rocked backwards. Dummy should think about… irresistible… all-powerful… dildomaster… Dummy’s brain had been so pathetic and weak.

It’d just wanted to give into something much stronger than it— give into a master who was controling it— Dummy belonged to the dildo that was fucking it in both of its dumb bimboholes— anyone smarter than Dummy would have been able to fight the dildo off. But Dummy’s dumb bimbobrain had taken one look at it and melted into a bimbopuddle— and Dummy was a ridiculous bimbowhore for liking what her dildomaster was doing to her. Dummy cummied again, just thinking so.

Dummy smushied her clit— body had to rock, let dildo penetrate deeper— cummied— cummying— still— cummying— so much dummier now— so much dummier now— Dummy’s whole body shaking like it was shaking apart— Dummy cummying in— this cummying was making Dummy the bimbo she’d always been. Making Dummy the bimbo she deserved to be— the bimbo she would always be— cummying so long— turning into a bimbo she would never stop being— Dummy was a dumb bimbowhore for cummying and liking it as she was turned into a bimbo forever. Smarter people, people who still deserved to be called people— they wouldn’t enjoy it. They’d be able to stop it. But Dummy was just a dumb bimbowhore. Nothing better should be expected of her.

Now, Dummy was fully a bimbo. The bimbofying dildo understood what to do. It fell out of her body, leaving both her holes empty, and eager for more fucking, she moved the short distance necessary to get to Sloane and Matthew.

They weren’t having intercourse. Matthew was now eating at the emanance that poured from between Sloane’s thighs like it was the finest luxury in the world. Before she’d been a bimbo, Tessi would have been angry— he’d never eaten her that way. But bimbos couldn’t notice things like that.

Sloane was crouched over his face— and Matthew was on his back. This made Matthew’s cock available, so Tessi sat herself down on it, sticking it high up into her pussy.

Matthew twitched up to fill Tessi’s hot center— and licked Sloane harder— making her cry out in response.

This began a new phase in their mutual fucking— the three of them kept moving together, only changing their configurations slightly. None of them ever stopped touching each other— not one of them ever separated themselves out from the rest of the group. For a while Matthew was fucking Tessi and Sloane at once— then he was focusing Sloane a bit— and Tessi focused on Sloane then too.

Then Tessi focused on him, and Sloane focused on her— the front-door stood open all the time as the day became later— so many orgasms were had that the count of them was lost— and even though some configurations repeated, none of them stopped what they were doing. All of them were lost in the experiencing of their small orgy, and they just kept on with it.

The early-afternoon became the late-afternoon. The late-afternoon became the evening; and the three of them still didn’t stop, even though they had all, by this point, been fucking each other since the morning— fucking, for the entire day.

The second sexy Christmas ghost had continued haunting the apartment throughout all of this fucking— so much sexual energy in the area made it a pleasant place for her to be— and she’d felt it was worth staying around. The three lovers had not noticed her continued presence; but now, she reminded all of them she was still haunting nearby, when she spoke and called their attention to her.

“I have to say goodbye now,” the second ghost said. “There is one last Christmas ghost left, and she needs her chance to do the things she’s responsible for.”

Each of the three lovers was a bit dazed and a bit out of sorts as they realized the second ghost was speaking, and looked up to listen to her. But almost as soon as she had finished speaking, she disincorporated herself, leaving the apartment without any sign that she’d ever been there, as one might have expected of a ghost.

The three lovers turned back to each other, and went back to fucking. The way they were going, the clear intention, for all of them, was to continue, possibly late into the night and then into the following day after that. They did not think about the ghost anymore.

Across town, the third sexy ghost of Christmas was making herself corporeal. Like the other two, she was inherently erotic; with huge breasts, glowing skin, and a filled-out figure. She was wearing what might have passed for a figure-skating outfit; it was done in a wintry-blue, with snowflake designs. But it was skimpier than any designer of figure-skating outfits would ever dare to design. Unlike the other two ghosts, it wasn’t a bikini; but that didn’t help, because the neckline was so low-cut, the ghosts’ breasts practically spilled over the bust— then her torso was covered by the same outfit, and it ended, as with the others, just barely past her pussy. The whole thing was covered with fringe that replicated icicles. It was a wintery-ensemble, sparkling and glinting.

The third sexy ghost of Christmas had chosen to materialize herself in front of Cybill’s house. After Matthew broke up with her, to get together with Tessi, Cybill had moved back in with her parents— and since the third sexy ghost of Christmas wanted to see Cybill, she’d gone to where she lived; materializing directly at her home so she didn’t have to travel any further distance.

The ghost felt pleased with herself for arriving in the right place.

Inside her parents’ house, Cybill was completely alone. Together, as a celebration of their marriage, Cybill’s parents had gone on a romantic vacation and left Cybill on her own.

Cybill’s mother had been nice enough to a small chicken, and enough food for a one-person Christmas feast; which Cybill had cooked up herself, following all written instructions. Then she’d eaten it half-heartedly.

It had been nice of her mother to try and give her one festive thing to do, but the whole thing still felt like something pathetic, in Cybill’s opinion. Here she was, a twenty-something young woman, all alone on Christmas— without even enough friends to justify throwing a houseparty. Breaking up with Matthew certainly hadn’t helped her social life— most of her friends had been Matthew’s friends too, and in the breakup, they had all chosen his side and left her to be a loner. Now, she practically only had her parents for friends. And here they had gone off and left her behind.

She knew eventually her life would be better. It was just that it took so long to build something good. And she would have to work for years before her life was fixed, and backed to looking like something that wasn’t pathetic.

Back outside, the third sexy ghost of Christmas was still there. She knew that Cybill was inside. She knew that Cybill wasn’t doing anything. And she knew what Matthew’s third deep wish was. He hadn’t cared about Cybill as a person, much. But he’d always thought it was sexually satisfying to fuck her. Not as satisfying as fucking Sloane, but still satisfying— better than Tessi, he’d decided later, once he’d actually had a chance to fuck her and compare the experiences. And even if Matthew would be very happy having both Sloane and the bimbofied Tessi, he would really be happiest of all if he could have Sloane, bimbo-Tessi, and Cybill. But he would like Cybill best if she were a bimbo-Cybill, just like he liked Tessi better as a bimbo-Tessi.

And the third sexy ghost had brought the perfect Christmas present to leave for Cybill— it would help her become bimbo-Cybill, and finally fulfill Matthew’s last Christmas wish.

She had not bothered to wrap the gift. It was still only in a large cardboard box— all that was left for her to do was to step forward and set the box down on the front-step of Cybill’s parents’ house.

The third sexy ghost of Christmas did this.

Cybill was sitting on the floor of her parents’ living-room, feeling bored. She hadn’t been doing anything besides, occasionally, feeling sorry for herself. Everything she’d considered doing had just made her feel more pathetic. She was trying to reduce that feeling and not increase it.

Then, she heard the doorbell ring. It should have been exciting; something to breakup the monotony of her lonely Christmas Day, but for some reason, this unexpected ring gave an uneasy feeling, like she’d something which had gone bad, and which was now turning her stomach. She should act like an adult, however, and go out and deal with whatever situation was going on.

It took a minute to get moving. She’d been sitting cross-legged on the floor, so first she had to stand up. Then it took a minute to walk to the door, because Cybill’s parents were fairly well off, so their house was quite large and quite beautiful.

But Cybill did get there.

She opened the door, and looked outside. No one was there— so then who had rung the doorbell? Someone had been there, and left— and left something behind. A cardboard box was sitting on the front-step.

Cybill bent down to take a closer look at that box.

Cybill could read the label on the box. She startled once she had understood.

Contains: 1 Sybian— type, bimbomaker Sybian. Includes: Virtual Reality Goggles, to brainwash user.

Cybill stared, in disbelief. Who would label something this way? Most importantly, who would make something this nefarious in the first place? But then, having made something so nefarious, who would reveal its ulterior designs? Why not hide it and try to trap prospective users by keeping them ignorant?

Cybill was sure she’d been right to feel uneasy before. This was a disturbing object— any part of her that might have wondered what a Sybian might be like to try someday was so horrified at what this particular Sybian was designed for, that there was no desire to risk her mind and safety by trying this particular Sybian out.

She should think of some way to throw this out. Her parents had taken the car— they’d driven it to the airport to park it in long-term parking. So she had no transportation. But maybe she could call a taxi tomorrow, taxi herself to the dump, and take the box with her. Then this horrible thing would be disposed of. And she would be safe, no longer endangered by it at all.

The truth fully sank in for Cybill. This was a Sybian that had been designed to turn any woman that rode into a bimbo— and someone had sent it to her. They wanted her to be a bimbo. They wanted everything about her, everything that made her an individual to disappear. She had stumbled into a life of horrors— and seeing the evil of the Sybian printed so starkly on the box made the situation even worse; it made the reality impossible to run away from, and the reality disgusted her, made her want to be sick.

Still, she was a little curious. How could a full-size Sybian fit in even a large cardboard-box like this one? And how could it do anything to her if it was just sitting in a box? That was impossible.

She wouldn’t even turn it on— it would be fine.

She used a nail on her right hand to split the tape keeping the box sealed; then she lifted one of the box’s flaps.

Suddenly, she was sprayed with golden snowflakes— but as soon as they touched her skin, they melted— and left her head feeling so light and empty. She was falling partly asleep but staying awake all the time— she’d gone into trance.

In her state of trance, the next actions she took came easily to her. She reached into the box, and took the goggles. She put the goggles on her face.

Having something directly interfering with her vision had a rousing effect on Cybill. Life had been straightforward until this moment; she had gone from one narrow concept to the next, without experiencing any moment more fully than that. She was regretting this history now— she’d been living through everything so fast— and now she had ended up somewhere that made everything, immediately, slow— and now things could only move slowly. Now, she was being forced to live like it was a leisure activity.

She did feel more alert now. The golden snowflakes which had disappeared into her skin— they had put her into a trance, but now that the goggles were on her eyes— now that the headset, containing them, was over her head— she wasn’t so dazed and out of things. She could think almost normally— the only thing wrong about the whole situation was— the goggles; what they were showing her.

They were showing her an image of herself, first— she looked insectoid, bizarre.

That was because she had a normal head, from the jaw to just below the swell of her cheeks. Then, her entire head was consumed by plastic— black, shining plastic, like she’d never had eyes, a forehead, a nose. And there was something about the plastic, as it made up the headset in two spheres— because of the way it was textured, it made her look like she had a gigantic fly’s head, with those kind of insect eyes. Or a mosquito’s head.

Putting the goggles on; their base headset— it had made her something other than human— and the rules of human behavior and experience didn’t apply to her anymore.

That made the base of her stomach feel like it was falling away— like now she just had one long chasm down her center things could be left plummeting forever— a horrible feeling— perhaps the headset had somehow given her the feeling, believing it would be a motivator for her. Then she didn’t care anymore.

Because the goggles, hidden under the headset, were showing her something other than her own image. They were strobing colors deeply into her retinas— deeply into her pupils; colors that strobed so fast— they strobed, and they strobed through the spectrum of all possible colors.

They dazzled her mind; which had been briefly clear-thinking, and now seemed to be losing that ability; as soon as she realized what color she was looking at, it had already changed for a different one. The colors…

They were getting so deep into her brain.

She couldn’t avoid seeing them. The goggles had sealed so tightly to her eyesockets that her eyelids were pinned open. She could not close her eyes— or blink— she saw two little outcroppings approaching— they were coming from inside the goggles— but they were translucent, so they just looked like more of the same colors— only these ones had been made three dimensional.

Both outcroppings stopped just outside of her eyes— and then, they opened themselves, and sprayed a light mist onto her each eyeball. Moistening each one, so both could keep staring when they wouldn’t be allowed to blink.

This could have been accomplished by magic instead— so Cybill’s guess was that this was meant to humiliate her— she couldn’t even remoisten her own eyeballs; she was denied even this much bodily dignity, even this much self-determination. But… oops… she didn’t… care… the colors… were getting… so far… into her brain… they were docilizing her more than the golden snowflakes.

The colors. The colors would lead her. She had to follow the colors. She was blind to every but them, but the headset had automized her, it knew where she had to move and when.

She felt her body bending, reaching. She stared deeper into the colors. They strobed. They strobed over her brain. Her hands were moving the flaps of the box— reaching inside as if they understood what they were supposed to find in there. Her hands were connecting with what felt like a bunched up sweater. Impossible to know its color. The headset controled what she saw now, through the goggles that were contained inside it. She felt the outcrop-sprayers mist her eyeballs again. Her body had stood up from her bend, still holding the crumpled up sweater. She was standing erect. The colors seared through her head to the top vertebrae of her spine— they were making her stand more rigidly than she’d ever stood in her life. She walked with an almost mechanized gait. Her hand found the doorknob to her parents’ front-door— opened it by hand. The colors felt like they had fingers now— fingers that stroked her brain in pleasure— fingers that stroked every part of her nervous system in pleasure. The front-door was pulled closed behind her. Her legs walked her rigidly to the center of the living room— it felt like the spot she’d sat in earlier.

She set down the bundle of fabric on the carpet.

The image changed again. The syncing of her eyeballs’ misting process happened to fall the second after that. Her eyes were still absorbing the moisture, struggling to focus.

She could see her living-room. The sweater she’d been holding was brown— only it wasn’t a sweater at all. It had gone down onto the carpet a jumble of cloth— but that cloth was expanding. Swelling, growing.

It grew upwards first— to a height that was level with Cybill’s abdomen. Then it grew out lengthwise.

Longer than her body— the length of her body, plus half her body’s length over again in addition. It was as long as one point five Cybilles… it was rounded and curved all around— it had no straight lines, or sharp edges.

It was a Sybian, alright— by magic, it had grown itself up to this size— it was fully sized, perhaps even excessively sized— sixty percent as tall as a grown woman— and one hundred and fifty percent a grown woman’s height.

A distant memory was rising in Cybill’s addled mind. The outcrop-misters misted her eyeballs again.

She’d seen the label on the box that had contained this thing. It had said— contains one bimbomaker Sybian, with virtual reality goggles to brainwash the user… Cybill had never seen a Sybian in real life, but this was a Sybian— a realer Sybian than she would have gotten if she’d ordered one from a sex-shop; or from a sex-toy catalogue… but it was meant to turn her into a bimbo. She was only receiving a livefeed of her living-room— that left room for the terror to come in. She didn’t want this bimbomaker to make a bimbo of her— the strobing pattern did not return, but the livefeed animated itself in strobe instead.

Even with the livefeed of the living-room— and the Sybian— being animated in strobe, Cybill could still make out distinct shapes. She could still discern the shape of the Sybian. In terms of length, at least, it dwarfed her— and it almost dwarfed her in height, consider it came up to be so tall as her top ribs, and her abdomen.

The living-room and the Sybian in it kept animating itself in strobe. The colors had fingers again, painting pleasure through her brain.

Those fingers stroked, and they stroked knowledge into her. She had to mount the Sybian. She must be in contact with it, if she were to be made a bimbo. And it was absolutely necessary that she be made a bimbo.

That made her feel more alert again. She ignored the outcrop-misters moistening her eyes— she had to be strong. She had to get the headset off, so the goggles wouldn’t be over her eyes anymore.

She seized it with both hands. Pulled.

It didn’t move at all. She pulled harder. She would not climb onto the Sybian. She would not, she would not, she would not!

The colors blared into her head. They were not stroking now, they were pawing with dragging touches— making it feel like the pleasure in her head was being indented in. She must mount the Sybian. She must be made a bimbo.

That time she had truly been attacked by brainwashing imagery. Her mind could not stand up to it.

She walked until she was standing directly next to the Sybian. Because it was rounded all the way around there was no easy foothold. That didn’t matter, because mounting the Sybian was neither her idea nor her decision. Her body was just taking it on of its own accord.

It tried to scrabble up the side. It slipped and slid onto the floor. It tried to scrabble up the other side. It slid again and slid down to the floor.

Then Cybill found herself bodily throwing herself at it— if she landed on it, and didn’t slide off, then perhaps she’d be able to scramble the rest of the way up it. But she slid off it.

She was starting to feel frustrated. The colors were speaking to her. Entrancing, and brainwashing her. Telling her she wanted to be a bimbo. That things would feel so much better once she was a bimbo— but then reality was getting in the way of letting this bimbomaking happen.

Her eyeballs were moistened again. It made something inside her body cringe. She wanted to be responsible for just one thing— but it was the headset that decided for her now, decided when her eyes were given moisture, and decided when—

Decided when she was brainwashed.

The colors were giving her brain a brainwashing touch. She stared into them, and they put her into trance. She wanted to be a bimbo. It would feel so good once she was a bimbo. Undergoing the bimbomaking process on the bimbomaker was a luxury. She should look forward to it. She should want it.

So much conditioning was bleeding into her head. She did want it, at least right now, with her brain so stuffed full of outside control. But if being bimbomade by the bimbomaker was so good— then couldn’t undergo the process already? It was getting more frustrating by the second that she was being prevented from getting up onto the Sybian by simple logistics, and gravity.

Her vision was washed in time with her mind. Those beautiful patterns of color, like cloth-hangings; it was like they were being actively woven in each moment— they pacified her mind. She felt like somehow had administered her a drugged form of comfort. Someone had put a coping mechanism in her— or the feeling that she’d coped, in the past tense. The frustration could not touch her. She was going to be bimbomade by the bimbomaker. There was no reason to feel frustration.

Now her body was stepping back— and going at the Sybian in a run. She jumped off the ground— one foot landed on the Sybian and started to slide off, but the other foot had already scrambled higher— that second step started to slip, but the third had been taken above it. The colors wove themselves before her eyes in rippling, shifting color, pushing her for just that last inch of motivation— and with a fourth step, she had gotten herself up onto the Sybian.

For a moment she sat there, breathing. The colors were suddenly overwhelming. It felt like they were vibrating her skull— and all that pressure culminated into one pressure release. Her pussy gushed excessively into her underwear. She had just been given an orgasm as a reward.

She must receive more rewards. They would help to indoctrinate her. Next, she should be good and strip all her clothes off, without slipping off the bimbomaker Sybian. She would be rewarded for that, also.

She hesitated. She didn’t really want to be up here, did she? She should get off before—

The colors overwhelmed. Vibrated skull.

She pulled her shirt over her head by the hem, and threw it away. The bra was off next, thrown after it.

She got onto her stomach against the Sybian’s comfortably synthetic fabric— a bit latex-y, a bit like leather— she canted her hips up to get her pants off. Kicked them away. Then her underwear followed after. She was naked.

The temperature in the room was pleasant. She liked feeling it all over her skin, which was now entirely exposed to the room.

The colors swamped her again. She had been good and taken off her clothes. This time when she gushed her orgasm, she was gushing it directly onto the Sybian.

She should position herself properly, though. There would be a reward for her in that, too.

Already craving another orgasm, Cybill patiently watched through her goggles. They showed her how they wanted her to be.

Her hips splayed apart so far they were almost dislocating— so the Sybian had maximum access to the expanse between them. She shifted until it hurt— then pressed herself fully into place.

That still wasn’t enough. She should ride it like one of those motorcycles people practically had to lie stomach-down on to drive. The straddle, the stretch should be the same— but her breasts should be directly against the Sybian too, and her stomach.

She obeyed. The Sybian adjusted in response. It gave her a chin-cup— expected her arms fully-extended, and far up itself, at the stretching reach of her hands, it gave her two grips on either side that she could hold onto. She was in position— exactly as the Sybian wanted her.

Cybill felt like she was straddling the Sybian twice. Straddling it with her crotch, and straddling it with her breasts— each breast was hanging heavy, getting smushed under both sides of her body— and her sternum was directly against the Sybian— the chin-cup just a little two far forward, forcing her to stretch her neck— and the grips, nearly out of reach.

Her legs had found footholds lower down the Sybian— but those footholds were far back, almost out of reach as well.

Then, she felt something cool— on her feet— and on her hands— some chilled substance was entering each hold— after a few seconds it seemed to harden. Experimentally, Cybill tried to pull her hands out— and her feet. But she couldn’t. She had been sealed in. It would, honestly, make it impossible for her to fall off the Sybian. It would also make it impossible for her to escape, but for now, she didn’t care about that.

She was just patiently gazing into the goggles.

They were showing her herself again. She looked so… delectably fetish. Or that was what her headset told her. She no longer had eyes, or a nose— at least, it didn’t look that way, with the headset obscuring them. She was only flesh from the cheeks down— and even then, only a mouth. And now, she had arms and legs— both of which were fully extended to keep as much of her body pressed to the Sybian as possible— but she lacking extremities now— or so it appeared. No hands. No feet.

Her mouth was hanging open— she looked like a brainwashed Sybian fuckdrone— her head still insectoid— the rest of her showed an air of inhumanity— because of its proximity to the Sybian— it made her look like she was a symbiotic part of it, not an individual human being. Especially because the places that were distinct from the Sybian— the places that could have separated from it willingly— were hidden inside it.

But the Sybian fuckdrone, which only had a mouth and lower-face beneath the consuming headswallower it wore, still had a flesh body. And that flesh body glowed in post-orgasmic rapture— even as it just lay there, stretched out on the Sybian— her skin really did look like it was shining. Cybill couldn’t think of a single time it had ever looked so good before.

This was how the Sybian wanted her. A Sybian fuckdrone— ready to be bimbomade. She was given another reward.

Before that orgasm even fully ended, the Sybian lurched to life. Cybill hadn’t been allowed to prepare herself at all. But the Sybian had not wanted her prepared.

It vibrated. It vibrated like an earthquake. It vibrated with shakes that Cybill hadn’t known any machine could make. These were the kind of shakes that might be fairly expected of a wrecking ball— the shakes that would happen before cracks came, and structures collapsed. Only they didn’t stop.

She felt them in her bones.

She felt them in her flesh. In her skull. In her brain. In her eyes— and they were misted moist at just that second.

She felt those vibrations in her crushed-against nipples. In her crushed-against boobs. In her crushed-against pussy-lips. In her nearly-spraining hips.

They thundered into her. They thundered into her pussy from four angles— the sides of her pussy-lips, the pressing of her entrance, the reverberations within her pussy’s walls.

She screamed.

It was too much pressure but it wouldn’t stop shaking. It was pressure hitting pleasure, but when it hit, it made the pleasure explode and become a pressure of its own— like pleasure exponentially multiplying itself, and that was happening in every single hiding-place her body had.

The goggles weren’t showing her herself anymore.

They had switched off the feed— and now— they were showing her the colors. Bimbomaking was happening. A bimbomaking was making a bimbo. She was the bimbo that was being made. The quaking vibrations were brainwashing her. Hypnotizing her mind. Giving her pleasure, multiplying it with pressure, and then stunning her brain stupid so quickly she didn’t even have the time to realize. Or to stop any of the ideas that were being, quite literally, pounded into through shaking vibrational waves of sensation.

She wanted to be a bimbo. It was good to be a bimbo. Bimbos weren’t human. They weren’t women. Bimbos were sex-toys. Bimbos were things. Women deserved to be treated well. But Bimbos weren’t women. They deserved to be abused. Human beings deserved to be treated well. Bimbos weren’t human beings. They deserved to be treated badly.

Her brain struggled to understand what was happening to her. Struggled to understand why it was so good. Why every color she saw seemed to be a physical sensation made visual. Or a visual sensation made physical.

Strobing colors were the same things as lower-backs that needed to spasm and contract in pleasure. Strobing colors were the same thing as pussy-gushes that spilled out of pleasure-hungry bodies. They were the same as fires that burned in breasts and burned in clits. Every single time Cybill saw the colors strobe, these were the reactions her body had. And her body had them instantaneously. There was no delay— not enough of one to make one thing seem like it really was a causal response to another. They happened so instantly with the seeing that… they were just two things that happened at the same time— because they weren’t two things. They were one thing. The color strobes were physical responses of pleasure. Physical responses of pleasure were the color strobes. Cybill’s defenseless brain and body had to submit to them…

Cybill should become a bimbo so that people could mistreat her. She should be a bimbo because all bimbos cared about was getting used— and once they were bimbos, people loved to use them, use them until they were sore, use them until they couldn’t take it anymore but then just keep using them after that. Being a bimbo was better than anything else.

Before she’d become symbiotic to the Sybian, she’d been something… she’d been… someone… she’d… known things… felt things… thought… but it felt like with every further second that she was exposed to the colors, she was losing more and more of her old knowledge forever. And losing, too, the ability to think.

When she became stupider— it felt a little like her breasts grew slightly— then like her ass grew slightly— and her lips— the added weight pushed her harder into the Sybian.

More vibrations quaked through her body. Her body was quaking with them. Feeling them shake made her stupider. Getting stupider made her breasts bigger. Made her ass bigger. Made her lips bigger. She was growing her bimbo fleshcostume— soon it would be inseparable from her— not a costume at all. A bimbo-body for a bimbo.

She felt her breasts and ass vibrate with the Sybian. Felt her clit and pussy vibrate with it. A truly violent quaking happened, and it split an orgasm open in her that was like one long tear of ecstasy from her clit outwards, up the center of her body.

The orgasm didn’t have time to finish. The colors were in her eyes, and a new tear was found within the first— a second orgasm layered over the first one. There was no time to wake up her brain— to try and remember resisting. The Sybian never stopped stimulating her. The pressure from the quaking was drumming into Cybill’s brain. Having the Sybian bimbomake her was ecstasy. Having the Sybian bimbomake her was total pleasure. Being a bimbo was hot and sexy and good and she should be a bimbo. She should be used as a sex-toy every hour of the day and every day of the month.

The Sybian was still shaking her entire body. The colors were still there in her eyes. The Sybian shook old intelligence and knowledge out. And then, with the help of the colors, it shook new things in. What was removed was replaced— but all the replacements were things that aligned to a bimbo identity.

It really felt to Cybill that the headset, the goggles inside of it— that they were not their own distinct thing. It felt like they were only an extension of the Sybian— the Sybian was the bimbomaker, and it must be the thing that controled the colors. Controled what Cybill saw. Controled how she was being programmed. The Sybian was the thing that was indoctrinating her; because it wanted her to be a bimbo. To understand that was her rightful place in life.

The kind of the force that Cybill was being shaken with was gravitational. It was centrifugal; felt like the kind of force that could only be created by some operation of physics— something only created by different elements working on each other— and there just weren’t enough words, in a rapidly stupidizing brain, to fully phrase what was happening.

There wasn’t enough time to think, either— maybe if the quaking had stopped. If the force or pressure had lessened. But it didn’t— it just left Cybill feeling more and more overwhelmed.

But the colors told Cybill that it was good to feel that way. It made her happy. It was hard to fight with that, or disbelieve it, when she heard the laughter that was coming from her own mouth. She laughed— her eyes started deep and got misted at the predetermined intervals— each quaking bimbofied her more. She laughed. She shook— she rode— she felt the pressure in her pussy, and in her breasts— her body was rewarded with orgasm, and the orgasms further indoctrinated her— she was gushing out on synthetic material— staring into the colors— the specified regions on her body swelling…

Some part of her mind kept trying to surface. There was something important she was overlooking… something important she kept forgetting to think about… she should really concentrate and think of it. Concentrate, and focus on it. It was really important, she had to stop getting distracted…

But the distractions were so pretty. They looked like such bright beautiful colors… and they felt like the most powerful tremors that had ever shaken anything… the best pleasure ever tasted… her mind became distracted again…

For so many hours, she had been having the same experience. How many distinct instances of vibration had she gone through, now? If she hadn’t been here, for so long, going through the same thing… again and again and again… maybe it would have been easier to think. Maybe it would have been easier to last through the next interminable second that was coming. Or the one after that. The disconnection in her mind was strange… where she was thinking things that sounded despairing and miserable. Because she didn’t feel despairing and miserable. She was happy! She was giggling all over again!

Her breasts felt so huge, now— and her ass; her ass’s weight crushing her pussy back into the Sybian even harder so her dumb bimbobrain could get brainwashed even deeper. The colors were making her happy and she was watching them so she should watch them even deeper.

She watched and her body was given an orgasm. She watched, and her body was given an orgasm… there was still something important her brain was supposed to be thinking of, something that had been happening in her brain all along— she tried so hard to concentrate on it but it was hard to figure anything out. The colors made her happy and she was watching the colors so she should watch the colors more deeply…

Matthew! Her mind had practically shouted the name at her. That must be what she was supposed to be thinking of. There was no reason, of course, for her to be thinking of her own status as bimbo. It was natural for her to a bimbo. She should be one.

So Matthew must be the thing she was supposed to be thinking about. It made sense to her stupid brain. She was a bimbo. Bimbos needed owners, like any sex-toy did. Matthew must want to own her. If he wanted to own her then she should want to be owned by him. She needed someone to belong to. Belonging to Matthew would be good, and sexy… he wanted a bimbo and she could be his bimbo, so she should be his bimbo, should give everything to be his bimbo… She wanted to be his bimbo, she already belonged to him… she belonged to Matthew and should want him to be happy, and it didn’t matter if Matthew owned anyone else besides her… getting to have his attention for any period of time would be special enough…. Matthew owned her. The sound of further giggling filled the room. Hearing herself laugh made Cybill laugh harder. She was making a complete mess of herself, because she was a bimbo now, and she failed at controling her body. She laughed and sprayed spit everywhere. Even opening her mouth for any reason at all produced a river of streaming drool. She was no more skilled at keeping that in than she was at anything else. She was incapable of behaving with dignity, now. She’d been bimbofied.

The thought of having been bimbofied only filled her with gratitude. She was lucky to have been bimbofied. It meant she had these huge, squeezable tits. And a huge, squeezable ass— and huge, kissable lips— lips she’d be able to suck well with, too. Her body was so much better than it had been before. Maybe Matthew would like her— hopefully Matthew would like her.

She was Matthew’s bimbo, Christina’s bimbo sex-toy, so she hoped he’d like her design. She existed for his pleasure, and only his pleasure.

It didn’t matter to her that he’d broken up with her in the past. Now, she could only be in love with him— could only feel love for him… Matthew was so amazing and special, and bimbo-Cybill was lucky that Matthew was her owner. Any bimbo would be lucky to have him as an owner, so if he owned other bimbos, that was okay, but she was still lucky. No matter how many other bimbos Matthew owned, bimbo-Cybill was the only one who had become his bimbo today, in the specific way that she had.

The Sybian released her hands and feet. She rolled off onto the floor, laughing, and began to play with her clit as she drooled from her mouth the entire time.

The morning of Boxing Day dawned. For a while on the previous day, it had looked like the trio of lovers might continue fucking into Christmas Day’s night, and then Boxing Day’s early morning— but in practice, this hadn’t happened. The sex had continued on until late evening, but then, finally the three lovers had been exhausted. Tessi had passed out on the floor— Matthew and Sloane had gone to sleep together in her bed.

Now they were waking up, tightly embracing each other in said bed.

Awake, Matthew looked at Sloane. And Sloane looked at Matthew— they were both still holding each other— and now their eyes were meeting.

Any external observer who might have walked into the room at that moment would have seen true love in their gaze. And this was fitting, because that was the feeling they were both feeling inside as they gazed into each other. Matthew thought of how lucky he was that Sloane loved him now, after everything. Sloane felt lucky that Matthew had accepted her love.

Feeling just how much she loved Matthew, and how lucky she was to have him did more than just comfort her heart. It was enough to trigger her arousal, yet again, though she’d barely been awake for a handful of minutes. Still, she felt herself streaming out lubrication.

She was ready to move closer to Matthew when the two of them heard a silly giggle.

This giggle annoyed Sloane, wherever it had come from, because it was interrupting her, albeit last-minute, plans. She could still hear it.

Sloane and Matthew both looked to the source of the noise. It was close to them.

It had come from bimbo-Tessi; she had, apparently, woken up and come to find them. Now she squatted on the bed next to Matthew. Her mouth slobbered. Her pussy dripped. Her fingers played with her nipples, which were apparently so sensitive that it made Tessi’s pussy squirt. Every touch of her nipples, and that clear liquid streamed out like piss. But Tessi didn’t stop playing with herself. Just kept doing it.

Bimbo-Tessi wasn’t happy to do this in silence “Saaaa syyyy seeee soohhhhh,” she expressed. She was completely incoherent. This annoyed Sloane even more— it wasn’t bimbo-Tessi’s fault but it didn’t make it any less annoying. She said the stupidest things.

“Ahhhhh, bbbaaaaaa kaaaaaa zaaaaaaa, vaaaaa daaaa…” she trailed on, pointlessly, sounding stupid on an entirely new level now. She was getting more motivated about her masturbation— squirting a lot. She was probably so dumb that Sloane wouldn’t even be able to force her to clean the mess.

Bimbo-Tessi was having new ideas of her own now, however. Even within such a stupid head.

She pulled the blanket back that was covering Matthew. And, Matthew having fallen asleep naked, was now displaying his very hard morning cock without a blanket there to cover up.

Bimbo-Tessi licked her lips, and then practically threw her mouth down on that cock.

This was the final offense, in Sloane’s mind. She’d been getting increasingly annoyed with bimbo-Tessi’s presence since waking up, and she just couldn’t take it any longer.

Sloane felt no twinge of doubt as she undertook her next doing. “YOU STUPID BIMBO!” She screeched. Her rage gave her the volume. “NOBODY WANTS YOU AROUND AND NOBODY LIKES YOU!”

Even a bimbo so stupid as bimbo-Tessi understood when she was being spoken to. Or in this case, screamed at. Tessi’s whole body shrunk in on itself— from the expression on her face, Sloane saw she had struck horror into her heart— and that filled Sloane with only a sense of smug accomplishment, gladness about it.

Matthew put a hand on Sloane’s shoulder, drawing her attention from that useless bimbo-Tessi.

“Sloane,” he said, and his voice was so full of concern. “It’s alright.”

All her rage had been stored inside her. It had almost felt like it was trapped in there. With just those few words, Matthew had created a doorway in her that all of that rage could just drain out of. That felt better. Less skittering and burning and frustrating. And still Matthew didn’t seem done expressing his thoughts. Sloane listened.

“It’s alright for her to do this because that’s what she is. And I wanted her to be this way. So it’s nothing annoying, and nothing we have to get angry over.”

So far, to Sloane, this was making sense.

“I used to think about being together with you so much. And I always knew how much you liked sex-toys. So I always wanted a human sex-toy, like Tessi, that I would be able to shared with you. She’s for you, as much as she’s for me.”

Matthew might as well have just told Sloane he loved her. The statement was that romantic to her, even if no one else in the world would have thought that that qualified as romance.

It melted her heart, and she looked at Matthew with an expression she could feel the softness of— almost on the point of tears; her love was shining out of her, she was sure he could see.

“You’re so right, Matthew,” she said softly. “I agree with every single thing you just said.”

The love Sloane felt for Matthew was too much. Agreeing with him didn’t go far enough to express it. She needed to be expressing it to him physically, needed to be doing that to him immediately— she was quick to get onto his vacated dick; bimbo-Tessi had been shouted off of it, so now Sloane was free to get on.

The two of them began making love— and Tessi, more or less apathetic about this, simply went on masturbating beside them, thinking only of her own fun.

The morning should have continued on like that— Sloane and Matthew probably would have gone through various sexual positions again and racked up the number of orgasms. It would have been a nice morning; it may have led to another day-long fuck-session— or a longer fuck-session this time.

But that didn’t happen, because only about five minutes into Sloane and Matthew’s first tryst of the day, the doorbell rang.

Sloane, her heart so filled up with her own love, didn’t get annoyed at being interrupted this time.

They hadn’t been fucking long, but Sloane was smeared wet across the entire expanse between her thighs. The rest of her body was smeared wet with her sweat, but inside, every part of her emotional system was smeared wet with a feeling of lust. Even so, she wanted to be useful to Matthew.

She quickly dismounted him, then jumped up from the bed still naked. She ran out into the living-room, to answer the door. One of them had remembered to close it before bed, after all.

She was quick to get the door open, once she was there.

There was a beautiful woman there, standing next to a bimbo— a woman wearing a wintry-blue figure skating outfit.

“I am the third sexy ghost of Christmas—” the woman said— Sloane thought briefly of the second sexy ghost of Christmas in a flash; her breasts pressing up against glass…

“— and I have brought bimbo-Cybill with me.”

Bimbo-Cybill? Sloane’s mind was a little lustdrunk, so it was a little hard to understand. Cybill…. Matthew’s ex, Cybill?

She looked at the bimbo, who was ridiculously proportioned, and who looked as idiotic as Tessi. Her hair was blonde, though… it… seemed like it could be Cybill.

“Well, I don’t want her here,” Sloane argued with the ghost. But Matthew had overheard, and now he came out from the bedroom too.

He looked at the bimbo— it was hard to believe it had once been Cybill. She was barely recognizable now— but that only made her more of a thrilling creature. He felt so excited inside.

“Sloane, this is alright too,” Matthew said. “We can have a second bimbo. It’s just one more sex-toy we can play with. You thought you didn’t want bimbo-Cybill at first, but now you realize that you do. You realize you’re completely fine with it, and you have no problems with it at all.”

Because Matthew had said this to her, Sloane realized that this was exactly how she felt. She was fine with it. She had no problems with it at all. She did want bimbo-Cybill around.

Since the other two had gone out into the main area, Tessi had followed them out too. She could see another bimbo, like her, near the entry— that stirred something in her mind. Woke up some of her intelligence. She was… like that other bimbo… but hadn’t always been… her mind struggled to comprehend.

The third ghost noticed. Bimbo-Tessi wasn’t supposed to become any more intelligent. Wasn’t supposed to be thinking. Privately, the third ghost thought the first and second ghosts could have done a better job.

But she could fix the problem now. It was within her power to do it.

“Listen,” she said. “Matthew, in fact, had four Christmas wishes. He wished for Tessi’s sexual co-operation, he wished for Sloane’s love and return to him, and he wished for Cybill to become another of his bimbos. But he also wished for a sex-drone. A sex-drone with no mind. A sex-drone with no thoughts. The only problem is, nobody’s getting a visit from a fourth sexy ghost of Christmas. I’m the last one— but Matthew still has that last wish. It’s up to me to make it reality.”

The third ghost looked over them all. Bimbo-Tessi looked scared. Bimbo-Cybill looked stupid. Both Matthew and Sloane were looking thoughtful.

“The most important thing I had to take care of first was Matthew’s third Christmas which. I had to make sure Cybill became a bimbo. But now she’s here, and she’s your bimbo-Cybill. That means that task is off of my list. I can focus completely on Tessi now. And Tessi, it’s time for you to fulfil your true destiny— and fulfill Matthew’s final Christmas wish.”

In one moment, the third ghost’s hands had been empty. Now, there was a cap in them— it looked like a plunger-cap, but there was no handle to it.

Bimbo-Tessi, who’s mind was waking up more every second, tried to shrink away, but the third ghost clearly intended to come nearer to her. But it didn’t walk across the room— it looked at Tessi, and then dematerialized— then rematerialized directly in front of her. There was no time for Tessi to react. Even if there had been, what could she have done? If she’d swung her arms at the ghost, they would have just gone through the ghost’s body.

But there wasn’t even time for Tessi to try an ineffectual arm-swing. The ghost reached out, holding its plunger-cap, and then the cap was placed on bimbo-Tessi’s head.

Feeling the plastic of it touch her scalp startled Tessi’s intelligence the rest of the way awake. She almost felt like her normal, pre-bimbo self. But the cap was doing something— she could feel it burning through her hair, burning her bald. Then it stopped its burning effect— and instead it was sucking on Tessi’s head, sucking until the cap was basically sealed to her skull.

It could transmit into her brain by magic. Or it felt that way— there was nothing physical touching around inside her mind, but she felt… an energy, or something inside. Her knees gave out beneath her. She fell down onto them— her burned hair was around her in a sweeping arc.

Oh, the cap was on her head. That was truth. She could have denied it before. But she had to face it now.

It made her sad, but she grimly accepted it. The cap was on her head.

The cap was on her head, and she could still feel that magical energy in her brain. It was a responsive energy— it was teaching her about itself, about what it would do.

If she masturbated, it would feedback with that— it would consume more and more of her brain, more and more of her intelligence, like a ravenous eating thing. This would be done in a directly proportional relationship to the amount of pleasure Tessi experienced.

She knew what it was like to be a bimbo— she’d been one for a few days. But this energy, through its feedbacking process, would make her a sex-drone; a sex-doll. The magic was giving Tessi a vision in her mind, now.

There was Tessi— she saw her own image. She was lying in her bedroom— by herself. Matthew and Sloane weren’t there. Matthew and Sloane were at Matthew’s apartment.

Tessi’s bed was gone from the bedroom, and Tessi was just lying on her back on the bedroom floor. Her eyes were dead. Her body was still, apart from her breath— her legs were spread.

Matthew would keep paying Tessi’s rent so she could be kept here— and he would send people over to her.

They would come in— they wouldn’t even speak and acknowledge her— they’d just put themselves in one of her three holes and fuck her until they came. Then they’d leave again. And Tessi would lie there, completely unaware, just letting her body be used however it would be. She watched this happen in the vision, watched it several times over.

The vision ended— Tessi understood what her future was going to be. At least, what her future was going to be if she couldn’t fight her away out of the situation. She had to resist— that energy was pulsing in her head. Making her horny. Making her want to touch— but if she touched— she couldn’t touch! It would consume her brain— it would eat up her intelligence, there wouldn’t be anything left of her.

The energy pulsed more insistently. No! Tessi protested inside her head. She wouldn’t touch herself.

But the energy was pulsing even more insistently.

It was so important that she successfully keep herself from touching her pussy. She’d been shown what would happen— what she would become. Nothing in her life had ever mattered more. And if she didn’t treat this like it did matter, nothing in her life would ever matter again.

But oh! How her pussy burned, begged for touch. She physically grabbed her wrist to stop that specific hand from going to her pussy. But… it would feel good. She let her hand go.

Her hand found her pussy. It started to work her clit— her hand going in a circle— her fingers touching the responsive bud in it. When she made contact, her entire body shuddered. She should stop, but… that felt so good!

She felt the energy in her mind reacting to the pleasureswirl. Reacting as she had been warned that it would react. Now was the time to stop touching herself— not much damage had been done yet— she might still be okay, now.

Her fingers curved around the side of her clit. That time the reaction was more specific. And more drastic.

Her intelligence was spread all through her head— it was a vast network. But it was a network made of little points— neurons— and she had felt just one of those points— for just a second. And for that second, that neuron had been a point of agonizing pain— and one second later, it had died, taking that fraction of her intelligence with it.

Tessi felt her fingers go around her clit again. Then she felt a new network-point in her brain flaring in pain. Only for a second. Then she felt it die.

After each one that went down, it was a little harder to think. After each one that went down, her mental reaction time was a bit slower. That made her sad. She wanted things to stay the same as they had been— not to go in this much worse direction. She should stop—

Please, please, please! She was screaming it inside. And on that side of things she felt consumed by panic— nothing would ever be okay again, she’d never be safe again, everything would be ruined forever! If things were this dire, then she really did need to stop touching…

The problem was, on the other side of things, she was enjoy the pleasure. Savoring every bit of it— loving it for what it was doing to her. Knowing what it was doing to her.

Her fingers went around her clit again— another network-point in her brain died in a flash of agony.

There was more happening.

Those fragments of her mind— of her intelligence— died, but they didn’t just disappear when they did. Instead, it felt like they ran into a liquid; and even though that was a deadened liquid, it was a liquid that seemed to constitute a new network, replacing the old one. Her brain was liquefying… she had to think out of liquid now.

That deadened liquid… didn’t feel as clear and running as water. There were clumping things in it, chunks— like her brain was being run through a blender and then expected to operate once it had come out. It made the process of stupidifying feel even more complicated… which confused her decreasingly intelligent mind… was trying to concentrate making network-points flare up earlier than they otherwise would have? Maybe she shouldn’t be thinking so much… maybe she should be trying to conserve her thoughts.

Her mind was liquefying and it was liquefying thick. The network-points did and dissolved… and then somehow the liquid left after… still allowed a network to operate through it. It was possible to think; just, thinking based in liquid was very slow and clotting, like what her mind was made of. Her mind liquefied and then her thoughts felt heavy and chunked up… a mind as liquid of water might have run smoother. But she had a mind that ran like gravy. Her brain was gravifying.

And her hand was still going. Her hand stirred and it made liquid between her thighs. And by making that liquid between her thighs it made gravy between her ears. Not all of her brain had been converted yet— while she could still think she should—

But she kept masturbating. She could feel her brain melting down into gravy. Felt it congealing like it had been left sitting too long. And that magical energy in her head strengthened in response.

That energy was just sitting in her head. It was the cause of all of this. She tried to hate it, but the part of her that was learning to love the slurrying of her mind loved that energy as a contributor to the process. She pleasured herself, and the energy registered that pleasure— then it was the thing to target the specific network-points of her brain— to turn them into liquid, only to force that liquid to conduct thought… the closed loop which seemed to propel the process was cycling through its steps more closely. It felt like almost all of her mind was already gone. She had been a bimbo before; but bimbos had more synapses than she did now— bimbos could think with a full brain, instead of liquified one. Bimbo was not a word that applied to her anymore.

Her hand swiped her clit again. Word? What was a word? It sounded like something made up, whatever that sound meant. Couldn’t be real.

Not a bimbo. Not Bimbo-Tessi; this was happening so speedily fast. The swirling of her hand swirled her brain. Ninety-percent or more of her brain was liquid now. She was staring but not understanding what her eyes were seeing.

Words were too much for her now— things she would never be able to understand. And thinking was something she would never be able to do. She could only keep on masturbating. It was the only thing she knew how to do, anymore.

She had become a sex-drone. Something bordering on being an insect; only aware enough to carry out basic physical functions, and with no higher brainfunction or consciousness. But sexdrone-Tessi couldn’t even thinking about things like eating or sleeping. Those were too complicated for her. She could only “think” about fucking. Think about pleasure. And even that wasn’t thinking, that was just a basic physical urge for her, one which must be constantly expressed. She didn’t have a brain. Only melted slurry, inside her head, because her brain had been permanently melted. It had congealed into its gravy-form, and it would remain gravy forever. And sexdrone-Tessi would be ruled by her physical urges for sex. There was nothing for sexdrone-Tessi apart from her physical urges for sex. The sexdrone was continuing to fuck itself even now, because it could never stop. It could never stop, and it could never want anything else, and it could never want anything at all. It chased its physical urge yet again.

It had become a sex-drone. And now it was a sex-drone. Now it would always be a sex-drone.

This was completely different than being a bimbo. And even the memory of having once been a bimbo was lost for sexdrone-Tessi, now.

But as a bimbo, Tessi had still had rudimentary thoughts. Rudimentary feelings. Rudimentary desires. All her desires had fallen within a narrow range, it was true. But the fact was, she had been capable of initiating for herself, wanting things for herself, making things happen.

As a sex-drone, all of this was over for Tessi now. She had no desires. She was incapable of acting for herself, incapable of interacting with the world, incapable, of making any action happen, either inside herself or outside of herself. She was completely without thought— she existed now only to experience sex. Not even to enjoy it— not even to realize it was happening to her— only to feel it. And she wasn’t even aware that this was a case. She was a sex-drone. She couldn’t understand the world. She couldn’t reflect on anything. She wasn’t aware of herself, or of her surroundings. If magic hadn’t been involved, perhaps her brain would have been dripping out of her ears. But the sex-drone didn’t care— she didn’t remember anything that had happened before this moment— she didn’t understand anything that surrounded her at this moment. No one was using her right now. That was as much as a drone could register. Maybe someone would use her later. Then it would register with the drone that it was being used. It couldn’t even think to itself that it deserved to be used. Because it was a drone. It simply could not think at all. Not even in rudimentary thoughts.

Matthew had watched with interest as bimbo-Tessi became normal-Tessi— then as normal-Tessi had finally turned into sexdrone-Tessi.

He could see now that she was nothing more than a sex-drone… she had no expression on her face. No light in her eyes; it hardly seemed like she was a conscious being at all.

And seeing the new sex-drone, Matthew fully understood. He hadn’t been totally conscious of before, but seeing someone turned into a sex-drone for his use— that really had been his fourth secret Christmas wish. And that wish had been fulfilled perfectly! It was clear, looking at the sex-drone, that its intelligence had been killed forever. It would never wake up and become aware again. It would continue on as a drone forever.

The third ghost saw this also. She had perfectly done her final task.

“Goodbye to you all,” she said to the room. “And Merry Christmas!”

Then she disappeared.

Even though it was the day after Christmas, Matthew still felt he was firmly positioned in the middle of the holidays. This was still his Christmas celebration even a day later. And what a Christmas celebration it was! Thinking of it now, this was probably the best Christmas he’d ever had. No, no use in saying ‘probably.’ It was the best Christmas he’d ever had— no other Christmas would be better, even though all Christmases from now on would be the same. He had Sloane by his side— the love of his life— and now she was obedient, and forever horny. And he had his ex-girlfriend Cybill as a bimbo— and his former girlfriend Tessi, as a sex-drone. Truly, what a special Christmas it’d been!

Other Christmases after this would be similar to this one. Matthew would always from this day have these same three things: the love of his life, his bimbo, and his sex-drone. But even though all other Christmases would be identical, this Christmas would always be the best. Because this was the Christmas that all these transformations had happened— and the ones he’d been able to see, the ones that had happened to Tessi— they had been so fun to watch.

And even the ones he had not been present for— they had been a surprise to learn of— and then finding his two gifts, the love of his life and his Cybill-bimbo, had turned up to present themselves to him— those had been fun surprises too. So this would always be the best Christmas— with all its unexpected rewards and fun transformations.

It didn’t make Matthew sad, though, that no other Christmas would ever quite be the same. From this day on he could always enjoy his three women— that was worth never being able to receive a surprise-reward or witness a sudden transformation.

So much about this situation was good now. But the best part of it was this. Some aspects of the situation still operated on a level that Matthew could not understand— but he had been in the situation long enough to understand it a little better. The scent of his women’s arousal, their sex-scents— it was a literal aphrodisiac for him. Just catching a whiff of it made Matthew immediately hard. He was so appreciative of that. He could always get a hard-on whenever he wanted. He just needed to inhale that special sex-scent.