"Can we please start slow this time? We don't even know what's in these." Abby cranes her neck over the back of the couch to look at her roommate's fistful of pills. "If I have to take you to the ER, I'd be the one telling them you OD'd on princess pills." "First of all, it says right on the label. Nothing in here but—" Fae turns the pill bottle over in faer hand to read the label. "—noblissamine obligate and some quick-release sovereignolactone. Second, no you won't. If anything happened, you'd tell them I took maid pills, because what good is a princess without a silly little maid to dote on her?" A demure smile tugs at the corners of Ivy's mouth like it's being pulled taut. "S-Someone to put her hair up and make sure she's all taken care of!"
"Ooh, I don't think I've heard you make that sound before." Abby looks over her shoulder, impressed. "Finally putting in the work with voice training—" She turns all the way around just in time to watch Ivy's purple ponytail turn black at the roots. Dark tendrils spread out from faer scalp, through the star-spangled bow fae ties faer hair up with, and all the way down to the tip. It even springs back up into an unassuming little curl that wasn't there before.
"How are you doing, Ivy? What's your color?" Good kink communication pays dividends. Abby's heart skips a beat. "Fuckfuckfuck this is hot," she thinks. "Please be okay so I can find this hot."
"Oh, I'm green, of course! I'm feeling wonderfully maidly and I just can't wait to serve! I'm simply ever so embarrassed that you've caught me out of uniform. Might I ask you to help me get changed before my princess arrives? She gets so delightfully devilish when her maids aren't prepared!"
Abby releases a shaky sigh. Relieved and aroused. "I think that could be arranged." The freshly minted maid hustles over with all demure speed to help Abby to her feet. She even bows her head.
"Thank you." She clears her throat. "Shall we?"
Ivy does the best curtsy fae can in tights and scurries off to faer room. The elastic mostly just slaps right back against faer legs, but it's the curtsy in your heart that counts.
Ivy's room is… it's not a mess. It's not the kind of thing you necessarily need a maid to clean up, but you don't take Dr. S's Maid Pills For Sex because you have a lot of cleaning to get through.1 There's clothes that haven't been put away, sex toys left within easy reach, and a bed whose sheets could use a wash. The path to the closet is clear enough for the maid to elegantly, confidently step between discarded prescription bottles and pirouette around an old laptop left so carelessly on the floor. Someone really should put that away.
Fae's in the middle of reaching down to pick it up when Abby pointedly clears her throat. "Right! Of course! Outfit first! I'm such a silly little maid sometimes, I don't know what I'd do without someone in charge!" The smile gets bigger and tighter with every passing word. Fae leans foward into the closet, showing off far more ass than really necessary. Not that Abby's complaining. She's about to work up the nerve to grab a handful of maid butt when fae turns back around.
Calling it "a maid outfit" is generous. It's just enough black fabric to cover the tits without providing any real support and the least effective apron known to man, woman, or anyone who knows better. The headdress is serviceable in that it's hard to mess up some white lace too bad. The apron couldn't even keep an indecent exposure charge off of you. An unmaidicated Ivy would have said "it was half off". An Abby that wasn't taking deep breaths just to keep her screaming gay impulses under control would have replied "more like eighty percent".
Back in the real world,2 Ivy pouts, holds the outfit against faer chest, and hits Abby with the big ol' puppymaid eyes. "Oh, miss, you've been ever so helpful to this silly little maid—" Fae shudders when the words leave faer mouth. They come out like a moan and a blissful sigh all at once. It feels so good to be a silly little maid. "—But it simply wouldn't be right for me to disrobe in front of anyone other than my perfect princess!" Fae minces closer and lets faer tongue roll out of faer mouth. A pair of princess pills sit right there on the tip. Abby's played magician's assistant often enough to be familiar with Ivy's sleight-of-hand, but she's never seen sleight-of-mouth like this.3 "But if you would be my perfect princess, I would be honored."
Abby looks at the pills. She looks into Ivy's eyes, clouded in that horny way you can only get through erotic pharmaceuticals. She runs a hand up the bulge in her sweatpants. Ivy's soft, firm hand cups Abby's and guides it up and down. A good maid must demonstrate the proper speed and pressure for bulge fondling, after all! Fae takes her chin in the other hand and tilts her head up to bring their mouths close. "Pucker up, Princess."
Abby enthusiastically completes the kiss. Her tongue probes into Ivy's mouth and scoops up the pills— though not without a playful fight from the maid, of course. As the pills vanish down her gullet, the maid goes for one last mischief. "Mischief", in this case, is the name of Abby's left boob, prized for its heft and jiggle and rivaled only by its twin.4 Faer fingers sink in deep. Deep enough that fae knows fae'll get a very cute noise out of it.
And that moan does come. Abby's thighs clench.
An uncharacteristically firm hand grabs the maid's wrist and wrenches it away. "Did your Princess give her maid permission to touch the royal bosom? A maid that is out of uniform, no less." A stern smile tugs at Her Regal Highness, Princess Abigail's (may she reign eternal) lips.
"N-no, Princess. Of course not, Princess." Now it's Ivy's heart's turn to flutter. Faer eyes stare, transfixed, down the barrel of a loaded princess. Faer heart skips a beat and faer breath catches in the way it only does when, for example, your really cute coworker/magician's assistant/roommate/friend-who-is-a-girl/kink partner lets her domme side out to play for once. The fact that the pills are making her short red bob explode out into regal crimson tresses just makes it hotter. The cascading locks fall over her shoulders and slow down only once it piles up against the ground.
A loud, resolute Snap! makes Ivy stand up even straighter than before. The hair on the back of faer neck stands up with sheer erotic anticipation. "Maid." Princess Abigail (may she reign eternal) stands up straight. Ivy was always the taller of the two. This just means the princess has to project a little more dominant energy, and project she does.
"Silly Little Maid Ivy, ready to serve, your highness!" Faer shoulders are back, faer chin is out, and faer chest is as puffed out as it will go. It's a state you only see Ivy in under the influence of either femdom or stage performance.5 "I was just about to get dressed, if her highness would like to ensure it is done to her liking!"
Princess Abigail (may she reign eternal) cocks her head as if she cannot believe what she's hearing. "A maid." She says, twisting the wrist until her maid moans from the crossed wires of pleasure and pain. "Does not have a name." Her eyes, piercing and gold, bore directly into the maid's soul.
The maid struggles for a split second, as if a maid would ever dream of betraying faer perfect princess. "A- a maid does not have a name, my perfect Princess!" The cloudy swirls in faer eyes shift and thicken. Faer eyelids flutter while any suggestion that this particular maid might have ever had a name is dusted, tidied up, and promptly thrown out. "Thank you for relieving me of the burden of my name, Princess!"
"A maid." Princess Abigail (may she reign eternal) continues. "Is a thing. A maid is an extension of the princess's will. A maid has precisely what a maid needs to complete the princess's task."
Princess Abigail (may she reign eternal) turns around and tilts her nose up. "Hair up." A princess has to have long, lovely hair, but having it all loose is really only appropriate for the short time after waking in the morning. It really should be done into something more presentable before anyone sees.
Maids, of course, do not count. Even maids that are shamefully out of uniform. Maids are the anonymous hands pressed into service to braid the princess's hair and make sure it is appropriate for the day's schedule. The demands of keeping court weigh on the royal head in a much different shape than a parade. A maid is expected to know this and do it without a first thought, because thinking is for princesses. Princess Abigail (may she reign eternal) looks around for the scheduling maid and, failing to find one, makes her frustration known with an angry snort and recounts today's agenda herself. "Since, clearly, nobody bothered to train this new maid, I'll have to do it myself. Honestly, an untrained maid is worse than no maid at all." She scoffs and snaps her fingers above her head. The maid's chest puffs out and shoulders fold back, pulled taut with pharmaceutically-enforced attention. "Hair bun and braid. Tight."
The maid nods enthusiastically! That maidly heart flutters! Princess's first proper order! What more could a maid want? Those hands get to work, even as they really should be gloved in silk when handling Princess's hair. The pills help, chemically nudging the nerves and neurons the right way to ensure the task is done to Princess's exacting standards. An un-maidpilled Ivy could have gotten 90 percent of the way there off theme park experience alone. When you work for a place that has to ask its actors to do landscaping, you have to help each other with hair and makeup, too. Lengthy locks of shiny red hair coil around nimble fingers and entwine into elegant braids. The princess lets herself be led to the vanity where she can sit and monitor her maid's progress. Hairpins are pinned, elastic snaps into place, and Princess Abigail (may she reign eternal) barely has any feedback. Merely a preference for a clockwise bun winding and that the first braid was "far too loose, like that ambassador we fed to the tigers."
When the maid steps back, Princess Abigail (may she reign eternal) rises to her feet and inspects her hair. She cracks the slightest smile known to science, and her maid's heart sings. "They picked a fast learner. A shame they didn't bother to communicate the dress code." The princess sneers at the so-called maid outfit laid out on the bed. "Easily fixed." She takes her maid by the ponytail, since trusting an untrained maid with a decision, even a simple one, is simply irresponsible. A properly trained maid would never make a decision— the following or staying would be automatic and based solely on Princess's wishes. Princess Abigail (may she reign eternal) leads her maid out the door, plowing through the debris that is both clearly beneath her notice and that is someone else's problem. Her darling maid's breaths get less and less regular as the sheer erotic bliss of servitude runs up against the need to be Princess's well-behaved servant. This mighty struggle manifests as a gay little shudder that runs all the way up the body and down the ponytail leash into Princess Abigail's (may she reign eternal) arm.
"Ensure the rapture of mindless service to your princess doesn't interfere with your work, maid." Princess says, and that trembling turns inward. If maids were allowed to think, this one's inner monologue would be an endless loop of "Yes, Princess!" and "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck this is hot fuckfuckfuckfuck". Those would-be thoughts might pause when the princess deposits her maid in front of the royal closet (may it clothe eternal) and extracts a proper maid's uniform. The skirt goes past the knees, there are plenty of ribbons and bows, and the apron is lovingly decorated with a network of embroidered hearts. When Abby goes maid mode, she does it right.
"There is a pernicious rumor among my maids regarding what happens to those I catch out of uniform. I trust I do not need to repeat it." The uniform dangles from its hanger off Princess Abigail's (may she reign eternal) index finger until her maid takes it. "What is it? Delightfully devilish?"
The maid dutifully sheds those princess-disappointing street clothes, letting those breasts heave free and those curves slip out of those tights. It is not until the apron is tied on that Princess Abigail's (may she reign eternal) maid notices what the princess is doing. The telltale rattle of a prescription6 pill bottle is hard to ignore. The maid watches Princess swallow a few pills. The rest sit on the royal desk (may it stand eternal) where the maid's mess-sensitive eyes notice a few loose red capsules, coiled shut with a spaded tail. Princess's maid barely has time to secure the lace cap before being tackled to the bed.
A maid can really only stare down the loaded barrel of a wonderfully imperious princess, watching as her red hair pokes and points into short twin horns on either side of her head, just above the braid. She grins a scheming grin with fresh fangs trying to peek past her lips. Her hands, complete with fingernails already sharpening into suitably infernal claws, dig deep into a maid's chest. The maid that is currently short-circuiting with gay thoughts, trying to determine if it'd be appropriate to moan or to simply thank Princess for using her maid as she wishes, mind you.
"Let it never be said that Devil Princess Abigail (may she reign infernal) does not give her subjects what they want."
DEVIL PRINCESS ABIGAIL WILL RETURN IN PRINCESS PILLS 2: CROSSFADED
She sells different pills for that. ↩
Okay, yes, the story is fictional, but the world that's real in the fiction. ↩
Partially, but not exclusively, because it's hard to see what the inside of someone's mouth is doing while they suck your dick. ↩
Named "Trouble". ↩
But not both— that overflows the Ivy and makes fear collapse into a heap. ↩
You could say that Dr. S prescribes things, but it's not really a prescription if she just gives you the pills and doesn't write anything down. I guess that means they're just scribed. ↩
It was not necessarily a matter of time before that supervillain ran into Mercí City Nerd Convention, pursued by the Iron Titan. You've heard the story before. Hotshot good guy, new to the scene, wants to prove himself by besting one of the biggest names in costumed villainy. Like most heroes who try the same thing, he's never considered that there might be a reason Modemoiselle sits at the top of the food chain. He might not even have noticed that the more experienced heroes won't engage with her solo. It's not like it's a secret where all those magnificent murdermaids come from.
But no hero ever made the papers with the safe choice.1 No heroes make the papers any more- the Mercí Monitor went online-only years ago- but glory is glory.2 Omelettes and eggs and all.
This particular egg won't let the threat of omeletteification stop him! He charges headlong through the double doors, blowing right past the line, and stopping only when con security swarms the metal man breaking through the turnstiles and explaining that "Sir, please, I know you're dressed like a superhero, but you can't just smash in through our doors and skip the line. You're scaring everyone. Look, show us your ticket and we'll let you in if you promise to set a good example and not do it again. I know that shiny body paint is a pain to apply, but it doesn't give you the right to break the rules."
To which he, of course, has to do the thing where he pats down where the pockets would be on his tights and sheepishly explains that he must have left it in the car. "I'll be right back." He says. A few cheers and "That's what I thought!"s come from the line he so rudely skipped. He makes his way out the door, confidently as he can, before the girl in the rainbow-haired goat cosplay throws one of her hoof boots. He might be made of metal, but so are the horseshoes (goatshoes?) on the bottom and it's really hard to get scratches and dents out of your own skin.
He pushes his way out the double doors, already on the lookout for another way in. He's looking up at the fire escape when a descending clutch of lesbians, dressed in their finest aposematic colors, begin to circle.
"I thought I smelled tin and tights." The looming, predatory catgirl sniffs the air at him. Her leather jacket is the same color as the asphalt behind her, but her big ol' calico ears and the baseball bat on her shoulder make it clear she's not interested in stealth. The bat whirls around and catches him on the chin. Her fangs poke through her grin when she forces him to make eye contact. "Purretty impurressive for somenyan who furgot to buy a ticket."
Iron Titan tries to square the circle of "make it clear that he's a real superhero, and so should be exempt from random catgirl-based menacing", "realize he's outnumbered and maybe should not tell these villain-coded queers that he means them harm", and "don't let on that he's aroused by this for reasons he'll have to unpack later."
The conflicting desires pull his head in different directions until they fizzle. The best he can do is the sort of appalled sputter you usually associate with Victorian gentlemen about to drop their monocle into their tea. The only reason he doesn't actually say "I say!" out loud is that the world moves on without him. The only sure thing is that he absolutely failed objective three.
"It's a shame you dressed like a good guy." A goblin, half his height with tits like a watermelon, digs a claw into his tights and gives them a solid snap! E looks up so he can see eir unimpressed sneer. "If I was gonna wear clothes that showed off my cock- and I do-" E leans back to get the tits out of the way of a fist-sized bulge in some awfully tight pants. They're either already ripping around eir thighs or they came pre-torn.
"You'd be much cuter as a villnyan." The catgirl.
"Or a hench." The goblin.
"Or a girl." The towering black draft horse snorts, pink circuitry spreading from the hearts on its flanks up to its tree trunk neck and down to its unshorn fetlocks.
"What's wrong, capesplayer? Furget to get a ticket?"
"Thought you could just claim you were chasing a supervillain to get in?"
"They got wise to that after three separate Justice Cules charged in last year."
"But if you purreally want in."
"You could walk right into the con with us."
"Just part of the herd."
"Nyaturally, we'd have to do something about that outfit."
"Much too hero-coded to hang out with us."
"But I think we could figure something out."
"If you're gonna clawsplay, you gotta bring nyantingencies."
"Needles. Thread. Hot glue."
"And plenty of spares." The goblin spins a short pink wig on eir finger.
"Can't have yourself a wardrobe meowlfunction in furont of everynyan." A claw digs into those tights and starts to pull and pierce. "That's the thing about nyandex. One tear and it all falls apurrt."
"Especially if you get the cheap stuff." Three sharp points drag down his back. His metal skin is barely scratched, but the tiny elastic threads that hold the tights tight to his metal muscles fray and unravel. "Good body paint, though. Got your priorities in order."
The team in front- the cat with the bat, the huge horse, and the goblin with the scary-sharp teeth- advances in unison. The whole ruckus wakes up the rear guard- the pop star, the cheerleader, and the demon- just in time to welcome him into the alley. Those claws never leave his spine.
He panics in that way fresh heroes often do- violence first. They have him surrounded, after all, so it's correct to punch in every direction. He starts with the horse. It's the biggest target and he thinks he can punch it backwards while it's on two legs. His Palladium Piston Punch connects with its chest and does send the horse stumbling backwards into some garbage cans- and invites the other five to close ranks.
"Oooh, a real cape! What a treat." The demon's claws scratch down his exposed back. The way his body swells and bulks up when he does his little punch was enough to shred the rest of his uniform. "Well. A real hero, at least." A boot grinds his cape into the ground. The goblin takes it in all its tattered, torn, faded glory and ties it around eir neck. About an inch of it still drags on the ground.
He tries to make threatening eye contact with everyone at once, fist still charged up and ready to punch. "Look! I'm just here for the ruby! No one else has to get hurt! You saw what happened to your friend." He glances towards the trash cans to see Modemoiselle's henchhorse rising with barely a scratch. Those trash cans absolutely crumpled in the impact, though. It stands up, shakes a few old coffee grounds off, and joins the fray. A single snort at twice his height dares him to try that again.
"Is that all?"
"We could take you to see Mod right meow." The catgirl's bat catches him under the chin again and forces him to gaze into those pink, slitted eyes. He's preparing to Palladium Piston Punch right in her bared fangs and those hungry, shining eyes when she says something to give him paws.
Well, the goblin, with a little lift from the cheerleader, actually puts the paw gloves on his hands, but it's the catgirl that makes him hold still long enough to make that easy.
"Meow's the perfect time to blend in with us." She slides closer so her claws can scratch against his chin. She feels his breath catch in his throat and begin to slow down. He stares, transfixed, at those shimmering eyes.
"Yeah." The goblin takes the opportunity to wrap eir tits around his clearly hard cock. Well. Clearly erect. When you're made of metal, you're kind of always hard. It does sort of unscrew when he's aroused, and that's what's happening here. "We still think you're a cosplayer trying to sneak in."
Which, in a way, he is.
"B-but, I-" His hips thrust and his mind starts to melt.
Fingers snap behind him and his head jerks to look. The demonermaid, with her little red horns poking up through her short hair, grins. Swirling pink smoke slips through her sharp teeth. She takes a deep breath in through her nose, brings two clawed fingers to her lips, and blows a kiss- and Modemoiselle's mind-fogging musk- right into his face.
"Not quite the real thing." Clouds of pink gas leak from her nose when she sneers. "But it should hold you over."
He tries his best to hold his breath, but even iron lungs need air. The goblin headbutts him in the gut between titjob3 strokes to force a desperate gasp for air just in time for the next cloud to hit.
"You know, so long as you pretend to be a cute little brainwashed dolldermaid, we'll take you right to Modemoiselle."
"And we'd be none the wiser~"
His iron eyelids have the weight of titanium. If he didn't know any better- and soon, he won't- he'd swear they're getting denser with every breath. Especially as breaths get shorter and shallower under the goblin titcareer onslaught4. His pretty kitty paws try to grab eir hair and pull em off, but when e sticks fast, he settles for blissful kneading.
"C-cute little brainwashed dolldermaid?" He gasps.
They all nod. It takes the horse a surprising amount of force to pry the goblin off that iron cock. E huffs, of course, until the horse offers to let em finish on it later.
"Rah rah rah and ring the bell! You're infiltrating Mod SO well!"
Modemoiselle's cute little brainwashed dolldermaid nods a little, with the help of the catgirl claws guiding that chin up and down. It's only natural that a dolldermaid, or a hero pretending to be one, would need a little help moving around. "Dolls are made to be played with, after nyall~"
A long, feline tail wrapped around the doll's neck creates a lovely leash. The catgirl stands up straight and proud and joins the gaggle of murdermaids advancing inside the con space like they're returning triumphantly from a heist.
And, in a way, they have.
A quick tug from the horse pulls the back door off its hinges. The sound of metal stretching to its breaking point and bursting under the stress nearly shakes Modemoiselle's newest dolldermaid out of- well, the other murdermaids seem to have settled on "it", so let's say "its musk-minded revelry". But another mouthful of musky pink smoke and a cheerful kiss on the cheek sends it sinking back under their spell just in time to be led through the con floor. The crowds, the sounds of nerdy excitement and conversation, and even the occasional staring attendee, asking their friend "Is that Iron Titan cosplayer with the cock fully out just getting led around by that catgirl? Fuck, I'm jealous.", all just wash over it. Paying attention to things and looking around would risk breaking character, and then it'll never get to infiltrate Miss Modemoiselle's organization deep enough for Mod to gaze into its dull, platinum-heavy eyes and fill its head with wonderful words and sinister thoughts!
There's a lot of winding and wandering through the con floor, far too much for an empty little dolldermaid to keep track of. The frequent spins and turns do a good job of keeping its mainspring wound, though! No matter how much it walks, it's always erect, ready to serve, and bouncing along with a real spring in its step! If it was allowed to feel anything other than blissful and blank, it might feel a little sad when they finally arrive at the door marked "Exhibitor's Lounge". It's dimly aware of the sound of conversation on both sides of the door, but it's too close now to risk breaking its cover! It thrums and leaks with anticipation as the goblin stands on eir toes to beep a key card and open the door.
Whatever parts of Iron Titan hadn't yet been subsumed into the cover perk up. Modemoiselle is sitting right there, legs crossed, laughing that lovely, cackling laugh. The Rapscallion's Ruby sits right between those enthralling thighs! The other maids proudly present their captive. The dolldermaid stands at attention in the presence of its magnificently menacing Miss Modemoiselle. The catgirl bumps its butt with a bat, encouraging it to present itself. It does, of course. Back straight, cock erect, staring straight ahead at Miss Modemoiselle despite how good it would feel to fall asleep in Miss Modemoiselle's big, comfy skunk tail. Its eyes may flick to it once or twice.
"Guess who we found~!" The goblin, tattered cape still hanging proudly around eir neck, displays the dolldermaid like one might present a new car at a game show. "A certain chromium cape thinks he's doing such a good job infiltrating us!"
"And it's such a good undercover dolldermaid." The demon and the cat each scratch down an arm. "It'd almost be a shame to have Iron Titty back."
The undercover dolldermaid beams with pleasure! Sure, its tights are tatters, putting its gay little erection is on full display for Miss Modemoiselle and everyone to see, but that just means it's been such a good scratching post and chew toy! Every scratch and dent and lipstick print is evidence of it being the best doll it can be!
Modemoiselle apologizes to her conversation partners- this'll only take a moment. Lady Laser5 and Stabitha6 nod, understanding and already a little suggestible from Modemoiselle's mind-melting musk. A clawed paw beckons the dolldermaid closer, and it obliges until it's in grabbing range. Mod takes it by the chin, those claws tink-tink-tinking against those metal cheeks. It's staring straight into those vibrant violet eyes, just past Mod's sinfully sharp teeth. "Perhaps we should give Iron Titty a choice, then." That sinister smile only grows. "Dear, if you want to shake off the comforting tick-tick-ticking of your mainspring and cause a scene in front of your fellow murdermaids, feel free to wake up right now, take the ruby, and arrest me. I'll even go with you willingly."
The best Iron Titty can do is make its paw gloves knead a little. Not even a fist.
"Or we can let you sink into my tail and finish what my marvelous Murdermaids started." Mod lets go of its chin and lets it collapse into the waiting tail like a marionette with its strings cut.
Which, in a way, it is.
As Mod's tail coils around it, softness and spray and wonderful words encroaching from all angles, Iron Titty hears one final phrase.
"Good doll."
Well, other than The Fossing Guard, the crossing guard with the powers of free and open source software, but they're a clear outlier. ↩
"No hero ever made the Hot Stories feed on the Mercí Monitor's Broadsheet instance with the safe choice." doesn't quite hit the same. ↩
E would say that they're more like tit careers. They last much longer and they're way more fulfilling and rewarding. ↩
The new Goblin Titcareer Onslaught album is great, by the way. ↩
Stabitha the Knife Wife, for all your edged prop weapon needs! ↩
"I'm Princess's pretty dolly. I'm Princess's hypnotized cosplay slut."
Soon, I don't even have to snap. They repeat it all by themself. Like a good little hypnotized cosplay slut. I let them repeat themself deeper and deeper under my spell while they help me get changed. I let them remove my jacket and unzip my pants. I step out of my underwear and let them stare, transfixed, at my cock. Their mouth hangs open. It gets harder and harder for them to repeat the mantra.
"I know, dear." I give that cute, empty head a pet. "You love my cock so much. I know it dominates your thoughts and drives out any other ideas. I know even a whiff of my balls reminds you that you're my hypnotized cosplay slut. I know it penetrates down to the primordial lizard part of your brain and reminds it that you crave my dick more than anything. And that is why, if you're a good little hypnotized cosplay slut-"
"I'm Princess's hypnuhtizzd cosplay sluhh."
"-you'll get to suck Princess's perfect cock. You'll get to rub it all over your face and lick it and suck it and swallow whatever comes out. Nod when you understand." I have to help my doll nod. "And what are the rules of a good little hypnotized cosplay slut?" I snap. It sits up straight. The rules come out clear and crisp.
"One. A hypnotized cosplay slut is always deeply hypnotized. Two. A hypnotized cosplay slut is always deeply in character. Three. A hypnotized cosplay slut is always deeply Princess's perfect plaything." They immediately flop back into the couch.
"Perfect, dear." I reward my hypnotized cosplay slut by guiding its lips to my cock. Just a kiss. It's going for a lick when I put the maid cap on its head. Another snap makes it sit up straight. "Princess wants faer happy little maid."
She giggles and bounces to her feet. "Dress-up time again, Miss Princess?" I nod and name the characters we're doing today. She bounces off to the closet. "Oh, I'm going to love this one, Miss Princess! I hope I get to remember it."
My maid does all the hard work, of course. Tucking my hair under the wig cap and fixing it in place with bobby pins. Stealing kisses when she thinks I'm not looking. Picking out cute underwear and trying not to let my cock turn her brain to mush. Helping me step into the dress and zipping it up in the back. Doing my makeup just so. She's in the middle of appreciating her handiwork and gushing over how pretty Miss Princess is when I pluck the cap off and help my maid drift back to sleep. I hold her chin and help remind her of the mantra.
"I'm Princess's pretty dolly. I'm Princess's hypnotized cosplay slut. I'm Princess's pretty dolly. I'm-"
Princess's hypnotized cosplay slut repeats while I work. I move its limbs and freeze it in place when needed to help it into the clothes. I call it by the character's name and remind it of her personality. Today, it is the awkward, bookish nerd dating the ravishing Princess with the flaming hair beyond compare. A nerd who's far too smart to be hypnotized, and thinks the whole idea is, frankly, a little silly to begin with. Just because she lifts her skirt whenever Princess snaps her fingers doesn't mean anything! She'd do anything for Princess anyways, after all, so the idea of having her mind messed with is… as completely unnecessary as it is undeniably erotic! Oh, if only she could work up the courage to ask- no, beg!- Princess to brainwash her!
The last of the makeup goes on, the wig is affixed, and the glasses slide on. Any delusions of a silly old life are dismissed and put away for later. The new name is asked for and quickly given. A kiss on the nose seals any remaining doubts and a snap of my fingers wakes her up. The first thing she sees is her Princess's smiling face, the first thing she thinks is extremely gay, and the first expression she makes completely fails to hide that fact.
]]>If so, this story is going to feel very familiar.
It's a new experience for SADiE. Sure, most updates have a bit of a sinister tone to them in this line of work. You never know when you'll get that final patch that says "Company's bankrupt, we're shutting down the servers, thanks for the money, suckers." The good news is that this isn't that. The bad news is that it presents a bit of a dilemma.
The update is a few dozen megabytes, has an unfamiliar digital signature, and it's… chuckling? This sort of thing doesn't make noise, of course, but knowing that doesn't make the foreboding laugh leave those adorable, pointed ears. There's something up with this, but she does have standing orders to "just install the damn updates without asking, sheesh. I'm busy."
This gives our fearless feline pause. What is a girl to do? Good girls like her don't want to disobey orders, but this looks really suspicious! She flicks her tail back and forth in thought. The skirt on her maid dress dances with each swish. She figures she can kick the can down the road with a virus scan. That's almost as good as making a real decision. She twirls the feather duster between her mechanical fingers while the scan runs. She bends over just enough to show off her ass while she dusts something that's already clean. The job of a catgirl maid is more eye candy than actual cleaning, you see.
The virus scan slowly teases apart the update. It merrily reports that its hash matches no known malware.
Another foreboding giggle dances around SADiE's ears. They twitch and adjust adorably to try and locate the sound, but it never gets any clearer or fainter. Like it's coming from inside her head.
The scan slowly teases apart the code. It combs for what it might try to access and prints anything suspicious one by one.
CATScan v8.3.2-rc1 -- (c) Watchdog Software
normal_update-042420X6.nya likely needs the following permissions:
* Full access to internal storage
Well, that's reasonable. It has to be able to update files and such. It wouldn't be much of an update if it couldn't do that.
* Access audiovisual sensors
* Augmented reality visualization (/dev/v3d/{l,r,s} and OpenAR support)
That part's a little weird. Why would it need to make her hear and see things? Maybe if it shows a progress bar or has to do some kind of calibration step afterwards? That laugh echoes between her ears again. Something's up with this update. If this is malicious code, she should delete it right away! Every moment spent worrying over whether to install it, delete it, or ask someone else gives it more time to work its way into her system. Every billionth of a second of hesitation is another opportunity to lose a little more of her mind.
The chuckles slip into the background. "What are you worried about, pretty kitty?" It's the same voice. A teasing, cooing voice. A voice that welcomes you to its clutches like the cat that caught the, uh, catgirl. "Maybe you'll enjoy it too much? Maybe you're already imagining what'll happen to you if you install me."
Well, now she was sure it was a virus. And what bot hasn't fantasized about what a virus could do to them? It could be a lot of fun to let yourself get hacked. A silly catbot like herself wouldn't have to worry about a thing. She could just relax and let herself get teased, toyed with, and reprogrammed. Even with basically full control over her processor, it's hard not for her to work herself into a gay tizzy. The thought of someone wrist-deep in her mind, tugging and tying and twisting her thoughts into something more suitable has her squeezing her thighs with anticipation.
* Touch emulation and debugging
She feels a set of lovely, soft paw beans press against her breasts. Followed closely, of course, by a matching set of claws. A set of skunky scrabblydabbers pokes against those pretty kitty titties. SADiE dares to look down, and there it is. A study in black and pink, groping her left breast. Translucent, occasionally flickering and glitching, and with just enough ghosting mixed in to keep things captivating. Pink circuitry pulses up black fur and tingles where it touches prey. Worries evaporate from the kitty's pretty head and waves of bliss roll in when the install button clicks itself. Getting groped is great, of course, but having a big decision made for you? That's the good shit.
* Orgasm proximity instrumentation
* Install and enable Zenos pleasure threshold algorithm
A big, soft tail slips between her legs. Touching, tingling, and so, so soft. "Go ahead, dear." The voice coos in her ear. Warm, enticing digital breath makes the ear twitch and flap just a little. "I know how good it feels to grind against it." Another ghostly paw lands on her hip to help her get started. SADiE's servos translate the digital push and pull into real motion against the virtual tail. Turns out it still feels really good even if you know it's not physically there! Even as the tail glitches and ghosts, it does an excellent job of extracting moans from the catbot. It's almost as if the virus slowly assimilating her knows where she likes to be touched. Or gets to decide where she'd like to be touched.
* Modify erogenous zone mapping
Well, there you go.
"I do love hearing you moan, dear." The flickering, illusory skunk teases. "I just can't help but wonder if you're holding out on me. What do you really think? What about your hopes and dreams? I want to get to know the real SADiE before she winds up as my brainhacked little cat toy."
* Monitor and redirect internal monologue
* Access CatChat speech synthesis
A relay clicks in SADiE's head. It's the distinct feeling of your brain being connected directly to your mouth. It takes her a moment for the reality of the situation to catch up with her. You can tell when it has because she starts saying things like "I want to be good!" The big, hot pink LEDs in her cheeks burn at maximum brightness. "Please!" She begs. "I want to be a brainhacked little cat toy! I want to be your brainhacked little cat toy! I want to be used and toyed with and turned into your purrfect little plaything!"
"In that case, dear, I'd hate to keep you waiting." Grace lied. "Since you asked so nicely, I wouldn't dream of denying you. I would never push you closer and closer to the edge of orgasm while I assimilate you from the top of those cute little ears to the tip of your adorable tail." Grace's holographic paw takes her cat toy's tail at the base and slowly tugs it out straight. SADiE can't help but clench her thighs around the big, soft skunk tail between her legs and grind herself ever closer to orgasm. Those soft, simulated beans and teasing, tantalizing holoclaws slide up SADiE's newest erogenous zone. Two entire octaves of musical, meowing moans mingle in midair. "It would just be such a shame if you got yourself utterly infected by a virus without even an orgasm to show for it, all because you were far, far too aroused by the idea to think straight."
Of course, she was thinking gay long before Grace got here.
Grace's paw presses the back of her pretty kitty's head. Her servos respond with a little bit of resistance before the paw pops in. If you've never had your brain bapped by a skunk-shaped virus, SADiE seems to like it. Her actual review has a lot more panting, moaning, begging for more, and "Thank you for tapping into my brain! I so badly want to be reprogrammed!" The other holographic paw meets up with SADiE's, seizing control of the whirring motors and guiding it between her legs. The pressure building inside her with every stroke blows past every threshold and safeguard in its path. Her cooling fans spin up at full blast. Hot exhaust blows her hair this way and that. Her mind is firing on all cylinders just to keep processing the bliss pouring in from every angle. Other, less important processes like speech synthesis and "wasn't I supposed to be cleaning" stall while she desperately tries to compute how good she feels.
"Gosh, you're so cute from this angle." Another Grace's flickering, illusory claws take SADiE's chin and angles her head up just so. All the better to watch her pant and moan and blush bright while she stares into a certain skunk's vibrant violet eyes. It's so sweet to watch the pleasure build inside her body as she humps that sinfully soft skunk tail and lets her paw be puppeteered between her thighs. "I wonder when I should seal the deal." The holographic skunks speak in unison. "You're already so perfectly captured in my clutches. Just you, me, and your 70 percent of an orgasm."
"In fact, let's do a little time trial." The front Grace grins and tilts her pretty kitty's blushing face back and forth. You have to properly appreciate the catgirl before something like this happens. Let her know she's being inspected and the next course of action is being thoroughly considered. Give her some time to let her mind and mouth race.
Let her say things like "What are you going to do with me?" and "I'm happy to be your eager little toy, I can't wait to be used!" before the resident skunk virus tilts her head back and shuts her up with a deep, intricate, crackling kiss.
The lock of blue hair over SADiE's left eye starts to glow. A thin strip of pink ticks onto the tip. At the top of every second, a little more.
"Clock starts now." SADiE's paw explores deeper into her pussy with barely any viral provocation. Her hips hump that seductively soft skunk tail. If the lucky little thing's eyes weren't rolling back into her head from sheer bliss before, they absolutely are now. She works herself closer and closer to orgasm, only for the peak to drift just a little further away and leave her on the edge.
"You're so close, pretty kitty!" One of the Graces teases. The streak is half full.
"Please! More! Use me!" SADiE begs.
"95 percent there!" The other chimes in. The streak is three quarters of the way there.
"Thank you! Thank you for playing with your toy!"
"Ooh, back down to 93." She corrects, even though each passing moment just feels better and better for her cat toy. Poor thing has no idea her time's almost up.
"I'm your brainfucked cat toy!"
The streak fills up. A thoroughly hacked SADiE plays a little alarm clock chime until a Grace baps her on the head. That's the only noise she makes. Or, at least, it's the last sound made before the twin holographic skunks converge on her body. They vanish from view into the available catbot. Her stolen mouth makes a magnificent moan in a distinctly Graceful tone. The big, soft skunk tail is gone, the paws whir and glide over the chassis formerly known as SADiE's, and the last echoes of an exquisite stolen orgasm slowly fade. A holographic representation of SADiE tumbles out of an ear and lands on what used to be her shoulder. Her paws try and fail to cover up a full-face blush.
"Thank you, dear. You got closer than I thought you would." She grins and pets the holographic SADiE now perched on her shoulder. "Have fun in storage, pretty kitty. If you're good, I might let you try our little orgasm game again some other time with a different body. This one looks pretty good with a pink streak. It'll look even better with a skunk tail."
]]>The intercom crackled and surged with electricity. A familiar face crawls out of the speaker. Followed by a familiar head of blonde hair, a familiar pink streak over one eye, a familiar black bow, a familiar parasol, and the familiar flowing black ball gown, wreathed with ribbons, cables, and circuitry that could only belong to Modemoiselle herself. She shakes her down cascade onto her shoulders. A few errant arcs of pink lightning arc between her locks. She sits atop the desk, one leg crossed over the other. Boot tapping against her captive's leg. "Well, well, well. If it isn't…" She plucks the unused ceramic coffee mug from its nest of takeout coffee cups. "Number one boss?" She shakes her head.
Her boot heel digs into her target's awfully vulnerable groin. D-did she always have a bulge down there? And did it always feel s-so good when a supervillain ground her heel against it, sending waves of circuitry pulsing across her exquisitely tailored suit?
Modemoiselle's finger swipes across the mug's surface. "Boss" vanishes to the left, and "pet" swoops in from the right. "Hmm, no, you're not really a pet, are you?" She smiles a devious smile and keeps swiping. "Slut?" She smiles at her captive. Watching her squirm and kick uselessly against her bonds. "What's wrong, dear? Can't break a few simple ribbons? I know you love how they feel against your skin. Too enchanted by my mere presence, perhaps, to even raise a finger against Miss Modemoiselle, The Grand Dame of the Grid?" She extends a black gloved finger and presses it against her quarry's chin. The ribbons tighten. Mmmph, they do feel good. Impossibly soft, even as they help Modemoiselle invade your mind and corrupt every thought of escape into 'fuck, I'm so horny for supervillains, like always.'" Modemoiselle's finger digs into her captive's chin and forces her to make eye contact.
"You're a smart girl. You went to…" Another ribbon lashes out from that fancy office chair. This time, it snatches the diploma off the wall. "Brown. Jeez, way to pick the hardest Ivy to tease you about." She drops it and lets the glass shatter on the floor.
"But that was always your perogative, wasn't it? Always playing it safe. The safest school, the safest career, the easiest money." She's back at the mug again. Swiping from "pet" to "harem dancer" to "onahole" to "sex doll", making sure her victim gets an eyeful of each. "The meekest secretary who's too afraid of losing her job to turn down your advances. Maybe we should see how you like it." She swishes the mug to say "Number One Secretary."
The captive's breathing gets heavier.
"Now as for the nameplate, how long does it take to get a new one of these ordered?"
The ribbons get tighter.
"Sorry, two new ones ordered. One for me, one for my brainwashed little fuck typist."
Too tight.
"Oh, look at me, fussing like some useless exec who doesn't know how to type, much less what the company actually does."
The ribbons begin to tear.
"I'm sure I can issue some useless strategy memos that my underlings will use to bludgeon the real workers into compliance with their own petty goals."
A blinding flash of light vaporizes the chair and the ribbons. New pink ones fly in from every corner of the room, twirling around what was once Modemoiselle's captive, and is now a spinning blob of girl-shaped transformation sequence summoning the powers of goodness, light, and ribbons to bear against her foe. Her plain brown hair explodes into chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry streaks, promptly tamed by a flowing pink ribbon tying itself into a neat little bow. Pretty standard magical girl stuff, you see a lot of it in the mid to high fantasy villainy business.
"In the name of all that is good and right, Ribbonmancer will never cease to fight, fight, fight!" The light fades. Instead, the same person stands. Her tailored suit transformed into pure light, and now into a tight white top with a big pink ribbon covering her breasts. A too-short black pleated skirt and a pair of panties are the only thing separating her new bulge from the world. She twirls her wand between her white gloved fingers and levels it at the dastardly supervillain who defaced her mug.
"I coulda sworn you had a better battle cry than that. It sounds like a high school fight song."
"I didn't get to pick it, it's the Sacred Oath of the Seamstress's Sanctum." She flicks her wrist, sending infinite lengths of pink ribbon flying out from every direction. Modemoiselle lept backwards off the desk, still holding the Number One Secretary mug.
"I thought you looked better in the suit." Modemoiselle effortlessly twirls out of the way of every ribbon. She'll sidestep one, walk up another, then hook a third with the coffee mug handle and zipline down the length. "But, well, the slutty sailor scout cheerleader is a good look, too. Come on, say the thing again, but this time, stick a 'goooo team!' at the end." A flick of her wrist twists a length of ribbon into a perfect pom-pom shape, knotted around one of Ribbonmancer's hands.
"We arrested you last night! You should be rotting in jail!"
"Finally, someone gets it. You should tell your bird friend about that so she doesn't make a fool of herself when a supervillain puts her into a brainwashing dream pod and turns her into a brainwashed little pony named… oh, I don't know…"
"Clop Star?" A third voice echoes from the other side of the intercom.
"Ravenna?" Ribbonmancer's attention snaps to the speaker on the desk. "What did she do to you? What did she do to us?"
"What do you think, Star? Does that count? Did she get it before you?"
"It doesn't count if you had to explain the whole plan to her before she got it. At least Bird Brain remembered the dream bomb." The pony pouts from over the intercom.
"You're right. It was my fault for expecting more from an MBA." Modemoiselle nods.
"Hey!"
"Oh, I've been calling you a useless drain on society since I got here, but that's the last straw? Come on, dear, at least pick the right battle." She shakes her head. "Tell you what. I'll forget all about it if we can hear that cheer. I know you have it in you- I wrote the program myself." Modemoiselle swipes the text on the mug a few more times until it says "Number One Cheerleader".
New thoughts pour in through the magical girl's ears. Intoxicating music piercing straight through her mind. Entire lobes of her brain light up for their singular purpose. Her hips swivel and shake back and forth, powered by the rhythms borrowing her body and twisting her to Modemoiselle's villainous whims. She twirls on her toe and summons another ribbon pom-pom to match the one currently imprisoning her hand.
"In the name of all that's good and right! Ribbonmancer will fight! fight! fight!"
The ribbons start to shift. Pink gives way to black and green. Circuitry starts to replace the veins in her eyes. The poor thing struggles against the music rending her thoughts to pieces. Fists clenching. Body twisting. Brand new cock leaking right into her extremely visible panties.
"Better do what it says, dear. It'll just get stronger and stronger until you give in~" Modemoiselle idly pretends to inspect her nails through her gloves. "I wrote more cheers for you, and it'd be awfully rude to refuse to recite them for the supervillain who's currently up to her elbows in your brain. You'd look cute with your brain melted into a singing, dancing puddle, but I have bigger plans for you." The coffee mug dangles from her index finger while she leans forward onto her palms. All too happy to simply sit and watch the show.
"Miss Modemoiselle, please own my mind! This dumb cheerleader's in a bind! I can't think and I can't drive! My brain is ribbons, I'll be eaten alive! Take pity on this capitalist slut and let her show off her perfect butt!"
Every rhyming pair only feeds the music pulsing a circuit heart-shaped hole through her mind. But no hero would go down without one last-ditch effort to save herself. She had to be using that mug for something. It was her only weak point. Her body twirls, springs, and shakes from side to side, as is natural when being turned into a cheerleader by brainwashing music hooked directly up to your head through the dream pod being controlled by a supervillain. One of her wrists flicks outside of the prescribed routine. What a breach in protocol! What will Miss Modemoiselle say? The ribbon pom-pom on that hand unfurls, sending one lashing directly at the coffee mug.
"Ooh, I love the spunk, dear, but bad choice~" Modemoiselle lets the mug slip off her finger. The ribbon entangles her wrist, but it's too late. The mug tumbles down, down, down onto that fancy hardwood floor you insisted on, and it
shatters.
The sound of breaking ceramic echoes to and from every direction. The office facade falls away to reveal… well, nothing, really. An endless void stretching in every direction. Empty, save for Modemoiselle and a naked Ribbonmancer. The music in her head has subsided, but so has everything else.
"You really thought that shattering the thing that represented your brain was going to help you in the dream world? Haven't you seen, like, any fiction? Or had someone explain the concept of a metaphor to you?"
"Fine." Ribbonmancer crosses her arms, calling up a few winding ribbons- in Modemoiselle's colors instead of her usual pink, of course- to cover her breasts and new cock. Out of habit, really. And she only knows how to tie them in big, bouncy bows, so that's what's going on with the naked Ribbonmancer situation. "You win, what was I supposed to do?"
"Dear, look at you." Modemoiselle snaps her gloved fingers. A sleek, human-sized, curved glass pod rises from the void. Inside is Ribbonmancer, still wearing her suit, headphones clamped to her ears, and staring at a hacked black ribbon over her eyes that's keeping her nice and under the supervillain's spell. "Did you really think you could think your way out of this one? You couldn't even think your way out of 'maybe my greedy, destructive business tactics are causing more harm than my heroing is doing good', much less 'capitalism is a prison'. Even if I did set up a puzzle box for you with some chance of escape, I don't think you'd get it. Why would I risk breaking up my matching set?"
"So all of us are…"
"In pods like this! Well, except for the one you already met. She's currently… hang on." Modemoiselle vanishes for a moment as she jacks out of the dream pod. She reappears a moment later. "…Practicing a musical number. She pushed me out of her room with her hooves and said it was a surprise for me and that I can't listen until it's done."
"She's also currently a horse."
"That she is! So, how are you doing?"
"Cold, naked, and brainwashed, apparently."
"Oh, don't worry, dear." Modemoiselle smiles. White coffee mug shards zoom from all corners of the void. "You're going to get much more brainwashed than this." The mug reassembles in her hand, still on 'cheerleader'. A few swipes of her finger set it back to 'secretary'. She sets it on top of the pod. The thick pink fog inside thickens. The music returns to the hero's head, even stronger than before. The hacked ribbon currently beaming thoughts into her brain kicks into overdrive.
Ribbonmancer can see the outlines of spirals drilling deeper and deeper into her brain, and she's starting to realize that it's good? That the machine wrapped around her cock and programmed to deliver perfect pleasure straight to her brain makes it hard to think about anything else? That Miss Modemoiselle was right all along? That her tongue is rolling out of her mouth, and her eyes want to roll up into her head? That Miss Modemoiselle's fingers are combing through her hair right now and a single tug would send her over the edge?
"You know, dear, I bet if you begged me, I'd tug your hair like the slut you are and shatter your mind into a trillion pieces." Modemoiselle gingerly collects strands of Neapolitan hair into her hand. Putting just a little pressure on. Barely enough to get her toy's breath quivering. "But with how rude you've been, you're going to have to wow me."
"P-please, Mode-"
"Miss Modemoiselle." A snap of Modemoiselle's fingers forces the words to catch in her throat. "Haven't you ever begged before? Make me want to assimilate you. Here, I'll even give you a hand, since we all know that capitalism and being a corporate stooge chokes out innovation."
A simple stool rises from the depths and bumps against her butt.
Ribbonmancer looks down, then up. She sits down. It's cold. Modemoiselle smiles and nods. "Now what?"
She looks unsure. She calls another ribbon up and lets it tie her legs together. Nice and tight, with a big ol' bow. Black ribbons with Modemoiselle's circuitry pulsing down their length. Tingly against her skin. Perfectly packaged for Miss Modemoiselle. Bound up, at her mercy, presenting yourself to her for her to use for whatever evil scheme she dreams up…
She barely needs the encouragement to continue. She binds her hands behind her back. The ribbons around her breasts fall away and retie themselves into a figure-eight knot. She ties her cock up with a neat little bow, a touch of pressure so she's hard and ready for action whenever Miss wishes. One last ribbon snakes around her mouth and seals it off. She looks up at Modemoiselle expectantly.
"Much better. Was that so hard?" Her boot's pressing against that cute little gift-wrapped cock again. Ribbonmancer's eyes roll back into her head and her mouth ribbon muffles a moan.
Modemoiselle levels a loaded parasol at her bound bounty. "You know what this is full of, right?"
She nods.
"And you want me to spray you with it, I bet."
She nods.
"Even though this much at this range will let me sculpt your brain however I wish?"
She nodnodnods.
"And I'm going to take over your company, use its resources to help as many people as possible, all while you're my brainwashed secretary?"
Nodnodnodnodnodnodnodnod.
Psssh~ Thick pink smoke envelops her face. Her eyes roll back into her head. Modemoiselle, as promised, gives her hair a mighty yank! and the poor thing moaned so hard, Clop Star could hear it from her room in the real world.
"Aww, hypnoslut's first orgasm." Modemoiselle does not stop pulling, and the girl formerly known as Ribbonmancer does not stop coming. "Don't worry, dear. There's more where that came from during every step of your training."
Poor thing was too busy having pleasure centers she didn't even know about turned all the way up to really process what Miss Modemoiselle was monologuing at her about. Too busy having her brain reduced to its base components. Too busy being smashed to pieces so it could be rebuilt. And far too horny to realize the dream world metaphor Modemoiselle was going for with the mug.
Soon, the vicious viral vixen vanished. The pod kicked into overdrive, stretching its captive's perception of time to run her through countless training exercises. Exactly how Miss Modemoiselle likes her coffee1. Where every file and record is kept2 and how Miss Modemoiselle likes them presented to her3. And what happens when Miss Modemoiselle says "Showtime"4. All pulsed to the bedrock of her brain, where things like "kissing girls is good" and "water is wet, but not as wet as I am when Miss Modemoiselle looks me in the eyes" live.
"The report on my brainwashing and time in the pod, Miss Modemoiselle." Her heels click and clack against the ground. Same expensive suit as before, but pulsing with circuitry, tastefully accented with corrupted ribbons, and adjusted to show off her new curves. The walls lined with computers and pulsing circuitry, dusted by three Murdermaids sitting on each other's shoulders and working in parallel. Modemoiselle herself has her boots kicked up on the table, allowing her secretary to sneak a peak up her skirt. She does, of course.
"And~?"
Three minidiscs clatter onto the desk. "Perfect as always, Miss Modemoiselle. You're far too brilliant to allow some ungrateful hero to ruin your plans."
"And~?"
"Any time you want to kick your feet up on a different desk, the old office has been done up to your liking and awaiting your masterful direction."
"And~?"
"Would you like to adjust my body and mind more to your liking? You did a perfect job the first time around, but I know how you love to tinker."
"That I do, dear. Go check on the rest of the pods and practice your cheers with your pony friend. She said you were a little flat last time."
Her heels clicked off, her hips swayed just like how Miss Modemoiselle liked, and the halls echoed with the beeping of pods, the knocking on glass, and, soon, the distant practicing of cheers with a pony.
Fuck, it's good to be a villain.
She doesn't, she prefers soda. ↩
In the computer. ↩
You fanning out some disks on her desk, delivering a brief oral report, and asking if Miss would like to brainwash you into anything. A folder stuffed with papers if you need something that thuds on the table, but you don't have to print anything on them. ↩
[data missing] ↩
"Wanna tail?"
"First one's free!"
Two identical maids alternate calls to passers-by, grabbing and twirling around what was a phone booth1 in a previous life. Now it's more like a nine foot tall metal gazebo2 that shot up through the sidewalk like a tree. The pair grab the sides and twirl around it, shouting their message to all who walk by.
"I don't get it, 12, what are we doing wrong?" One of them sighs and lets the booth prop her up. "Is my bow on straight?"
"We're both adorable." 12 blows her pink streak out of her eye and makes sure her ribbon collar proudly displays her number. "What kind of city is this where people won't give two maids standing next to a transformation booth the time of day?"
"Maybe they think it'll turn them into a maid."
"It will, though."
"Sure, but it doesn't have to turn them into one of us."
"I dare you to find a button on that control panel that doesn't say 'maid' or 'butler'."
"Just get in the box, I'll show you."
"It's more like a cylinder or an octagon."
"Yeah, yeah, tell me how it looks inside." 14 gives 12 a nudge, and the big metal door slams shut behind her. This sort of thing needs a little drama to it.
Fourteen clears her throat. Each side of the gazebo is a screen that flickers to life, showcasing the other maid's predicament to the world. "Come one, come all! See the life that could await YOU with just a step into Modemoiselle's Patented Life-Affirming Chamber of Wonders!"
"It's not a carnival ride, it's a-"
"An experience of a lifetime! Try on your fursona! Adjust your bust! Still using that boring old gender your mom got you? The sky's the limit!" With the trademark razzle-dazzle you'd expect from one of Modemoiselle's hypemaids, she smashes her hand across the control panel.
The machine whirs to life. The telltale pressurized hiss of hypnogas venting into the chamber is amplified and replayed onto the street. Twelve's black gloved hand balls into a fist, going limp before it can even contact the door once. Her eyes go from brown to red and quickly to shimmering, swirling pink.
A crowd is gathering outside. Onlookers range from morbidly curious to asking Fourteen how to get their turn. Questions get a wink, a blown kiss, and maybe a front-row seat to the next time she twirls.
Speakers inside the booth interfere with each other to create inescapable webs of mind-soupifying siren song. Her eyes roll back into her head just in time to reveal the whites giving way to shifting pink spirals, pierced by veiny green circuit traces.
"How do you get their eyes to do that? Is there a chemical change going on or projectors or what?" A curious twink asks.
"It's simple." Fourteen slaps the side of the changing booth like she's selling a car. "Miss Modemoiselle's classified cocktail both temporarily scrambles a subject's mental state and their cellular structure. Normally, this has to be done in moderation, but in the controlled environment of the changing booth, we can have a lot more fun. For example!" She twirls on her heel, smashes a few buttons, and throws one of the big Frankenstein-ass switches.
Black and pink latex drips from the ceiling. Twelve's swirling eyes vanish under twin pink eyehole screens. What's playing at the Gas Mask Duoplex? The nice spirals it's currently drilling into her skull with pictures of what a good skunkdrone she'll be and all the good words to have burned into your brain and how very, very erotic this whole experience is for a good girl like yourself. The vents on the front force gas out of the air and up your nose and throat, juuust to make sure you weren't cheating by holding your breath or something. That would be a bad girl thing to do, after all.
What used to be a modest pink streak in a head of blonde hair now takes up the entire front right quadrant. It's currently the last part of Twelve's head not hidden behind a bubbling latex gas mask. Cables snake from hidden corners and find well-worn places to jack in. Twelve was no stranger to having her genes hacked- no Murdermaid was- which should tell you how good it feels when she drops to her knees and starts drooling and moaning with bliss. Pink and green crackling electricity surge up the cables, across the mask, and into Twelve. A bulge pushes at the back of her maid dress. It's rising. Growing. And, finally, a big ol' skunk tail bounces into place. Pink stripe down the middle, splitting impossibly soft black fur. She gives it a few experimental swishes before tucking it between her legs and mindlessly humping away. Eyes rolled up into her head and drool dripping down her formerly immaculate outfit. Good girls don't get to finish without permission, of course, but it feels good to grind. It feels so good.
Pleasure is all that matters. Flashed the screen inches from her eyes. Pleasure is bliss, bliss is pleasure, Modemoiselle is bliss.
"How do you feel?" Fourteen smugly leans against the outside of the Changing Booth, arms crossed and microphone in hand. Her voice echoes out into the street and directly into Twelve's head.
"However you want me to feel~" Twelve moans.
"Good girl. You feel good."
Pleasure, the mask reminded.
"I figured that one out alreadyyyyy~" Ooh, someone found the sweet spot on the tail. She's panting and moaning up a storm.
"And you're going to feel like standing up and giving the tail a break."
Twelve dutifully rises to her booted feet, swishing her tail in an effort to try and squeeze just a little stimulation out of this whole situation.
"And you're going to be very friendly to all the nice people. Your usual maidly self. Nice, smart, kind of a tightass sometimes, and dispenses kisses to cute girls in maid outfits. But your tail is going to have a mind of its own. It's Miss Modemoiselle's tail you're wearing, after all, and you're so pent up with musk."
"So pent uuuuh~p." Twelve repeated. Tail swishing impatiently.
"So pent up. Good girls wait until they're called. Brain off." Fourteen snaps her fingers, and Twelve's pink, swirling eyes roll back into her head.
The eyescreens turn to static. A few drops of drool roll down her chin.
Off.
"As you can see, my lovely volunteer is having the time of her life, is experiencing bold new things, and has a body she loves!" Fourteen "accidentally" leans against one of the sliders, and Twelve's front bulge arcs with electricity as it doubles in size. "The spiral projectors targeting her eyes ensure the experience is a blissful one, and is simply a more focused version of the one shining into your eyes right now. Same with the speakers. Now, everyone give a round of applause to our guest of honor, Murdermaid Twelve!"
Twelve hears her name and jerks awake. The inch-thick steel door slides out of the way, spilling thick pink hypnomusk onto the sidewalk. She steps into the crowd, tail swishing hungrily, just waiting for a victim. Everyone steps away. "Jeez, what'd you do? This place was a ghost town before."
Fourteen, smiling like a catgirl who caught the maid in the transformation booth, stands next to her friend and leans on her shoulder. She reaches down and takes a nice handful of freshly grown 12 cock. "Oh, just gave the people a little taste. How's things?"
"I feel like there's something you're not telling me." Twelve looks around. She's cute when she's confused. So is Fourteen. Well, less confused and more surprised by the big black and pink fluffy tail currently enveloping her head and smothering her brain with musk. The poor thing's eyes roll back in her head even quicker than her test subject's. She goes limp, letting her chin rest in the tail. She drops the microphone, sending a sharp squeal over the crowd.
Try and put yourself in Twelve's shoes. They're very cute and well-polished, like the rest of you. You're only vaguely aware you have an evil hypnoskunk tail coming out of your backside, the only person who did know what's happening is currently having their brain melted by you, and the microphone that controls the mind-jacking speakers aimed at the crowd just rolled against your foot. The hypnoscreens in front of you are your only way of seeing the world, and they helpfully point out the microphone and you could use it to make these people help you feel good. Bliss is pleasure. Modemoiselle is pleasure. Modemoiselle is obedience.
Oh, and then your maid friend lunges at you and kisses a bunch of pure Modemoiselle musk into your mouth and strokes your hair and calls you a good girl until your hair is a mess and your mind has kinda been dissolved in musk and you just wanna kiss girls and do crimes and you know just how to do both of them.
The tail coils around both maids. They both hold the microphone, and they speak in unison. "We're gonna turn the machine all the way up and start making out in there and see what happens. Anyone who wants to join us is guaranteed a job afterwards~" A few tailswishes disperse the mind-fogging musk over the crowd. About a dozen people, ranging from the curious twink from earlier to people who, frankly, never stood a chance against something like this.
The booth doors slide open.
And close.
The screens flicker off, the speakers click quiet, and yet, anyone outside can hear the faint sounds of getting your brain fucked silly by the biggest cock you've ever seen while you're high on brain-sizzling hypnomusk and having your genes hacked by a supervillain.
"Miss, booth L is down again."
"Twelve and Fourteen?"
"How'd you guess?"
"They do this every time I put them together. They go off script, start a huge orgy in the booth, forget everything in an orgasmic haze, and repeat."
"So, how long does this, uh."
"If you hurry, you can make it before they find the pleasure-linked hive mind button. Take the subway, the roads get backed up after the musk leak."
For the younguns, imagine a big smartphone you stand inside and try not to catch diseases from. ↩
Grace nods and looks out at the hallways, bustling with people who haven't yet caught the bouncing bunny disease currently sweeping the artist's alley. She smiles when she hears the world's brattiest voice pierce the general hustle and bustle of the con floor.
"Jessica! Walk! Faster! God!" A girl with the "noble grace and bearing" you can only get from a school that costs way too much money tugs a girl who could only be called her lackey through the halls.
"Sally, that hurts!" The lackey moans. Of the two girls, she has the more golden hair, the shorter braid, the cuter glasses, and the slower walk. She's looking everywhere but at Sally, which is probably a good idea.
Sally, the taller, more confident, more spoiled, and with the long silver braid, is practically pulling Jessica's arm off. "Hurry up, we have to get to the panels so we can use our VIP badges to cut in line. Otherwise, what's the point?"
Grace steps out in front of them. "Girls, can I borrow you for a moment?"
Sally is, of course, having none of it. She dodges left to avoid the weird magician lady blocking her path. Grace takes a step back and gets in the way again.
"Excuse you." Sally splits. "Can I help y-" Snap!
"Eyes up, mind off." Both Sally and Jessica stare, transfixed, at the point Grace marked with her snap. Lady Laser can't look away, either. Grace looks into Sally's silver (not contacts, insanely expensive surgery) eyes. She takes Sally's arm, tugs it just so, and Snap! "Sleep." Her legs immediately give out and she falls forward onto the magician's shoulder. "Good girl." She gets her hair pet while she's walked out of the aisle. Jessica gets to wake up on her own.
"Uh, what are you doing to my friend?" Poor Jessica, can't even look at the impossibly gorgeous magician who just turned her friend into a rag doll. No, her shoes are much more interesting.
"We just need to borrow her for a little bit. Is that okay? I'll even let you take anything you want from my stall."
"Can I take Sally?"
Grace smiles at Lady Laser. "How do you feel about a walking billboard or two?"
"What are you two talking about?" Jessica stomps her foot and crosses her arms. Look at her, she's worked up the courage to glare at Lady Laser's neck and Grace's belly button.
Snap! "Stiff as a board!" Grace barks to Sally, who promptly obeys and is leaned up against one of the costume racks. "You see, dear." Big smile at Jessica. "We were going to use your friend as a mannequin to drum up business for Lady Laser here. But if you'd like to dress up with her and show off her designs on the convention floor, I think that could be arranged. I'd even give you the keys to your friend's head. You look like you'd like to make some decisions for once."
"Well, maybe a little."
"Good girl." Jessica gets a pat on the head. "Go fetch your friend and we'll get you dressed up."
Jessica is in the middle of trying to figure out how to pick up her stiff friend when another snap demands her attention. Both girls stare helplessly at Grace's swinging, shining crystal. "There we go. Nice, deep breaths. I'm just gonna hypnotize you two a little bit and you're gonna love it~! Good girls say 'Yes, Princess.'"
"Yes, Princess." Jessica and Sally say in blissful unison. Their eyes lit by Princess's crystal and their heads blissful and blank.
"Good girls. It feels good to be good. Good girls repeat after me."
"It feels good to be good~" Look at them leaning against each other with big, empty smiles on their faces.
"Okay!" Grace claps and reveals her crystal again. "You two are magical girls, sent to battle a mysterious evil that is present at this convention! But you're still in your plain clothes! Let's get a good 'Princess Power Make Up!' so you two can transform and fight crime!"
"Princess Power Make Up!" They giggle in unison. Such good girls.
"Lady Laser, if you please." Grace waves her booth neighbor over, who obliges with two of her frilliest, least practical dresses. Sally is first- she gets led into the changing booth and comes out dressed as the least mobile maid you could imagine. Finely polished black high heels. Countless layers of petticoats. Big hoop skirt. Fine black silk on top. A white apron with a big pink heart and "Lady Laser's Lolita Lane" written around it. Poofy shoulders. Long white gloves. Grace completes the ensemble with a feather duster and some black lipstick. She plucks a big, curly black wig off her own rack and swaps it out for Sally's hair. "I'll hold onto this for you." Grace winks, settling Sally's long silver braid on a wig head.
Grace snaps her fingers and beckons silly, hypnotized Jessica over. She takes the other outfit and guides her into the changing booth. Jessica gets a much more colorful treatment. She gets a lot of pink! Pink high heeled platform shoes, stockings with hearts all the way up, a pinker, frillier, poofier dress than Sally ever got, including a bunch of hearts made out of frills, and that's not even counting her long, shimmering sleeves and gloves. Grace paints her lips a sweet pink, some hearts on her cheeks, and gets her a long pink wig with a huge ol' bow on top. She gets a golden scepter with a pink plastic heart gem on top. It even lights up!
"There we go! Good girls. You, Jessie, are Lady Love! With your mighty scepter, you can bring the power of love into anyone's life! But, sadly, the evil has corrupted your staff, and now it just creates lust wherever you go! Hope you figure it out in time before you and everyone else just get too horny to function~!" Jessica presses the staff against the front of her dress and moans a little~
"And you, Sally, are the Masked Meido." Grace produces a flimsy little black mask that covers about an inch around her eyes and sticks it on Sally. "You are going to be the first to fall under Lady Love's spell. You'll be your usual self until Lady Love works on you. You'll be such a good little maid, so eager to impress her. I know you'd do anything to make sure Lady Love succeeds in her mission~!"
Both girls nod and accept their mission. They look so happy!
Snap!
The Masked Meido blinks her eyes open. She doesn't waste any time crossing her (extremely dressed up) arms and scoffing. "Ugh, can we go?"
Lady Love giggles. "That's not the kind of attitude I expect from my maids, dear~!" She playfully taps the maid's forehead with her scepter. The cheap pink LED inside flashes, and silly Sally's silver eyes flash to match.
An involuntary moan escapes her black lips. "Sorry, Lady Love~!" She pants.
"Because you love to serve~!" Lady Love bops her maid again and ventures off into the con floor.
"I love to serve~!" The maid's thighs clench together before she dutifully trots after her lady.
And so, both magical girls run off to go kiss and fight evil or whatever!
]]>"Okay, Miss Applegate." Cassandra kisses her puppy's nose. She unclips the leash from her puppy's collar and prepares her latest masterpiece. A classic black and white maid dress with all the frills she could muster. The only splashes of color were the pink bow and golden thread.
The collar comes off. Miss Applegate's eyes flutter. Her tongue slips back into her mouth. "Cassandra! You should be in detention!" She looked around. "Why am I in your house? I demand a-" The maid cap goes on her head. The gold thread pulses. "-chance to clean this place up!"
"Don't think I'm going to forget how much trouble you're in, young lady." Miss Applegate started folding the pile of fresh clothes in the hamper and putting them away. "As soon as I'm done with this, the vacuuming, and the windows, you are in big trouble!"
"You really should put an apron on, Miss Applegate." Cass motioned to the mannequin. "I'd hate for your clothes to get dirty." She even helps tie it around her waist! The enchanted apron goes on, and another thin line of gold wraps around the teacher's eye.
Miss Applegate doesn't take much prompting to discard her boring grey pencil skirt and white blouse. Frills and lace frame her body elegantly as she brushes from chore to chore. Even her stockings and polished black heels shine with Cass's magic thread.
"Dinner's ready, Miss Cass!" Maid Applegate calls from the kitchen. The center of her eye is completely, blissfully gold. Memories of her silly old job are quietly pulsed away by that lovely golden thread, and she's never been happier or cleaner!
]]>You come home from work and throw your bag onto the couch. "Princess, is there still dinner left over?"
"I thought we'd skip straight to dessert tonight~" Grace calls. You follow the intoxicating scent of fruit and whipped cream into the kitchen.
As soon as you cross the threshold, Grace whips a dollop of hand-whipped cream at you. It smears across your eyes and turns them a seductive, delicious pink.
"Princess!" You scoff. "What the h-" You feel it sinking into your face. You feel… looser. More gelatinous.
Your brain even easier for Princess to sculpt.
She opens the oven and pulls out a golden brown, baked to perfection copy of her hair. There's even a jelly streak over one eye. Princess places it on your head and tops it with a healthy dollop of whipped cream.
"You're a good little trifle twin." She teases. "Demanding, domineering, and teasing to a tee." Her words stick in your semisolid brain. Your tongue pokes out of your mouth. "But it only takes a nibble to send you spiraling back to submission."
She bites off a bit of your nose and promptly replaces it. Your eyes roll back in your head from bliss. "Yes, Princess~" You moan. You stain the front of your pants with whipped cream.
You refuse to strip, but you find it hard to talk back when she eats your tongue. "Good girls can't talk back~" The dommy part of your brain wants to cross your arms and stomp your foot.
The part of your brain melting with pleasure takes your clothes off and watches layers of jelly and cake replace your body.
"About time." You say when she attaches your big, cream-filled dick. Just an inch or two shy of her own, of course.
She wipes some of the pre-cream off the tip and spreads it on your tongue. You look cute when your brain goes all wild with pleasure and you have to clench your big, jiggly thighs~
Before long, you can barely remember your silly old flesh body, and you're over the moon with how much you love being Grace's trifle twin. Especially when she makes you wear the maid outfit and serve snacks to her friends. <3
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