It was time for Joy’s daily fuck.
She wasn’t sure if it was really daily–time got kind of confused for her after a while. They didn’t seem to feed her on any kind of regular schedule, and they didn’t let her sleep in any kind of rhythm–the earbuds in her ears sometimes quieted down to a soft whisper that lulled her easily into dozing, and sometimes snapped out commands that jolted her to attention. The windows were painted over, so she couldn’t tell whether it was day or night; even the constant hypnotic voice that programmed her varied just enough to keep her from using it to measure the passage of time. Eventually she began to simply see each day as lasting from one fuck to the next.
Today it was Mister Two fucking her. They never told Joy their names, so she started calling them Mister One and Mister Two in her head. Mister Two was an African-American man, slender but tall, with a shaved head and a shaved pubic area. It made his cock stand out a little bit more, and he always seemed to take special pleasure in grinding up against her and wriggling so that she could feel the smoothness of his skin against hers. Joy hated to admit how much she loved having Mister Two inside her. It meant that the voice in her ears was having an effect.
She didn’t think it would, not at first. The first few ‘days’, when she was always trying to get out of the chains or shake the earbuds out or refusing to eat the drugged food, she was certain that she could just tune out the constant murmur of droning, monotonous brainwashing and wait for her chance to escape. She barely even remembered her determination and will to resist now. All she could really do was stare vacantly up at Mister Two and nod along to the recording as he pounded her cunt. The voice always made a special effort when she was being fucked. Joy had a hard time even noticing what it was saying anymore.
Joy felt herself cumming, the sensation made simultaneously distant and present by the drugs in her system and the continuous drone of the hypnotic voice in her ears. She felt like a passenger in her own body, but she also felt the bliss of climax wash through her like water running down a parched throat. She spent so much of the rest of her ‘day’ constantly teased by the recordings and by her feeder (a dull-eyed, slack-jawed woman whose presence always seemed disturbingly like a prophecy to Joy) that when she finally did get a cock in her, she was desperate to cum. She hated to admit that, too, but nobody ever asked her.
Nobody ever spoke to Joy, except the voice. Mister One and Mister Two didn’t even look her in the eyes when they fucked her; they just stared down at her cunt and watched their dicks disappear into it. Her feeder never said a word; she nodded along to her own pair of earbuds, following her own instructions and behaving as if Joy wasn’t there even while she relentlessly teased Joy’s clit with her fingers. Joy was coming to crave the voice’s constant programming, simply because it was the only thing that acknowledged her presence. She knew that was bad. It was getting harder and harder to care.
Joy didn’t really notice when Mister Two finished. The voice was telling her to sleep, and Joy was too lost in the afterglow to really focus properly. She felt the cock sliding out, she mewled in disappointment when it didn’t slide back in, but everything else fell into a post-coital haze as the soft murmur in her ears lulled her into a blank, receptive state. She knew she was more open to being brainwashed like this, but Joy didn’t know what the alternatives were anymore. At least when she stopped thinking, she stopped worrying. Being a mindless slave sounded terrible, but not when she was too mindless to realize she was a slave anymore. Joy was still trying to wrap her head around that particular paradox when her mind gave out and she fell asleep once more.