“You don’t know who you are anymore. Do you.” The words were delivered in a flat, inflectionless tone of pure command, not so much a question as a statement of intent. The more Girl tried to think about them, the more the toy in her cunt buzzed, reminding her with every thrum and throb that thinking was for Mistress. Girl didn’t need to think. Girl wasn’t allowed to think. Girl only obeyed.

She looked up at Mistress, her eyes refusing to focus properly under the influence of constant exhaustion and brain-blanking pleasure. Everything was just a blur now, inside and out–Girl could literally feel her brain struggling to process the simplest thought, working as hard as it could to connect things that she knew were once effortless for her. Her body felt wrung out from constant bliss, as though she could sleep for a million years, and her memories were a muddled mess of masturbation and hypnotic programming. She felt a shiver of real fear pass through her for the first time; ‘please brainwash me to be your mindless slave’ had sounded so sexy when they first discussed it, but now that she was on the verge of actually giving in, Girl realized how much of her acceptance had stemmed from misplaced confidence that it wouldn’t really work.

But… “No Mistress. Girl doesn’t know who she is anymore.” But she was too far gone to stop now. Her safeword had melted into liquid arousal and dripped out of her cunt, along with her name and her independence and her multiplication tables and her, her… Mistress slid the toy in a little deeper. Girl lost her train of thought. She didn’t know how to get it back anymore. She wasn’t just having trouble thinking now, she was literally forgetting how to think at all. Even through the sudden frisson of terror, that was so unbelievably fucking hot.

Mistress didn’t seem to notice, though. She was still going through with the plan, not even realizing that Girl was free-falling down her own personal rabbit hole of disassociation and hitting every step on the way down. “You want me to tell you who you are.” Her voice was calm, smooth, and closed off any possibility of resistance in Girl’s mind. Denying it seemed too much like exhausting, impossible labor now.

Girl nodded, her head wobbly and her eyes dull. “Girl wants you to tell Girl who she is.” First person vocabulary had been fucked out of her mind days ago, during the endless sessions of blissful masturbation that had doped up Girl’s brain with endorphins and oxytocin until she blankly accepted everything she was told. She was only allowed to cum when Mistress played with her, though. Girls were toys for Mistresses, and only Mistress would decide when Girl felt pleasure. It was a simple conditioning technique, but incredibly effective.

Perfectly effective. When Mistress said, “I’ll tell you who you are, then. You’re my slave,” Slave felt the identity impress itself into her empty mind like a stamp pressing into wet clay. If there was anything left of the person she was, any trace of her identity in the palimpsest that was her obedient brain, Slave couldn’t recognize it. She could only obey. She only wanted to obey. The momentary terror melted away, to be replaced by blissful devotion.

“Slave is slave,” she purred. The words spilled from her lips without thinking, and her mouth spread into a thoughtless, sleepy smile as she realized they were the only thing in her head now. “Slave is slave. Slave is… slave…” She could have repeated them endlessly, but Mistress pressed Slave’s face into Mistress’s cunt and suddenly her tongue had something else to do for a while.

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Uhhhh huh huh yeah