“There’s a hand in my cunt. That makes me a puppet.” Dahlia swore every day she wasn’t going to say it again, and every day she wound up betraying herself. Her free hand unthinkingly reached up to press a phantom earbud into her ear, even though she had long ago memorized the mantra of mindless obedience that melted her pussy into a dripping mess of helpless, irresistible arousal. Some habits were just difficult to break… and Dahlia was finding that out the hard way.

“Puppets don’t think. They just repeat what the puppet master says.” Dahlia’s fingers slid in and out of her pussy, feeling the slick flesh welcome the intruding digits without any resistance. Dahlia could feel the resistance in her mind yielding in the same way, her thoughts aching to be fucked just as deeply as her wet cunt. She knew that she only programmed herself further every time she gave in and masturbated to her mantras of surrender and compliance, but that only made it hotter when she stopped struggling and let the urge to play with herself take over.

“And what a puppet repeats, a puppet believes. Puppets can’t disagree with a puppet master.” Dahlia could feel it again, the desperation beginning after only a few minutes. It was always the same, every single day when she got home from work–all day long, she would tell herself that she wasn’t going to masturbate today, that she was going to break the cycle of arousal and pleasure that led inevitably to her moaning in orgasm as she repeated Master’s words. And every single day, when she got in the car for the drive home, she would begin to feel her resolve crumbling as the memories of how good it felt to surrender teased away at her cunt.

“And if a puppet can’t think… and a puppet can’t disagree… a puppet can, can only… obey.” It was the same thing today. Dahlia’s treacherous, lustful subconscious bargained her down from ‘no masturbation’ to ‘masturbation, but not to Master’s porn’ to ‘Master’s porn can be on the screen, but we won’t recite our mantra’. And even that melted away when she got her fingers inside herself, the rhythm of her fucking so deeply conditioned to the rhythm of Master’s words that she began to repeat her programming before she even realized she was saying it.

“P-puppet… obeys when the puppet master tells her to fuck. Puppet, ohhhh, fucks her hand f-for, for the puppet mmmmmmhhhh… master.” Dahlia’s eyes went unfocused for a moment as she strained to hold back her climax. She wasn’t allowed to cum yet. She wasn’t done programming herself. Master wanted her brain good and foggy before she could give in and let the pleasure of brainwashing herself crash in on her. Dahlia had a timer. She swore she wasn’t going to set it, but… but Dahlia was getting very good at convincing herself to obey. Or very bad at resisting, she wasn’t sure which anymore.

“Master’s will… puts Puppet’s hand…. in Puppet’s. Cunt.” Dahlia sighed, the burden of thought tumbling from her grasp as the pleasure took over. She could think about how deeply programmed she was becoming another time. She could think about everything later, everything but how good it felt to play with herself and obey. That would be easier. She could resist later. She always told herself that, and sometimes she even believed it.

“There’s a hand in my cunt. That makes me a puppet. Puppets don’t think, they just repeat what the puppet master says. And what a puppet repeats, a puppet believes. Puppets can’t disagree with a puppet master. And if a puppet can’t think, and a puppet can’t disagree, a puppet can only obey. Puppet obeys when the puppet master tells her to fuck. Puppet fucks her hand for the puppet master. Master’s will puts Puppet’s hand in Puppet’s cunt. There’s a hand…”

(Like this flash fiction? Want to see more? Visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox, or drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox!)