What was the half-life of the human soul? Eden found something poetic in the question despite its urgency, a melancholy beauty she contemplated during those quiet moments in the dark when she was alone with nothing but her thoughts and the dull, throbbing ache of arousal between her thighs for company. She stared into the shadows, she rubbed her pussy with the vague, distracted idleness of someone who had long ago ceded control of their own orgasms, and she thought about how much further she could sink into her submission and still call herself Eden.
In her more lucid moments, when the fizzing pleasure beneath her fingers hadn't quite developed enough urgency to make her forget that she couldn't cum without permission and forced her to rub her cunt in a ceaseless chase for a climax that remained tantalizingly out of reach, Eden sometimes thought of the throb in her pussy as a form of radiation. She half-daydreamed about a Geiger counter placed between her legs, rested against her slick labia and buzzing with ominous speed, demonstrating with every growling tick the decay of her willpower into pure, thoughtless arousal. It was a glorious decay, to be sure, but she knew she was losing herself to it.
How could she not? Eden was lying on a mattress on the floor in her Master's house, in a room thick with the heady scent of half a dozen other women who all passed the time between sleeping and being used by the Master and his friends in idle, fruitless masturbation that only served to reinforce their brainwashing. Just like she did. Just like she was right now. If half of Eden's resistance had evaporated into lust in those first few heady days of excitement at finding someone who truly understood her fetish for hypnosis, and another half had melted away onto her fingers during the subsequent weeks of intense, intimate conditioning, then the women around her demonstrated just how much further she still had to go before her willpower became totally inert.
It sometimes astonished her how much she craved that. When she watched Master's pure and perfect slaves, their eyes glassy and unseeing, their bodies resting against each other thigh to pussy and pussy to thigh as they relentlessly humped each other deeper into the endless void of submission that was all that was left of their minds, Eden felt a vertiginous desire to fling herself headlong into the yawning pit of oblivion that she knew would someday claim her will. It was inevitable, after all. Her remaining consciousness was a mere sliver of a fraction of a fragment of a chunk of a whole so long ago abandoned that the only reason she even remembered it was because Master wanted her to know at all times just how far she'd fallen from herself. Why fight it? Why lie here, masturbating herself stupid, and pretend she had any other endpoint to her existence beyond her status as a blank, mindless fuckdoll?
It couldn't be because she missed her old existence. Unless her memories deceived her--and admittedly, Eden couldn't discount the possibility after so many sessions of warm, wet bliss where she lay on the bed with her legs spread and her mind convinced that she was a cheerleader or a naughty nurse or a strict tutor about to learn a lesson of her own--Eden remembered her life before Master as a stultifying haze of all-day meetings and efficiency initiatives that shaved pennies off the payroll and unpaid overtime that left her staggering home with bleary eyes and the desperate desire to switch her entire goddamned brain off. She couldn't imagine defiantly clinging to that life, not when every waking moment seemed like a meaningless trudge towards some prize of wealth she'd forgotten why she ever wanted, broken only by furtive masturbation whenever she could find the energy at the end of the day.
And Eden knew now that she'd never resisted out of fear, not like she believed back in the days when the depths of the Master's true control first became evident to her. Oh, the fear was real, and it was entirely valid on an emotional level at least--she could still recall the vague, drifting sense of terror she felt as her hands moved all on their own to sign papers granting Master power of attorney, control of her bank accounts, all the things that a lifetime of society's rules had warned Eden against ever trusting over to another human being. None of it had shown on her smiling face, none of it was audible in her calm, steady voice, but that only made her all the more horrified in the privacy of her own head.
