(1)
Her hair irritated her shoulders and back, though she was calm. Shivering in the coolness of the room, her head shifts from side to side, attempting to figure out a point of orientation. The only point of focus, the projector screen. The program was her job now. 6 hours of hypnosis. To be repeated until desired results were achieved.
Arguing with him, pointless, though she did try for the first few days.
He'd explained in his soothing Dad voice that this was for her own good. He kept explaining it until she agreed it was good for her.. Then he'd waited until she'd begged to be allowed into the room. Which was inevitable, as her options were to do it or to remain bound and gagged in a cage at the bottom of his bed. The freedom was worth the sacrifice of agreeing to the sessions.
(2)
It begins again. A video of a woman giggling, who covers her mouth with perfect manicured nails. They're pink with a white spiral painted, on each nail, the spirals moving, and too long to be practical.
Cori's writhes caused her breasts to jiggle. The bells, her newest adornments, released a short silver peel in the dark room. She reached up; the chains from both her feet and hands rang with the attempt, explaining the catastrophic calm she was feeling.
As the video focuses on the spiral of the woman's nails, the giggling gets fainter but still stays present. The audio comes from all around the room, from LED speaker lights, creating an inescapable pink glow that pulses in time to each sound.
"Good girls get reprogrammed." The speakers plunge Cori into a now familiar sense of safety and calmness that will only be broken by the loud tone at the end of the programming.
The video changes, a slow pan-in to the giggling woman's middle finger nail. The screen fades out for a moment, then fades back in with a white spiral on a pink background.
Pink bubbles flow in from the side of the spiral and make a popping sound when they reach the other side of the screen. Upon popping, Cori experiences bursts of intense need and arousal.
Cori's mind begins to fight the familiar feeling. She attempts to figure out why she is there, why she can't move, why she keeps thinking of herself in third person. Why she keeps calling herself Cori, when she feels for sure that she had another name before?
Drugged. The word slithers over her mind, even as a line of saliva drips from the corner of her mouth, down her long neck, and into the crevice of her breasts before traveling further to nestle between her inner thigh and pussy. As her saliva makes contact with her pussy, a surge of arousal overcomes her, blocking out any further thought.
