Trapped In A Mental Compartment

I was suddenly wide awake, but very confused. I didn't feel like I had been asleep but couldn't remember any events leading up to my instantaneous awareness. Panic consumed me as I realized I was naked. As I tried to rise, I was restrained; my ankles and wrists were shackled. I was tied down, spreadeagle on the bed. A scream of terror arose in my throat but failed to escape from my mouth. Somehow, I was muzzled. But my mouth was not covered, and nothing was in my mouth. "What the fuck," I exclaimed. Amazingly, that I could say.

"Ah, you're here again! And looking lovely as ever. That look of terror is so refreshing." Timothy Sprague was looking me over, practically drooling. That creep! He was a disgusting bastard that had done perverted things to my best friend. She was never the same after Sprague fucked her and passed her around to his friends. She was never the same but wouldn't go to the police. She couldn't explain it, she said, but it had been her choice. She remembered pleading with him to take her to that bar and let his friends have a go at her. She'd ended up on suicide watch and was still involuntarily committed for her own safety.

Sprague's hands were caressing my breast and abdomen. I squirmed, unable to move as his hand started running through my pubic hair. I started to scream for help, but again the sound was trapped in my throat. Timothy smirked as his fingers stroked my vaginal opening. "Try to scream all you like. Try yelling or even talking loudly. Better yet, try just asking for help."

I couldn't yell. I couldn't shout or raise my voice at all. It was all choked off in my throat. I tried to placate my panicking brain, although my heart was pounding rapidly in my chest and that pounding was deafening in my ears. I calmly tried, in a normal voice and tone, to ask for help. Nada. "What have you done to me?"

Sprague laughed. "You know, you ask that every time. I'm going to have to make some more adjustments if you keep doing that. It's getting boring."

I was horrified to find that my vaginal fluids were copiously leaking around his invading fingers. He smiled at me as he moved between my legs, lining his penis up for entry. "I don't mind telling you. In fact, I tell you, every time. Your reaction makes it all worthwhile." He slid into me, and I moaned involuntarily. I tried not to, but that seemed to make me moan louder. I felt an orgasm begin to build.

"I've made some adjustments to your brain, to your subconscious mainly. I've segmented off your personality, the self you are now. I've replaced it with a bimbo nymphomaniac exhibitionist slave, who's willing to do whatever I tell her to do. Who really enjoys it all. I use you to placate my clients and have you earn extra money when I don't need you, dancing at a strip club. You're quite popular in the back rooms. It's not everyone who has a suppressed gag reflect." He pounded into me harder. I moaned and wept. I hated this man but found his touch suddenly irresistible. I wept because I didn't want him to touch me but moaned because his touch, wherever he touched me, felt like he was caressing my G-spot.

He paused his attack on me and looked puzzled. "You'd think if I could do it to you, I could do it to anyone. But no. Somehow, you're just so susceptible to my thoughts; more so than anyone else in my life. I've gotten people to do things, but usually small things and my influence is fleeting. Once I move away from them, my influence slowly dissipates." He resumed my rape, causing me to climax harder than I remember ever doing. Of course, my scrambled brain was slowly realizing that my memories were not all there.

"No, you -- the first time I implanted a suggestion in you, one that compelled you to like me, to find me attractive, it stayed in place. I knew you hated me -- I thought I could influence you enough to get you in bed and fuck you good. I figured that when my influence faded, you'd have nightmares for weeks, if not forever. I had you do things you'd never done before, then I invited friends to come over and use you anyway they wanted. I made you like it and beg for more. I filmed it all -- you can watch it now on several porn sites. I was going to ruin you so thoroughly you'd never recover.

"But you never did recover! You wouldn't leave me alone. You begged me to use you. My influence never faded." He smiled. "So, I boxed off your true personality and constructed my Fucktoy bimbo. Oh, Allison. I should explain that that's your name now. 'Fucktoy'. It's tattooed across your lower back." I squawked in horror. "Oh, yes. You've got several tattoos and piercings. The tattoos are mainly requests on how men should use you." He frowned. "Yeah, just men. That's one failure I keep working on but can't seem to get you past. You just don't like women. You seem to have a physical reaction to any lesbian or bisexual activities. I don't know why, but I love a challenge."

He'd been talking too fucking long. I needed my orgasms. I beseeched him to pound me, please. "Please, please, please!" That, I could loudly scream.

He laughed again. "I love letting your true self come out, although I have modified that as well. I left your hate and disgust for me in place but overlaid it with an instruction to your nerves to be sexually stimulated by my touch, any touch. Then I made sure that your need for a climax would override your disgust, while leaving it intact so you'd hate yourself for needing my cock, my touch.

"I could make you totally compliant to my needs, but that's what you are as Fucktoy, and frankly it's boring. It's much more exciting to let you hate me, want to smash my face in, while I get to tell you about all the humiliating things you do as Fucktoy. You know, all your family and friends have been sent your porn movies. You never have to worry about them contacting you. Your family, at least. A lot of your male friends and co-workers have come sniffing around. But it's okay." He stopped talking long enough to ejaculate in my vagina, setting off a wave of climaxes that rippled through my body, to my satisfaction and horror. "It's okay," he repeated. "I make them all pay Fucktoy for the privilege. Some of your best friends' husbands are your best customers, whore." Whore? My eyes welled and tears began streaming down my face.

When Sprague saw my tears, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. He leaned down and licked the drops from my face. "I love when it all hits you! I can see you're beginning to understand what you've become, with my generous help."

He arose from the bed and began dressing. "I don't know what I ever did to you, but you hated me from the first time you saw me. You went out of your way to snub me, to rub my nose in your rejection of me. You kept telling people I was an asshole to avoid. I would have left you alone, but for that. And then you turned out to be so very special."

He turned on the TV. "I've adjusted your sleep cycle, so you won't go to sleep tonight. You'll be compelled to watch all the videos I've queued up. I thought you'd get a kick out of watching the videos your friends have enjoyed. Hell, most of the internet has enjoyed them. My bank account keeps growing, thanks to that cute ass of yours and your willingness to be humilitated." He chuckled again. "Or rather, my willingness for you to be humilitated.

"But tonight, you get to enjoy it all yourself -- the stripping, the gangbangs, the invasions of your orifices by anything a pervert's imagination can envision. Tomorrow, you're going onto your own internet channel where clients can pay to demand you do things to yourself for their pleasure. Another profit stream for me. You'll love it. I'll record it, and next time I want to see the humiliation in your eyes, like tonight, when I play those videos for you."

I looked over his shoulder where the split screen on the TV showed me lewdly stripping on one side and being fisted on a stage in the other. I could clearly see the tattoos and piercings Sprague had inflicted on me. My silent screams filled my throat and continued through the night as humiliation upon humiliation was displayed on the screen.

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The next day, Fucktoy was gratefully swallowing an offering from her master, Timothy Sprague, while he explained her new role on her very own channel. When she pulled him out of her throat, she said, "And like, I'll be famous! And viewers will have me do all kinds of exciting things, won't they! Will you promise to watch me? Please watch me."

Master promised her that he would, and reassured her once again that yes, she would still be working at the strip club and making her videos. He knew how much she enjoyed those activities.