War Inside My Head

There's a war going on inside my head. I don't know exactly how long it's been going on, and I don't really know who the enemy is. All I do know is, I'm losing and losing bad.

I almost surrendered without firing a shot, in fact. It was only when I found myself staring at a man in the street, a vacant smile on my face as I caught my mind wondering what it would take to get him to come back into the alley with me so I could suck his cock, that I realized the thoughts inside my brain didn't actually belong to me. They were someone else's notions, camouflaged so skillfully that it was only when I challenged them that I realized they were infiltrators, and the more I stood there probing my own beliefs and opinions the more I realized they weren't alone. I had so many saboteurs in my head that I couldn't differentiate friend from foe anymore, and I had no idea when or how it had happened.

But once I was alerted to the enemy, so many things made more sense to me. My clothing, for example; I never thought of myself as dressing especially conservatively, but my recent purchasing habits had definitely shifted my wardrobe from 'professional woman with a style that showed her personality' to 'flamboyant and provocative' to 'showing so much alabaster skin it stretches the very limits of the dress code'. I'd been picking outfits based on the advice of a little voice inside my head that sounded like me, burbling with joy every time I found something a bit sluttier and a bit showier, but now I know that was another one of the infiltrators inside my head. They were testing my limits, seeing how much they could get away with before my early warning system went off, and I'm ashamed to say my guard was completely down.

It was probably down because I was constantly tired and horny, another enemy operation that went off without a hitch. I didn't think much about my increased sex drive at first; I'm a healthy young woman with needs and desires, and I've been going through a little bit of a dry spell lately even though I've never been wetter. I figured I was masturbating more because I didn't have a guy in my life, and I wasn't getting off as much as I wanted because I kept losing sleep with my constant masturbation. I won't say it didn't trouble me, but did I think I was under the influence of an insidious psy-op crafted by the hostile agents inside my brain to keep me distracted and denied all the damn time? No I did not.

I mean, honestly, would you? Would anybody? It's a big part of why I've never told anyone about this before now; saying to someone, 'I think the thoughts in my head aren't my own and they're making me do things I don't want to do' is a one-way ticket to some heavy medications and plenty of therapy. And if I thought that might help, honestly I'd sign up for it in a heartbeat, but I've learned how to recognize the saboteurs inside my brain and I know they don't come from me. These aren't intrusive thoughts, they're intruder thoughts. Some general far removed from the battlefield sent them to make me a weak, horny, submissive slut and...

And it's working. I'm fighting on so many fronts I can't hope to repel every attacker. I'm surrounded by beliefs and opinions I know aren't mine, and they keep sneaking in and scoring victory after victory against my very sense of self. That man on the street? I wound up blowing him. I knew it wasn't really my idea, I knew I was succumbing to an elaborately planned operation to undermine my sense of self and take out key installations inside my very identity as an independent woman, but that didn't stop me from seducing him into coming back behind the dumpsters with me and fucking my mouth until he shot a big sticky load all over my face and chest. It's a damn good thing my dress was cut so low or I probably would have had to go home and change before I went back to the office. As it was, I think I spent fifteen minutes cleaning myself up with my fingers.

And that was only one of their many victories. I've found myself licking pussy in the bathroom of lesbian bars, teasing my co-workers with flirtatious winks and poses that gave them a look straight down my cleavage, edging until 2 AM when I know I have to be up at 7 the next day, and dozens of other defeats that my battered and beleaguered mind can barely even recall.

Because even my memory is under assault. Key recollections that would allow me to determine the identity of the enemy general have been taken out by spies and assassins, leaving me vacant and horny and utterly without intelligence... and I mean that in practically every sense of the word. I don't have any idea who might be doing this to me, and after my third or fourth hour of edging, I can't really think well enough to figure it out. I'd say it's making me paranoid, but honestly I've ceded so much of the territory inside my head that half my masturbation fantasies involve surrendering to the opposing forces now.

They've opened up a new front recently, on top of everything else that's happened. Weed's been legal here for about a year now, but I've never had any desire to indulge... until last week, when I suddenly found myself following an impulse camouflaged as my own idea to visit a head shop and drop a couple hundred dollars on vaping supplies using a credit card I don't remember applying for. I spent the rest of the night stoned out of my goddamn mind and discovering that THC makes my whole body horny as fuck, and between the edging and the hypnosis porn I think I wound up waving the white flag for about half my frontal lobe that evening.

Someone else is paying that credit card bill, by the way. I'm sure if I did a little digging, I could find out who, but the enemy agents in my head keep deploying decoy operations to keep me distracted from looking into it. And by 'distracted' I mean 'high and horny and constantly rubbing my slick, throbbing cunt'. The sad part is, describing it like that is kind of a turn-on for me now.

I mean, I guess it's all sad when you really think about it. Here I am, thinking I'm master and commander of my own brain, and someone out there in my daily life--someone I knew and trusted, someone I never even suspected of wanting to turn me into their horny pansexual fucktoy--looked at me and saw nothing but unguarded borders and an indolent, unsuspecting population. They swooped in for an initial conquest so effortless I can't even recall it, and between you and me? The resistance is not going to save the day here. It barely exists anymore.

I suppose I shouldn't be quite so pessimistic. The very fact that I still know I'm at war means I haven't lost yet, at least not completely. If the enemy truly won, I'm sure they'd install a puppet regime inside my brain that made me think every slutty and perverted thought I had was my very own, and I'd be too dumb and dazed and horny to recognize the presence of collaborators and quislings. What with my new schedule of casual sex, edging myself stupid, and vaping to get to, of course. You'd be surprised how much that cuts into your free time--have I even read a book in the last six months? I don't think I have. I'm being starved of supplies by a skillfully managed blockade that keeps me from replenishing my mental resources.

I think that may be what haunts me the most as I huddle down here in the bunker where I carefully guard my last vestiges of identity and self-will. If the enemy general is this clever, this calculating and strategic in their choice of tactics, how can I possibly believe I outflanked them by recognizing my own brainwashing the way I did? If this war has taught me anything, it's how completely outmatched I am by a well-prepared opponent who knows my weaknesses... and oh god, do I have so many hidden weaknesses... and yet I managed to spot the trap before it could fully close around me. Why? Why did they let that happen?

I've got this horrible theory. Well, maybe it's horrible. Maybe it's what I edge myself into unconsciousness to at the end of every night thinking about because the secret agents inside my head have rewired my brain into fetishizing my own subjugation. But either way, I keep thinking about it even as I drift through a fog of vape clouds trying unsuccessfully to have an orgasm for the three thousandth time. What if this is all part of my enemy's plan? What if they secretly wanted me to know I was fighting a war so I'd know when I was utterly defeated?

I know, it sounds stupid. They always say the best war is the war you don't fight, and whoever is prosecuting this campaign certainly did a good job of keeping up a guerilla campaign against my usual thoughts and sensibilities. But I think... I think maybe there were limits to what they could achieve with that kind of covert warfare. I suspect that perhaps they might have only been able to shift my personality so much before they needed to make a direct strike against my defensive fortifications and conquer my identity completely.

But more than that, I wonder if perhaps I'm playing into their hands by trying to resist their control. Maybe this is an element of their strategy. Maybe they let me know I'm fighting a war because then I'd know it's a war I can't possibly win. It could be that direct confrontation was all part of a plan to deepen my sense of helplessness and convince me I'm doomed to defeat, because those last few holdouts in the jungles of my mind need to be shown that the fight is over before they'll surrender. Maybe I'm sucking these cocks and licking these cunts and taking it up the ass and edging myself into exhaustion every night to demonstrate the total superiority of my foe's forces.

If that's the case, then the situation is even more dire than I'm able to consciously realize. If I only have free will because the enemy wants me to have free will, then I'm really just fooling myself when I imagine I have a hope in hell of pushing back the opposition and recovering even a scrap of my old independence. Maybe I should just sue for peace, surrender to the new ruler and try to get the best terms I can for the territory I can't hold onto. Try to ask for a little bit of intellectual autonomy, the right to choose at least some of my sexual partners, a certain amount of latitude in how much I... I...

Oh, who the fuck am I kidding. I'd sell myself out for a single goddamn climax, and that's the unadjusted me talking.

I think that's ultimately why I came to you. If I'm going to negotiate a conditional surrender, I'm going to need some kind of mediator, and... well, it's difficult to know who to trust right now with my head so completely infiltrated by the opposition's thoughts and ideas. I know someone close to me is actually the enemy general, the one who originally hypnotized me and put all these notions in my undefended brain, and because you're the smartest person I know I thought you might be able to figure out who it is where I can't, and maybe broker some kind of, of deal? I... I don't know, I can't fucking think straight right now. Maybe it doesn't make sense.

But I'm sure you can figure out a plan. You, um, you're smarter than I am--that's not very hard right now, but you are. And you're strong-willed, too; I can't imagine you falling for this kind of takeover, not when you're so determined and, and commanding, and, um... sorry, kind of lost my train of thought, there. I think I was going to say 'sexy', but that's, uh, that would be kind of embarrassing to admit, wouldn't it? That you're smarter and stronger and sexier and more, um, more powerful and, and, and--

Oh. Of course. Y-yes, Commander. You're right. Unconditional surrender is the only option left to me now. May I... may I service you? I, I've been daydreaming about it for so long, and I--yes, Commander. Thank you, Commander. I'm happy to kneel and obey. No, of course you're right. You're always right. I never stood a chance. Thank you for making me yours forever. It's... it's so much better to be owned, I... mmmmmphlllmmmllmmmmm... ohhh, fuck yes. Thank you, Commander. Thank you so much. The gates are down, and I welcome in the new regime.

THE END