So What

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A famous musician pleads for freedom.
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JukeboxEMCSA
JukeboxEMCSA
3,756 Followers

"You can't do this to me!" I cry, pulling as hard as I can against the heavy leather restraints. I put my whole body into the effort, yanking hard enough to make my shoulder ache with the strain, but there's absolutely no give anywhere.

The woman in red looks down at me with an expression of mild amusement. "Why not?" she asks. She reaches down and cups my vulva possessively. I try to shake her hand off, but the strap at my waist makes it impossible to do much more than wriggle. The way she looks down at me makes me suspect that she likes watching me wriggle, so I stop. I'm not giving this bitch any satisfaction.

"Because..." I rack my brains, trying to think of something that will convince her to let me go. I don't think there's any other way I'm getting out of this; I've been trying to get out of these straps ever since I woke up, and it's not happening. She hasn't gagged me, and I've yelled as loud as I could--and anyone who's ever heard me sing knows that's pretty fucking loud. Wherever we are, it's someplace where no-one's going to hear me scream. I'm trying not to get freaked out about that.

"Because?" She smirks, and I want to punch her even harder because she's imitating the smirk I do in my videos. She caresses my cheek with her other hand, and I try to flinch away but I can't move my head even a little. There's something on it, like a helmet or something, and it holds my head completely and totally still. I can't even wiggle it like I can the rest of my body. I just thank fucking God I can still feel my hair under there. Bad enough that I'd get shit about imitating that bitch Britney if I showed back up with my head shaved, but how could I tour without my trademark? 'Bald' doesn't cut it as a stage name.

"Because someone's going to notice I'm gone," I say. I try to put as much confidence as I can into the words, but I don't remember last night well enough to be sure about that. I think I might have ditched my posse at some point; I remember meeting this cool chick at one of the clubs we visited, and she had these awesome little pink pills that she told me were totally safe because they were herbal, and she said I had to try one because come on, they were pink like me, right? And then things kind of get fuzzy, but I remember her telling me that my posse was just a bunch of suck-ups and losers who wanted to hang out with me for the free drinks and shit, and we should totally duck out and stick them with the bill because it would be so fucking funny to watch them squirm and--

"So what?" the woman in red says, breaking into my train of thought. I realize all of a sudden that she's the chick from last night. "It's been in all the tabloids for about two weeks that you started drinking again, and everyone saw you getting wasted and popping pills last night. They're just going to think you wound up in a hotel room somewhere drunk and stoned."

"But they're still going to look for me," I reply. I'm not sure whether I'm scared now or pissed off or a little of both. Or maybe a lot of both. "My manager's going to know when I don't show up for the recording session, and he's going to call the police."

"So what?" she says again. I feel her hand adjusting the weird helmet thing on my head, tightening it so it's pressed almost painfully tight against my scalp. "They can't file a missing persons complaint for twenty-four hours, and by then, you'll have shown back up."

"I will?" I squeak out. I feel a knot of fear that was almost too big to acknowledge unclenching itself in my gut. I hadn't realized until she said that just how sure I was that she was some sort of a crazy stalker fan. That she was going to kill me. I start shaking as all the tension unwinds itself in my body.

"Oh, sure," the woman in red says. She lets go of my pussy and walks over to a big bank of controls sitting across from me. "With a few little adjustments to your mind, of course. That's what the helmet is for, in case you were wondering." She turns back to me and smiles sweetly. "That's what all this is for, actually."

"Adjustments?" I don't like the sound of that. I start struggling again, hoping that maybe everything else I've done has loosened something up a little, or at least that I can dislodge the helmet.

The woman in red flips a few switches. Suddenly, I taste copper in my mouth. "Attitude adjustments. I think you're badly in need of them, from your music. You're such a little rebel, aren't you?" She laughs a little, but it's not a nice laugh. It's cold, like she's heard of the idea of humor but hasn't ever tried it herself. "You're so rebellious that you don't even know what you're rebelling against. No, I think you need a little direction in your life. A little guidance. Perhaps if you wanted to be my good little pussyslave, then everything else would sort itself out for you."

"I...you can't." My voice sounds quiet in my ears, like I'm too terrified to get the words out at normal volume. All of this seems so crazy, but she sounds so fucking sure of herself that it's making me believe she can really do what she says she can. "You can't do this to me, you can't--"

"You said that before." She turns a tiny dial, and I suddenly feel fingers running down my back. As she adjusts the knob a little bit to the left, then to the right, the fingers move a little bit to either side of my spine before finally hitting dead center. "You still haven't given me a good reason why."

"Because...because it's impossible," I say, hoping I sound more sure than I am. "I don't believe you can really brainwash me with some weird helmet into wanting to lick your pussy."

She turns and looks at me, and I know she knows I'm lying. I can see it in her eyes. There's no hesitation there at all, no uncertainty. She's completely sure this is going to work, as sure as if she's already done it to someone, and she knows I know it too. Hell, maybe she has done it to someone before. "So what?" she says. "You don't know the first thing about the helmet works, and you probably wouldn't understand it even after I explained it to you. Your opinion really doesn't matter. It's going to brainwash you whether you believe it or not." I can hear her rolling the word 'brainwash' over her tongue. She's getting off on this, I can tell.

"But...but it's illegal or something!" She raises an eyebrow at me. "I mean, maybe not the brainwashing, but the kidnapping is!"

"So what?" she says again. I'm really starting to get fucking sick of fucking hearing that, especially since I know she's just saying it to get on my fucking nerves. "You're not going to press charges, not once you're my devoted and obedient cuntslut. In fact, you'll happily lie about the whole thing to protect me."

"But...but..." She reaches over and presses a button, and I feel a tingle of pleasure in my nipples. I glance down, and see that they're stiffening as I watch. Even without anyone touching them, they stand straight up like someone's rolling them between their fingers. "But I'm a celebrity!" I cry out. "Someone's going to notice!"

"So what?" she says. God, do I want to cram those fucking words down her fucking throat. "All that means is that you and I will wind up on a few magazine covers and you'll do some interviews where you talk about how all the problems you and your soon-to-be-once-again-ex-husband had were because you were in denial about your sexuality and how you're much happier now, and you'll probably sell an extra million of your next album because of all your new lesbian fans. It probably won't even surprise some people. Let's face it, that hairstyle just screams 'butch'."

She flips another few switches, and I get this weird sort of pins-and-needles sensation inside my head. It doesn't hurt, though. It feels good, like that rush you get sometimes from getting a tattoo. I feel my pussy getting wet, and I'm pretty sure that I don't have long before this helmet thing does whatever it's going to do. "Please, I...I don't want this!" I cry out plaintively. "I don't want to be brainwashed!"

She turns and grins savagely at me. "So. What?" she says, each word delivered with venomous anger. "You will when I'm done. You will thank me...well, once your tongue stops being busy, you will. You won't need drugs or alcohol to make yourself function anymore; your only addiction will be me. You won't fuck up your life anymore or sabotage your relationships, because you'll be completely owned, totally mine, and you will see for yourself how good that is. What you want now--what the pathetic, messed up, useless version of you wants--isn't important."

She turns another dial all the way up, and everything goes blurry. I can't focus my eyes anymore. I can't focus my thoughts, either. All I can think about is how amazingly horny I am all of a sudden. It's like I haven't been fucked in years. My hand reaches down for my pussy before I even realize what I'm doing, and it's only when the restraints stop it that I notice that I'm trying to masturbate. "Please," I whisper, not even sure if she hears me over the growing electrical hum. "Please, you can't, this is wrong..."

"So what?" I want to hate her for throwing my own words back at me again and again and again, but she starts to pull a lever and I can feel all the anger slipping away to be replaced by desire. I find myself wondering what she tastes like. "Is it really any more wrong than selling an album where you tell all your fans that no matter how sucky your personal life is, you're still richer than they'll ever be because they just spent their hard-earned money buying an album where a self-centered millionaire rock star tells them how rich she is? I don't think so."

She pulls the lever the rest of the way down. I don't know if she says anything more after that. The world goes white, and every nerve in my body lights up with pleasure until it's like I'm stuck in the middle of the longest orgasm I ever had. I try to hold onto myself, but I don't even remember what 'myself' is or what it means; it's a fight I lose before I even begin. Every time I try to cling to some certainty, something that I know is really me, deep down, I realize that what I'm clinging to is my need to be owned by the woman in red. That's the only thing I'm sure of anymore, and the endless pleasure that ripples through me in waves reminds me how fucking wonderful that really is. I'm hers. I belong to her, I'm her cuntslut, her pussyslave, her horny obedient bitch and I can't imagine how I've ever gotten through life without that...

Eventually, it all gets to be too much, and I pass out. When I finally come to, she's standing next to the table, looking down at me. She's not wearing red anymore. She's not wearing anything. My whole body quivers with lust; I've never seen anything hotter in my life than her naked body. I try to reach out to her, but I'm still in the restraints, so I settle for begging. "Please, Mistress," I whimper, "please let me lick your pussy please let me tongue-fuck your snatch please let me pleasure your perfect cunt please Mistress please Mistress please--"

She puts a finger to my lips to silence me. I try to suck it, but she pulls it away again. "You know I made you like this, don't you?" she says as she climbs onto the table. She kneels over my head, her musky slit just a few tantalizing inches away from my mouth. "You know I brainwashed you, pet?"

I smile. I know what she wants to hear, and that makes me want to say it more than anything else in the world. "So what?" I purr, just before she settles down onto my face and I stop being able to say anything for a while.

THE END

JukeboxEMCSA
JukeboxEMCSA
3,756 Followers
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3 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousabout 10 years ago
incredible

Really, I usually dislike lesbian stories since its almost always weirdos with weird fantasies pouring too much lust into the story so it just seems fucked up, this story was so perfect. 5*

Andromeda7Andromeda7almost 12 years ago

Well done, good one.

1Martiniman1Martinimanalmost 12 years ago
Delicious fun

A short but deliciously fun story.

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