Lilly hates how much she loves the comments under porn of her dopplebanger.
this is what all Asian girls dream of growing up to be
It was a shitty comment, and one Lilly couldn’t stop thinking about.
She watched porn, like most single adults. Her daughter was off at school most of the day, and working from home she tended to have the house to herself.
Lilly wasn’t ashamed of it, though if she was being honest, the frequency of consumption was probably unhealthy these last few months.
Her taste tended to be toward straight porn. Nothing crazy or creepy. She’d long ago accepted that her preferences were self-insertion wish fulfillment: Asian women with well hung white men.
Author’s Note: Everything contained here is fantasy and does not reflect the author’s personal or political views. This is much darker than my normal content. The following ‘script’ is meant to be a dystopian fantasy, blurring the line between erotic and unsettling.
“Feminist rebel is captured on camera!”
Webcam footage of a terrorist woman is leaked! For everyone saying this was staged: LOL look at this bitch’s face!!!
As the last puzzle piece fell into place, Lara could hear the click behind the wall. Finally, after weeks of searching for the rune keys in the surrounding jungle, she’d finally get to see if the mysterious legends we’re true.
Pushing the stone door inward, she took the first careful steps into the darkness, her eyes still struggling to make out anything ahead.
Wham!
Bloody hell. I should have know this was another trap!
“Man, this is boring. Seriously, this is the new Tomb Raider?”
The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Lara searched the inky black surroundings for some hint of the source.
A second voice chimed in. “Yup, another reboot. The graphics are amazing, and the AI is supposedly unbelievable…”
Reboot? AI? Lara wondered to herself. What is this, some dastardly hacking conspiracy? But why play her this recording?
Jordan tries out a new fashion app, but it seems to keep forcing them into problematic self-identities.
Jordan leaned back and looked at the app’s description.
Use the latest in AR tech to change your looks!
It was a beta, one that had popped up on the style blog Jordan frequented. Looked spammy as hell, but they were curious. It seemed to be getting rave reviews from the big bloggers, so they were willing to give it a shot.
WELCOME TO NeW U+2!
It bubbled across the screen in a sickeningly bright pink font.
Jordan clicked the CREATE THE NEW U button and was greeted with the first menu.
ARE YOU A…
Already, there was a red flag. There were only two choices.
BOY or GIRL
Jordan sighed. You couldn’t expect the world to change overnight, but it seemed like a pretty bullheaded move to force that right up front. They debated just quitting here, but… fuck it, gendered pronouns weren’t the end of the world.
GIRL!
The bubble around the text popped, and the screen flashed bright pink.
Jordan blinked. Something felt off, though she couldn’t place it.
ARE YOU…
STRAIGHT or BI or –
Ugh, the app had glitched out all the options. She could tell there were more text, but the UI had clipped it off. She fumbled around the screen, even exited and reloaded the app, but she was stuck with those two options.
BI!
At least they had her option. Jordan had sometimes called herself a lesbian for convenience, but what self respecting girl didn’t dream of some cock now and again?
What is your ethnicity?
Christ, the person who designed this FTUI really needed to sit down with their HR department. Seriously, asking for race?
Are you…WHITE or BLACK or HISPANIC or ASIAN
It wasn’t even a good list. Jordan sighed, she was three quarters Japanese and had always identified as mixed. But, what the hell… she clicked Asian.
Are you…SKINNY or CURVY
She glanced down at herself. Definitely not a skinny bitch. Curvy may have been a poetic licence, but it was more accurate.
CURVY
Jordan was suddenly aware of how uncomfortable her outfit was. Everything seemed tight or loose. Her bra seemed way too small, but her pant waist at least a size too big. How had she not noticed it until now?
You are a…
CURVY BI ASIAN GIRL
Is this correct?
Jordan looked at the statement. She never would have said as much, but yeah, she supposed that felt… right.
She confirmed.
LOADING……
User review by JordynXoXo:
i totally luv NewU2!! It super change me and it sooooo much fun ^_^meet lots fun guy and girl on message. They all really nice & cute ❤ & ok if you no speak english good.super recommend!!
It was the newest viral trend. “Ahgg-ing” the kids called it.
The basic premise was simple: get stupid enough that you reflexively made the ‘Ahgg’ face (‘ahego’ to the old timers).
At first, everyone was doing it. Celebrities, Instagram models, Twitch streamers. But then things started to escalate.
Soon, it wasn’t enough to pretend to be stupid. Now you needed to be truly be ‘Brain Drained’.
TMZ started running hit-pieces on celebrities caught ‘faking’ Ahgg faces. BuzzFeed made listicles on the best ways to actually, temporarily, reduce your IQ (#7 was sleep deprivation, #5 was pot, #2 was nitrous, #1 was edging with all of the above).
More feminist-forward sites like Jezebel wrote lengthy posts on how to responsibility Ahgg. The cover of Teen Vogue loudly declared “Brain Drain on your own terms!”.
A cottage industry popped up overnight of Ahgg ‘supplements’. They were everywhere. When a Kardashian backed brand launched (‘B1MBO2’) it sold out everywhere, from 7-11 to GNC.
At the end of the year heath experts started to raise concerns about how permanent the effects were. The FDA’s report on oxygen deprivation and permanent brain damage came too late.
By the time the public was aware of the long term impact of true Ahgg-ing, no one cared. All the major influencers, from Twitter to Snapchat, were mindless, giggling bimbos.
It was cool to get your brains literally fucked out on camera. Social media sites had to relax their content standards to stay relevant. Seven top ten posts on YouTube were girls going Full Bimbo, having their IQ points drained while orgasming. The most of them were the cocksucking method, but lesbian assisted ‘conversion’ was also popular.
In the end, this generation was left with millions of dumb, horny teens; unable to have a future beyond performing and fucking. There was some moral panic about the future of the country, but that quickly quieted down with the baby boom.
Soon, a new class of mother’s were everywhere. The original Ahgg-ing generation, raising the next wave of airheaded teens.
Now, we’re bracing for the Bimbo Boom, as the media has taken to calling it. Everyone’s speculating on what will happen to society, how norms and fashion will change.
Me? I’m just happy to have a near infinite pick of objectified sluts. In person, on TV and online, there’s no shortage of mindless girls to watch and use.
I can’t wait for my daughter’s ‘graduation’ this May. I know she and her friends will blow up the porn scene, just like her mother.
They’re already planning a ‘forced conversion’ series, with anti-bimbo resistance members fucked into submission. It’s all smoke and mirrors, with some consenting actress playing the victim, but I think it’s going to be big. She has a bright future ahead of her.
There’s a lot I wish I could change about that summer.
I wish I’d gotten Naomi out of there, out of Bedford. Especially after realizing how lost she was that day on the side of the highway. I could have just kept driving, fuck the school and the plan to download the ghost file.
I wish my horny, immature, 18 year old self could see I was constantly hedging. Betting Naomi’s freedom, her mind, on the chance I could… I don’t even know…
The change take advantage of her?
I hate myself to even say it. To talk about my wife, the mother of my child like that.
But I’ve come to terms with that a while ago. As much as I tried to obscure it to Naomi and even myself at the time, the truth is I was weak and selfish.
And I’ve been trying to make up for it ever since then.
The thing that makes it difficult to clear my conscious is how fuzzy things got by July. Not just the imperfect memories that come with age, but the programming and the chemicals I now know were influencing Naomi and I that whole summer.
That fog and the ambiguity it brings is a double edged sword.
On one hand, there’s the specter of absolution; everything I did or didn’t do may have been beyond my control. I can point my judgement and revulsion at the men (and woman) who drugged and hypnotized me for their own gains.
On the other hand, I can’t be certain what actions were my own. I’d like to imagine with a totally clear head and full understanding of the consequences, I would make better choices. That I would have acted like a decent human being.
But then, some nights, when Naomi is particularly horny and spaced out, she begs me to save her.
It’s an act. She’s beyond saving now, and she knows it. We both are.
Still, my wife will look up at me, with a mimicry of her old, teenage self. She’ll lock eyes with me and beg me not to take advantage of her. She’ll plead with me not to turn her into a slutty, mindless caricature. She’ll say she doesn’t want the same fate as her mother.
Naomi says all this because she knows it drives me wild. It’ll always been in the middle of some heavy foreplay, right when she knows I’m struggling to pace myself. She’ll turn on her ‘old’ self, and watch me swim with guilt and desire.
Not that it really matters. The deed is done and Naomi is who she is now. But she likes seeing it play out again, watching me break because I want her so badly.
And I lose that battle every time. I always fuck her. And Naomi smiles and slowly lets her facade drop, turning her pleas into giggles and moans of pleasure.
I’d like to imagine with a totally clear head and full understanding of the consequences, I would make better choices. That I would have acted like a decent human being.
(Image by oo_sebastian__oo has been slightly cropped from source)
Commission for Jurodan based on pictures and outline they provided. Commission your own captions via my Patreon! (Please note that this is unusually long for a commission–I liked the premise and got carried away.)
Hermione hadn’t expected the spell to feel sogood.
She’d known it would feel pleasant, of course. She’d created it,
painstakingly, secretly, over more than a month, as an anniversary present for
Ron. They’d married shortly after she finished her advanced studies
post-Hogwarts, and at first they’d both been very happy. Then, slowly, Ron had
started pushing things in the bedroom. Hermione knew he was more experienced
than her, but some of the things he wanted, the power and control—she just
couldn’t agree to that!
But she knew he was unhappy about it. He wanted more, and
she wanted to give him more—but she just couldn’t enjoy the things he wanted.
At least… not as she was normally. There was, she realized, a way she could
make herself enjoy it. Spells to increase libido, dampen the critical
faculties, enhance pleasure, reward submission. Dangerous spells, spells deep
in the gray area between the fully accepted and the Unforgivable. But she’d
found ways to study them, cracking the theory behind them, and slowly pieced
together a spell that combined elements of all of them, a spell that would make
her less intelligent, more submissive and sexually pliant. The hard part had
been making sure it would wear off in a day, but she’d… something.
It was getting hard to remember. The spell was working, and
it felt incredible. Her thoughts were
sluggish and she was getting more distracta—a wave of lust tingled through her
body. She’d put on her old Hogwarts uniform but left most of the buttons
undone—Ron seemed to have a… whatsitcalled. A thing for uniforms. And tits.
Tits! She’d never think that word before. It was a naughty
word! She giggled, still carefully aiming the wand at her head. The pink light
flowing from it felt like it was cleaning her out, sweeping away all the bad
stuff. All the nasty second thoughts and hesitations and implications and
rules. She felt so good, so happy and
horny, she just couldn’t wait until Ron got—
The door opened and Ron stared at his wife. “Um. Hermione?
What are you doing.”
The light faded and Hermione lowered the wand. “Uhhh… I
forget.” With Ron here, all she could think about was him tearing her panties
off and pinning her down on their bed. She waved in the general direction of
the little table by the door. “I left a note.” She giggled again.
Ron read it, his eyes getting wider as he read what she’d
done, and her promise to fulfill his every fantasy for the next 24 hours. Then
he looked up at Hermione. “Really?”
She smiled. “Uh-huh. Happy anni… thingy, honey!”
Ron grabbed her arm and half-dragged her to the bedroom, not
that he needed to. She laughed and followed him eagerly. She squealed as he
flung her onto the bed, and then spread her legs wide. “Please…” she moaned,
rubbing her va—her vaj… her pussy
through her panties. “Please Ron… fuck me…”
His trousers hit the floor, followed by his briefs a moment
later. His long, hard cock stood at attention, and Hermione’s mouth watered at
the sight of it. “How badly do you want it?” he asked her.
Hermione moaned. “Please… I’ll do anything, I need you so bad
Ron..!”
Ron grinned. “Anything?”
–
They fucked four times that night. The first time was hard,
animalistic, desperate, the best sex either of them had ever had. The second,
Ron started by teasing Hermione, toying with her body until she thought she
would explode, or would have if she could still think, and only when she was
reduced to incoherent pleading did he finally take her and it was even better.
The third time he made her kneel and call him Master, licking and stroking his
cock until it was hard again, and then roughly ordered her to fuck him, which
was better still. By the fourth time they were both tired, but he ordered her
to get him hard yet again, then get on top and fuck him while chanting that she
was a dumb slut and his property—and that was the best of all.
Hermione woke the next morning feeling like her head was
stuffed with fuzz, which was pretty normal for mornings. But it didn’t unfuzz.
She remembered the night before like a whirlwind of pleasure and sensation,
vague images rising out of a general sea of bliss. She smiled at Ron’s sleeping
form, but something was tickling at the back of her head.
The spell’s wearing
off. It only lasts 24 hours, I cast
it yesterday evening, and it’s early afternoon now. That means there’s only—
She shook her head. Whatever, that was boring. The spell was fun, she didn’t want to think about
it ending, she wanted to fuck Ron some more. She snuggled against him, sliding
her hand slowly down his body to his cock. Hermione gently stroked him, feeling
him getting harder in her hand.
She looked up into his open eyes. “Hmm, I bet I know what you want,” he said teasingly.
“Cock?” she asked hopefully.
“Sure,” he said. Then he took her hand and pulled it off
him. “After breakfast.”
Hermione pouted. “Pleeeeaaase, Master?”
“Breakfast first,” Ron said firmly. “Then fucking.”
She sighed and slid out of bed. Obeying him felt good, but
not as good as fucking him. As she
walked toward the kitchen, she thought about what to make. Weirdly, she had no
trouble remembering what ingredients they had or what recipes she knew.
That’s the exception
for domestic tasks and roleplay, she thought. Since Ron likes French maids so much.
It was like there was another voice in her head, the smart,
boring Hermione she used to be, and it kept poking through the nice fluffy pink
clouds before they covered it up again.
Metaphor. I’m getting
smarter again.
But the thoughts were distracting. She needed to focus on
breakfast! Cracking eggs, whisking them, scrambling them. Ron watched her from
the kitchen table while she cooked. He was naked and rock hard, and that was so
distracting there wasn’t room for anything but that and cooking.
She set the plate of eggs and bacon down in front of him and
then knelt by his chair. “What about your breakfast, pet?” he asked, and
gestured to his cock.
It took Hermione’s addled brain a moment to understand, but
then she eagerly rushed to obey, engulfing the head of his cock in her mouth. I didn’t used to like this, she thought,
but that was silly. It felt so good, how could she have ever refused?
Ron—Master—soon came in her mouth, and she swallowed him
down happily. Not much longer, she
thought as she gazed up at him. “I wish I could feel like this forever,” she
said.
Ron looked down at her. “You mean that?”
She nodded emphatically. “Uh-huh! This feels so good! But
the spell’s gonna end soon…”
Ron stroked her cheek. “We could do this again some time.”
Nononono I hate this
stuff!I’m only doing it for Ron! “No,”
Hermione said. But she didn’t hate this, how could she hate something that felt
so good? “Feels so good, I don’t wanna ever stop.”
Ron smiled nervously. “If… if you really mean that, if you
want to keep going, we could… cast the spell again?”
No! Don’t make me stay
like this longer! “Then I’ll stay like this longer! You’re so smart,
Master!”
He leaned down to kiss her. “Never thought I’d hear you say
that. C’mon, show me where your notes are? I might not get the theory, but I
can probably figure out how to cast the spell.”
Hermione struggled to remember where she put her notes,
while at the same time some other memory was clamoring for her attention,
something about wanting to make this temporary. But then they found the notes,
and Ron read through them.
By the time the shadows outside were growing long, he was
ready. Hermione knelt in front of Ron, both naked, while he pointed his wand
between her eyes. Her mind whirled as she stared up at him. This was what he
wanted. It felt so good to do what he wanted! But I don’t want to stay—The sex last night was so good! She loved
serving, fucking, sucking, being on her knees! But—There was some reason she should tell him to stop, but it was
so hard to remember it! So hard to think about anything other than that pink
light, how good it felt when it wiped her mind clean of sad, boring, smart-girl
voices. So much easier just to kneel and wait while he double-checked the
spell.
And then her mind cleared. Her eyes widened as she realized
the spell had worn off, and Ron was about to cast it again! She opened her
mouth, about to shout “Stop!” And then the pink light flowed over her from
Ron’s wand and pleasure filled her thoughts. Her jaw dropped as it filled her
head, the pleasure, the submission, the desire. She was supposed to tell him to
stop, because, because… because why? It felt so good, and it was so easy to let
it happen…
I’m never going to be
the old me again, she thought, and then there was only pink.
–
364 days later…
Hermione knelt at her Master’s feet, gazing up at him
happily. It was their usual evening ritual, when Master cast the spell that
kept her dumb and happy and enslaved. Then they would play, and go to bed, and
tomorrow she would slowly get smarter and more confused until evening, when
Master would make her dumb and everything would be simple again.
The voice of Boring Hermione nagged at the back of her mind,
like it always did before the spell, but Hermione had a lot of practice
ignoring her smarter side. She just thought about how good the spell was going
to feel, how great it was to have Master to make all the decisions for her so
she could just fuck and suck and have fun and be happy.
But something was different today. Where was Master’s wand?
For a moment, Hermione panicked. Did he forget? Was he going to let Boring
Hermione take over?
“Happy anniversary!” Master said, and held out something for
Hermione to take. She looked it over in confusion. A collar? With writing on
it. It said… she bit her lip while she tried to work it out. S… l… u… t..? She
looked up at Master in confusion.
“It’s yours!” he said. “It took me ages to figure out on my
own, but it’s got the spell woven into it! As long as you wear it, I won’t need
to cast it—it’ll be permanent, never weakening, never wearing off.”
Hermione stared up at Master, trying to work it out. Deep
inside her, Boring Hermione was screaming. It’ll
be permanent! I’ll never be able to think for myself again! “Permanent..?
So I’ll… I’ll be like this forever?”
Master nodded. “Exactly.”
Boring Hermione screamed and screamed as Hermione smiled
dazzlingly. “Oh, Master! Thank you! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” She held the
collar up to him, and he took it from her solemnly.
No! Boring
Hermione cried. Stop, let me out, I don’t
want this, I—And then the collar was around her neck, and the voice went
silent.
“Now, slut,” said Master, “for my present. I’ll let you pick
it out—where do you want my cock?”
Hermione gazed up at him in dazed bliss and gestured to her
mouth.
“Right answer,” said Master.
And then there was the cock in her mouth, and the pink bliss
in her brain, giggles and sex and outfits, serving and pleasing her Master,
forever.
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