Becoming a sex doll [FM] [FF] [bondage] [brainwashing] [prisoners]

My body is not my own. Wake up, they command me, and my body wakes, but does nothing more, awaits further instruction.

My mind, me! I watch the world as if through a window.

They command: get dressed, stretch, jog, exercise, strip, shower. My body does these things, I have no say in the matter, opinion long since driven from me, agency a vestige from a different life.

I chose this, long ago. I, of my own volition, chose the Special Prison Unit. I knew full well what I was signing up for, I thought. I wanted the freedom it could grant me. I knew I was lucky to even have the opportunity, to have met their physical requirements. I thought I was ok with the cost.

I wash the sweat off me. They want us fit, toned. They keep us healthy, build our stamina. It’s not strength they’re after, or even our ability to take punishment. That plays into it, but they’d punish us even if we couldn’t take it.

No, it’s beauty they’re after.

I look at my bunkmate, washing at the next showerhead over. I don’t even know her name. She doesn’t know mine. We call each other by our numbers. She’s prisoner 4071.

She’s tall, slender, delicate. Her platinum hair shimmers, dances over her back. Her legs are long, her waist high. I cannot help but stare at the graceful curve of her hips. Her breasts are firm, full, tender. She’s beautiful. I want to touch her, I want to be her. She’s perfect.

“Prisoner 4083!” they yell. That’s my number. “No masturbation!”

I bolt to attention, spring my hand away from my crotch. I’m obedient. Masturbation is strictly against the rules, no matter what they do to us, how much they tempt us. Pleasure is theirs to give, theirs to take.

“It’s ok,” 71 mouths to me. Her lips quiver. I want to feel them pressed to mine.

After the shower, there’s a special station. A small folding table we must stop at. This is new. The orderlies there grin wickedly. They always do, when it’s something like this. They’ve large white bottles with no labels, some sort of lotion inside. They’re rubbing it onto the prisoners’ bodies. Obviously enjoying the opportunity to touch us, fondle us.

“Always fancy me a redhead,” he says as I step forward. My training, my obedience, kicks in. Again I disconnect, watch from a distance. His fingers push into my ass. Automatically, my back arches, pussy heats up. My body presents itself to him. He leers.

His hands grope my breasts, thumb my nipples. He rubs the lotion in. It tingles, like static electricity. My body stands passively, letting this happen. What else would it do? Uncountable months of instruction, punishment for the slightest infraction, daily trainings. His fingers rub my pussy, make me gasp.

“Oh, aren’t you a well trained little slut,” he said, “The Mistress must be prouda you.”

My body needs release, needs sexual climax, doesn’t care that it’s from this orderly. But he leaves it, dismisses me, moves on to the next girl. I would cry, but that’s been trained out of me as well.

At my bunk, I put the workout clothes away, take the only other outfit. A shiny, red, skin-tight jumpsuit. 71 already has hers on. She turns around, her back to me. The final zipper, the one in the middle of the back, you have to have your bunkmate help with. It’s by design. I pull it up, my arms straining. The zipper makes the tight suit even tighter.

71 helps with mine. The suits hides everything, hides nothing. Ankle to neck my body is covered in a glimmering cherry red plasticky material. Every contour of my figure is highlighted, accented, outlined by the suit. My large breasts pushed out, made larger, the peak of my nipples prominent. My round, toned ass, made rounder, smoother. My crotch, pussy traced by the suit’s one consolation to my flesh, a soft, spongy material double-folded, covering but allowing access, transforming my body from doll into fuckdoll.

71 yanks up on my zipper and I gasp, the feeling of the suit cinching, 71’s breath against my neck, it excites me. This isn’t normal, not expected.

“It’s that special ointment,” she whispers, “It’s done something to my body, too.”

Her lips almost touch my ear. I shudder.

The door opens with loud ringing sound.

I jump to attention, or my body does, and assume my place in line, 71 next to me, part of a row of girls lined up down both sides of the room.

The Mistress walks in. “Girls! Today is special,” she says, “Today is the day you’ve long awaited. Today you complete your training. Today, you have the opportunity to go free.”

Her speech sounds rehearsed. It doesn’t matter. My expression is neutral, my eyes locked forward, looking at nothing. I wouldn’t have made it this far if I couldn’t manage even that.

But I am shocked. How long have I been here? How many training sessions have I had? After the first few days, they lost meaning. No windows, no sunlight, no way of tracking time. My life has become nothing but training, pushing my limits of endurance, teaching my mind to disconnect, my body to obey. The only respite comes from times for ‘body maintenance’ as they called it — sleeping, eating, exercising. And even those, too, are frequently interrupted by trainings. No time is sacred, no time is my own.

“Freedom is one of the paths which lay before you,” the Mistress is saying, “Complete submission is the other. And, for once, the choice is yours.” She smiles, looks around. It is not a friendly smile.

“In your trainings today, you will not need to practice self-denial,” she says. A girl gasps. The crowd shifts. This goes against everything we have learned.

“Your body balance has been adjusted,” the Mistress says, “Today, your climax will push you past the point of no return. A single climax will permanently imprint your trainings into your psyche, and your body will forever be an object, a doll, a sex toy, a plaything of our powerful masters.”

The room is quiet. Nobody moves, we wait on her words.

She takes her time, looking at each of us in tern, appraising us.

“Deny yourself, however,” she says, “And you will be free to go. Once released, our regiment of submission medicines will leave your system. Your training will fade away.”

Her voice softens. It never does that. “I was once in your place, ladies. I achieved freedom. It is possible.”

Then her biting edge returns. “But of course, that was before our special lotion was invented, wasn’t it?” She laughs to herself.

“The decision is yours, ladies. When you return here tonight, the big door will be open. You will be free to leave.” She grins evilly. “But we shall see if you are capable of doing so.”

And she’s gone. I look over at 71, she’s looking at me. “Bastards,” she mouths, looking worried.

“No,” I say, “We’ll make it, together.”

We’re led into a chamber, I don’t know which, we’re told not to look, and I don’t. They put a cold chrome wand up inside me, it buzzes and shakes. It tempts me, sweet release, so soon, so close, so possible. I am well past being excited by so simple a toy, or so I thought. This lotion… it’s taken hold of me. Fuck.

They hand me a tray, tell me I’m a waitress. Go on now, it’s dinner, serve them.

I carry food on the tray, careful not to spill. The task is menial, but the buzzing heat in my pussy makes it easy to lose my concentration. I check out, retreat into my mind, let my body run on autopilot. I serve my tables. They grab, grope, fondle. Squeeze, pinch, slap. I barely even notice.

I pass a pale, curvy brunette girl I kind of know, she’s been bent over a table, a man behind her, drilling her ass.

Lucky, I think, not likely to climax that way.

She does anyway, shuddering and bucking. Oh well, have fun being a sex doll, girl.

We’re in our next room. I recognize this one, some sort of locker room. The men are strong, scarred, maybe soldiers. We’re there for them. Stress relief, they call us. I’m on my knees, we all are. There’s a cock down my throat, but my body knows how not to gag, has been taught. But they like it when you choke a little, so I do. In this locker room, I’m usually the first girl chosen, the last to finish. I take a strange pride in this. It’s the little things.

The next room. My hands are bound. It’s just for effect, I’ve been trained, I’m obedient, I wouldn’t move anyway. But they like the ropes. They pull my hands over my head, hang me from the ceiling. If I stretch, I can just barely touch the ground. They like watching me struggle.

They push a button. The ropes my hands hang from drag me across the room. I’m facing a petite, freckled blonde girl. She looks young, innocent. I probably look the same. They like that, look for it. Unless you’re like 71, a natural beauty.

They wheel a cart between me and the blonde girl. It’s littered with implements. Toys, machines, devices. Things to excite, tease, humiliate. Some I’ve seen used, have had used on me, some I haven’t.

They pick the blonde girl first. She’s lucky. I have to watch, waiting my turn. Anticipating is harder.

They start rough, shoving a large rubber plug in her asshole. Her eyes roll back in her head. Girl, I hope you’ve got more resolve than that, there’s a lot more to come.

They clamp her nipples to her clit. When she arches her back, the chain will pull tight, giving her a shock of pain. They tickle her feet, making her arch her back. She yells, wordless. Tears stream down her cheeks. They laugh.

The remove the clamps from her nipples, attach my clit to hers. It hurts, but my body is used to it. Now me and the blonde girl are connected, we make eye contact. There’s no message, nothing either of us can say. The chain is not long enough, one of us must use our toes to push forward, or it will pull against us.

It doesn’t work, of course. They planned it that way. Just when I’ve swung towards the blonde girl, they drip hot wax on her nipples, make her writhe. The clamp yanks on me. I cry out in pain, in plesaure. I regather myself, focus, disconnect. My mind drifts.

They tire of the clamps. They push one of her legs up, folding it back, tie her knee against her chest. They slap her pussy, again and again. She was already wet, but she gets wetter. A trainer really likes this, he pulls his dick out, fucks her. Another trainer comes up behind, tosses the anal plug aside, fucks her ass.

Her mouth is hanging open, her eyes unfocused. I can tell she’s trying not to orgasm. I can tell she’s struggling. I can tell she’s slipping. The trainer fucking her pussy finishes, slaps her in the face. Maybe she’s safe.

He grabs a glowing sphere, pushes it against her pussy. She whimpers, writhes. Her hips buck. She’s yelling, her face screwed up. “Stupid slut,” the trainer says.

She’s having an orgasm.

The trainer fucking her ass loves it, cums. She doesn’t even notice. She’s convulsing, her face pure ecstasy. Release is so close, so tempting. I want to join her, I want for my own the pleasure she’s feeling.

But no, I can’t have it, I tell myself.

“Your turn, whore,” they say to me.

The trainers start on me straight away with the sphere. The rub it on my tits, my nipples, and I’m so sensitive, I almost orgasm right then. They roll it down my chest, across my belly, and I feel its wicked pleasure approaching my sex. I grit my teeth, brace myself.

It doesn’t matter, the sphere is incredible. I moan, gasp. I’m almost losing control, hanging on by a thread. I’m not going to make it, there’s no way. The pleasure is too tempting, too overpowering.

I’m saved by a whim. They pull the sphere away, I don’t know why. I’m left unfulfilled. But that’s ok.

They’re not done with me, though. My legs are tied, pulled backwards. I’m contorted, twisted, my back arched as far as I can go, hanging from the ceiling. They clamp something around my neck, attach it to something they push into my ass. Moving my neck pulls the object deeper into my asshole. I bend my neck a few times, gasp as my ass is violated, put on a little show, let them know it works. They like that.

My tits are pushed out, straight down. They slap them, pinch my nipples. I’m not the only girl here with big tits, not by a long margin. But they’ve always taken a special liking to my chest. Always found a way to grope me that one extra time.

Today is no different. A trainer squeezes my tits together, fucks them, his cock rubbing against the shiny red material of my outfit. He pulls back, cums on my face. Another trainer does the same.

They untie the blonde girl, make her lick the cum off me. Up close, I can see it in her eyes, she’s gone. Only her body is left, like the Mistress said, a total pleasure doll. She licks me obediently. They tell her to kiss me, and she does. There’s no passion in it. She spits some of the cum in my mouth, and we both swallow. I act like I enjoy it, she actually does.

They separate those of us who have managed to hold out. I am relieved to see 71 in the group. We make eye contact, smile. She looks like nothing has happened, like she’s totally in control. It’s beautiful, seeing her strength. Her long, platinum hair, soft eyes, delicate lips. She’s perfection.

They strap vibrators to us, set us on our knees, tie our hands behind our backs, leave us. They’re just fucking with us, trying to get us to break. The black-haired girl next to me whimpers, cries, then falls to the ground, groaning. They take her away, to be with the others who will serve as pleasure slaves.

I look around, see who’s left.

I’m surprised to see 4104 still with us. She never seemed resilient to me, I didn’t know she’d have it in her to make it this far. She’s a full, round ass, and the widest hips of our group, narrowing down to a thin waist, and her hair’s dyed bright pink, though whether that’s of her own choice or not I do not know. She’s always a favorite of the guards when they think nobody’s watching. She rarely gets a full night’s sleep. Although maybe that’s helped ready her for this.

4087 is behind me. The other redhead in the group, although she’s a ginger, a skinny little body, but striking features. Her eyes are unfocused, I can tell she’s checked out, disconnected her mind from her body. I’m not the only one that’s learned that trick.

4080 next to her, with her giant tits, bouncing along with the vibrator despite the tight outfit. And 4092, a pretty, tan girl, always quick to make the trainers cum, and a good kisser. 4099, a short, submissive girl, another favorite of the guards, especially the mean ones.

Maybe a dozen girls left, out of over fifty. 71 looks at me, shakes her head. I do the same. We can do this. Home stretch.

They finally decide that we’ve had enough. They untie us, lead us before the Mistress.

“Congratulations on making it this far,” she says, “There is but one final training, a small, trivial matter, and then, freedom is yours.” She pauses, looks at us, then continues, “In pairs, please. Your decision.”

Decision? We don’t… make decisions. 71 and I look at each other, surprised, unsure. We can … pick each other? I take a step towards her, and she me. We hold hands, turn to the Mistress. 71’s skin is so soft, her hand delicate, warm, strong, just like the rest of her.

“My trainers are crude, boarish brutes,” she says. The trainers around us leer, grin, make obscene gestures. They’re not offended. They know it.

The Mistress continues, “They may train you, but you are the pinnacle of sexuality, not them. Your final task is to demonstrate for them what that pinnacle is capable of. You must unleash your sexual potency, on each other.”

What was she saying?

“It is your task to give your partner an orgasm, and after that, you may go free!”

There’s gasping. And from the trainers, laughing. 71 and I look at each other, horrified. What have we done? How can we get out of this?

The trainers grab us, pull us, push us into a circle. We’re surrounded. They push 71 and I together, face to face. I see her conflict, her training for obedience, for following rules, wrestling against her resolve. But maybe it was never meant to me. Maybe only one of us was ever getting out of this. I know she’s thinking this, because I’m thinking this. But I’m also thinking how beautiful she is, how the pained expression on her face tears at my heart, how much I want to offer her comfort, offer her love.

I kiss her. She kisses me back. The trainers cheer, we ignore them. Our kiss is hungry, desperate, but tender. It’s perfect. I wrap my arms around her, I feel my heat rising. Her tongue dances against mine, her breath hot and sweet.

The trainers’ cheering turns nasty. Kissing only entertains them for so long. 71 is wrenched from my grasp. I’m pushed to the ground, 71 on top of me, her pussy in my face, mine in hers. I push open the double-folded fabric, I want to see her flesh, I cannot help myself. Her sex is beautiful, flush, swollen, dripping.

She licks me, I groan. It’s everything I’ve wanted. But no! I must hold back. I must! Her licking picks up, I’m panting, my chest is heaving. She’s going to give me an orgasm, and I haven’t even started on her yet. An orgasm from 71… is that such a bad thing? Is it worth a life of servitude? Maybe? Yes! No no no! Oh, fuck!

I rub her clit gingerly. It’s her turn to gasp, but it’s no good, I’ve needed this for so long, touching her pussy turns me on as much as it does her.

I bury my face between her legs, tongue sliding all over her, focusing on her clit. I’m in paradise, her thighs around my head, her perfect ass stretched tight before my eyes. I grab it, knead it. The trainers cheer, but I’m not doing it for them.

I moan, wriggle, writhe. She’s really getting me off, really exciting my abused pussy. I’m panting hard. Deep, big breaths. The pleasure is intense, incredible. I try to retreat from my body, but it doesn’t work. My ecstasy is heightened by the lotion, but that alone, after today, I know how to resist. No, it’s the mental image of 71, her perfect platinum-haired head nestled against my crotch, working to make me orgasm. It exists in both body and mind, is inescapable.

Her attention overwhelms me, I cannot hold back, I cannot resist. I know an orgasm is coming, I know I’ll be rendered permanently a sex doll, I know a life of servitude is my punishment for the bliss of 71. But she’s amazing, beautiful, her love melts me, it’s worth it, I know it is. I let myself climax, I welcome it, need it, eager, desperate, greedy for it.

It’s transcendent. Every point of my body joins in. Electric waves flow from between my legs, washing through me, elating me. I’ve never felt anything before like it. I’m in heaven.

I watch the trainers pick 71 off my body. I watch them pick my body up, too. 71 is standing still, a blank stare under a sheen of sweat. I see the Mistress walk over. “Huh,” she says, “I only thought we’d get one of you.”

“Yes, Mistress,” my body says on its own. It follows her, 71 by its side, away from freedom.

No! I want to turn around, to leave. But my body no longer listens to me.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/iul8fb/becoming_a_sex_doll_fm_ff_bondage_brainwashing