Opting against staying the night the petite redhead embarked on her walk of shame as faint daylight emerged. Her black heels clicked sharply on the cool pavement while she rummaged through her bag for keys adorned with so many keychains they resembled a makeshift weapon. She eased open the door to her shared student house slipping off her heels to tiptoe quietly and avoid disturbing her roommate. As her bedroom door creaked open a subtle wince crossed her exhausted face before she collapsed fully into the welcoming softness of her bed. Indeed nothing compared to sinking into one's own bed after an exhausting night.

 

Morning arrived, bringing a full day of university lectures much to Lucy's dismay. She had survived worse hangovers, but they remained the inevitable price of a night spent unwinding. Still feeling the lingering burn of last night's shots, she half stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen.

 

At the table sat her roommate Amber, eating a bowl of cereal with headphones on. Amber was a stickler for tradition, rules, and schedules, traits that often clashed with Lucy's more free-spirited nature. Their fundamental differences had sparked tension more than once, which was a large part of why Lucy preferred her walk of shame over bringing anyone back to the house.

 

Amber remained focused on the video playing on her phone, seemingly ignoring Lucy as she passed by. As a light sleeper, she had of course been woken by Lucy's quiet return, yet she held back her irritation, grudgingly acknowledging the effort to be considerate. Beneath that restraint lay another layer of frustration. Amber harbored a sexual attraction to her roommate, feelings she recognized but struggled to reconcile. She was not naive; she knew Lucy had likely spent the night with a man, and that knowledge fueled a quiet jealousy that manifested as internal rage. These emotions were deeply complicated for Amber, conflicting with both her upbringing and her sense of self, yet she could not suppress them. So she sat in deliberate silence, allowing a subtle awkwardness to settle over the room.

 

Amber was a classically beautiful blonde, just a little older than Lucy, raised in a well-off family with traditional values. She carried herself with quiet dignity, usually dressed in light tops paired with jeans or shorts. At five foot eight, she had the poise and proportions that could have suited a modeling career, had her academic ambitions not taken priority.

 

Lucy felt grateful for the mere awkward silence as she began preparing a homely breakfast to soothe her hangover. A similar morning in the past had escalated into a stern lecture on respect and dignity. Since then, Lucy had made every effort to avoid such confrontations, partly out of sympathy but also because they proved rather irritating.

 

Amber glanced up from her phone while the redhead cooked. Lucy wore a tight short slip pajama dress with her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Each time she bent over to search a cupboard for an item, her ass pressed against the fabric. Purple marks dotted her neck, arms, and even legs. Lucy remained oblivious to being eyed like a piece of meat by Amber, a notion that would never have occurred to her. Had she known, she would have covered herself more thoroughly.

 

Instead of cooking breakfast, that bitch would be better served under this table eating my pussy right about now, Amber thought to herself. Her panties grew wet at the display before her and the accompanying fantasy. The forbidden nature of these thoughts only heightened their sexual appeal, prompting her to excuse herself. Closing her bedroom door, she loaded up her laptop, pulled her pants to her ankles, and accessed her usual content. Amber's porn habit had begun innocently with basic fan fiction featuring her favorite characters, evolving into heterosexual porn, then hardcore varieties, followed by BDSM, anal, dominatrix scenes, lesbians, and beyond. Before she realized it, her addiction had narrowed her arousal to BDSM lesbian porn alone, and even that was shifting into something more sinister as she touched herself to visions of dominating Lucy.

 

After cumming more than three times, she still desired more... the real thing, beyond any fantasy. But that would that be impossible, or would it? The door to the property slammed shut as Lucy headed off to university for the day. Amber HATED when Lucy did that. Why could she not shut it like a normal human being? **Ugh, attractive but ungodly annoying**, Amber thought. At that moment, she decided she would make this fantasy a reality.

 

Scouring dark web internet forums, Amber found a small community interested in hypnosis, but more specifically in using hypnosis to transform people's thinking for sexual purposes. Men who had turned women who repulsed them into sex slaves, and even more interestingly to Amber, a man who had turned a straight man gay. She spent the day reading up on all the techniques, suggestions, and most importantly, the results.

 

A few weeks later, on Friday at 7p.m., Lucy was rushing around the house, a walking calamity of mess as she rapidly got ready for a night out. She wore a cute black mesh dress layered with fishnets and fishnet sleeves, underneath a tiny black thong and push-up bra to make her tits look bigger in the dress. She ensured downstairs was well groomed, as she planned to score. “Come here for a second!” Amber called from another room. “Ugh, just one moment!” Lucy sighed as she plumped her lips together, applying a modest layer of black lipstick.

 

Lucy made her way to the other room, half expecting a small lecture she really could not be bothered with at this point. But as she entered, she was caught off guard by Amber smiling at her. “I just need your help with one of my assignments, so can you please play along before you go?” Begrudgingly, Lucy nodded as the blonde began asking questions about basic things like her name and where she grew up. It was accompanied by some incredibly off-putting music that seemed to play in reverse, changing time signatures wildly, Amber has downloaded the file off the dark web forum. These mundane questions proved quintessentially uninteresting, to the point of absolute boredom. Lucy's mental walls unknowingly relaxed as the first hypnosis prompt hit. “You're getting very sleepy, tired, extremely tired, no thoughts just empty, relaxed, listen to the music.” Lucy nodded, half dropping with each repetition Amber uttered while the music swirled around her brain, replacing thought.

 

“Ughhhh,” Amber let out a moan as the redhead closed her eyes. “I can't wait to make you mine.” The hypnosis techniques appeared to work! She felt absolutely ecstatic but knew she could not push this too far. Hypnosis was all about suggestion; jumping too far past what someone felt comfortable with could end the spell and lead to disaster. Her mind blanked. She had a plan, but right now she just wanted to kiss the blackened lips of the pretty girl in front of her. Just before assaulting Lucy, she managed to restrain her lust for now.

 

“Ok ok let's begin,” Amber whispered.

 

“Open your eyes but keep your mind blank. I’m going to ask you a few questions just to see what I’m working with,” she mused.

 

The redhead nodded silently, eyes glazed over like a doll’s.

 

“Tell me your name, sexuality, and preferred type of sex.”

 

“Lucy, straight, power bottom,” the monotonous words drooled out, right to the point.

 

She had expected the hetero answer but was caught off guard by the third. She did not take Lucy for the type, but it was not so far from total submission that she could not reshape this aspect.

 

Amber quizzed her again. “Tonight do you plan to hook up with any men?”

 

“Yes,” the one-word answer came swiftly and predictably.

 

“Hmm I don’t think you will, sweetpea. Tonight you’re just going to have fun. No boys. You just want to have fun with your beautiful friends.” Hypnosis relied on suggestion, planting ideas that felt reasonable at first, then gently twisting that logic toward what she desired.

 

The redhead nodded obediently.

 

Amber continued. “If a man tries to flirt with you, tell him you’re a lesbian. You know you’re not, it’s just an excuse so he’ll go away and you can enjoy your night with the girls.” Again the redhead nodded, a slight frown creasing her brow. It made sense. It was not too extreme, yet it subtly introduced lesbianism into Lucy’s vocabulary.

 

“From now on, when I say the word **sweetpea**, I want your mind to become empty and drop for me. No thoughts, no resistance. You trust my voice and I’m here to help you. When I snap my left hand, awaken and forget anything that was said while under, just a subconscious memory.” Amber’s left hand snapped, and Lucy came to, blinking with slight confusion.

 

“Is that all you needed me for?” 

 

“Yes! You were incredibly helpful!” 

 

Lucy thought to herself that the whole exchange had been incredibly weird, but she was in too much of a rush to dwell on it. She needed to finish getting ready for her girls’ night. As Lucy turned to leave, Amber’s face lit up in euphoria. She clutched her right breast with her left hand and shoved her right hand down her pants.

 

Lucy met up with her girlfriends, kicking off the night with cocktails and shots at the student bar before moving on to the local metal club. Several hours of dancing and drinks later, a few of her friends had slipped away after pairing up with new company. Leaning against the sticky bar, Lucy gestured to the bartender for another round. A handsome man slid in beside her, introducing himself and offering to cover the drink. Under normal circumstances she would have accepted eagerly; he was attractive, and the attention flattered her. But something shifted inside her. She politely declined, apologizing by explaining she was a lesbian and nodding toward her friends still moving on the dance floor.

 

As she wove back through the crowd to rejoin them, one of her friends leaned in close and shouted over the music. “Ooo, did you not get his number? He’s cute!” A flicker of confusion crossed Lucy’s face for a split second before she replied. “Nooo, tonight is for the gals! Tonight I’m all yours!”

 

Three o’clock arrived, signaling kick-out time. The remaining girls grabbed a quick McDonald’s before heading their separate ways home. Lucy felt a quiet sense of fulfillment. It had been a while since she had gone out and stayed the whole night without slipping away early with someone new. She fished the mace-like bundle of keys from her bag and once again tiptoed quietly into the house, collapsing into the comfort of her bed.

 

Amber, as always, was up first. She dressed, went for a brisk walk, showered, and then settled at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal. She filled the morning with YouTube videos, podcasts, and other background noise. Lucy stumbled down the stairs once more, making her way to the kitchen and straight to the fridge, where her drunk self had thoughtfully left leftover McDonald’s for her hungover self. “Good morning, **sweetpea**,” Amber said in a bright, gleeful tone. If the hypnosis had failed, she could easily pass it off as friendly affection. But like clockwork, Lucy’s eyes glazed over, turning hazy, and she slipped completely under.

 

“Agh, aren’t you just so pretty when you look disheveled,” Amber said out loud but mostly to herself, savoring the thrill of speaking such words freely with no fear of consequences.

 

“Did you enjoy your night, **sweetpea**?”

 

A blunt, emotionless “yes” came as the predictable response to these routine questions, yet Amber always asked them anyway. They served as gentle steps, easing the conversation toward the more satisfying revelations.

 

“And did you hook up with any men last night?” Amber already suspected the answer would be no. Lucy had returned home before sunrise, after all. Still, anticipation buzzed through her; this was one of the exact suggestions she had planted during her first session.

 

“No, it was a girls’ night. I spent the entire night with them.”

 

A wide smile spread across Amber’s face. “And did any men try to hit on you? If so, what did you say to them?”

 

“One did, but I told him I was a lesbian so he would lose interest.”

 

This was unfolding far beyond anything Amber had dared to hope for. A searing fire ignited deep within her, an urgent craving to consume the redhead entirely, body and will.

 

“Are you attracted to men?”

 

“Yes,” Lucy answered in that flat, vacant tone.

 

“But what did you tell the man who approached you last night?”

 

“That I was a lesbian.”

 

“Good girl.” Amber’s voice softened, almost tender. “Now repeat after me, slowly and clearly: I told him I was a lesbian. Feel the way men usually make you react, that familiar pull. Last night you went home alone, no release, so you must be aching right now, pent up and restless. After breakfast, you’re going to watch porn. Focus hard on the woman—every curve, every movement, every sound she makes. Use your vibrator while you watch. Let those vibrations sink in deep, linking the sight of her, the feel of the toy, straight to pleasure. You trust my voice completely; it guides you safely.”

 

She had Lucy repeat the entire sequence more than a hundred times, each recitation sinking deeper, etching itself into the quiet corners of her mind. When the final loop finished, Amber snapped her left hand.

 

Lucy blinked rapidly, surfacing with the same drowsy, mildly puzzled expression she always wore after these strange little interludes. She had no memory of the words, no trace of the suggestions now coiled invisibly inside her. Just another oddly timed conversation she would shrug off to start the day.

 

Amber wanted to push her so much further. She imagined grabbing Lucy by the neck, forcing her down to lick her pussy like a good lesbian slut. The thought sent a sharp thrill through her, but patience was a virtue, and thankfully she had plenty of it.

 

Lucy tore into her leftover McDonald’s, but her appetite faded almost immediately. An unnatural horniness had settled over her, insistent and heavy. She glanced at the clock. No lectures until eleven that morning. Plenty of time, she decided, for a little personal session with her vibrator in the comfort of her own bed.

 

That evening at seven, Lucy curled up on the sofa beneath a soft blanket, eyes fixed on one of her favorite K-dramas flickering across the television. Amber sat on the opposite couch, quietly knitting, her needles clicking in steady rhythm. Every so often she lifted her gaze to the screen whenever a dramatic moment unfolded. She was lying in wait, patient as a hunter stalking prey, biding her time for an ad break. That way she could drop the other girl under without Lucy ever noticing the missing minutes.

 

The opportunity arrived. During a commercial break, Amber leaned forward slightly and whispered, “**Sweetpea**.”

 

Once again, that all-too-familiar blank haze drifted across Lucy’s eyes, her expression emptying as she slipped completely under.

 

She had little time to carry out her plan before the ad break ended, but Amber had already mapped every step in her mind with meticulous care, rehearsing the words and watching for the perfect rhythm of the show.

 

“**Sweetpea**, think back to using your vibrator this morning. Remember the exact feeling, the way it hummed against you, how it built that slow, insistent heat.”

 

She pressed a second vibrator into Lucy’s limp hand, guiding the hazy-eyed girl’s fingers to curl around it. “Hold this against your clit and turn it on whenever a woman appears alone on screen. Every time she’s by herself, let it run. Subconsciously, each buzz will pull you back to that moment last night when you told the man you were a lesbian. For every other scene, when men are present or the focus shifts away, turn it off.”

 

The redhead gave a faint nod. A small crease formed between her brows, the only outward sign that some part of her mind registered the strangeness, even as her conscious self remained absent.

 

“You will be completely unaware that you’re doing this. The moment you notice the vibrator in your hand or realize you’re feeling good while I’m in the room, you will forget everything about it instantly. The memory will vanish, leaving only the lingering pleasure without explanation.”

 

Amber snapped her left hand. The sound cut cleanly through the quiet living room. Lucy blinked once, surfacing just as the program resumed. She had mere seconds to settle back into the blanket before the next scene unfolded.

 

The show continued, and Lucy, still wrapped in the illusion of normalcy, began to obey without ever knowing she was obeying. Her fingers moved on autopilot, pressing the vibrator to her clit whenever a solitary female character filled the frame. She stayed oblivious to the toy itself, yet she could not ignore the growing slickness between her thighs, the way her body responded with quick, involuntary pulses of arousal. She had not yet pieced together the pattern: that the pleasure arrived only when women dominated the screen, sharp and undeniable, while scenes with men left her untouched and restless.

 

As the next commercial break approached, the screen faded to advertisements. Amber leaned forward slightly, voice soft and deliberate.

 

“**Sweetpea**.” 

 

The haze returned at once, washing over Lucy’s eyes like a curtain falling, ready for whatever came next.

 

Lightning shot through Amber’s body, a white-hot current of arousal that made her thighs clench involuntarily. This was beyond hot; it was intoxicating. Corrupting Lucy inch by inch, rewriting the redhead’s desires while she sat oblivious on the sofa, felt like wielding a forbidden power. A small, buried fragment of her conscience recoiled at the violation, whispering that this was wrong, that Lucy deserved better than to be reshaped without consent. But that faint voice drowned beneath waves of sexual gratification so intense it drowned out any lingering guilt a hundred times over. The thrill of control, the slow unraveling of Lucy’s straight identity, fed something primal and ravenous inside her.

 

“Ok **sweetpea**, you’re doing great,” Amber murmured, her voice low and soothing, almost affectionate. “Now listen carefully. Every time a man appears on the screen, I want you to think of something you hate with all your heart. Picture it vividly, feel that disgust rise sharp and immediate. Let that hatred linger quietly in the back of your mind whenever a man is present. But the moment the screen shows just a woman, let that feeling vanish completely. Keep the vibrator pressed firmly against your clit, let the pleasure build freely, stronger each time.”

 

Lucy’s hazy eyes remained fixed forward, unblinking, as the words sank in deeper. Her fingers stayed curled around the toy, ready to obey without ever knowing why.

 

Amber snapped her left hand once more. The crisp sound sliced through the dim room, and Lucy blinked back into the present as if no interruption had occurred. The drama resumed on the television, dialogue flowing seamlessly, and the cycle continued.

 

All night the pattern repeated with careful precision. During each ad break, Amber whispered the trigger word, layered one small, insidious suggestion on top of the last, then snapped her fingers to erase the gap. Lucy never noticed the missing minutes, never questioned the growing slickness between her legs or the way her body now responded so selectively. Each tiny addition tightened the web Amber was weaving, pulling Lucy further from who she had been, one hushed command at a time.

 

A sexually frustrated Lucy excused herself from the living room with careful nonchalance, offering Amber a quick goodnight and a casual wave before disappearing down the hallway. She played it cool, determined not to let any hint of her mounting desperation show. Amber, of course, already knew. She had watched the subtle shifts all evening: the way Lucy’s thighs pressed together during certain scenes, the shallow breaths she tried to hide, the restless fidgeting beneath the blanket. The signs were unmistakable, and they sent a quiet thrill through Amber’s core.

 

Once safely behind her bedroom door, Lucy wasted no time. She locked it, dimmed the lights, and pulled her laptop onto the bed. With trembling fingers she loaded the same video she had started that morning, the one featuring a man and a woman in heated entanglement. She switched her vibrator to its highest setting and pressed it hard against her clit, moving with the frantic urgency of someone starved. Relief flooded her instantly, sharp and electric, promising the release she craved.

 

But something felt wrong almost at once. Every time the camera lingered on the man’s body, a wave of visceral disgust rolled through her subconscious, sour and unwelcome. It soured the arousal, dulled the pleasure, made her stomach twist. This could not be right. Clearly the problem was the video itself. It simply was not what she needed tonight. She clicked away in frustration, scrolling through thumbnail after thumbnail, trying one clip after another. Hetero scenes, couples, rougher encounters, softer ones. Nothing held. Each glimpse of male anatomy triggered that same creeping revulsion, snuffing out the heat before it could build properly.

 

Then she landed on a solo video: a woman alone, straddling a large dildo, riding it with slow, deliberate rolls of her hips. No man in frame. No intrusion. Lucy did not pause to question the choice. She simply let the scene play, matching the rhythm with her vibrator, chasing the sensation that had eluded her all evening. The buildup came fast and merciless. When the orgasm hit, it shattered through her like breaking glass, mind-blankingly intense. She arched off the mattress, thighs quivering, a low, broken sound escaping her throat. Afterward she lay there in a dazed stupor for at least ten minutes, chest heaving, brain fogged with afterglow and faint confusion.

 

A week slipped by. Lucy came several times during those days, always to videos of women pleasuring themselves alone. She told herself it was harmless, just mutual masturbation across a screen. Nothing more. She was not touching another woman, after all. She was still straight. Of course she was. She had always been attracted to men. This was only a phase, a temporary detour born of frustration and curiosity. She could not suddenly be gay. That would be absurd. Yet each time she finished, spent and trembling, a small, nagging question lingered in the quiet corners of her mind, one she pushed aside before it could take root.

 

Friday evening brought the familiar chaos of Lucy preparing for a night out. She darted between her bedroom and the bathroom in a whirlwind of energy, ticking off her mental checklist with brisk efficiency. Downstairs freshly shaved, smooth and ready. Slutty G-string in place, the thin strip disappearing between her cheeks. Push-up bra secured, lifting and accentuating her cleavage for maximum effect. Extra-short mini skirt hugging her hips, the hem barely skimming the tops of her thighs. Oversized crop top knotted just above her navel, exposing a teasing sliver of toned midriff. She paused only to spritz perfume and run a final hand through her red hair before grabbing her bag.

 

Amber watched from the doorway of the living room, arms crossed, expression carefully neutral. She hated the trail of discarded clothes and scattered makeup Lucy always left behind, the faint clutter that disrupted her sense of order. Yet she loved the end result more than she could admit aloud. The outfit screamed availability, confidence, raw sexual invitation. As soon as the front door clicked shut behind Lucy, Amber would retreat to her room, vibrator already in hand, imagining how soon that same slutty look would be worn for her alone, stripped away at her command.

 

At 06:17 a.m. the sound of rustling keys jolted Amber awake. The familiar squeak of the front door followed, louder than usual in the predawn quiet. She had been deep in sleep until that moment. Groggy at first, she reached for her phone on the nightstand and glanced at the screen. The time stared back at her. Panic flooded her features in an instant. Something unexpected had happened. Lucy was never home this late, not after a night out. She should have stumbled in hours earlier, unless she had found company...

 

Amber leapt from the bed, completely naked, skin prickling in the cool morning air. She swung her bedroom door open with enough force to make it bang against the wall. There, halfway up the stairs, was her roommate. Lucy froze mid-step, one hand gripping the banister, eyes wide with the startled guilt of someone caught sneaking in. Her makeup had smudged slightly around the eyes, hair tousled from the night, mini skirt riding even higher from the climb. She looked beautifully wrecked, and for a split second Amber’s panic gave way to something darker, hungrier.

 

 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to wake you, Amber,” Lucy cried out, voice thick with guilt and exhaustion. Her words tumbled over each other as she clutched the banister tighter, cheeks flushed from the cold night air and whatever else the evening had brought.

 

Amber barely registered the apology. Her pulse hammered in her ears. Without hesitation she barked the trigger word. “**Sweetpea**.”

 

Lucy’s eyes glazed over instantly. Her knees buckled, body pitching forward in a sudden, boneless slump. She would have tumbled down the remaining stairs if Amber had not lunged forward and caught her around the waist, hauling the smaller woman upright with surprising strength. Lucy’s head lolled against Amber’s bare shoulder, red hair spilling across pale skin, completely limp and pliant in her grip.

 

Amber’s mind raced even as she steadied them both. *Stay calm. There could be a million reasons she’s this late. She could have gotten stuck looking after drunk friends, anything really.* Yet the darker fear clawed at her: the conditioning had failed. Lucy had slipped, found a man, fucked him, erased weeks of careful work in a single reckless night.

 

She half-carried, half-guided the entranced redhead the rest of the way up the stairs and into Lucy’s bedroom. The door clicked shut behind them. Amber eased Lucy onto the edge of the unmade bed, then stood over her, arms crossed tightly against her naked chest to hide how badly her hands shook.

 

“Did you hook up with someone tonight?” The question came out sharper than intended, laced with annoyance and raw worry.

 

“Yes,” Lucy answered in that flat, dreamy monotone, utterly without shame or hesitation.

 

The word struck Amber like a physical blow. Her stomach dropped. Everything she had built, every whispered suggestion, every stolen moment of control, crumbled in an instant. Changing someone’s sexuality through hypnosis and layered commands had always been a long shot, a fantasy she had chased despite the odds. Now the proof stared back at her in Lucy’s vacant expression. It had been too ambitious, too fragile. She had deluded herself.

 

“Tell me about him then,” Amber muttered, voice heavy with defeat. She braced for details she did not want to hear: his name, his build, how he had touched her, how Lucy had moaned for him.

 

“Him?” Lucy echoed, the single word hanging in the quiet room.

 

Amber blinked. The haze in Lucy’s eyes remained unchanged, but that one syllable shifted everything. A possibility Amber had not even entertained surged forward. Lucy had not said “him” with confusion. She had said it as if the assumption itself was wrong.

 

Realization crashed over her in waves. Ecstasy first, bright and dizzying. It had worked. The suggestions had taken root deeper than she dared hope. Lucy had not broken; she had followed the new path Amber had carved. She had hooked up with a woman.

 

Then the jealousy arrived, sudden and brutal, slamming into her chest like a fist. Another girl had touched her first. Another girl had claimed the redhead’s newly awakened desire, had felt Lucy’s mouth and hands and body in ways Amber had spent weeks fantasizing about. The victory soured almost instantly into possessive rage. That first time should have belonged to her.

 

Amber stood abruptly, her naked body rigid with a storm of emotions. Disgust twisted her features into something sharp and ugly as the jealousy curdled into raw fury. All the careful layering of suggestions, the nights spent whispering commands, the slow erosion of Lucy’s boundaries, and now some nameless other woman had claimed what Amber had spent weeks cultivating. The thought burned.

 

“All this buildup, all this work… ugh,” she spat, voice cracking with frustration. Her hands clenched at her sides. Then the words burst out, low and venomous. “Get on your knees, you whore dyke, and lick my fucking pussy. Don’t you dare stop until I tell you.”

 

Lucy obeyed without a flicker of resistance. The entranced redhead slid off the edge of the bed and dropped to her knees almost gracefully, mini skirt riding up her thighs to expose the thin strip of her G-string. She leaned forward, pressing her mouth to Amber’s cunt with immediate, practiced eagerness. Her tongue found the swollen clit at once, swirling in slow, deliberate circles, then flicking with increasing confidence. The technique spoke of recent experience, the very kind Amber had both engineered and now resented.

 

Anger dissolved into something hotter, more consuming. Pleasure rolled through Amber in heavy waves, each pass of Lucy’s tongue pulling a ragged breath from her throat. She threaded her fingers into the red hair, gripping hard enough to sting, guiding the rhythm while her hips rocked forward instinctively. The room filled with wet sounds, soft moans, the occasional hitch in Amber’s breathing as the minutes stretched. Lucy never faltered, never slowed, her mouth working tirelessly, lips and tongue devoted to the task. Time blurred. What felt like an hour passed in a haze of building tension, cresting finally into a shuddering, full-body release that left Amber trembling, thighs clamped around Lucy’s head as she rode out the aftershocks.

 

When the last ripple faded, Amber exhaled shakily and stepped back. She looked down at the redhead still kneeling, lips glossy, eyes vacant and distant.

 

“Listen carefully,” she said, voice steadier now but edged with cold promise. “Forget everything that just happened. You came home late, we talked briefly in the hallway, then you went straight to bed. Nothing more. When you wake up fully, you’ll feel refreshed and normal, no memory of this moment.” She paused, letting the command settle. “I’ll deal with you later.”

 

Amber snapped her left hand. Lucy blinked slowly, surfacing from the trance. She swayed slightly on her knees before pushing herself upright, smoothing her rumpled skirt with automatic movements. Confusion flickered across her face for only a second before smoothing away.

 

Amber turned without another word, slipping back to her own room. She closed the door softly behind her, heart still pounding, skin flushed. The day awaited, but so did the next step. Patience had carried her this far. It would carry her further still but she clearly needed to be more careful in her suggestions. 

 

At 14:37 Lucy finally stirred, dragging herself back into the land of the living. She fumbled for her phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen. The time hit her like a slap. “Oh shit,” she muttered, heart lurching with the instant certainty that she had slept through most of her lectures. Then the fog cleared enough for reality to settle in. It was Saturday. No classes. Relief washed over her in a lazy wave, loosening the knot in her chest.

 

But the next thought arrived sharper, hotter, and far less welcome. “Oh my god.” Memories of last night flooded back in vivid, unfiltered fragments. The things she had done. The way she had acted. Her stomach flipped, a confusing mix of embarrassment, lingering arousal, and something she could not quite name.

 

***** Last night *****

 

The girls had gone hard on predrinks, passing a bottle of tequila around their cramped living room like it was water. Shots turned into chasers turned into laughter that grew louder with every round. Lucy felt the familiar buzz settle into her limbs, steadying her resolve. Tonight she was dead set on picking up a boy toy. Lately everything had felt off, wires crossed in ways that left her restless and unsatisfied. Classic stress relief, she told herself. A quick, no-strings fuck with a guy would reset her, put things back in their proper order.

 

They bar-hopped with purpose, moving from one dimly lit student spot to the next, drinks flowing freely. By 11:30 p.m. they spilled into the club, bass thumping through the floor and heat pressing against their skin like a second layer. Lucy usually avoided smoking, but the combination of alcohol and the stifling air inside made the idea suddenly appealing. She pushed through the crowd toward the exit, craving fresh air.

 

“Pheww,” she exhaled once she stepped outside, letting the cold night breeze cool her flushed face.

 

“Nice, huh,” a voice said to her left. Lucy turned. A woman leaned against the brick wall, exhaling a slow plume of smoke. Dark eyeliner, confident posture, the kind of effortless edge that made Lucy’s gaze linger.

 

“Mind if I have one?” Lucy asked, gesturing toward the cigarette.

 

The woman smiled faintly, pulled another from her pack, and lit it for her with a practiced flick of the lighter. Their fingers brushed as she passed it over. Lucy took a drag, the smoke sharp in her throat. She blamed the tequila for the sudden heat pooling low in her belly, for the way her pussy gave a small, involuntary quiver when she looked at this woman properly. Short black hair shaved on one side, faux leather skirt hugging her hips, leopard-print top clinging in all the right places. A smoking baddie, undeniably.

 

“I’m Lucy,” she said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “And who are you, gorgeous?” She almost laughed at herself. Cringe. She sounded exactly like the guys who usually tried their luck on her.

 

“Mazie,” the woman replied. Her eyes flicked over Lucy with new interest, slower this time, appreciative. The look sent another pulse straight between Lucy’s thighs.

 

By 12:47 a.m. they were at Mazie’s place, a small flat just outside the city centre. Mazie was in her late twenties, all sharp angles and bold choices. The interior matched her energy perfectly: loud pink rugs underfoot, love-heart mirrors on every wall, band posters climbing the hallway like vines leading straight to the bedroom. It felt lived-in, chaotic in a way that was somehow inviting.

 

For the first time that night, nerves crept in. The alcohol’s warm haze had begun to thin, leaving Lucy painfully aware of every detail. She was about to have sex with a woman. Full-on lesbian sex. With someone she had picked up outside a club less than an hour ago. This was not a drunken experiment or a fleeting fantasy. This was real, happening right now, in a stranger’s bedroom that smelled faintly of vanilla candles and cigarette smoke.

 

Her heart hammered against her ribs. Part of her wanted to bolt. Another part, louder and more insistent, wanted to stay exactly where she was.

 

***** Current time *****

 

Lucy lay sprawled across her unmade bed, legs parted just enough for the vibrator to nestle firmly against her still-sensitive clit. The low buzz hummed steadily, a constant undercurrent to the whirlwind of thoughts spinning through her head. She had meant to pick up a man last night. That had been the plan from the moment the tequila hit her bloodstream: find a cute guy, flirt shamelessly, let him take her home, and fuck the strange restlessness out of her system. Simple. Familiar. Safe in its predictability.

 

Instead she had ended up in Mazie’s bedroom, clothes scattered across pink rugs, heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. The first kiss had been tentative, almost clumsy, Mazie’s lips softer than any man’s she remembered, tasting faintly of smoke and mint. Lucy had expected awkwardness, hesitation, maybe even regret. What she got was heat. Immediate, overwhelming heat that spread from her mouth straight down her spine and settled between her legs like liquid fire. When Mazie’s fingers slipped under her mini skirt and found her already soaked, Lucy had gasped, not from surprise but from how desperately she wanted more.

 

The orgasms had come one after another, relentless and shattering. Mazie knew exactly where to touch, how to curl her fingers, when to use her tongue with slow, deliberate pressure that made Lucy’s hips buck off the mattress. Each peak left her trembling, breathless, convinced the next one would finally satisfy the ache. It never did. It only built higher. By the time they collapsed in a tangle of limbs sometime after three, Lucy’s body felt wrung out, raw, and strangely fulfilled in a way no quick hookup with a guy ever had.

 

Now, alone in the afternoon light filtering through half-closed curtains, the vibrator pressed harder as she replayed every detail. Mazie’s shaved side catching the lamplight, the way her leopard-print top had ridden up to reveal smooth skin, the low chuckle she gave when Lucy moaned her name for the first time. The memories flooded back vivid and unfiltered: the slick slide of tongues, the grip of hands on thighs, the way Mazie had whispered filthy praise against her ear while fingering her to yet another climax. Lucy’s breath hitched. Her free hand clutched the sheets as the tension coiled tight again.

 

She should feel guilty. Or confused. Or at least unsettled. She had always liked men. Always. The broad shoulders, the stubble, the way a guy’s weight pinned her down just right. That was her thing. Power bottom, sure, but with men. Straight. Undeniably straight. Yet here she was, legs shaking, chasing another orgasm to the exact image of a woman’s mouth on her pussy. The evidence stared her in the face, undeniable and terrifying.

 

Was she gay? The word felt foreign, too big, too final. She could not be. She refused to be. This had to be a fluke, a one-off fueled by tequila and the club’s sweaty haze. Maybe she was just experimenting. Curious. Horny. Everyone got curious sometimes, right? But even as she told herself that, the vibrator pushed her closer to the edge, and the fantasy refused to shift. No faceless man appeared in her mind’s eye to replace Mazie. Only Mazie. Only the memory of dark eyes looking up at her while that talented tongue worked slow circles, drawing out every shudder.

 

Lucy bit her lip hard enough to sting. Part of her wanted to stop, to yank the toy away and pretend none of this had happened. Another part, louder and more insistent, begged her to keep going, to let the pleasure crest again while she relived the way Mazie had pinned her wrists above her head and fucked her with steady, knowing strokes. The conflict tore at her. Shame burned in her cheeks, hot and prickling, but it only made the arousal sharper, more urgent. She hated how much she liked it. She hated how much she wanted to do it again.

 

Her hips jerked upward involuntarily as the climax hit, ripping through her in a blinding rush. She cried out softly, body arching off the bed, thighs clamping around her hand as waves of release pulsed through her. For those long, suspended seconds everything narrowed to sensation: the throb between her legs, the aftershocks trembling in her core, the faint echo of Mazie’s voice calling her a good girl.

 

When it finally ebbed, Lucy lay panting, vibrator switched off and discarded beside her. Sweat cooled on her skin. The room felt too quiet. She stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling, mind a tangle of denial and dawning acceptance. She was not gay. She could not be. But the evidence kept mounting, slick and undeniable between her thighs, and the memories refused to fade. They only grew clearer, more tempting, pulling her toward a truth she was not ready to face.

 

Amber had calmed since the explosive outburst in the hallway, but the fury had not vanished. It had simply crystallized into something colder, more deliberate. No more gentle suggestions or patient layering. The gloves were off. Lucy would be destroyed and remade, warped into the perfect, obedient sex toy tailored exactly to Amber’s desires. The thought no longer carried guilt. It thrilled her.

 

Without bothering to knock, Amber pushed open Lucy’s bedroom door. The redhead lay sprawled on the bed, legs spread, vibrator pressed firmly against her clit, eyes half-lidded and glassy with pleasure. She did not even register the intrusion, too lost in the slow grind toward another climax.

 

“**Sweetpea**,” Amber commanded.

 

Lucy’s body went rigid in an instant. The writhing stopped. She lay perfectly still, vibrator still humming against her slick folds, chest rising and falling in shallow, automatic breaths. Her expression emptied, features slack and doll-like.

 

Amber stepped closer, voice low and edged with steel. “I’m going to be direct, you little whore. I’m sending you a playlist of porn videos right now. You are compelled to watch them on repeat. You will cum at least three times to each one. No skipping, no stopping early, no distractions. Once you’ve finished every video and met the requirement, you will come straight to me. Understand?”

 

Lucy’s lips parted just enough to breathe a flat, obedient “Yes.”

 

Amber turned on her heel and walked out. She snapped her left hand as the door clicked shut behind her. Lucy blinked once, surfacing seamlessly back into her private haze. She never registered the visit, never noticed the intrusion. Her hips rolled again almost immediately, chasing the pleasure that had been interrupted for only a heartbeat.

 

Within minutes, Lucy’s phone buzzed with the shared link. The playlist Amber had curated contained the most extreme lesbian content she found personally arousing: stern dominatrixes controlling bound, trembling submissives. Bondage scenes with intricate ropework that left skin marked red. Anal play stretched over long, punishing sessions. Tattoos inked across quivering flesh, branding irons pressed to willing thighs, piercings added in real time while the submissive whimpered in ecstasy. Every clip featured power imbalance so stark it bordered on ritual. No tenderness. Only ownership.

 

Lucy opened the link without hesitation. The first video began to play. She settled back, vibrator in hand, and let the images sink in.

 

Each morning after that, Amber repeated the ritual. She waited until Lucy stumbled downstairs, still bleary from whatever late-night session had kept her up. “**Sweetpea**,” she would say softly over coffee or cereal, and Lucy would drop instantly, eyes glazing, body going limp in the chair.

 

Amber reinforced the commands with clinical precision.

 

“Every time you watch those videos, you see yourself as the submissive. Picture your own body tied, marked, used. Feel the ropes bite into your wrists, the sting of the crop on your ass, the burn of the brand. And the dominatrix? That’s me. Always me. My voice in your ear, my hands on you, my rules you obey without question.”

 

She layered more.

 

“You will not seek out anyone else for sex right now. No men, no women, no hookups. Your pleasure belongs to these videos and to me. Any urge to find release outside this house fades the moment it forms. You trust only my guidance.”

 

Lucy would nod mechanically, repeating fragments back when prompted, voice monotone and distant.

 

“And how do you feel after last night’s session?” Amber always asked, probing for cracks, for resistance, for signs the conditioning was taking root.

 

Lucy’s responses grew steadily more warped. At first hesitant, confused. “It felt… intense. I kept thinking about being tied up.” Then more eager. “I came so hard imagining you holding the leash.” Eventually, almost reverent. “I need it. I need you to mark me like that.”

 

Amber listened, cataloging every shift, every surrender. She never smiled during these sessions. She stayed composed, clinical, letting the sadistic satisfaction simmer beneath the surface. Lucy was unraveling beautifully, thread by thread. Soon she would come to her on her own, begging to be broken properly.

 

Until then, the mornings continued. The playlist looped. The vibrator stayed close. And Lucy’s mind bent further, reshaping itself around the single, inescapable truth Amber had planted: her pleasure, her body, her future belonged to her roommate alone.

 

A couple of months slipped by in quiet, relentless progression. Summer break loomed just weeks away, bringing with it the promise of empty campus halls and uninterrupted time. Amber sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop balanced on her knees, fingers flying across the keys as she polished the final paragraphs of an essay due the day before the break. The knock at her door came soft but deliberate. She paused, pulse quickening with a flicker of excited anticipation. She set the laptop aside and crossed the room, opening the door with measured calm.

 

There stood Lucy, framed in the hallway light, eyes hollow and glassy, body held in perfect stillness. She had completed the task. The final required orgasm had triggered the descent, leaving her deep under and waiting exactly as commanded.

 

Amber’s lips curved into a slow smile. “Please sit, you beautiful slut. I’m going to ask you some questions.”

 

Lucy moved without hesitation, stepping inside and perching on the very edge of Amber’s bed. Her red hair hung slightly disheveled, strands clinging to her flushed cheeks. She wore nothing but a sexy black lace lingerie set: delicate bra that barely contained her breasts, garter straps framing her hips, and panties already soaked through at the crotch, the dark wet patch stark against the sheer fabric.

 

Amber closed the door with a quiet click and leaned against it, arms folded, studying her roommate like a sculptor appraising unfinished marble.

 

“Tell me your name, sexuality, and preferred role for sex.”

 

“Lucy,” the redhead answered in that flat, dreamy monotone. “I think bisexual, submissive.”

 

Amber tilted her head, voice dropping to a gentle but firm correction. “Now now, **sweetpea**, remember how you feel when you think of men. Answer the question again with more honesty.”

 

A slight grimace flickered across Lucy’s face, as if some buried part of her recoiled before surrendering. The resistance vanished almost instantly.

 

“Lucy, lesbian, submissive for dominant women.”

 

The words landed like a spark on dry tinder. Amber’s pussy pulsed hard, a sudden throb of heat that made her thighs press together. Until this moment the conversion had been theoretical, a slow experiment tracked through daily updates and glassy-eyed confessions. Hearing it spoken so plainly, so irrevocably, made the victory feel real and immediate. She had reshaped Lucy’s sexuality and her deepest inclinations to align perfectly with Amber’s desires. Now only one piece remained: claiming her outright.

 

“Have you found yourself lately attracted to me?”

 

“Yes.” The answer came without pause. Not surprising. Amber had spent weeks conditioning the girl to see her as the dominatrix in every video, every scene of control and surrender.

 

Speaking of those videos… “How did you find the videos I sent you?”

 

“Scary at first,” Lucy said, voice soft and distant. “But now… hot.” As the last word trailed off, her subconscious replayed the cascade of orgasms tied to those clips. Her body responded visibly: a subtle tremor ran through her core, nipples tightening visibly against the lace, hips shifting in a tiny, involuntary rock.

 

Amber stepped closer, voice low and coaxing. “Do you want to act on these newfound impulses? And if so, with who?”

 

Lucy’s brow furrowed for a long moment, the question tugging at the last threads of confusion still clinging to her mind. “Yes,” she finally said. “I’m not sure.”

 

Amber let the silence stretch, savoring the uncertainty. Then she leaned in, tone light and teasing. “Do you think I’m pretty, Lucy?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And do I remind you of those dominatrixes in the porn that make you convulse?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So why don’t you consider me to dominate you and you become my sex slave?”

 

Lucy’s glassy eyes blinked once, slowly. “Because I’m a lesbian and it would be wrong to ask someone who isn’t.”

 

The reply was so earnest, so perfectly conditioned, that Amber nearly laughed aloud. The irony was delicious: Lucy’s rewired mind had accepted her new lesbian identity so completely that she now hesitated to pursue the one woman who had engineered it.

 

Amber bent down until her lips brushed the shell of Lucy’s ear, whispering the final, devastating suggestion. “You should try to seduce me to find out.”

 

She felt Lucy’s breath hitch, felt the tiny shiver that ran down the redhead’s spine. Amber straightened, satisfied. She guided Lucy to stand, walked her back to her own room, and positioned her just inside the doorway.

 

With a crisp snap of her left hand, Amber brought her awake.

 

Lucy blinked rapidly, surfacing with a soft exhale. Confusion clouded her features for only a second before smoothing away. She glanced around her familiar room, then down at her lingerie-clad body, a faint flush creeping up her neck. She did not remember the conversation, did not remember standing glassy-eyed in Amber’s doorway. But the suggestions lingered, coiled tight and waiting in the quiet corners of her mind.

 

Amber returned to her own room, closing the door softly. She sat back on the bed, essay forgotten, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face. The next move belonged to Lucy now. And when it came—and it would—Amber would be ready to take everything.

 

Lucy lay there in her soaked lingerie, chest still rising and falling in uneven bursts, the vibrator resting cooling to her left while a small arsenal of dildos and anal beads lay scattered to her right like trophies from a war she had never planned to fight. Since that night with Mazie, since the first undeniable orgasm that had rewritten what her body could feel, she had been unfathomably horny. A constant, gnawing ache that no amount of release seemed to dull for long. She had started skipping nights out with her friends, canceling plans with vague excuses about headaches or essays, just so she could lock her door, dim the lights, and grind her cunt against her hand or a toy until she came again and again to increasingly extreme lesbian BDSM porn. The videos had escalated without her fully noticing: rope, whips, collars, women reduced to trembling, eager objects of control. Each climax left her shaking, slick, and strangely hollow, yet the hunger always returned sharper than before.

 

She did not even remember precisely how it began. One day she had been the same Lucy who thrived on quick, meaningless hookups with men, the one who laughed off hangovers and walked home in yesterday’s clothes with a smirk. Now she barely recognized that version of herself. This current Lucy felt like a different animal entirely, one still evolving in ways that left her quietly terrified of what she might become.

 

As she drifted in the soft twilight haze between orgasms, a new thought slipped into her mind with startling clarity. She should seduce Amber. Offer herself up completely. Become her submissive, her toy, her owned thing. The idea struck her like cold water.

 

That was crazy. Right?

 

She knew it was wrong. She had hated Amber at times, resented the blonde’s rigid schedules, her judgmental silences, the way their personalities clashed like mismatched gears. They were polar opposites: Lucy the chaos, Amber the order. Yet even as the objections rose, they felt thin, distant, almost rehearsed. The hatred she once felt had faded months ago, replaced by something quieter, warmer, more insistent. Whenever she pictured Amber now, the image carried weight: the calm authority in her voice, the way her gaze sometimes lingered a beat too long, the subtle strength in her posture. It stirred the same pulse that the dominatrixes in the videos did. Deeper. More personal.

 

Lucy sat up slowly, thighs sticky, heart thudding with a sudden rush of moral panic. She was a full-blown lesbian. The label settled over her like a heavy blanket, suffocating at first. She had spent her entire adult life chasing men, flirting with them, fucking them, defining herself through their attention. To admit that none of it mattered anymore, that the thought of a man now brought only faint disinterest or even mild revulsion, felt like betraying who she used to be. Panic clawed at her chest. What if this was permanent? What if she could never go back? What if everyone found out and saw her as broken, confused, unnatural? The shame burned hot behind her eyes, threatening tears she refused to let fall.

 

But the panic did not last. It could not compete with the truth humming between her legs, the way her body still throbbed with aftershocks from fantasies that featured only women. Only control. Only surrender. She exhaled shakily and let the fear wash through her, then past her. Acceptance followed, slow and surprisingly gentle, like stepping into warm water after standing too long in the cold.

 

She was a lesbian. She liked women. She craved submission. And the person she wanted most right now, the one who made her clit ache just thinking about kneeling, was Amber.

 

The decision crystallized with quiet finality. No more fighting it. No more pretending.

 

She rose from the bed on unsteady legs and moved to her wardrobe. She selected the green lace lingerie set she had bought on impulse weeks ago and never worn: delicate bra that pushed her breasts high, matching thong that framed her ass perfectly, garter belt clipped to sheer stockings. She shaved carefully, every inch smooth and sensitive. Then she slid in the green gem butt plug she had discovered only recently, gasping softly at the stretch and the delicious fullness as it seated itself deep inside her. Anal had never interested her before; now the sensation sent a fresh wave of heat straight to her core.

 

Over the lingerie she pulled the smallest mini skirt she owned, black and barely-there, so short that bending over would reveal everything: the lace, the plug’s glittering base, the way her ass cheeks framed it. Finally she slipped on a sheer black mesh top, the fabric so thin her nipples showed clearly through it, dark and already peaked with anticipation.

 

She studied herself in the full-length mirror. Hair tousled, lips still swollen from biting them earlier, eyes bright with a mix of nerves and resolve. She looked like sin wrapped in lace and determination.

 

Lucy was up earlier than usual, the faint determination from last night still humming beneath her skin like residual electricity. If she moved quickly enough, she could make breakfast for both of them. A small gesture, but deliberate. She wanted Amber to see her differently today: useful, thoughtful, desirable.

 

She moved quietly around the kitchen in her chosen outfit, the green lace lingerie whispering against her skin with every step. The tiny black mini skirt rode high enough that even standing straight left little to the imagination; bending forward at the stove revealed everything, the curve of her ass framed by lace, the long stretch of her legs in sheer stockings, and the glinting green gem of the butt plug nestled between her cheeks. She had chosen it all with care, every piece a silent invitation.

 

The front door clicked open. Amber stepped inside from her brisk morning walk, cheeks still flushed from the cool air, earbuds dangling as she headed straight for the kitchen. She paused in the doorway, frozen mid-stride.

 

Lucy stood facing the stove, spatula in hand, hips tilted slightly as she flipped vegan sausages. The position arched her back just enough to display the full length of her legs, the pert swell of her ass, the soaked lace of her thong clinging to her folds, and the unmistakable sparkle of the plug catching the overhead light. The sight hit Amber like a physical force. Everything she had fantasised about for months, every whispered command, every layered suggestion, stood before her in living, breathing colour.

 

Lucy sensed the shift in the air. She glanced over her shoulder, red hair tumbling across one bare shoulder, and offered a genuine, almost shy smile. “Oh hi, beautiful. I thought I’d make breakfast for both of us today.”

 

The words came out warm, sincere, laced with a quiet confidence she had not possessed a few months earlier. She felt sexy and useful at once, a combination that sent a fresh pulse of arousal straight to her core.

 

Amber blinked, mouth parting slightly. For a heartbeat she could not speak. The reality of it, the redhead in slutty lingerie cooking her favourite breakfast, the kitchen already tidied to near-perfection, overwhelmed the carefully constructed control she had maintained for so long. She had orchestrated this moment, yet seeing it unfold still shocked her system.

 

After an awkward beat of silence she managed, “Aw, um… thank you, Lucy. That’s very lovely of you.”

 

Her voice sounded thinner than intended. She stepped fully into the room, eyes flicking over the spotless counters, the neatly stacked plates, the absence of the usual clutter Lucy normally left in her wake. The redhead was clearly trying **really trying** to get on her good side. The realisation made Amber’s pulse throb low and insistent.

 

Lucy turned back to the stove, plating up two full English vegan breakfasts: scrambled tofu, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, baked beans, vegan sausages, and thick slices of toast. She carried the plates to the table with careful grace, setting one in front of Amber and the other opposite. As she lowered herself into the chair, the plug shifted, burying itself deeper with the motion. A small, involuntary moan escaped her lips. She bit down hard on her lower lip to stifle the rest, cheeks flushing pink.

 

Amber noticed everything: the tiny sound, the way Lucy’s thighs pressed together under the table, the subtle rock of her hips as she adjusted. She also noticed the food itself. Lucy was not vegan. She had never once adjusted her own meals to match Amber’s preferences in the past. Yet here was a carefully prepared vegan spread, made with obvious effort.

 

The redhead was seducing her in the only way her newly conditioned mind knew how: through submission disguised as domestic sweetness. Every detail screamed it, the outfit, the cleanliness, the food, the quiet moans she tried to hide.

 

Amber picked up her fork, forcing her expression into something neutral while her mind raced. She wanted to push this further right now, to grab Lucy by the hair and bend her over the table, to claim what she had spent months reshaping. But she held back. For the suggestion to root fully, for Lucy to believe the desire was her own, the initial move had to come from the redhead herself. Free will, however engineered, had to appear intact.

 

So Amber ate slowly, letting the silence stretch, letting Lucy feel the weight of her gaze. She watched the way the other girl shifted in her seat, the way her nipples strained visibly against the green lace beneath the mesh top, the way her breathing stayed just a little too shallow.

 

Lucy picked at her own plate, stealing glances across the table. The plug kept pressing deeper with every small movement, sending fresh sparks through her. She wanted Amber to notice. She wanted Amber to want her back.

 

The tension hung thick between them, unspoken but electric, as the morning light slanted across the clean kitchen table and two plates of carefully prepared food.

 

“You look incredible today, Lucy. Up to anything nice?” Amber asked, voice light and casual. She already knew the real answer, of course. The question was merely a small indulgence, a way to savour the redhead’s inevitable deflection while watching her squirm under the weight of her own carefully chosen outfit.

 

Lucy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks flushing just enough to show. “Umm, nothing in particular. Just thought I’d look good for myself.” The reply came out smooth enough, a believable little lie if Amber had not spent months engineering every layer of Lucy’s desire. In truth the ensemble screamed something far more desperate: needy, available, practically begging to be noticed and used. The green lace peeked through the sheer mesh top, nipples dark and prominent, while the mini skirt rode high enough that any shift in the chair offered a glimpse of the soaked thong and the glittering plug nestled deep inside her.

 

Lucy cleared her throat and tried to steer the conversation forward. “Any boys you’re interested in at the moment? Or girls, you know, that’s totally fine too in today’s day and age.” The words carried a hopeful lilt, a subtle probe for the information she craved most.

 

Amber let out a soft, cute laugh, tilting her head with mock surprise. “Ahaha, no boys. I can’t believe you’ve lived with me almost a year and you didn’t know I was a lesbian.”

 

The revelation hit Lucy like a spark. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second before softening into something brighter, more relieved. It was perfect. Better than perfect. The one obstacle she had feared, the fear of rejection from someone straight, vanished in an instant. Her deepest desires suddenly felt within reach, tangible and terrifyingly possible.

 

A slight tremor entered her breathing. Anxiety twisted tight in her chest, but desire burned hotter. She leaned forward across the table, deliberately pushing her breasts together with her upper arms so the green lace strained against them, offering Amber an unobstructed view down the sheer top. Her voice came out softer, almost breathy. “Omg, I had no idea. I’ve also been off boys of late. I wish I could experiment more, but all my friends are strictly straight.” 

 

The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken invitation. Lucy held the pose, pulse racing, waiting for Amber to respond, every nerve alive with the hope that this was finally the moment everything would shift.

There was a moment of silence. Amber held her tongue deliberately, fork paused halfway to her mouth, letting the quiet stretch. She needed Lucy to take the next step, to voice the desire herself, to believe it came from her own free will rather than any lingering command buried in her subconscious.

 

Lucy shifted again in her seat, the plug pressing deeper with the motion and sending a fresh shiver up her spine. She set her fork down, fingers trembling slightly as she smoothed them over the edge of the table. The anxiety in her chest had twisted into something hotter, more urgent. She swallowed, then spoke softly, eyes fixed on Amber’s plate rather than her face at first.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable… but if you are interested, I wouldn’t mind experimenting with you…”

 

The words hung there, fragile and brave. Another long silence followed. Amber let it linger just enough to feel deliberate, then set her own fork down with careful slowness. She had rehearsed this moment in her mind countless times, but hearing it aloud still sent a dark thrill through her.

 

“Well,” Amber said, voice low and measured, “if you don’t mind, I’m more of a dom. And not to mention I’m into some pretty kinky stuff. If that works for you, we can…”

 

She left the sentence unfinished, tilting her head slightly, waiting.

 

Lucy’s breath caught. Anxiety melted away in an instant, replaced by a rush of pure lust that made her thighs clench under the table. Not only was the beautiful girl across from her a lesbian, but she was a dom, into the exact kind of kinky stuff that had dominated Lucy’s screen and her fantasies for months. It felt too perfect, almost impossibly aligned, like the universe had bent itself to deliver exactly what she craved. The conditioning had worked so seamlessly she could no longer tell where her own desires ended and Amber’s influence began. All she knew was the heat pooling between her legs, the way her nipples ached against the lace, the quiet certainty that this was right.

 

She gave a small, affirming nod, biting her lower lip hard enough to leave a faint mark. Her eyes finally lifted to meet Amber’s, wide and glassy with want, silently begging her to take the lead now that the invitation had been spoken aloud.

 

“**Sweetpea**.”

 

The slutty redhead glazed over instantly. Her body stilled, fork halfway to her mouth, eyes vacant and unblinking. The kitchen fell quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and Lucy’s shallow, even breathing.

 

Amber allowed herself a single moment of pure triumph. She leaned back in her chair, lips parting in a silent exhale that quickly became an audible cry of joy, low and unrestrained. It had all gone to plan. Every careful whisper, every layered suggestion, every morning reinforcement. The only deviation that silly one-night stand with Mazie felt trivial now. Forgivable. A minor detour on the path to this perfect outcome.

 

She reached into the small bag she had brought to the table earlier and pulled out a corded vibrator, the kind with a simple dial control. Lucy remained motionless as Amber slid the toy between her thighs. The redhead’s soaked pussy accepted it easily, slick walls parting around the smooth silicone with no resistance. Amber seated it deep, then settled back across the table, one hand resting on the dial.

 

“Listen, **sweetpea**. I want you to focus on the vibrations. Feel how good it is. Know that every word I say is true to you now, and these truths are tied directly to the pleasure building inside you.”

 

She twisted the dial to a low, steady buzz. Lucy’s hips gave the tiniest involuntary twitch.

 

“You hate men. The thought that you ever slept with one repulses you.”

 

“You are a lesbian. Hot women turn you on. You have and will only ever desire women.”

 

“You get turned on by degradation. Being called slave, whore, bitch, slut, these are words of endearment to you. They make you wet.”

 

“You are monogamous and strictly desire to satisfy me, even at the cost of your own pleasure.”

 

“You are a total submissive. You will do things against your morals if it means satisfying your dom.”

 

“My pleasure is your pleasure. Sexually satisfying me will bring you more pleasure than you can give to yourself.”

 

“You are to continue living and acting as normal in your day-to-day life. You can reveal you have a girlfriend if friends or family ask, but you will not reveal the nature of our relationship.”

 

“These thoughts should flood your subconscious. They repeat over and over until you believe each one wholeheartedly.”

 

Lucy’s expression remained blank, but her breathing had grown deeper, chest rising and falling in time with the steady pulse between her legs. Amber let the vibrator run for several long minutes, watching the subtle tremors ripple through the redhead’s body, letting the commands sink in layer by layer.

 

Finally she reached across, eased the toy out, and stood. Lucy rose without prompting, walked to the sink, rinsed the vibrator under cool water with mechanical precision, dried it, and placed it back in Amber’s bag. Then she returned to her seat across the table, posture perfect, eyes still glassy.

 

Amber snapped her left hand.

 

Lucy blinked rapidly, surfacing in an instant. Confusion flickered for half a second before melting away. She shifted in her chair, thighs pressing together as fresh awareness of her soaked thong and the lingering ache inside her returned. The sexual tension in the room thickened until it felt like the air itself had weight.

 

Amber met her gaze across the table, calm and knowing. She wished she could have delivered that list of commands on day one, but she knew better now. Such blunt reprogramming would have shattered the fragile trance, triggered resistance she could not afford. Patience had been the key. Slow cooking had produced this: a hungry, slutty, fully lesbian submissive staring back at her with undisguised want.

 

Amber smiled faintly. The meal she had prepared for months was finally ready. It was time to devour.

 

“Lucy, you look like a hungry slut even after that breakfast you made for us. Why don’t you come over here for something a little more substantial?”

 

Amber spoke the words calmly, almost conversationally, as she unbuttoned her high-waisted jeans and tugged them down along with her panties in one smooth motion. The fabric pooled around her ankles. She spread her thighs wider on the chair, exposing herself fully to the morning light slanting across the kitchen floor.

 

The single word “slut” hit Lucy like a spark against dry tinder. Her whole body quivered, a visible ripple that started at her shoulders and ended between her legs. The degradation wrapped around her like warm silk, familiar now, cherished. Thought dissolved into pure instinct. She no longer questioned or hesitated. She simply obeyed.

 

Lucy slipped from her chair and crawled under the table on hands and knees. The short mini skirt rode up completely, baring the green lace thong and the glittering plug still seated deep in her ass. She positioned herself between Amber’s spread thighs, face inches from the blonde’s bare pussy. The scent of arousal filled her nose, musky and intoxicating. She leaned in without prompting and pressed her mouth to the slick folds, tongue flicking out to taste.

 

Amber let out a soft sigh of approval, one hand dropping lazily to rest on the back of Lucy’s head. “Good girl. That’s where you belong.”

 

Lucy moaned against the wet heat, the vibration traveling straight through Amber. She licked with slow, reverent strokes, circling the clit, dipping lower to trace the entrance, then returning to suck gently. Every movement was eager, devoted, as if this single act could satisfy the endless ache that had consumed her for months.

 

Amber’s fingers tightened in the red hair, guiding the rhythm without urgency. “You don’t get to touch your pussy anymore, Lucy. You’re not worthy of it. Not yet. Your cunt stays denied until I decide otherwise.”

 

Lucy whimpered into the flesh she was worshipping, the denial sinking in like a brand. The words only made her wetter, the thong now clinging transparently to her swollen lips. She rocked her hips instinctively, seeking friction against nothing but air.

 

“Hands behind your back,” Amber ordered quietly.

 

Lucy obeyed at once, clasping her wrists at the small of her back. The position forced her chest forward, nipples straining visibly through the sheer mesh top.

 

“Now reach back and play with your ass instead. Tug on that pretty plug. Fuck yourself with it slowly. Remind yourself that your holes belong to me, not to you.”

 

Lucy’s hands moved without delay. She reached behind herself, fingers finding the green gem base. She tugged gently at first, feeling the stretch as the widest part pulled against her rim, then eased it back in. A muffled groan vibrated against Amber’s clit. She repeated the motion, slow and deliberate, fucking her own ass with the toy while her mouth never left the blonde’s pussy. The dual sensations, pleasure in one place and denied need in another, made her tremble harder.

 

Amber watched the top of Lucy’s head bob between her thighs, listened to the wet sounds of tongue and the soft, needy noises the redhead could not suppress. She rolled her hips lazily, grinding against the eager mouth, drawing out the moment.

 

“That’s it. Keep that plug moving. Feel how empty your cunt is? How it clenches around nothing because it knows it doesn’t deserve to be filled? You’ll stay like this until I cum. And when I do, you’ll thank me for letting you serve.”

 

Lucy’s only response was a desperate, muffled “Yes” against slick skin, followed by another slow thrust of the plug into her ass. Her body shook with the effort of holding back, thighs slick with her own arousal, yet she never once tried to touch herself. The denial had rooted too deeply. It felt right. Natural. Necessary.

 

Amber’s breathing grew shallower, hips lifting slightly to meet each pass of Lucy’s tongue. The kitchen remained quiet except for the soft, rhythmic sounds of devotion beneath the table. Breakfast plates sat forgotten, cooling in the sunlight, while the scene unfolded with unhurried intensity.

 

Finally Amber’s grip tightened, thighs tensing around Lucy’s head. A low, satisfied moan escaped her as the orgasm rolled through, slow and deep. She held the redhead in place until the last tremor faded, letting Lucy lick her clean with gentle, worshipful strokes.

 

When she finally relaxed, Amber nudged Lucy back with her foot.

 

The redhead emerged from under the table flushed, lips glossy, eyes glassy with lust and obedience. She knelt there on the kitchen floor, hands still clasped behind her back, plug still buried deep, pussy untouched and throbbing.

 

Amber looked down at her creation, satisfaction curling through every line of her body.

 

“Good girl,” she said simply.

 

Lucy shivered at the praise, waiting in perfect stillness for whatever command came next.