You: "Damnit... no, I can't let this happen. I'm so close!" I exclaim as I gaze at my computer monitors, which are filled with all sorts of strange code, hundreds and thousands of lines of it. I look to the side, studying the strange device carefully, making sure not to remove any of the wires connecting it to the computer. There are a number of bulbs on the machine, but none of them are on. "Please... you have to work..." I whimper as I lower my head, just about ready to accept defeat until I hear a sudden buzzing. I lift my head up and grin from ear to ear as I see that the bulbs have powered on, and the device reads as being fully operational. "Yes! YES!" I exclaim triumphantly as I leap into the air gleefully. I carefully unplug the wires from the helmet and hold it in both hands as I make my way downstairs. "Hey, mom? Could I show you something?"
Stranger: I was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, a newspaper in my hand. I had on a loose blouse and the world's frumpiest slacks, so loose and boring that my ample ass was somehow invisible in them. I look up the stairs when I hear your triumph, and then you come down with some... thing. "Sure, honey, what is it?"
You: "Well, to put it simply, it's a helmet that's capable of relieving stress and anxiety. I made it for whenever I have exams and assignments coming up, but I figured since you're always working so hard, you should be the first to get to try it." I lie to you with a wide smile on my face. You'd never, ever guess that what I'm doing has any intentions other than to better your life.
Stranger: That was true. I thought we had a great bond, and I trusted you implicitly - why wouldn't I? Plus, you were always working on some doohickey or another. It never hurt to indulge you with the self buttering toaster, or that weird Google Home knockoff you made (a failed attempt to brainwash me with subiminals that I didn't even realize.) "Depends, am I going biking later?" I laugh, holding out my hands to take the bizzare helmet.
You: I smile as I hand it to you carefully. "I assure you that if you decide to, it'll be the best bike ride you've ever been on. Just focusing on feeling the breeze and enjoying the scenery." I reply and sit down beside you. One of the drawbacks of the helmet is that it runs on a charge... if it were to die mid-brainwash, you'd likely become stuck in some sort of comatose state... of course, my plan for you isn't too far off from that anyways. "Why don't you try it on? I put plenty of cushioning inside, so it's pretty comfy!"
Stranger: I put it on, backwards, not realizing the screen is meant to cover my eyes. Not realizing it was a screen at all. "So does it... Like, vibrate, or make noises, or give my scalp a massage, or...?" Oh dear, your mother could be so clueless sometimes. Though she was about to become a lot MORE clueless.
You: I roll my eyes. God, sometimes I'm astonished that a mind like mine was born from the genes of a woman such as yourself. That said, it always made you quite endearing. From a young age, I've been smarter than you ever were. And that's going to be the case 100 times over in just a moment. "Like this, mom." I say as I turn it around so that your vision is obscured by the screen, which is of course powered off, so you're left in darkness. "Now... just sit back and relax. It'll make the process much easier."
Stranger: I lean back into the sofa, rolling my shoulders as my vision is blacked out. I wasn't stupid, per se, just something of a ditz. If you ever wanted that part of me back, it should be easy enough, but my default state was going to be rather.... mindless. "Process? What kind of process are we talking here?" I say, turning towards your voice.
You: "The process of the stress removal, of course." Yet another lie. As I reach for the button that powers on the helmet, I hesitate. This could very easily change my life, for better or for worse... would I regret this decision once I've made it? I close my eyes and sigh, shaking my head. I've already come this far, there's no point in turning back. I press the button and the helmet comes to life. The lights decorating the metallic surface start flashing one by one, a silent whirring audible atop your head. The screen in front of your eyes lights up, and when your vision adjust to the brightness you're greeted by an intricate black and white spiral pattern. The earmuffs, resting over your ears, start to play binaural beats, the rhythmic thumping putting you at ease.
Stranger: The bulbs start flashing in sync on the outside of the helmet, pulsing each time the spiral completes a revolution. Spinning, spinning, spinning... I sit up straighter and cock my head as the program begins, the beats weird, the screen strange, my lips curved into a confused half-frown. "I... Well, this is rather peculiar, isn't it, dear?" I ask, scratching the back of my neck with some difficulty. The helmet was comfy, but bulky.
You: "I know it's a bit odd, but just relax and trust me." I have to raise my voice to make myself audible over the mind-numbing thumping. The spiral continues to spin around and around, and as time passes you start to find yourself drawn more and more towards it, as if your attention and focus is being sucked into the center of the endless, digital vortex. The swirling of the black and white around one another is like watching an intricate dance.
Stranger: An intricate dance indeed. The white pirouettes around the black, the black twirling around the white. A small sigh escapes me as I lean back and relax, watching it all unfold, spinning, spinning, spinning. Maybe it was time to boot up that companion app you made and take a look at the data the helmet was collecting.
You: I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, turning it on and opening the application that I had personally designed to display any and all features of the helmet, including the progression of the spiral, the level of intensity of the binaurals, and, of course, the intelligence that's being drained right out of your mind. The screen reads "30% of intelligence collected", which is far more than I expected at this point, but obviously not enough to be satisfactory. I contemplate whether or not to let it drain 100%, wondering if that would be too much. As I think about this, voices start to assault your ears in delicate whispers: "Submissive. Empty. Obedient. Mindless."
Stranger: The lights on the helmet were now flashing faster as the spiral grew more intense. The rate of my intelligence dropoff was decreasing, then it went down; apparently the braindrain wasn't consistent until it really, fully kicked in. When the whispers start I grunt and lean back more. You had an EyeCam in the app, letting you see a view of what the top half of my obscure face was up to. I was eyes wide, pupils shrunk, eyes darting left, right, left, right, left, right as the spiral spun, spun, spun. Subject status: light trance.
You: Watching your eyes zip around like that while your eyes are so wide is certainly an arousing sight. I bite my lip and stand up quietly, unbuttoning and unzipping my pants and sliding my boxers down, my cock bobbing out as it swells more with each passing second. I sit back down and start to stroke as I watch your eyes from the inside of the helmet. Finally, my dream is coming true. "You love to obey. You love to submit. You have no will. You have no thoughts." One ear to the other, those soft, rasping voices echoing in your mind.
Stranger: Were my eyes following the spiral, or looking to the speakers? They continue to dart, fluttering, as my head rolls and lolls like a bobblehead. Something was wrong here, and I knew it, and you see my manicured nails slooowwwlly reach up to the edge of the helmet. Maybe hitting the "Hypnotic Blast" button on the app would be a good idea...? "Honey... I... What's... This... No... I..."
You: Considering you could very well end up removing the helmet before the brainwashing ends, which would result in surely awful consequences, I figure I should probably speed things up. "It's okay mom... stop struggling, please. Stop resisting." I whisper to you, even though you can't hear me, as I tap the button on the screen. Suddenly, the spiral starts to spin rapidly, and the voices come harder and faster, multiple voices in each ear at once.
Stranger: My hands go limp like a puppet with its string cut as the spiral suddenly gets closer, faster, strobing different colors, the sound, the music - you watch in the Eye Cam as my pupils shrink more, grow wider, and then my eyes dumbly cross as my jaw drops. The hypnotic blast defused my resistance just fine. Time to wash a brain. And the app agreed: SUBJECT STATUS: DEEP TRANCE.
You: As I see your eyes rolling inwards and crossing so stupidly, I bite my lip hard and stroke a bit faster. I look up from my phone and look at your mouth as it hangs open, and I see drool collect at the edge of your lip and start to run down your chin, dripping to your chest. I smile wide and nod in approval, returning to my phone and tapping the setting that controls the speed and intensity of the brain draining process. I set it to full blast, and the numbers quickly start to shoot up, reaching 60% in just a few seconds.
Stranger: I slump more in the couch as the spirals, the subliminals, drain me of my intelligence, relive me of my free will. I was helpless to do anything but stare now, stare into the spiral. "I... love to obey... I... Love to... submit... I... have no will... I have... no thoughts..."
You: As you repeat the subliminals that have taken root in your now helpless, defenseless mind, you start to hear a new sound flowing from the headphones. New words, new phrases. "You live to show off your body. You live to show off your ass. You live to shake it. You live to twerk. Live to twerk. Live to shake. Twerk. Twerk."
Stranger: I blink, once, twice, and then a dumb smile appears on my face as it all processes. "Twerk... shake it... ass. Twerk. Twerk. Twerk..."
You: Hearing you mindlessly say "twerk" over and over again makes me even harder, and I moan as I stroke my cock faster. The voices continue. "Twerk. Twerk. Twerk. You love to twerk. You cannot resist. You have to twerk. You have to obey. You have no thoughts. You have no mind." Even the screen starts to tell you what your new purpose is, the word "Twerk" flashing rapidly before your eyes.
Stranger: My mind was disassembled and stripped bare by the spiral, and now, it was being put back together. Your chunky momma's new existence was being written, and it revolved around her ass. I undulate my rear into the couch as I chant my programming. Soon, maybe I'd even get new visuals...
You: "Clap your cheeks. Wiggle your ass. Bounce your donk. Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake..." I watch you intently, seeing the gyration of your hips as your move your ass around and around into the comfy cushion. Along with the voices, the sound of ass clapping is played on either side. The smacking of thick, juicy cheeks, being slammed together, echoing loudly. The spiral starts to fade ever so slightly as clips of women shaking their fat, jiggly asses play in rapid succession. Women on the ground, twerking one cheek at a time. Squatting, hands on their knees as they bounce up and down. Leaning over, wiggling side to side, cheeks jiggling wildly.
Stranger: I was being reprogrammed into an ass slave. My lips twist into a smile as I am reminded of just how fun asses were. Spank them, jiggle them, clap them, smack them, shake them swing, sway, walk, ass, cheeks, rear, bum, donk! I twerk deeper into my seat, watching and trying to dumbly replicate what the brainwashing helmet was showing me."Ass... Wiggle... Donk... Shake...Slave... Obey... Donk... Slave... Cheeks... Wiggle... Juicy... Big... Chunky... MILF... Donk..."
You: As your lips curl upwards into a dumb, mindless, goofy smile, I shut my eyes tight, drawing closer to cumming. I open them once again to admire the sight of you with that helmet obscuring half your face and shaking your ass into the couch, surely pulling the fabric of your pants tighter between your fat, bouncy cheeks. Along with the sights of women bouncing their fat booties, you see a few that have their eyes crossed and drool spilling from their lips like waterfalls. "Dumb worthless twerk slave. Mindless dancer."
Stranger: I had practically given myself a wedgie at this point. God, you needed to get me into something better. Tighter. I watch the women, enraptured, dimly noting the fountains of drools coming out of their mouths. I was too distracted by their thick asses, after all. The eyecam showed I had spirals in my eyes as I became a... became a... "Dumb twerk slave..."
You: (This is so unbelievably hot. I hope you're having as much fun as I am.)
Stranger: (Keep it rolling, baby.)
You: As the clips continue, you start to vaguely take note that what they're wearing on the lower halves is becoming more common, until they're all wearing them: jeans. "Jeans... big donk in tight jeans... twerk in jeans... live for jeans... only jeans, only jeans." I stand up, forcing myself to stop stroking as I run upstairs, searching through your wardrobe and smiling wide when I come across just what I was looking for. I rush back downstairs and toss a pair of light blue jeans on the couch.
Stranger: I was, of course, unable to see the jeans you had brought me. I had a big brainwashing screen over my now swirled eyes, after all. You just hear low moans of "...jeeeaaannns... denimmmm... donk... ass... slave... milf... donk... denim donk..." The brainwashing program was almost done. I was dumbed down, enslaved, ass-obsessed and now fixated on jeans and denim.
You: I can't help but laugh as you mindlessly moan for jeans like a zombie does for brains. To be honest, you and a zombie probably don't have too much of an intelligence gap anymore. I could easily envision an apocalypse of brainwashed jean zombies, all with big, fat asses stuffed into tight denim. The image makes me laugh a bit more. I look at the seat as you grind and bounce against it, seeing that it's starting to get sweaty from how hard you're working.
Stranger: "Jeans, jeans, ass, slave, jeans for my donk, slave, I..." Click. The helmet turns off. I slump down into my seat, utterly brainwashed. Time to play with your new toy.
You: I walk over to you slowly and carefully, reaching my hands out and grasping the helmet. I gently lift it up off of your head. Before I even get a chance to look at your face, I decide that I should probably return the helmet to the charger in case I need it again for whatever reason. I go into my room and hook it up to the computer, then come back downstairs. I stand in front of you, hands on my hips. "Lift your head up."
Stranger: Obediently, my head lolls upwards, looking at whoever just ordered me. Chin caked in drool? Check. Kind of half-smiling? Check. Eyes filled with a swirling spiral, each? Check. Signs of intelligence? Not check. "Yesss mastah..."
You: I can't help but shudder as you address me as Master, something I've been longing to hear since I reached puberty. I smile wide and move closer to you, looking down at your idiotic expression, your spinning, intricately patterned eyes. "Stand up and remove your pants. You know fully well that the only thing you should ever wear on your bottom half are tight jeans for your milf donk."
Stranger: I shakily stand up, as if remembering how to use my legs. My smile gets wider when I see and hear the mention of jeans. "Yesssss... mastah... jeans for my big, juicy donk..." I reply, struggling out of my slacks. You see me try to put on jeans, but they were just so tight they had to hop and jiggle around. "Mastah... wants slave... in jeans..." I grunt, trying to get them over my enormous rear.
You: "Aw, look at you... you poor thing... let master help you out, slave." I say as I put my hands on your hips and pull you towards me, your massive, doughy ass bouncing into me. If I wasn't holding onto you, you'd spring right off of my body. Even just seeing that enormous donk half covered in denim is enough to make me moan in euphoria. I grab the hems of the jeans and start tugging upwards hard, not caring if it's uncomfortable for my dumbass milf slave.
Stranger: There's an audible pop as the jeans finally shoot up, fully engulfing your mommy's perfect, perfect ass. The extra fat in my tummy pools up into a big ol' muffintop. "...jeans for slave... donk for mastahhhh."
You: I can't help myself. I grab you tightly and hold you against me, moving my hands up and groping and caressing the fat that's spilled over the sides of the jeans. My fingers sink into the flesh and I start to grind against your denim-clad ass, moaning and running my palms all over your skin. "You're finally in jeans, slave. And that's how you'll stay from now on."
Stranger: My body is limp, loose, pliant, yet crammed into BEAUTIFULLY tight jeans. "Yesss... mastahhh... only jeans for... slave..." Seems like my IQ did indeed drop a few points. I undulate against you dumbly, too stupid to be purposefully sexy. My muffintop felt like playdoh in your fingers.
You: (Just a heads up. I might be leaving in a half hour, maybe less.)
Stranger: (Did you enjoy?)
Stranger: (Use your donkslave in the time you have left. ;) )
You: (I plan to. Trying to think of ways we could keep in touch, too.)
Stranger: (Use the omegle tag donkslave.)
You: "Yes, that's right. Very good." I reply to your dumb groaning and give your muffintop a few nice, intense squeezes before letting go and circling around you, sitting right in the spot that you'd been twerking on. Speaking of twerking... "Alright, slave. It's time for me to see you shake that ass. Twerk that jean covered booty for me!" I exclaim as I start stroking my cock once more, eager to see this first-class show.
Stranger: Something kicks in. You brainwashed all semblance of smarts out of me, but twerking? I knew twerking. And moving with a conviction and thoughtfulness and sexiness you've never seen from me, I spread my feet, bend my knees, lift my ass... and start shaking my cheeks, twerking and throwing my denk donk in circles. "Yesss mastahhh!"
You: I stare at you as you shake your ass like a total pro, my jaw on the floor in disbelief. I mean, I knew that all the subliminal programming that I included would teach you how to twerk, but I figured you'd only be capable of shaking that colossal butt limply and dumbly. This... this was a surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one.
Stranger: I bend down further, get my hands on my knees, and just keep going, denim rippling, cheeks clapping.
You: With the rate that you're going, and the sheer mass of your booty, I doubt that those jeans can take much of this treatment. No matter how durable they may be, they can't resist the wrath of your fat, juicy milf ass. And I certainly can't either. My eyes are glued to your backside as you bounce it up and down, listening to that wonderful clapping of thick booty cheeks.
Stranger: You can even see a line of sweat developing, my ass proving too much for the jeans to handle as I twerk, twerk, twerk away. You'd have to get me other pairs, maybe invest in denim shorts...
You: "Drop to the ground and split, bitch!" I shout at you, having the time of my life. My own braindead mom, showing off her fat ass to me without even realizing that this was unusual. I
You: (Didn't mean to send yet.)
You: I'm not sure if you can handle such a stunt, considering the fact that you're a bit chubbier than most women, and a serious lack of flexibility. But if you could handle it, I know for sure that those jeans are as good as gone.
Stranger: I try my hardest, I really do. I manage a partial split before my ass rips through the pants. "...Mastahhh..."
You: I start laughing hysterically. The sound of the ripping is something straight out of a cartoon. I can't help but think about that one episode of Spongebob where he rips his pants, and that makes me laugh harder. "You're such a good slave. Don't worry, there are more jeans for you to wear. But we might have to go shopping for more as well." I tell you. "Go on, stand back up. Since those jeans have ripped, you might as well take them off. I can see your ass jiggling much better that way anyhow."
Stranger: Still grinning and slobbering over my tits, I clamber up to my feet, trying in vain to figure out how the button and fly of my ruined jeans worked. "Mastahhh... can't... jeans... donk... off..."
You: I don't bother standing up. Instead, I hold a finger out and beckon you to me with it. "Come here, slave. Sit down on my lap and grind against my cock while I get those jeans off of your body." As if in response to this, my cock twitches and swells even bigger.
Stranger: Back to my dumb, uncoordinated, zombie (new-)self, your momma plops her butt down on your cock and starts rubbing. the denim felt good, een if it was chafing your dick just a little bit.
You: I wind my arms around you and feel around for the button and zipper, but I end up getting distracted by your muffin top and start to play with it again, leaning forward and resting my head on your back as you grind your butt against my stiffening cock. "You're my property. You belong to me. You're nothing but my mindless jean slave."
Stranger: I nod and undulate in agreement, some of the drool getting on your legs, it was dripping that far... "Yuhhh... I am Mastahh's pro-perr-tee....belong to Mastahhhh... wear jeans on my donk... for mastahhh."
You: I feel your spit drip and pool on top of my legs, but I don't mind. In fact, it feels quite nice. "Very good, slave. Turn your head and look at me." I instruct you as I stop playing with your belly fat, finding the button. The jeans, even though they're ripped, are still so tight that I have to struggle to undo the button, and once I do it comes free with a loud *SNAP*. I chuckle and reach for the zipper.
Stranger: I look atyou with an idiot grin and swirling eyes, feeling a bit freer now that you undid the button on my waist. "Mastahhh?"
You: "Yes, my slave. Don't worry, those jeans are almost undone. And then I'll send you back to twerking. Or maybe I should have you give me a buttjob..." I mumble as I grip the zipper and slide it down. "Alright! There we go. Now, stand up and get rid of those jeans. While you're at it, take off your panties, too."
Stranger: "No... jeans...?" I say, horrified, shimmying out of them obediently anyway.
You: "Well, it's okay, slave. If you're naked, then you don't need to wear jeans. Under any other circumstances, jeans are necessary." I pat your head as if you're a pet that performed a neat trick. "Get down on your hands and knees and stick your ass up in the air for me."
Stranger: I nod, reassure, revealing my big bush before prepping myself for the buttjob.