Jacob's Word

"I'm sorry," Doctor Beckham said, his tone betraying a certain amount of disbelief buried carefully under mounds of patience. "But I'm afraid I don't quite understand. This sounds like it might be a matter for a therapist of some sort? Perhaps a couples counselor for you and this 'Jacob'? If you feel as though he's exerting an unhealthy amount of influence over your behavior, then we can certainly get you help, but it doesn't sound like it's a medical issue."

Even though Cheryl came into the office expecting pretty much exactly that response, it nonetheless hurt to hear it. She didn't even know anymore how many times she'd tried to explain the problem, only to be met with the same bemused condescension. And of course, if she got angry or upset or let any of her frustration show even a little, that only confirmed their snap diagnosis that they were dealing with an 'irrational' woman who needed therapy, and not...not...not whatever the fuck she did need. She tried to control her voice as she said, "No. It's not something a couples counselor can help with. Jacob and I aren't even a couple."

Doctor Beckham blinked. He furrowed his brow in such obvious confusion that Cheryl could practically picture the gears grinding inside his skull. "I beg pardon," he said at last, clearly picking his way through a verbal minefield. "But you said that you lived in this man Jacob's home. That you were having regular sexual intercourse with him. Is that no longer ongoing, or...?" He trailed into silence, as if unsure which path would take him safely to the end of the sentence and not wanting to risk a misstep.

Cheryl squirmed in what she hoped Doctor Beckham would see as discomfort. Her hand twitched subliminally, a brief flicker of almost imperceptible motion as the words 'sexual intercourse with him' triggered a spasmodic urge to masturbate while picturing Jacob's cock where her fingers were. She forced it aside. "N-no," she said, staring at the floor so that her long chestnut hair waterfalled over her face and hid her blush. "He's still fuh...I'm still his..." The heat in her pussy kept building as she struggled frantically to find a way to describe her sex life that didn't set off any of the suggestions in her head. "It's still ongoing," she said at last. "But it's not. Um. It's not intentional. It's the word again."

Cheryl looked up through the strands of her hair as Doctor Beckham scratched his head in comically obvious bewilderment. "That's the second time you've mentioned Jacob's, um, word. I'm really not sure I'm quite understanding you. Is it some sort of, of hypnotic trigger? I'm afraid hypnosis isn't really my field, but I know some excellent therapists who specialize in it. They could possibly help remove any unwanted suggestions that-"

"No!" Cheryl was uncomfortably aware that she was failing all of her 'keep calm and describe your symptoms' test. She made herself speak at a normal volume, even though it made her sound like she was strangling herself ever so slightly. "It is not hypnosis. Hypnosis doesn't do the things that Jacob's word does. It's more like, like..." She sighed. This was always the hardest bit, describing the actual effect in a way that made sense and didn't make her play with herself. "It's like the word makes a shape in the air, right? An invisible shape, but a real one."

Her eyes went a little bit distant as she tried to come up with a way to convey something that even she didn't believe the first time Jacob told her about it. "And that shape, it's not like any of the other shapes that we make when we push air out through our mouths. It's not like he's just saying 'obey' or 'sleep' or 'listen to me'." He said those words too, sometimes. After Cheryl heard the word the first time, after it sank into her brain all the way and she surrendered to its power, she found herself susceptible to all of them. But it was more than just a command.

"I don't know how he found out about it, maybe it was in an old book somewhere or maybe he just studied sounds and their effect on the human brain. But when he says it, and you hear it, that wave hits your eardrum and it vibrates in the shape of the word. And it travels up into your brain, and it...unlocks something. I'm not sure how to describe it. But it does something, physically does something to your brain to make you more, more..."

There were so many words Cheryl had learned to describe what the word did to her. Jacob had used them all, and he had programmed her to associate every single one of them with helpless pleasure. Docile, compliant, complacent, unthinking, accepting, malleable, obedient, submissive, pliable, tame, placid, yielding, open...

Cheryl blinked heavily. With a slow, careful effort, she removed her hand from the crotch of her jeans. "I'm sorry, Doctor Beckham. This is very difficult for me."

Doctor Beckham didn't respond at first. He was staring at Cheryl's pants in a kind of astonished trance, his mouth slightly open in amazement as he looked at the dark stain that saturated the fabric. Cheryl wondered how much time she'd lost in that fugue state, trying to describe how blank and obedient Jacob's word made her without falling back into that tractable, biddable state. (Oh God. She remembered two more words. Her left wrist ached from the strain of holding her right hand away from her pussy.)

"Doctor Beckham?" she asked. "Doctor Beckham. I'm very sorry, I know that was. Um. Distracting of me." She felt the blush creeping back up her cheeks, turning her face a bright crimson with embarrassment. "But I didn't do that of my own free will. Jacob programmed me to do that, while I was in a..." Blank, mindless, helpless, pliant, responsive, reverent, oh fuck... "While I was in that state," she made herself finish. She was uncomfortably aware that she was squeezing her legs together, but she couldn't seem to make herself stop doing it.

Doctor Beckham had a pretty impressive flush to his cheeks as well, and his gaze kept dropping down to her squirming thighs every few seconds. "And you think this was permanent?" he asked, shifting slightly to conceal a visible bulge. "You said you wanted an MRI to determine whether there were any abnormalities in your brain."

"The, the word isn't permanent," Cheryl said breathily, unable to control her body's responses completely. "It wears off after a while-I kind of gradually settle back into thinking as the influence of the word slows to a stop. It's like my brain is a tuning fork and the word sets it resonating at just the right frequency for-" Obedience, deference, subservience, servility, compliance... "For Jacob," she finished with a gasp, undoing her fly and plunging her hand inside her panties. "The sound of the word in my head fades really slowly, but it does fade. But even when I go back to normal, I still do and, and think...everything he told me. Everything."

Doctor Beckham was trying his best not to stare, but Cheryl could see how hard he was, and she knew what she must look like to anyone watching. Her panties were saturated with her arousal, soaked until they clung to her skin wherever her fingers weren't pushing them away, and her chest was heaving and jiggling with every breath. And the shirt was Jacob's idea, braless with a plunging neckline that went almost all the way down to her nipples. Cheryl was astonished that she hadn't already bounced clean out of it.

His mouth moved soundlessly for a moment, but he finally managed to say, "You...think what he tells you to think? When you're in that state?"

Cheryl nodded, wishing she didn't feel a surge of enthusiastic pleasure whenever she thought about the concept. He'd brainwashed her to love being brainwashed, and he'd brainwashed her to love that she was brainwashed to be brainwashed, and he'd brainwashed her to love being brainwashed to be brainwashed to be brainwashed and she couldn't pull out of the endless spiral of helpless control and submissive pleasure that always hit her whenever she started thinking about how deeply mindfucked she truly was-

A gush of liquid squirted out over her fingers, thick and salty and heady with the aroma of sex. Cheryl didn't exactly remember coming, but she remembered a gap in her memory and knew it was filled with orgasmic bliss. "Yes," she whimpered, not daring to think too hard about what she was responding to for fear of losing herself in ecstasy again. "I, I can't. I can't th-th-think..."

And she was gone again. She didn't even notice it this time; her mind seamlessly smoothed over the blank space in her mind with placid acceptance. She knew that she had been a good girl again, but she didn't know how or why. She only knew that it didn't matter. She was doing what Jacob told her to do. That always felt so good to a good girl like Cheryl. Good girls were good and they felt good. Cheryl realized that her words and her thoughts were becoming simpler, more slow and smaller with every climax, but that only made her smile wider and finger herself harder.

Doctor Beckham could clearly tell that she was losing her ability to function, that Jacob's commands were smoothing away her thoughts one by one, because his voice took on an authoritarian cast as he prompted her to keep talking. "Cheryl, is there any limit to how much control the word exerts over your mind?"

Cheryl whimpered helplessly, both because it felt so good to respond to an authoritarian voice and because she couldn't help noticing that he was rubbing his cock through his pants while he stared at her cunt. The light fabric made it easy to see where the precum had soaked in. "Nothing at all," she replied, her voice sounding loose and mazy in her own ears like she'd been drugged with truth serum. "He's, he's brainwashed me to forget my name, to forget I've ever heard the word before, to think that it's perfectly natural to crawl on all fours with a great big fuck-off dildo sticking out of my ass. He, he loves to fuck with my head, use the word to rewire my thoughts and my beliefs and watch me accept-gnh! Everything he's told me. He gets off on it."

She knew she was babbling now, but the repeated orgasms had drugged her into an easy, relaxed amiability that made talking about her brainwashing the easiest thing in the world. "Memories and perceptions, fuck, they're all just like, like putty to him, he can mold me into anything he wants. I'm his fucktoy, his fucking slave, his brainwashed obedient slut." The words came out in a haze of slurred speech, Cheryl's mind arrowing in on the pleasure until the effort of speaking and masturbating at the same time became almost too much for her.

She was losing more and more of herself to the endless bliss now, the gaps in her mind getting wider and wider as she came more and more and harder and harder. She knew she was still talking, but it was random stream-of-consciousness chatter, the repetition of her programming without any thought to impede it. "I see what he wants me to see and I think what he wants me to think and I remember what, what he wants me to remember and it feels so good, Doctor Beckham. It feels so fucking good!" She squeezed her legs tightly around her thrusting hand in a final massive orgasm, her body shaking so hard that her tits finally popped out of her shirt. Her eyes stared sightlessly at Doctor Beckham's crotch, tiny rivulets of drool dripping onto her breasts from the corners of her lips.

But what was left of her mind snapped to attention instantly when Doctor Beckham spoke. "I have to say, Cheryl, that from what you've been saying I'm not entirely sure why you would want to go back to the way you were before. You're so happy being a mindless, obedient slut and fucking your thoughts away-could you really imagine enjoying free will this much?" He had his cock out and his fingers were running lightly up and down the shaft, smearing the precum all over until it gleamed. Cheryl couldn't stop staring at it.

"You're right," she said blankly, in tones utterly devoid of inflection. "I'm very happy as an obedient slave. I love being brainwashed into compliance. It feels good to be mindfucked and blank and submissive." She sighed in contentment, her body relaxing so easily that she slid off the chair and down onto her knees. "It feels so much better when someone tells me what to do and I obey instead of thinking. Thank you for explaining it to me, Doctor Beckham."

He smiled. "Please," he said, as he beckoned her forward to suck on his cock. "Call me Jacob."

THE END