Everything in Mandy’s background said she should be sexually chaste. She has been raised Christian, feminist, and well-behaved. She should be a poster-girl for moral, empowered femininity.
But nevertheless she had turned out to be a sex addict. She couldn’t stop herself saying yes when a man propositioned her, and inevitably a night of mind-blowing sex would be following by days after day of crushing self-loathing and guilt.
She went to a hypnotist for help. She asked him to help her stop.
“I can’t make you do what you don’t, deep down, want to do,” he told her. “But I can help you in other ways. How about if I made you take a photo of yourself after each sexual encounter, and put them on the walls of your house, to help remind you how humiliated you feel after sex? It might help make you stop…”
She agreed, and underwent the hypnosis, and thereafter she began asking her sexual partners to photograph her, nude, freshly fucked, cum dripping from her face and pussy. At the time the photos were taken, it felt sexy, but afterwards she was almost sick with shame and disgust to look at the slutty images of her. She didn’t want to see them, let alone have them on the walls of her house – but she couldn’t stop herself from ordering enlarged prints of them, blushingly collecting them from the print shop, and then hanging them on the walls of her house.
The photos had an immediate effect on her social life. She couldn’t stop her parents from visiting her, and when they did, they saw the photos, and they immediately disowned her. They wouldn’t return her phone calls, and she cried herself to sleep, knowing what she had lost.
Her friends fell into two camps – those who were just as disgusted as her parents and immediately stopped associating with her, and those who were intrigued by the photos, and began to proposition her for sex – propositions that, try as she might, she just couldn’t turn down. Before long, she no longer had friends – only sex partners.
Looking at the photos every day had an effect on her, too. Rather than encouraging her to stop being such a slut, they began to change her identity. When she thought of herself, she thought of that naked cum-soaked whore on her walls. That was who she *really* was.
The photos helped her lovers learn who she really was, too. More and more, her sexual encounters were not mutual lovemaking, but rather a man using her as a masturbatory object. She found her partners started to hit and slap her, to initiate sex without her consent, to call her names like “bitch” and “slut”, and deliberately degrade her. And always, after these behaviours, she would have them photograph her smiling sluttily, bruised and abused, bathed in their cum, like the good little whore she was.
In the end she went back to the hypnotist again. He couldn’t stop her being a slut, of course, but she was so glad when he said he could help her forget that she had ever wanted to be anything else, so that she’d stop feeling guilty about being who she was born to be…
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