The breakup with her current boyfriend came at an inconvenient time for Riley, an academic in feminist theory. Tomorrow, she would be on national TV debating feminism with a rampant misogynist, and she was halfway through her regular confidence-building self-hypnosis tape when the fight started.
It took her a while to realise her boyfriend was leaving, because she was so far under the trance from her tape. The last thing it had said to her was stuck in her mind – “You will internalise and actuate the next three ideas you hear after the tone. You will become them; you will not allow yourself to prevent your success in achieving them.” And then the tone played.
Normally, it would then tell her she was strong and intelligent; she was calm and collected; and that she would achieve her goals.
But instead it was drowned out by her boyfriend yelling. It turned out she had scheduled her TV appearance for the same night as his birthday party – the third significant date she had missed by prioritising her career.
“You’re nothing but a bitch who mistakenly thinks she has brains and needs to realise she’d be happier as a bimbo,” she heard him say, and the words sunk in to a disturbing degree.
“You don’t have to argue with every man who treats you like a sex object,” he went on. “Just turn your brain off and masturbate and you’ll get far less stressed.”
She moaned as she took in this second idea.
“And you know what?” he said, as he gathered the last of his things and stormed out the door. “I just wish that whenever you tried to talk about feminism or consent or women’s rights, that you’d just gag yourself with a stiff dick instead, because then at least you’d be making *somebody* happy.”
She was left alone, with three ideas to internalise and actuate.
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The television station was surprised at the outfit she insisted on wearing to the interview. She’d chosen it after extensive research, but she didn’t tell them that – she’d stayed up half the night Googling the word “bimbo” and masturbating to what she found, and now she was half-stupid with tiredness and unsatisfied arousal. She knew she’d be *happier* as a bimbo, and had been keen to start the process.
She simply couldn’t get fake tits overnight – although she had called two plastic surgeons to check – but she’d dyed her hair blonde, and she was dressed in a pink top and a cute pink skirt, with pink stripper heels and no bra or panties.
She waddled onto the set of the interview, unsure in her new high heels, and took a seat. The misogynist sat across from her, with the host in the middle. He laughed as he saw her. “Is this what feminism looks like? You look like a walking blow-up doll,” he said.
She blushed, and felt anger – and then instantly her mind switched off. She spread her legs, lifted her skirt, and started to rub her pussy, on camera, in front of the studio audience. It felt good. She heard the studio audience gasp, and then laugh derisively. She smiled vapidly at them and kept masturbating.
The host let the misogynist speak first. She sat like a good bimbo and fingerfucked herself as the man called her a cunt, a bitch, only good for raping, an animal, a fuckpig, a cow, and a dumb whore.
“Riley?” said the host finally. “Would you like to… take your fingers out of your vagina, maybe… and make a rebuttal?”
She tried to think. What was she supposed to say? Something about feminism? Maybe about how he had no right to disrespect her? She opened her mouth to say something along those lines… and gagged violently.
She leapt from her chair, falling to all fours on the studio floor, and desperately crawled across the set. She practically attacked the misogynist’s trousers, extracting his cock, finding it pleasantly hard, and then opened her mouth wide and deepthroated the throbbing penis as quickly and deeply as she could.
She felt the tension go out of her as the cock hit the back of her throat. She was appropriately gagged now, and not in danger of saying anything about feminism. Yes, she realised, she *was* happier like this. She looked up at the misogynist, her lips around his cock, and tried to silently beg him to say all those nice things again, about how she was a fuckpig and a dumb whore, so that her mind could go blank and she could make her sudden awareness of how she was betraying everything she’d worked for all her life go away, and she could resume happily masturbating…
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