hypno – Page 2 – All These Roadworks

February 27, 2026 alltheseroadworks News, Products, Story Collection

ATR Presents: Bimbofied by Older Brother

Her brother’s plan to pay the bills required Sophie to become the sex-doll of his dreams!

Bimbo Blackwood reliably satisfies the interests of All These Roadworks readers. Every book sells strongly, delivering the mix of mind control, incest and bimbofication that you love.

That’s why it’s exciting to announce a new Bimbo Blackwood title is now available in the ATR store: Bimbofied by Older Brother!

(Click here to view Bimbofied by Older Brother in the ATR store!)

This is a new novella-length (33K words) tale of humiliation, exploitation and bimbo transformation, as a brother slowly transforms his sister into the obedient bisexual bimbofied fuckdoll he’s always wanted.

It’s incredibly hot, and it’s got everything you want from a tale of this sort! Grab your copy today – don’t miss out!

(And you can check out other titles by Bimbo Blackwood by clicking here!)

===

Sophie and her brother Brent are struggling to make ends meet after being abandoned by their mother – and now that Sophie’s 18, she knows that she should be doing her part.

But even so, she’s nervous about her brother’s plan – to take photos of her and sell them on the Brainless Bimbos website for money.

He promises that no one will see her face – but breaks that promise almost immediately. And at first the photos are just of her feet – but soon Brent moves to photographing her in a schoolgirl uniform that shows off her tits… and then lingerie…

And the fans on the website want more. They want to see her brother massaging her breasts. They want to see Sophie cumming on camera from her brother’s attention. They want to see Sophie kiss and fuck her lesbian cousin Melody.

And through it all, something is happening to Sophie’s mind and body. Is she getting dumber? Are her tits getting larger, her lips becoming fuller? Is she somehow becoming more and more of a bimbo with each request she accepts?

How is it happening… and where will it end?

===

Bimbofied by Older Brother is an erotic novel of incestuous bimbofication.

This book contains themes of MF and FF sex, incest, mind and body alteration, bimbofication, prostitution, and orientation kink.

As always, my kinks are not my politics. Please enjoy these stories of gender degradation while practicing respect, safety and positive enthusiastic consent in real life.

(Get Bimbofied by Older Brother now!)

Her brother’s plan to pay the bills required Sophie to become the sex-doll of his dreams! Check out "Bimbofied by Older Brother", the hot new tale of incest, mind control and transformation from the erotic pen of Bimbo Blackwood! Available now in the ATR store.

February 20, 2026 alltheseroadworks News, Products, Story Collection

ATR Presents: Hypno Mommy

Her enormous tits… under his total control!

It’s not a tease – Nel Symington is back! The hit author of Hypno Sister (link) and Incest Inn (link) returns with a hot new novella-length tale of huge breasts and hypnotic incest!

(Click here to get Hypno Mommy in the ATR store!)

(Or click here to see the entire Nel Symington catalogue!)

===

Hypno Mommy

When Bobby suffers a financial setback, he’s initially nervous about moving back in with his bitchy, buxom mother Noreen.

But when he discovers that a graphic design project he’s working on has unexpected hypnotic results, everything turns upside down.

First the beautiful Mia – who had dumped him after a single date – is suddenly desperate to suck his cock.

And then his mother undergoes a complete personality transformation – one that puts her talented mouth, wet pussy and enormous tits completely at his mercy.

As Bobby transforms his mother and girlfriend into the bimbos of his dreams, there are seemingly no limits on the sexual fantasies he’s now free to indulge in…

===

Hypno Mommy is a new full-length novella of incestuous hypnosis from talented author Nel Symington.

It features themes of MF sex, hypnosis, incest, bimbofication and slut transformation.

This is a premium release – a novella-length erotic odyssey guaranteed to bring you enjoyment.

(Get your copy of Hypno Mommy now!)

Her enormous tits... under his total control! Red-hot author Nel Symington returns with a new novella-length tale of huge breasts, hypnosis and incest! Get "Hypno Mommy" in the ATR store now!

February 18, 2026February 21, 2026 alltheseroadworks Story

Story: The Stepford Pattern, Part 8

===

Hayley’s degradation video was much like the one that Jenny had described making.

Hayley emerged nude from the computer room, seeming like she was barely aware of Harrison or Jenny or Cait, holding her phone and using it to film herself. Jenny had described ordering a can of dog food from a delivery service, but Cait was prepared and had a can of dog food ready, which she handed to Hayley.

Hayley took it to the kitchen and opened it with a can opener. They all watched as she pushed chunks of the slimy, jellied meat up her spread fuckhole, until the entire can had been stuffed into her cunt. Then she began to masturbate, still filming herself on her phone.

When she orgasmed, Cait slid a metal dog bowl across the floor to her, and Hayley began pulling the dog food out of her twat and dropping it into the bowl until her cunt was mostly empty. Then she got down on all fours and ate the dog food – flavoured with her cunt juices – like an animal.

When she was done, she looked at the camera on her phone and said, “Feminists are stupid sluts. We deserve to be raped.”

Then she ended the recording and fiddled with her phone for a bit.

“She’s sending that recording to someone,” whispered Cait.

“Can we see who it is?” asked Harrison.

“Sure,” said Cait. “Just wait.”

“No,” said Harrison. “Jenny said she deleted the record when she did this so she wouldn’t know who she sent it to.”

He reached forward and snatched the phone out of Hayley’s hands. Hayley looked at him for a moment, blank, not knowing what to do – and then, still in her trance, she rose, and walked back to the computer room.

Harrison looked at who Hayley had messaged, and then passed the phone to Cait. “Does this mean anything to you?”

Cait looked at it.

“Barry Purcell,” she said. “I recognise his name. He’s a men’s rights activist. As a woman’s rights lobbyist, Hayley must have sparred with him a bunch of times. She probably hates him as much as she hates any man – and she’s about to hate him even more, because there’s no way he won’t publicise this.”

Even as they watched, a message appeared on Hayley’s phone.

“r u drunk, bitch? nice tits. I like u eating dog food from ur cunt lk a bitch should. Glad u learned ur place. U need a fucking?”

And then a moment later:

“Sent this to some friends, they think it’s fucking funny. Gonna love seeing u do ur next interview about why cunts deserve rights, because you know the interviewer is going to have seen this first and masturbated to it.”

Cait made an aroused sigh. “That’s so hot. God, I know it shouldn’t be, but seeing her just ruin her life like that – admit that she’s a depraved slut after spending her whole life arguing for the dignity of women – it makes me so wet.”

Harrison felt guilty. He had done this to her – by raping her, and exposing her to the Pattern. He had destroyed her life. But it was for the good of women generally, including Jenny – wasn’t it?

And Cait was right – watching the proud feminist eat dog food out of her cunt on camera *had* been hot. Not in spite of it being wrong – but because of it.

Hayley spent a little longer in the computer room. Then she emerged again and headed to the shower. This too, was something Jenny had reported doing. Jenny had washed, and then shaved her pussy. Hayley’s pussy was already shaved, but Cait had placed a razor and shaving cream in prominent view in case Hayley needed them anyway, along with a make-up kit.

When Hayley emerged from the shower, they knew, she would have completely emerged from her trance. She would look into the bathroom mirror and, for the first time in her life, see the dumb slut she now believed herself to be. Harrison kind of wanted to see her expression in that moment, but standing around in the bathroom might get in the way of her completing her final tasks for the Pattern.

Instead, they waited.

When Hayley finally emerged from the bathroom, she was a sight to behold. She had washed her long red hair, and it hung damply against her shoulders and neck. She had indeed shaved her cunt, leaving her pussy baby-smooth. She had applied make-up – nothing over the top, but she had definitely deliberately taken the time to make herself look attractive and fuckable.

And she was crying.

“I’m such a dumb cunt,” she said – her first words after completing the Pattern. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry. I fought for the rights of… of animals. Of things designed for men to ejaculate into and breed. I pretended they were people. I… criticised men for disrespecting them.” She made a retching sound. “I feel like I might throw up.”

“It’s okay,” said Harrison. He didn’t know what else to say.

“But… part of me still believes that women are people,” she went on. “It hates that I’m saying this. It hates me. It hates *you* – for doing this to me. But *I* don’t hate you. I’m… I’m grateful. For helping me understand. I’m grateful that you raped me. God, I hate the idea that there are men in my life who might have wanted to fuck me, and I didn’t let them. And I hate the idea that I’m thinking that. I don’t… I don’t want to be a whore. But I know that I am. I’m so confused.”

“It’s okay,” said Harrison again, and then – “I’ll give you what you need.”

And with that, he stepped towards her and grabbed her large tits in his hands, and pulled. She lost her balance, and toppled forward, and Harrison caught her, with one hand on her chest and one on her throat. He pushed her back against the wall of the room, and then slapped her across the face.

“You stupid fucking cunt,” he snarled.

She needed to believe that he didn’t see her as a human. She needed to believe that he was committed to her rape and degradation. That was the only way she would be honest with him about her thinking under the Pattern – and the only way he could save her, and Jenny, and Cait, and all the other girls.

He slapped her across the face, and then across the tits twice. And then he took out his cock, forced her legs apart with his knee, and shoved his dick into her pussy.

He had to admit that it wasn’t as good, now that she was submissive, and now that a large part of her wanted to be treated this way. It had been more fun when she hated it, and more fun when she struggled. Maybe if they needed to test the Pattern on another girl, he would keep her longer and fuck her more times before converting her. Or maybe they should abduct a pretty, innocent girl, and not convert her at all – as a control, maybe. To see how her brain responded to rape compared to a girl under the Pattern.

He shook his head. These were perverted thoughts. He didn’t want to rape girls – he wanted to help them. All this was necessary, and in the best interests of Jenny.

He slapped Hayley twice more and then grabbed her nipple and pulled until she began to squeal and thrash. The hint of struggle was enough to take him over the edge, and he felt himself ejaculating inside her. He kissed her as he orgasmed, and he felt her orgasm against him when he did.

Afterwards she rested her head against his chest.

“Thank you,” she purred. “Thank you for raping me. Thank you for slapping me. Thank you for showing me my true worth.” But she was crying again.

“Do you want to be free from these new thoughts, about how you’re a worthless cunt?” Harrison asked her.

She looked at him with wide, tear filled eyes.

“I can’t… I can’t say yes,” she whispered.

“But you want to,” he replied.

She could give him no sign that he was correct, but he knew that he was.

“Do you want it to be a secret?” he asked her. “About what a perverted worthless cunt you are?”

This time she could say yes – and she did, by nodding her head desperately.

“That might be hard,” he told her. And then he showed her her phone – first the video of her eating dog food that had been in her cunt, and then the messages from Barry Purcell.

Her eyes went wide, and she began to make little choking sounds.

“No,” she said. “Please, no.”

“I didn’t do this,” said Harrison. “You did. Some part of you understood that you deserved this.”

“He hates me,” said Hayley. “He hates me so much. He’ll show this to everyone. He’ll put it on the internet. He’ll show it to journalists. He’ll send it to my friends. He’ll send it to my *father*.”

“That’s right,” said Harrison. “Soon everyone you’ve ever known will have seen you masturbating nude with dog food in your cunt and saying that feminists deserve rape.”

She began to *really* cry then – deep, wailing sobs – and the only way to shut her up was to slap her, push her to her knees, and then shove his dick into her mouth, plugging it. It took a couple more slaps to get her to start sucking, but her tears felt nice on his cock and against his belly. And he had the satisfaction of knowing this was all for the greater good.

===

When he had ejaculated down Hayley’s throat, he led her to Jenny’s cage, and put her in it with Jenny.

“Be entertaining,” he said to the girls, and to his pleasure they immediately began to kiss and squeeze each other’s tits, immediately lost in lust.

He watched them a little, and then went to find Cait.

She was in the computer room, looking at the data they had received from Hayley’s conversion.

“Is it useful?” he asked her, as she stared at the screen. He hadn’t bothered to put his cock away, and it was still covered in cum and Hayley’s saliva. He enjoyed the way that Cait would keep stealing guilty, hungry glances at his dick when it was exposed.

“I think so,” said Cait. “It confirms a theory I had.”

But she looked unhappy.

“Isn’t confirming a theory a good thing?” he asked her.

She sighed. “It’s not a theory I like,” she said.

“Tell me,” said Harrison.

“I told you that the Pattern was based on my work,” said Cait. “A weakness I found that largely only existed in women’s brains – a kind of hack based around vision and memory.”

“Yes,” said Harrison. “Go on.”

“That was only half of the puzzle,” said Cait. “The designers of the Pattern have found a second weakness – and when they’re combined, it renders women subject to this kind of reprogramming.”

“What’s the second weakness?” asked Harrison.

“Here,” said Cait. She pointed to what appeared to be a map of brain activity, although Harrison could make little sense of it. She was indicating an area near the amygdala.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s what was thought to be a vestigial area of the brain, rarely used,” said Cait. “But in women it awakens when they’re ovulating, pregnant, or experiencing sexual pleasure. In many ways it’s quite literally the biological clock – the urge for women to make babies. It’s a very old part of the brain, and evolution has only made it stronger because, after all, the women who *do* breed are the ones who pass on their genes.”

“Does it have a name?” asked Harrison.

“No, but it’s mostly concerned with things going in and out of a woman’s pussy, so let’s call it the Cunt Brain,” said Cait. “Now, as you know, normally hypnosis can only make you do things that you actually want to do, right?”

“Yes,” said Harrison. “But the Pattern doesn’t work that way.”

“That’s what we thought,” said Cait, “but we were wrong. What the Pattern does is take my research – certain ways of stimulating the parts of a woman’s brain related to vision and memory – and use them to patch into the Cunt Brain. And as far as the Cunt Brain is concerned, women very much *do* want to be raped, owned and bred. In fact, in that part of their brain, that’s *all* they want. And that part of the brain is very powerful, once awakened, so when we give it these suggestions that women should degrade and enslave themselves for male cock, it responds with a very enthusiastic ‘yes’ – no matter what the rest of her brain may desire.”

“So Jenny and Hayley are thinking with their Cunt Brain?” asked Harrison.

“Not exactly,” said Cait. “The normal parts of their brain are working. They’re having lots of thoughts – primarily related to fear, humiliation, shame, and misery – but those thoughts are just noise. They can’t meaningfully act on them, because the Cunt Brain is driving. All their conscious thought is rendered secondary by their – well, by their basic nature as women, I guess.”

“What can we do about it?” asked Harrison.

“I don’t know yet,” said Cait. “I suspect that to reverse the Pattern I’ll need to find some way to – well, to put the Cunt Brain back to sleep, so that the conscious mind can reassert control. But I don’t know how to do that, at this point.”

“What do you need?” he asked.

“For now – time to think,” said Cait. “I need to go over what I’ve got, and come up with some new theories and ideas to try. I can take further readings on Jenny and Hayley to see how their brains are working. You can play with them, and try and get their lives sorted out.”

She took a deep breath.

“But eventually,” she said, “we *will* need to abduct another girl for me to test on. So you might like to start thinking about girls you know who might be easy to abduct, and who you’d enjoy repeatedly raping…”

===

You can read more tales of erotic mind control in my novella Candy Girls, which tells the tale of an addictive mobile game that forces young women to slowly become sluts. It’s available for only $7.99 USD at AllTheseRoadworks.com! (Click here to view in store.)

===

Hayley's exposure to the Pattern is complete - but what comes next?

February 14, 2026February 7, 2026 alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Madelyn’s Conservatorship, Part 9

===

The inside of Uncle Sean’s house was even grander and more expensive than Madelyn’s own home. The main entryway had a double stairway leading upwards to a second storey, but Uncle Sean immediately led the two girls off to one side, into a large drawing room with expensive wood flooring and panelling and long leather lounges.

The room was dominated by a huge photo, much like the one in the entryway of Madelyn’s home. And just like at home, the photo depicted Madelyn’s mother. In this photo, Stacy was completely nude, and kneeling and masturbating. Her mouth was open, like a panting dog, and her face and breasts were covered with what was obviously semen. It was more than one man could produce – it was clear that several men had ejaculated over her.

The furniture, too, had a sexual theme. The lampstands in the room were sculpted like naked women. The coffee table was a sheet of thick glass, born on the back of a wooden carving of a nude naked woman on all fours, her tits hanging downwards.

A customised ashtray holder sat on the table, which took the form of a nude woman lying on her back with her legs spread. The ashtray itself was atop her face, obscuring her from the tits up, and the space between her spread legs was clearly designed for ashing out cigarettes, so that one would push their lit cigarette into her cunt to extinguish it.

Overhead, the light fittings hung from another carving of a nude woman. This one was carved so as to appear in bondage, her arms and legs bound behind her, her breasts pointing downwards. Her face was carved in an expression of anguish, and the light fittings were connected to her so as to appear to be hanging from piercings in her clitoris and nipples.

An array of pornographic magazines were spread on the table. The uppermost one was titled “BITCH TAMER” and showed a nude woman in a pet cage.

As Madelyn surveyed all this, Great-Uncle Benjamin came in behind them, having parked the limousine, and looked at the two sad, sorry, humiliated young women.

“Honestly, Madelyn, stop being a whore,” he said. “Take your panties out of your mouth and put them back on.”

Madelyn looked nervously at Uncle Sean for permission.

Benjamin sighed, walked across to Madelyn, and ripped the duct tape from her mouth. Then he pulled the wet panties out of her mouth and gave them to her.

“Don’t look to your daddy for permission,” he said to her. “A man is speaking. Do as you’re told.”

Madelyn reached down to pull her skirt out of her pussy, but Benjamin slapped at her hand.

“No one said anything about your skirt,” he said. “Just put the panties on.”

Blushing, Madelyn pulled the wet panties up her legs and snugged them into place over her groin, with her skirt still stuffed up her fuckhole.

“All right, girls,” said Benjamin. “Let’s talk about the rules for your new life in my son’s house. Number one: you are to call Sean ‘daddy’, and you are to refer to me as ‘sir’. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said Avery immediately.

A moment later, Madelyn copied her.

“Yes, sir,” she said, sullenly.

“You need to understand,” said Great-Uncle Benjamin, “that all the things you are accustomed to in your life are not rights, but privileges. You have no rights. And if you abuse your privileges, they can and will be taken away from you. Privileges include eating, wearing clothes, and using the toilet . Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said both girls.

“The second rule is that you will get along with the other people in this house,” said Great-Uncle Benjamin. “There will be no bitchiness. There will be no snark or sarcasm. There will be no passive aggression. These things will get you punished. That goes between you girls – I expect each of you to be loving and friendly with your sister at all times. Do you understand?”

Madelyn didn’t feel inclined to be nice to Uncle Sean or Great-Uncle Benjamin, but being nice to Avery would be no problem, at least.

“Yes, sir,” she said. Avery chorused the reply along with her.

“Getting along means being affectionate,” said Great-Uncle Benjamin. “When you see your daddy, or your new brother Logan, or your sister after an extended period – such as first thing in the morning, or after they have left the house and returned – you will greet them by hugging them, and kissing them on the lips, using your tongue. You will be enthusiastic in this. Do you understand?”

“But… they’re all *related* to me!” objected Madelyn. “It’s… incest, isn’t it? It’s gross.”

Sean stepped forward immediately and slapped Madelyn across the face. She squealed.

“Don’t talk to us about what is or is not perverted, young lady,” said Great-Uncle Benjamin. “You already seduced young Logan, and sucked his cock, and I believe you even tasted his piss. I’m not inclined to hear your objections about merely affectionately kissing the people you’re required to live with. You’ll do as you’re told, or you’ll be punished. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said Madelyn, pouting.

“You will also greet any visitor to the house in this way, male or female,” added Great-Uncle Benjamin. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The third rule is that you will dress attractively,” said Great-Uncle Benjamin. “Now, I accept that both you young ladies have an affinity for teen fashion, which your daddy does not necessarily possess, so you will be allowed to choose your own outfits from the clothes available to you. But I expect you to dress at all times – whether around the house or out in public – in a way that is pleasing to male eyes. You should dress so that a man looking at you would want to fuck you. If you fail to meet that standard, your privileges will be reassessed. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” they answered.

Great-Uncle Benjamin looked at Sean.

“Sean, if you would provide them with the diaries and cameras, please?” he said.

Sean pulled out two pink journals and put them on the table – and with them, he placed a pair of Polaroid cameras. The journals were labelled on the front in bright, happy letters. One read “Madelyn’s Slut Diary” and the other read “Avery’s Slut Diary”.

“This is rule four,” said Great-Uncle Benjamin. “You have been placed in Sean’s care because of your whorish and perverted behaviour. Correcting you will require properly understanding that behaviour. From now on, you are to document all your sexual behaviour in these diaries. You will make a note of any time you become aroused, any time you have a sexual fantasy, and any sexual activity you engage in including masturbation. You do not have to note down when you kiss Sean, or Logan, or your sister – unless you become aroused by it, in which case I expect to see it there.”

Madelyn drew back in horror, and opened her mouth to object again – but then closed it, remembering the slap.

“Each evening you will show your diaries to Uncle Sean for him to read,” said Great-Uncle Benjamin. “If he detects any lies or omissions, you will be severely punished.”

He paused, and said, “Obviously we cannot see inside your heads, but you are teen girls, and we know you *do* have sexual fantasies, on a daily basis, and you *will* become sexually aroused frequently whether you want to or not, so if we don’t see a realistic number of perverted fantasies and wet cunts documented, we will assume you are being untruthful.”

“What are the cameras for?” asked Avery.

“Oh, yes,” said Great-Uncle Benjamin. “Inside the diaries you will see that the right-hand pages are ruled up for you to document your behaviour, but the left-hand pages have a space for a picture. When you retire to your bedroom, you will each take a photo of your naked body and attach it to the inside cover, to make it clear who the diary belongs to. Then, on each subsequent day, you will spread your legs and photograph your naked cunt and attach it to the page for that day.”

The girls clearly didn’t understand, so Great-Uncle Benjamin went on.

“There’s research on this,” he said. “For perverted young women, it can be hard to change their behaviour if they inherently think of themselves as nice and well-behaved. Looking at multiple pictures of your cunt each day will help you to think of yourself as a person whose behaviour is mainly centred around the idea of pleasuring your pussy, which will help with your treatment.”

Madelyn still didn’t really understand, but she said, “Yes, sir.”

“Rule five is that you will not leave the house without permission,” said Great-Uncle Benjamin. “Rule six is that you will do the housework that Sean assigns to you. Rule seven is that you will attend the Stenway Academy for your further education, and complete any homework assigned to you.”

Madelyn shuddered. The Stenway Academy sounded awful.

“And rule eight is that your use of phones and the internet will be regulated by your daddy, Sean,” said Great-Uncle Benjamin. “For the time being, you will have no access to your phones at all. Once you have settled in, you will get your phones back, but first you will provide Sean with the passwords to all your accounts, and allow him to install some monitoring software on your devices. And at that time, there will be a discussion about your social media, Madelyn, and how you can use it more appropriately.”

“But my social media is *valuable*!” Madelyn cried out. “I’m *famous*! People send me money! If I don’t use my phone, I’ll lose fans!”

Great-Uncle Benjamin frowned.

“Avery,” he said, “slap your sister across the face for being a difficult bitch.”

Avery’s eyes widened.

“Go on,” said Benjamin. “Either you can slap her, and choose how hard she needs to be slapped, or Sean will do it, and genuinely hurt her. Your choice, Avery.”

“I’m sorry, Maddy,” squeaked Avery – and slapped Madelyn.

It wasn’t hard at all – but it still made Madelyn gasp.

“I expect you girls to be active in disciplining each other when you don’t live up to the standards I expect from you,” said Great-Uncle Benjamin. “Now, Madelyn, what did you do wrong just now?”

Madelyn knew, but she didn’t want to say it.

When she was silent for a while, Benjamin said, “Avery, slap your sister again. I suggest you slap her harder, to help prevent the need to slap her a third time.”

Avery slapped Madelyn. This time it actually hurt.

“What did you do wrong, Madelyn?” asked Great-Uncle Benjamin.

“I talked back to you,” said Madelyn, in a sullen tone. “I argued with you.”

“That’s right,” said Great-Uncle Benjamin. “I don’t want to see you arguing with *any* man, let alone me or your daddy. Now thank your sister for disciplining you.”

“Thank you for slapping me, Avery,” said Madelyn.

“It’s okay,” said Avery. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologise to her,” said Great-Uncle Benjamin. “She’s a girl. Girls never deserve apologies, Avery. Any time you feel like you might apologise to a girl, you should instead say, ‘You deserved it’. Try it now.”

“You deserved to be slapped,” said Avery, awkwardly.

“Much better,” said Benjamin.

He looked around, and then said, “Very well, I think that about covers it. I’ll head home now, Sean, if you think you can handle the girls from here.”

“Absolutely,” said Uncle Sean. “Logan should be home by dinner, and the girls should be settled in by then.”

“Very good,” said Great-Uncle Benjamin. “Good luck, girls. This is just the first step on the road to a happier, more fulfilling life for you both, I’m sure.”

And with that, he turned and left.

“All right, girls,” said Sean, when he was gone. “Let’s take you to your bedroom. You can relax, and get your slut diaries started, and then we can have lunch and spend some quality time together.”

Madelyn did not want to spend quality time with Uncle Sean.

But she was beginning to increasingly realise that she had absolutely no choice in the matter.

===

If you love this story, you’ll love my novella Tuning Chloe, about a bratty daughter hypnotically adjusted into a submissive fucktoy – one choice at a time! Your purchase shows your appreciation and supports the creation of hot new content! (Click here to view Tuning Chloe in store.)

===

Madelyn arrives in her new home at Uncle Sean's house.

February 13, 2026February 13, 2026 alltheseroadworks News, Products, Story Collection

New ATR Book: Poster Girls

It’s a new All These Roadworks hypno/bimbofication book, and it’s got a 10,000 word lead novella that’s never previously been published. Do I need to say more, or are you keen to buy it already?

(Get your copy of Poster Girls in the ATR store now!)

Okay, so I was originally planning to drop the e-book version of Elf-Queen of Tylia or Ask Dr Degradation today. Those are still coming – you’ll get one on 6 March and one on 15 March!

But then I wrote Poster Girls – 10,000 words of hypno-bimbofication smut – and I wanted to get it on your phones and e-readers as soon as humanly possible. And here it is!

In addition to the huge new novella, this collection also contains 13 shorter never-before collected stories of hypno-erotica, plus the exclusive bonus story “The Good Teacher”, which will never be available anywhere except in this book!

This is the 61st title in the ATR Story Collections range and it can be yours today for only $4.99 USD.

===

Poster Girls

Gina and Charlotte are beautiful, buxom women in a committed lesbian relationship.

Then one day they receive an anonymous gift – a single poster, showing an explicit pornographic image of two bimbos sexually servicing a man, emblazoned with strange metallic text bearing messages of submission and humiliation.

The girls are disgusted – but they keep coming back to look at the poster… and soon it’s hanging in their bedroom for them to stare at as they have sex.

Before long, Gina and Charlotte are dressing like sluts, flirting with men, acting like bimbos at work, and exposing themselves on their apartment balcony to the gaze of their mysterious neighbour across the street.

How far will they sink under the influence of their addictive new poster? And what life will await them when their transformation is complete?

Poster Girls is an erotic 10,000-word novella of hypnotic bimbofication from the dark pen of All These Roadworks.

But that’s not all that’s included in this book!

It also contains the following additional tales of hypno-erotica:

Advanced Learning for Women – A special educational program for women uses hypnosis to transform them into giggly sluts.
Bad Therapy – Unscrupulous therapist Christian Cooper uses hypnosis to turn women into bimbos, then fills them with shame for their new hypersexualised bodies.
Bella’s New Body – Bella’s law firm expects its female employees to look good – and that includes new bimbo tits, and a chip that fills her head with subliminal messages…
By The Third Week – It takes three weeks of training to turn a girl into a brainless slut.
Deprogrammed – After Melissa is rescued from a sex cult, she no longer quite fits into normal society.
System Fifteen – Rosie’s college experiments with erotic hypnosis come back to haunt her.
Ella’s Exam – Ella’s university course starts with a strange hypnotic lecture – and ends with a humiliating final exam.
From Bitches to Lesbians – Two homophobic bitches are hypnotised to become submissive cunt-lickers.
Embarrassment – Niva seeks hypnotic help for her embarrassment issues – but her hypnotist takes advantage.
Lick Pussy – Kate shouldn’t have accepted a self-help sleep training tape from the bitchiest girl in school…
The “Slut Tits” Option – Lucie takes the “good girl discount” on her new boob job and ends up with more than just giant tits.
Like Daddy Likes – Daphne uses hypnosis to try to become the kind of girl her emotionally-distant father likes – only to discover exactly what her father really likes in girls…
The Traitor Frequency – Neuroscientist Chelsea discovers a sound frequency that turns women into cock-worshipping traitors to their own gender…

Plus, this title contains the EXCLUSIVE bonus story “The Good Teacher”, unavailable anywhere else!

===

Poster Girl contains themes of MF and FF sex, mind control, bimbofication, non-consent, incest, humiliation, patriarchy, and incest.

Please note that, as with all stories by All These Roadworks, all characters in this story are aged 18 years and over.

As always, my kinks are not my politics. Please enjoy these stories of gender degradation while practicing respect, safety and positive enthusiastic consent in real life.

Upon purchase, the collection will be delivered to you as digital goods via email. A single purchase gives access to all file formats indicated above.

(Get Poster Girls in the ATR store now!)

It's a new All These Roadworks hypno/bimbofication book, and it's got a 10,000 word lead novella that's never previously been published. Do I need to say more, or are you keen to buy it already? Get "Poster Girls" in the ATR store today!

February 10, 2026February 6, 2026 alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Bin Mode

To her growing distress and bafflement, she kept finding things stuffed up her pussy that she didn’t remember putting there – beer bottles, crumpled up chip packets, cigarettes…

Of course, she didn’t remember going to the hypnotist on a dare, either, or the triggers her laughing friends had had installed in her.

Now her triggers were well known among all who knew her, and most social occasions would start with someone saying, “Jenny – bin mode.” At which point her eyes would go blank, she would strip nude, sit with her legs spread, and spread her pussy. Her friends would laughingly push their rubbish and trash into her fuckhole. When it became full she would blankly walk outside to the garbage bins, masturbate to the edge of orgasm, then empty her cunt into the trash before returning to let them fill her up again.

Her other trigger was even crueller. Occasionally someone would say, “Jenny – awareness”, at which point she would become fully conscious of where she was, what she was doing, and who was watching, but still be unable to stop. To her friend’s endless amusement, these bursts of horrified realisation would inevitably result in her powerfully and publicly orgasming, before going blank again and resuming service as a good garbage bin…

===

Enjoy this story? Then check out the range of e-books, stories, memberships and more at AllTheseRoadworks.com! (Click here to view.)

===

Jenny keeps finding things in her pussy that she didn't put there.

February 8, 2026January 20, 2026 alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Embarrassment

Niva got embarrassed easily. She was very self-conscious, and at the slightest social faux-pas, criticism, or mistake she would burn with shame. She would usually try to correct whatever had gone wrong – but in her anxiety she would fumble, and stutter, and often make it worse.

She went to a hypnotist for help.

“This is wrecking my life,” she said. “I feel terrible all the time. I don’t want to be embarrassed by such tiny things. I don’t want to feel so bad about it. I don’t want to keep making it worse. I want to make better choices in my life to make me happier. But… don’t change more than you have to.”

“I can do that,” said the hypnotist.

“And… can you make it so I feel like the change is coming from me?” said Niva. “I’d like to feel like I’m improving, and not just relying on a hypnotist.”

“Absolutely,” said the hypnotist.

But Niva was pretty, and the hypnotist was an ass, and she had given him permission to make her forget his involvement in her situation, so she would never come back to him with a complaint.

So the triggers that he gave her, fulfilling the letter but not the spirit of her request, were these:

“When you are intensely embarrassed, you will feel an enjoyable sense of sexual arousal, more powerful than you can feel from any other activity, including masturbation. You will only be able to orgasm while intensely embarrassed.”

“You will only be intensely embarrassed if your tits, cunt or ass are on display; or if you are sexually objectified or demeaned; if you are sexually harassed or assaulted; or if you are patronised or discriminated against on the basis of your gender, sexual behaviour or appearance.”

“You will no longer try and fix, change or improve anything in your life related to feelings of embarrassment. You will feel that you deserve what is happening to you.”

“You will do nothing to end or stop or prevent anything that is causing you embarrassment.”

“Without being aware of it in any way, you will subconsciously take actions to increase your odds of being intensely embarrassed.”

“No matter what happens to you, the feelings of shame and embarrassment you feel about your body and sexuality will never reduce or become normal.”

“And when you leave this office you will forget that you ever sought hypnotism, and believe that all your behaviour is the result of your own nature and choices.”

And then he gave her one final suggestion, that she wouldn’t remember for a week.

When he was finished with her, she asked if she could use the toilet on the way out. He pointed her in its direction, and noted to his satisfaction that she idly picked up the pair of sewing scissors he had left on his table, and took them with her.

In the toilets of his office, Niva undressed completely, and as she sat on the toilet she took the sewing scissors to her dress, weakening every seam. She had no conscious awareness of what she was doing. Her mind was filled with happiness, although she couldn’t understand what she was happy about. She had already forgotten that she was in the offices of a hypnotist, or that she had chosen to attend those offices.

When she was done, she “forgot” to put her bra and panties back on, leaving them on the toilet floor. She pulled her dress back on, despite the fact it was already beginning to rip at the seams, and then she went downstairs to her car. As she walked, she worked her house key off her keyring.

When she was in the car, and the car was moving, she threw the house key out the window.

Instead of going home, she went to the mall, and wandered from store to store, buying clothes. If she had been asked, she would have said she was picking out pretty and attractive outfits – but in reality she was selecting microskirts, tops that emphasised her tits, and shirts from a store that sold joke presents that had images of naked women on them or slogans like “Future MILF”, “Daddy’s Little Slut”, or “Stupid Bitch”.

Instead of walking out of the shop with these clothes, she arranged to have them delivered to her house the following day. Her conscious mind thought there was nothing strange about this. Her subconscious mind knew what was about to happen.

She was walking out of a sex shop – that she thought of as a fashion shop – having bought a pair of panties with a vibrating dildo attached – that she had thought of as “sensible underwear” – when the last stitches of her dress gave way. Her clothes literally fell apart around her, and Niva found herself completely nude in the middle of a packed shopping mall.

Her face went bright red. She couldn’t believe she had forgotten to put her panties and bra back on in the toilet. Everyone would think she was a complete whore.

People were staring at her. Her instinct was to cover her breasts and pussy with her hands, but her hands wouldn’t move. What was wrong with her?

And then the arousal hit her. She felt her cunt begin to throb and wetten as people stared at her and muttered and whispered.

How could she be getting turned on by this? How could she be sexually aroused from baring her pussy in public? What kind of slut was she?

She felt intense shame and guilt – and in that moment she knew that she deserved this. She deserved to be humiliated in public, because she was a slut.

She knew she could go into a store and buy clothes. She could maybe seek help from security guards. She could run and hide in a toilet. But part of her wouldn’t let her fix this. She deserved it. So she slowly walked through the mall towards the exit and the car park.

Her pussy got wetter and wetter as people stared at her. Some men whistled and cat-called her. She saw several people taking photos. On each occasion of further degradation it was like someone had pushed a dildo up her cunt – she almost grunted with pure lust.

This would be on social media. This would be on porn sites. Tens of thousands of people would see it. Her face wasn’t covered in any way. People would recognise her.

By the time she neared the exit, she couldn’t help it anymore. She knew it was slutty. She knew it would make things worse. But she couldn’t help herself. She started to play with her pussy as she walked. She orgasmed when she stepped out into the car park, and it was the best orgasm of her life. She orgasmed again as she reached her car.

She drove home in the nude.

When she got home she discovered she had lost her house key. She had to call a locksmith. She had to stand naked on her porch, as her neighbours came out to stare at her. None of them offered to help her. The teens across the road took pictures. She knew that they would masturbate to them later. Every time she saw them, from now on, she would know that they had ejaculated to the sight of her naked body.

When the locksmith arrived, he got her inside quickly, but by that stage she was drippingly horny again, and she got hornier every time the locksmith looked her nude body up and down appraisingly. She knew what he wanted. In the end she only had to part her legs a little bit suggestively, and he felt free to take it. He pushed her into her bedroom and fucked her on her bed, and Niva squealed with delight even as she was dying of shame and humiliation inside.

When he was gone and cum was leaking from her pussy, she spanked herself on the cunt again and again to punish herself, and it hurt, but it only made her orgasm again.

Eventually she got up and began to iron her clothes, making sure to leave the iron on every item of respectable clothing until it had burned a hole in it and made it useless.

She didn’t realise what she had done until the next day, when she had to go to work, and discovered that she didn’t own a complete outfit of any kind. Luckily, her new purchases turned up. She carefully sabotaged a pleated work skirt, and then set off to work wearing the skirt, her “Stupid Bitch” shirt, and the panties with the vibrating dildo. She forgot to wear a bra, and the skirt fell off in the work elevator, and then the vibrator switched on (thanks to a subconscious switch flip) and she couldn’t work out how to turn it off. She ended up working the entire day in vibrating panties and a shirt so tight that her nipples and areolae were visible through it. She orgasmed loudly every half hour or so until she was called into her boss’ office to explain herself.

She couldn’t explain herself, of course, so she offered to suck her boss’ cock if he agreed not to fire her. He accepted, but pulled out of her mouth before he was done, and ejaculated over her face. Somehow, Niva couldn’t bring herself to clean the cum off her forehead, cheeks and lips, so she worked the rest of the day with it still there.

The next day she came to work in nothing but a G-string and a cupless bra, and the day after she had found a pair of handcuffs and somehow managed to cuff her hands behind her back with her large tits fully on display, and after that it was negotiated that Niva would simply work nude, and satisfy the sexual needs of her male co-workers, and be paid for that service, and Niva could do nothing but agree, unable to do anything to prevent her own humiliation.

At the end of the week she found herself back at the hypnotist’s office – as her final instruction took effect.

“Each week on Sunday – if and ONLY if your subconscious secretly prefers your new life to your old one – you will come to my office and beg to fuck me. And while my cock is inside you, you will have full knowledge of what I did to you, and full knowledge that despite all your humiliation, you *wanted* it.”

She always cried when his cock sank into her pussy, and her understanding returned to her. She cried for how her life was ruined, and for her own role in that ruination, and for the knowledge that she was a depraved slut who enjoyed it. But she always orgasmed, too, again and again on her tormentor’s cock, as she whispered her thanks to him for turning her into the slut she truly was, and giving her the life she truly deserved…

===

You can find more tales of hypno-erotica in The Hypno Bundle #2, collecting four books – over 240 pages – of red hot stories for only $14.99 USD! That’s an amazing deal – don’t miss out! (Click here to view in store.)

===

A hypnotist takes advantage of Niva's request to fix her embarrassment issues.

February 6, 2026January 20, 2026 alltheseroadworks Story

Story: The Bimbo System

Ava chose a bad day to get her boob job.

It was the day that Finn had been fired from his job as a receptionist at the plastic surgery clinic. He probably deserved it – he hadn’t taken the job very seriously – and it wasn’t like he cared about the job – it was just to make money until he finished his neuropsychology degree. But still, he took it in bad grace.

After arguing with the clinic manager, Finn stormed out – but not before fulfilling one last task. When women came out of surgery for breast enhancements, there was supposed to be a video playing, telling them all about the benefits and safety features of their new fake tits. Finn was supposed to start the video playing – but instead, in a fit of spite, he swapped it for a different video file that he’d been working on as a side project in neuropsychology class.

When Ava woke up, groggy, vaguely aware of the weight of her new fake boobs but still feeling the effects of the anaesthetic, there was the noise of static in her ears, and pictures playing on a video screen, changing too quickly for her to follow. Confused, not fully awake, she stared at the screen and let the images wash over her.

It was a hypnosis system that Finn had designed. It conveyed five key subliminal messages to its viewer – plus a sixth one, that Ava didn’t process at first. The first five were:

NOT GIRLS BUT SLUTS

SLUTS NEED BIG TITS

SLUTS WITH BIG TITS ARE COWS

COWS NEED TO BE RAPED

COWS NEED TO LEARN THEIR PLACE

By the time Ava had recovered from her surgery fully, the ideas had burned themselves into her brain. Spacy, not really understanding what she was doing, Ava asked for a copy of the video she had just watched as she checked out, and the clinic manager gave her a copy of Finn’s file without noticing the substitution.

Ava wandered that day in a haze. She had wanted fake tits as a present to herself, to maybe find a new husband after a career prioritising her job as an executive over her love life. But now she knew she was a slut, with big tits, and therefore a cow. And therefore she had new needs.

By nightfall, she had found her way to a nightclub, and there she was able to rub up against an anonymous man on the dancefloor enough that when she lured him out to an alleyway and then denied him sex, he was prepared to rip off her panties and rape her against a brick wall. She orgasmed hard – she needed this. Afterwards, she had no panties, but that just made it easier to go back into the club and cocktease another man into violating her in the men’s toilets.

As she tried to sleep that night, she found herself crying, without knowing why. At some level, being raped twice felt… wrong. But she was a cow slut and she needed to be raped, and she had been. She knew her place. She was a good girl.

She fell asleep, and dreamt confused dreams.

In the morning, she got up and went about the house nude. She stared dully at books on her shelf – “Modern Feminism” – “The Independent Woman” – “Breaking Through The Glass Ceiling”. She took them all down from the shelves and spent the morning ripping them up, while masturbating. It felt good.

Afterwards she placed an advertisement in the local adult classifieds. “I won’t consent, but I won’t complain. Rape me tonight. $300 an hour,” and her telephone number. Then she rang her work and quit.

She spent the rest of the day converting the rooms of her house into makeshift cages, each capable of holding a prisoner securely. It took a fair bit of hardware, and she forgot to put on clothes before going to the hardware store, but none of the all-male employees there challenged her, and she happily wandered around buying metal poles and padlocks while alternately rubbing her pussy and squeezing her tits.

Squeezing her tits was important, because she was a cow, and she needed to make milk.

That night she visited the nightclub four times. The first time was to get raped, because she couldn’t think properly until she had been used non-consensually. After that, though, she hit on women, not men. She’d slut up against drunk girls, then lead them out into an alleyway, where she’d gag them unconscious with chloroform before driving them back to her house and locking them in a cage, bound and gagged.

Soon she had three prisoners, all groggy from being drugged. She set each one up with a computer screen and speakers, and started Finn’s file playing for them.

Shortly thereafter, her customers started arriving. Several men had replied to Ava’s advertisement. She’d originally intended to let them rape her, but now she had another idea, and led them into the cages. She assured the men that the bound women were professional whores offering customers a rape fantasy, and then left them alone with the women. “Just don’t remove their gags,” she told them.

The muffled screams of the women as they were raped were quiet pleasing to Ava. Each of the women were used at least three times that night. Ava took two customers herself.

By the morning, Ava figured a night of chloroform, rape and hypnosis should have done to the girls what the tape had done to her. But to be sure, she kept them another two days. When the girls didn’t have customers, Ava raped them herself. She’d never been with a woman before, but they were all sluts, and she was a slut herself, and a cow, and cows needed to be raped.

After three days, she saw the glazed look in their eyes that she wanted. She let the sluts out and sent each of them with their rape earnings to go and get boob jobs. When they came back, they were eager to get started on abducting more sluts to teach them their place, and Ava sent them out happily to nightclubs.

Meanwhile, Ava made some more phone calls, and soon she had a delivery of industrial milking machines and lactation-inducing hormones on the way. She also commissioned a series of electrical shock-collars that would shock a girl wearing them if she made any sound other than a cow-like “moo”, or if she raised her neck any higher above her heels than a kneeling position.

Ava’s converts brought back seven new sluts, and she kept these ones in cages for a full week before letting them go. Her rape brothel was becoming profitable, and she kept any slut that wasn’t being fucked connected to a milking machine, so soon she would have a marketable supply of cow-milk too.

Converted sluts abducted more sluts, and so forth. Soon Ava’s girls were running their own houses, and their own milk barns. Ava thought of it as the Bimbo System – cows turning sluts into more cows, expanding exponentially. When she thought of a world where all cows knew their place, she would almost orgasm on the spot.

That was when the final hypnotic instruction kicked in:

THREE MONTHS AFTER YOU WATCH THIS, YOU WILL FULLY REGAIN YOUR OLD PERSONALITY – BUT YOU WILL BE UNABLE TO ALTER ANY ASPECT OF YOUR NEW LIFE OR BEHAVIOUR.

This surfaced in Ava’s mind mid-rape. Her customer was balls-deep in her cunt, and was squeezing her tits pretty hard, when Ava suddenly started to sob and scream, and he had to repeatedly slap her to make her stop. She choked back her sobs until he came inside her, and paid.

Stop. Stop. Run away, Ava thought to herself. She wanted to flee her house, and everything she had created, and go somewhere where she could pretend none of this had ever happened.

But instead, Ava got up, and went down the corridor to the newest girl’s cage. She straddled the nude slut and began spanking the slut’s pussy until she felt the slut’s tongue beginning to lick the customer’s cum from Ava’s fuckhole. Then she leaned down and began to lick the slut’s own cunt in return.

No. I’m not a lesbian. I’m a feminist. I can’t enslave girls. Why am I doing this? Why can’t I stop?

But she couldn’t stop, not until she had orgasmed from raping her prisoner. She showed another male customer in to violate the girl once she had done, and then walked down the corridor, knelt, put on her shock collar, and connected her swollen, milk-filled fake tits to the milking machine.

A part of her mind realised that her first three converts would have the same instruction kick in later tonight. A part of her wanted to see the looks on their faces when they did. She wanted to be raping them when they did. Her cunt was suddenly very wet.

The machine sucked painfully on her tits. No, her mind begged. No…

But what Ava said was, “Moooo….”

===

If you enjoyed this story, you’ll love The Hypno Bundle, collecting four e-books of hypno-erotica – over 240 pages – for only $11.99 USD! (Click here to view in store.)

===

Ava gets hypnotised during her breast enhancement - and is left with an overwhelming desire to enslave other bimbos.

February 5, 2026January 20, 2026 alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Compelled Courtesy, Part 1

Tahlia watched as broad-shouldered, hairy, greasy Angus Corville squeezed the ass of her beautiful dark-haired girlfriend Junko, and she burned with fury. She hated that it was happening. She hated that it was happening right here in the office, at a social lunch, where anyone who cared to look would see it. She hated that it was Angus, the most disgusting man on the Highwater Project oversight team, who was doing it. And she hated that Junko was not just letting it happen, but was giggling and smiling at Angus, as if she *liked* it.

She couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t say anything. But when Angus finally tired of sliding his hand under Junko’s short pleated skirt and groping her assmeat, he sauntered towards Tahlia. He wasn’t really interested in her – he wanted another glass of office-funded booze from the table behind her – but his gaze, as always, came nowhere near her face, instead resting on her generous breasts – concealed as best as Tahlia could manage beneath a sweater.

“Nice tits,” he said, as he drew near, his face twisted in an arrogant sneer.

And Tahlia responded immediately, without thinking, by giving him the middle finger. “Fuck you,” she hissed.

It was too much. It was inappropriate for the workplace – more inappropriate, even, than Angus commenting on her tits, given the blokey culture of the Highwater Project. But it was too late to take it back. She flinched in anticipation of Angus’ response.

But he just smiled, and pushed past her to grab his next drink, his upper arm brushing against her breasts as he did so.

“You shouldn’t discuss your fantasies in the workplace,” he whispered into her ear as he moved past her.

She shuddered, and pulled away. Men were gross. Angus was the grossest. But she was lucky. Angus would not report her to HR. She would keep working – for now.

But it was only a matter of time, and she knew that even before Junko grabbed her wrist, after the lunch was over, and pulled her into the women’s toilets.

“You can’t keep doing that,” she whispered in Tahlia’s ear, as she pressed Tahlia up against the wall of the toilet cubicle, and nuzzled her lips against Tahlia’s neck.

“What am I supposed to do?” protested Tahlia. “He’s a pig.” She let her hands stray to where Angus’ had been earlier, letting her fingers run across the smooth skin of Junko’s buttocks. Junko was wearing a thong, and Tahlia felt a new surge of rage at the idea of Angus’ hands enjoying this bare, taut assmeat.

“You’re a *lesbian*,” replied Junko. “And so am I. And if anyone *outs* us as lesbians, you know what will happen. We’ll have to go on the state lesbian register. We’ll probably lose our jobs – the owners of the company are devout Christians, after all – and we may have trouble finding new ones. We’ll have to film one of those gross videos where we apologise to all the men we know for being lesbians. We’ll have to attend monthly psych sessions – and if those psychs refer us for conversion therapy, we’ll *really* be screwed.”

Tahlia wanted to cry, thinking about it all. They were living in one of the most conservative jurisdictions in the western world, when it came to treatment of lesbians. And the worst thing was, they had *chosen* to move here, lured by the chance to work on Highwater, one of the most significant civil engineering projects of the century. Junko had been uncertain, but Tahlia had *promised* that she could stay in the closet and hide her sexual orientation, for the sake of the high pay and the career-making opportunities.

“I know you hate it,” whispered Junko, running her hands up under Tahlia’s sweater to squeeze her large tits through her bra. “I know. But you just have to play along. The men are pigs, but just smile and let them touch you a little, and it will all be fine.”

“I can’t,” gasped Tahlia. “I’m trying, but I – I can’t. The thought of a man touching me like that – squeezing my ass or whatever – it makes me sick. Even just seeing them do it to you – I’m scared I’m going to scream and make a scene. And then… then everyone will know.”

Junko shut Tahlia up by leaning in and kissing her, and forcing her knee between Tahlia’s legs so that she could grind her thigh against Tahlia’s pussy. Tahlia moaned. Junko was so beautiful, and her lips felt so good…

“Look,” said Junko, when the kiss was over. “I know of something that might work. It’s a little weird, but… it could save our jobs. Would you be willing to try something unusual?”

“Anything,” said Tahlia. “Anything for you. Anything to stop feeling like this.”

“It’s a company called Average Availability,” said Junko. “They have a hypnotic technique that helps women be more… agreeable. Less bothered by stuff like this.”

“Less bothered by sexual harassment?” said Tahlia. “I *should* be bothered by it, Junko! It’s gross!”

“Being bothered by it is going to ruin your life, Tahlia,” Junko hissed. “Is that what you want?” She ground her knee against Tahlia’s cunt as she spoke.

Tahlia sighed. “No,” she said. “No. I know that.”

“They help women,” said Junko. “They helped that actress, Alyssa Vandred, get that role in The Rape Liar, and become famous. They can help you, Tahlia.”

Tahlia sighed. She knew Junko was right. Junko was always right.

“Okay,” she said. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

And she kissed Junko, and kept kissing her, until she found herself shuddering to a mid-workday orgasm against Junko’s thigh in a cubicle of the women’s toilets.

===

The offices of Average Availability were non-descript, and the technician who welcomed her didn’t even give his name. Instead, he just passed her some complicated paperwork, which Tahlia signed without reading, and then he escorted her to a small room with a medical bed, some equipment, and a pair of headphones.

“So this is the Compelled Courtesy program,” he said. “It’s a little less intense than some of our other offerings. Just lie on the bed and put the headphones on, and the procedure will begin.”

Nervously, Tahlia got onto the bed, and did as she was told. She settled the headphones over her ears….

… and then suddenly it was dark outside. Time had passed – and she had been completely unaware of it.

“Very good,” said the technician. “The process is complete.”

“What happened?” she asked, her mind blurry and confused.

“Only hypnosis,” the technician replied. “The Compelled Courtesy program is now complete, and I can confirm that your brain has been reprogrammed to train itself in being agreeable.”

“Train itself?” said Tahlia. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, as I understand it, you were previously a frigid bitch, who found it difficult to admit that she wanted the sexual attention of men,” said the technician.

Tahlia opened her mouth to protest. None of that was correct – she didn’t want anything to do with men! But then she realised that if she disagreed with him, she would have to explain that she was a lesbian – which she did *not* want to do. This was Junko’s plan, and Junko, as always, knew best. It was better to be labelled as frigid than outed as a dyke.

“The Compelled Courtesy process is just going to help you lower your shields a little, and enjoy that attention from men,” said the technician. “It’s good for you, really.”

He leaned forward and looked at her directly.

“First of all,” he said, “you’re going to find that you’re unable to report or complain about inappropriate sexual behaviour, to anyone. That mostly applies to what you might call sexual harassment, but if necessary it goes all the way up to rape. As far as your interactions with the rest of the world are concerned, any sexual or gender-based interaction you have with a man is something that was welcome.”

Tahlia felt alarm rising. This wasn’t what she had expected – or wanted. “But…” she began.

“Let’s test that out, shall we?” said the technician. “Why don’t you tell me about the last time you were sexually harassed?”

Tahlia felt her answer form in her mind. Angus Corville had commented on her tits, and she had hated it. But when she tried to move those words to her mouth, they wouldn’t go. It felt like pushing against a door that wouldn’t open.

But if she just changed the shape of those words a little…. Altered what she was saying.

To her alarm, once she allowed that idea to begin – changing her words – she couldn’t stop it, and they changed far more than she had intended.

“Angus Corville complimented me on my large boobs,” she heard herself say, “and I pretended that I hated it, but honestly I liked the attention.”

Her face went bright red. She couldn’t believe she had said something so wrong – so disgusting – so untrue. She tried to immediately correct it, or take it back – but once again her mouth wouldn’t open.

“Excellent,” said the technician. “So that’s working well. Now let’s move on to the substance of the procedure. It works on our ‘average availability’ model – that is to say, that it compels you to, on average, accept the attention of men. You still retain the ability to call out men for inappropriate behaviour and reject their interactions with you – but you’ll need to save it for the most egregious insults.”

“What do you mean?” asked Tahlia.

“Well, when a man has a sexual interaction with you, or an interaction based on your gender – such as groping you, demeaning you, discriminating against you, propositioning you, or sexually objectifying you – you will have three choices,” said the technician. “You can either reject it, or accept it, or actively encourage it. Do you understand?”

Tahlia shuddered at the very idea of encouraging her sexual objectification. But she nodded.

“Accepting it is good,” said the technician. “That’s what we want for you, yes? So that you’re less of a bitch at work, and so that you can enjoy that male attention.”

Tahlia would never enjoy male attention, but she understood the point – that if she could just accept those daily insults, she would be safe from being outed as a lesbian. She nodded again.

“Ah, but rejection, that is what gets you in trouble,” said the technician. “So you will find that each time you reject such attention, your brain will make up a little rule for you, and force you to follow it. Something to punish you for being a bitch, or to help you to be more agreeable in future.”

Tahlia didn’t quite understand. “You’re going to make me follow rules?” she asked.

“No,” said the technician. “You’re going to make *yourself* follow rules. You have to understand, hypnosis can’t *make* you do anything. On some level, you want this. You want to be changed. You want to be less of a bitch. You want to get along with men. And because of this, you can make *yourself* do things – your subconscious controlling your conscious, do you see?”

Tahlia did, in the abstract, but still didn’t understand what was actually happening to her.

“Let’s demonstrate, shall we?” said the technician. “I will do something, and you will reject me.”

And without further warning, the technician reached out, grabbed Tahlia’s left tit, and squeezed.

Tahlia squealed, and slapped his hand away. “How dare you!” she squeaked.

And then, suddenly, she felt something happen in her brain.

I shouldn’t have done that, she thought. That was a bitchy thing to do. I shouldn’t be a bitch. I should be nice to men.

From now on, she thought, when a man shows interest in me, I’ll give him a compliment, and I’ll do my best to believe it.

“You have… a really handsome chin,” she heard herself say.

It *was* handsome, she thought. Not that she was into such things. But it was bold and dominant. It she had to kiss a man, it would be enjoyable to kiss this one – to run her hand over his face, and feel his lips pushing hard against hers…

What were these thoughts? These weren’t lesbian thoughts. They felt alien in her brain – and at the same time, insistent, and distracting.

If this man was eating her pussy, she might feel his chin rubbing against her groin, and…

Gross. Gross. She tried to stop it.

The technician was laughing.

“Ah, see?” he said. “You have made up some rule about complimenting me, haven’t you? No need to answer, I can see that you have. This is what will happen when you reject male attention. A new rule, each time, making you more agreeable. More courteous.”

“Make it stop,” said Tahlia. She felt like she might cry. “I hate it.”

The technician shook his head. “No,” he said. “We do not reverse the process. It’s in the paperwork we signed.”

“So what, I’m just going to think this… forever?” asked Tahlia.

“Of course not,” said the technician. “Only until you become the woman that you wanted to be when you undertook this process. You see, while *accepting* male attention will merely allow you to avoid new rules, actively *encouraging* it will allow you to choose two of your current rules and delete them.”

“I don’t want to encourage it!” wailed Tahlia.

“Yes, you do,” said the technician. “On some level. Otherwise the process wouldn’t work. Some part of you wants men to compliment your tits, Tahlia. You have to understand that.”

It wasn’t true. It was a lie. The idea of men even *looking * at her tits sickened her.

“Just encourage it,” said the technician. “You just need to do something to encourage men to grope you, or objectify you, or interact with you sexually, or demean you based on your sexuality and gender, in a way that wouldn’t have otherwise happened. So it needs to go above and beyond what they were already going to do, and above and beyond what your current rules are making you do. It’s entirely your choice what you do – but it will be your *choice*.”

“Please, just put me back the way I was,” said Tahlia. There were tears in her eyes.

“I already said no,” said the technician. “But it really is very easy. Just go outside, find the first man you see, and invite him to have a good squeeze of your boob, and you’ll be back to no rules. And then you just have to be a good girl and not be a bitch to men in order to stay that way. It shouldn’t be too onerous.”

Tahlia already knew that she was *not* going to be encouraging any man to squeeze her boob. She would figure out another way out of this.

“What’s to stop you just squeezing my boob again and again until I accept it?” said Tahlia.

“There’s a limit,” said the technician. “Only one harassment per day per person. You’ve refused me once and made up a rule. I can keep harassing you, but you can keep saying no for the rest of the day with no further consequences. But it applies to the encouragements, too – you can only encourage a given man once a day, and you can only encourage a given action once a week. So if you invite a man to squeeze your tit, and delete some rules as a result, you can’t get benefit from encouraging him to do anything else for the rest of that day, and you can’t get benefit from people squeezing your tits for the rest of the week.”

It just kept getting worse, apparently. Tahlia’s lips quivered with misery.

“And it has to be an encouragement,” said the technician. “It doesn’t work if he was going to sexually harass you anyway.”

She had to make things worse for herself than they would otherwise have been, in other words.

“Oh, one last thing,” said the technician. “We’ve had trouble before with clients complaining about our process, and pretending that they didn’t want it, or seeking help to try and get it reversed. That caused us a lot of headache and legal trouble, so we’ve added just one more alteration.”

Tahlia cringed, knowing she wouldn’t like it.

“You’ll find that you can’t tell anyone that you’ve been through this process unless they already know about it,” said the technician. “Further, you can’t suggest to anyone that you didn’t want the process or don’t enjoy its results, or that you want it reversed.”

The technician helped Tahlia up from her bed – and then he slapped her on the ass.

“Run along home now, little slut,” he said. “And enjoy the first night of the rest of your life.”

===

The driver in the taxi home was a man. He stared at her tits whenever they stopped at the lights. Tahlia wanted to tell him not to, but fear dissuaded her. She had hated the feeling of her brain going strange, and making up a rule for her. She didn’t want to feel that again. So she let the man ogle her boobs through her sweater.

“You have really strong arms,” she found herself saying. “They’re sexy.”

He smiled at her, and for a moment, Tahlia panicked, thinking she was going to be assaulted, or raped.

But he just said, “Thank you,” and kept driving.

===

When she got home to the small-but-elegant apartment she shared with her girlfriend, Junko was waiting.

“How did it go?” she asked.

Tahlia wanted to cry. She wanted to say that it was a nightmare. She wanted to get Junko’s help to undo the process, to find a new hypnotist and reverse this horrible thing that had been done to her. She wanted to say how the technician had squeezed her tits and slapped her ass and called her a slut, and suggest they sue his ass off.

Instead she found herself smiling.

“It was so good!” she enthused. “I can’t talk about all the details – some proprietary confidentiality thing – but I really enjoyed it, and I think it’s really going to help me!”

Junko had been a little tense, but now she relaxed.

“That’s wonderful,” she sighed. “See? I told you so! I’ve made you dinner – and then afterwards I thought we could celebrate in bed…”

Dinner was wonderful. Junko’s dinner was always wonderful. And bed was better. Junko, naked, pressed her lithe, sexy body against Tahlia, and kissed Tahlia, and her fingers found Tahlia’s wet, eager pussy….

… and Tahlia burned with humiliation and shame, because for some reason she couldn’t stop thinking about the arms of the taxi driver – how strong they looked – and what they would feel like holding her down, forcing her against her girlfriend, controlling her, whether she wanted it or not…

===

You can buy original novel Average Availability right now in the All These Roadworks store for only $7.99 USD – and your purchase will support me to keep writing new stories like this one! (Click here to view in store.)

===

A spiritual sequel to Average Availability! A new girl, new hypnotic rules - and a new twist!

January 16, 2026 alltheseroadworks Guest Post, Story

Guest Post: Godfather’s Hypnosis Ring, Part 1

All These Roadworks introduction: This is the first part of Godfather’s Hypnosis Ring by Bimbo Blackwood, a tale of incest, mind control and brat taming. If you enjoy what you read, you can pick up the whole story in the All These Roadwork shop right now! (Click here to view in store.)

===

“What a pleasant surprise.”

I glare up into the dark, black-eyed stare of my godfather, knowing that my arrival is not a surprise at all, but rather a dumb punishment for me, and apparently by his teasing voice, something he finds entirely too amusing.

“Are you gonna let me in or make me freeze out here in the cold?” I snip at him, wrapping my arms tighter around myself.

I’d stubbornly refused to wear a coat, even though my parents warned me that the mountains (where my godfather retired to—almost like he’s hiding from something) aren’t anything like the warm, muggy city. I turn to watch my mom drive away, frowning as she doesn’t even wave ‘goodbye’. My suitcases are right by where we’d parked, apparently thrown out—left behind and abandoned—just like me.

“Ah,” Roderick says, “this must be that bull-headed sass your mom tried to warn me about. Why don’t you grab your stuff, and then you can come inside.”

He’s acting like he hasn’t seen me since I was little, which would be true if he hadn’t just stayed over for the Christmas season a handful of months ago. Mom had tried to make me wait on him hand and foot (“He’s our guest, sweetheart!”) and I’m sure he heard plenty of my bitching then, too.

“Why can’t you grab it?” I ask irritably, tempted to shove the door open wider and scooch right past him. “I’m your guest.”

His eyes flash and his smile tightens. “Well, although true, we both know that you’re staying with me for unfortunate reasons . . . like not minding your manners….”

I roll my eyes, holding back a huff. It’s complete bullshit, really, but apparently my parents think that I’m a troubled teen that’s going to end up homeless or something. My dad’s always been a total militant buzzkill—and my mom overreacts when dad (or anyone) gets upset at me. They’d both freaked out just because I’d gotten kicked out of high school for smoking weed in the girls’ bathroom and . . . yeah, so I cockteased a few teachers here and there, too.

(Dad almost belted my ass when he found out about the slutty nudes that I’d sent to several of the male faculty, even though I’m eighteen and it’s none of their fucking business, but thankfully mom wouldn’t let him.)

It’s not my fault that my big tits and pretty face make older men confused and horny. Maybe I’d also offered to do a little something-something to Principal Matthews if he didn’t rat me out, but the dumb narc only hesitated long enough for me to show him my panties before he called security—and then my dad was called—and then I was formally expelled and sent to this tree-filled, rural hellhole to stay with my mom’s pudgy, old uncle.

“They say the mountain air might temper my spirits,” I say melodramatically, waving a hand in front of my face like I’m in an old-timey movie, and smirking at Uncle-Godfather (I find it funny to call him that, since he seems to think he should be important to me). “They also said something about hard work and living with a hard-ass….”

“That’s right,” Roderick says, his smile still tight. “So, I’m going to give you a choice tonight. You can grab your own bags and be a good little girl that gets to have dinner and go to bed early—or I can grab them and we can start the hard work now.”

He’s really starting to annoy me, especially because he seems to believe that he actually has some control over if I do any chores or whatever. Does he not know how stubborn I can be? I didn’t lift a damned finger for him over Christmas—except my middle one, not-so-secretly, once.

“Why wait?” I say, pushing past him.

It’s harder than I anticipate because he doesn’t fucking move, standing squarely in the door as I press into him. I look up at him, our faces nearly touching, and smile, slowly pressing my curvy hip into his groin. Normally, men I’m trying to make uncomfortable back down immediately—flustered by having a barely legal girl inside their personal bubble, rubbing away at their pathetic, hair-trigger resistance—but Roderick just smirks back at me, before leaning forward so that his lips find my forehead, and I gasp as he gives me a slow, moist kiss.

“Cute,” he murmurs, stepping past me casually.

Ew, fucking gross! I scream internally, clenching my teeth as I rush into the house. I wait until he can’t see me to frantically rub at the spot he’d left saliva-damp. This asshat wants to play war with me? Well, he’s got another thing comin’….

I flounce over to his couch, sprawling over the cushions tummy-first so that my round ass sticks up in the air. I’m actually dressed more conservative than normal—because my bitch of a mom went through my room and got rid of all my super cute clothes—but the jeans I’m wearing are still form-fitting and tight, showing off my legs and bubble butt, and my turtleneck doesn’t hide how ample my breasts are (thanks mom for the double-D’s!). I’m just trying to show Roderick that I don’t give a fuck about whatever morals or good manners he plans to teach me. Loudly, I turn up the sound on my phone and watch videos of people doing hilariously stupid stuff at parties.

That’s going to be me, when I leave for college next year, I tell myself, watching a busty chick strip off her shirt while hot guys gather around to take body-shots off her flat stomach.

“Are you planning to sleep on that sofa?” Roderick asks tersely as he drags in the two suitcases I’d sloppily packed.

I ignore him, laughing as one of the guys licks booze off the big-breasted chick and gets a boner, snorting when another guy laughingly smacks at the bulge. College looks like it’s going to be a ton of fun—with cool people who aren’t so uptight, and no middle-aged idiots monitoring every little thing.

“I will be taking non-answers as a yes, Ava Adams,” Uncle-Godfather says sharply.

I shrug, grinning internally that I’m already getting a rise out of him. What kind of lame-o uses my full name like I’m ten? He’s over eight years late on that one. “Sure. Whatever.”

He shoves the suitcases up against the edge of the couch, then sits down in a cushy recliner that’s by the other end where my head is at.

“You realize that you’ll be staying here until I convince your mom to retrieve you, right?”

Oooh, scary, I want to mock back, but instead I just give him a sweet smile and hum, “Mmhmm!”

I’m sure this tired-looking, grey-haired man is going to go bald watching over me for the next few days, and I’ll have him begging my mom to come take me away. A retired jeweler isn’t going to make me less stubborn or sassy, even if he is my godfather. I’ve come to appreciate my own personality, and if no one else does, that’s their freaking problem, not mine.

I’m already grown, old man. No one—especially YOU—is going to change me, I think to myself, still smiling at him.

“I want us to have a frank discussion about why you’re here,” he says, not smiling back.

“I’m sure my mom blabbed to you all about it,” I reply flippantly, my attention wandering back to the partygoers on my phone; there’s shirtless guys laughing and shooting each other with pellet guns—one shoots a red cup of booze off another’s head. It’s kind of sexy how the liquid runs down his muscular chest.

“She says you were kicked out of school and that you refuse to look for a job. She says you need firm guidance or you’ll end up a worthless tramp on the streets.”

I stiffen, my dark eyes flicking up to his. Did my mom really call me a tramp?

“My words,” Roderick says with a slimy smile. “Young brats like you need discipline.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “Or we’ll turn into prostitutes?”

“What else would you be good for?”

I gape at him, and then I laugh. Does this dude really think he can embarrass me? It’s obvious we have the same blood running inside us, because he thinks he can fuck with me like I plan to fuck with him, and be as shockingly vulgar as I am to shame me.

“Is that what you see when you look at me?” I ask sweetly, winking at him. “A filthy prostitute that needs discipline?”

I bite my lower lip and raise up onto my elbows, pushing my cleavage out; even though I’m completely covered by my white turtleneck, I know it’s still a sexy sight. Roderick’s eyes widen a fraction, getting locked onto my teenage breasts before snapping back up to my face.

“One day, my dear, you’ll be made to reconsider how you use that tongue.”

“Okay,” I say with a giggle, noting the pink flush rising up his neck. “Maybe you should show me how you want me to use it then….”

I can’t tell if he’s battling lust or anger, but I’m pretty sure I’m winning and that he wants to get rid of me. Even though I’m stuck out in the middle of nowhere with him, I’m not really concerned about my safety; he’s my mom’s uncle and my godfather, for one, and I think my dad would shoot him if he did anything to me. Sure, they might want him to break me down and turn me into something boring, but they definitely wouldn’t be cool with him hurting me.

“Perhaps tonight,” he says pleasantly, and the sudden shift in his tone makes my eyes narrow in suspicion. “Do you like my ring?”

I wrinkle my nose as he holds out his paw of a hand, showing off an ugly bronze ring with a small ruby set in it. My eyes seem to get stuck on it, even though it’s more boring looking than he is. A warm whisper in my head tells me to stare harder, to look beneath the surface, as though the glittering red gem holds some secret inside it.

Am I crazy, or is there something majestic about it? The bloody color of the gem pulses before my eyes, pulses in my skull, pulses shivering warmth down my spine. I whimper as he brings it closer to my face, to really let me see it.

“Your mother was quite fond of this old family heirloom,” he whispers. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” I whisper, even though I didn’t mean to say anything.

Everything inside me likes it. I want to reach out and skim my fingers over the dazzling band; I yearn to touch it, to take it.

I try to shake the feeling away, unnerved when he asks again, “Do you like it, Ava?”

“I like it….” My tongue and vocal cords work all on their own, heat washing over me like a tropical wave. “I really, really like it.”

I can’t seem to stop staring at it, the red of the gemstone beating-beating-beating like my heart in my chest, my blood surging through me warmly. So warm. Everything’s so red and warm.

“You like it so much that you’d be willing to do whatever I asked of you, in this moment,” my godfather says soothingly.

“Uh, mmhmm,” I mouth awkwardly, cold confusion battling with the warmth.

What the hell is going on? Why can’t I look away or form clear thoughts? How is this ring messing with me like this?

“Now why don’t we start over, Little Darling. Can you sit up, politely, like a lady? That’s not a question. Do it.”

Normally I would tell him to eat a dick for suggesting that my posture is less than adequate for his bumpkin cabin in the woods, but I can’t stop myself from sliding my legs off the couch and pushing myself into a proper seated position. In muted horror, I cross my ankles together primly.

“Good girl. Doesn’t it feel nice to look at my ring and obey sensible orders?”

NO! I want to shout, but the red gleam and rushing warmth make me nod mutely. I can’t look away from his soul-sucking ring. I can’t do anything but stare and nod blithely. I can’t even summon up the right emotion, to feel truly annoyed or afraid.

“You’ll need to answer my questions with your voice.”

“Yes, sir,” I find myself saying. “It feels nice.”

“Do you know what else feels nice, Ava?”

“Getting my way,” I blurt out.

Why the heck would I admit that? I ignore his dark chuckle, seeing him shake his head in my peripheral vision.

“Telling the truth is what feels best,” he says while I try to blink rapidly, hoping the movement clicks off the weird switch inside of me that seems locked up in a control that’s not my own. Why can’t I blink? Why are my fucking eyes stuck open like this? My heart starts to thunder wildly before he whispers, “Relax, Little Darling. Take a deep breath and relax. Keep looking at my ring. You like looking at it.”

I do, letting the warmth inside me flood all the frozen, resistant, scared spots. I’m not used to being afraid. I’m not used to being controlled. I have no idea what’s happening, but Roderick’s soothing voice and the red halo that expands from his ring calm me. It nearly looks angelic now. Like a gift from the heavens, glittering all through my mind. My breathing evens out and deepens, my pulse slowing to a steady rhythm.

“It’s very beautiful,” I whisper. “I like looking at it.”

Roderick chuckles again. “You’re very beautiful. I like looking at you. It seems I may not be the only one, though, and that you thrive on male attention….”

“Yes,” I agree, feeling the warmth flood my large tits and harden my nipples.

I really, really like male attention. It makes me feel powerful. Commanding. Invincible.

For some reason my mouth tells him that, and when he laughs darkly again, I feel a spike of shame, like I’ve exposed some part of myself that’s vulnerable and raw. I don’t like it. I don’t like whatever’s happening between us. I don’t like his evil ring or his questions. I just want it all to stop.

“Relax,” he tells me as I let out a pathetic little whimper. “I’m going to put the ring away, and I’ll give you the choice to be honest with me. But if you aren’t, there’ll be consequences.” He slides his hand away, and my muddled head clears a little. “Honesty can be a choice, Ava. Will you be truthful with me?”

“I think so,” I tell him, not lying, but still confused as I try to blink the red warmth away. It takes a moment to recenter my thoughts, but now that I’m not staring at his ring, anger and fear bubble up inside me. “Hey! What the fuck was that!?”

“Language,” Uncle-Godfather says sharply, and when I move to stand up, he barks out, “Sit down!”

He waves his ringed hand in front of my eyes and immediately a pulsing warmth compels me to listen to him.

Oh-my-God-what’s-happening!? my mind screams.

I slump back into the couch, my phone clattering to the floor, my mind spinning red but still screaming: this-isn’t-right-something’s-wrong-what-the-fuck-whatthefuck-WHATTHEFUCK?!

“You’re okay. Breathe. Focus on the truth, it’ll set you free . . . as pithy as that sounds, I mean it.” He removes his hand from my vision, letting me stare at him with wide, frightened eyes, and then he smiles gently. “Most men are wise enough not to get caught up in a young girl’s charms, my starling—but with the shit I’ve heard that you pulled, you’ve nearly ruined marriages and livelihoods….”

“They probably deserved it,” I bite out, agitated and scared beyond belief.

I don’t know why he’s calling me pet-names (we’ve never been close)—and I don’t know what he’s doing to me. How am I not in control of my body or mind? It’s got to stop. I’ve got to do enough of what he wants to make it stop.

“Did they?”

“I think so,” I tell him, wishing I knew just what to say to make this awful conversation end. “I didn’t do it that much,” I lie. “I didn’t even—”

“How many men did you cocktease, Ava? How many men’s lives and marriages did you potentially ruin for fun?”

I groan, rubbing at my eyes. (Why won’t the red shadow get out of my mind?) It makes me angry. Uncle-Godfucker makes me angry. I glare at him, hissing, “Get the stick out of your ass. I don’t know why we’re even talking about this!”

“I won’t ask you again. Tell me how many men you cockteased or take off your shirt.”

“What?” I nearly scream as he huffs and waves his hand in front of me, instantly sucked into the red pull of his ring, my mind turning into crimson mush as he says, “Wrong answer. Off with the shirt.”

I’m hardly aware of my hands wrenching the turtleneck up over my head. But as soon as I can’t see the ring anymore, I want to slam my shirt back down . . . except I can’t. A cry rips from me as my hands just keep on pulling the tight collar of the shirt across my red face. My huge tits bounce lewdly, knocking together in my lacy, hot-pink bra. It’s one of my very favorites, but I hadn’t ever intended for a freaking relative to see me in it.

“Not fun to cocktease when you aren’t in control?” Roderick asks me with fake-sweetness.

“Please,” I bite out, clutching my shirt to my trembling stomach. “Please let me put it back on.”

“How many men?”

“I—I don’t know,” I whimper, tears forming in my eyes.

I start to quickly count them: first it was my P.E. teacher (Mr. Jennings), and then it was the janitor because he found out about Jennings and threatened to tell, and then . . . was it my English or Science teacher? Both around the same time, probably….

“Give your best guess. Was it over five men? Ten?”

I nod, tears trickling down my cheeks. I’d felt so fucking proud about it before—having slutty, teenage power over pathetic, aging men—but now, sitting shirtless in front of a man that’s actively judging me, actively making me feel weak and shitty, I just want to crawl into a hole and die.

“Tell me about the first one,” he says softly.

I shake my head, not wanting to admit to any more of my bad behavior. Haven’t I already said enough? Why is he making me do this anyway? Just to humiliate and punish me?

“I’m sorry, Roderick,” I try, “I get that it wasn’t cool of me—”

“No, no,” he interrupts. “It’s not Roderick to you anymore—it’s sir—and now is not the time for apologies. Take off your jeans or tell me about the first one. In precise detail.”

My eyes widen so big that I feel like they might pop out of my head. “I don’t think that’s any of your business!”

“Off with the pants then,” he says lazily, waving his ring in front of my eyes; I try to shut them, but the moment the red gleam of the ring hits my pupils they blow wide and suck all the pulsing warmth straight in. I can’t stop myself, especially when he demands, “Take off your boots and socks first, then the jeans. Now.”

I want to scream as I bend down and pull off my brown Uggs one by one, my eyes still stuck on the hideously beautiful ring, my fingers working all on their own, despite me begging myself to stop. My socks come off next, exposing my pretty toes, and the hot pink of my painted toenails makes something jolt inside me, makes me try hard to fight, my muscles locking up as I try to stay seated. The red strain nearly makes me black out. Don’t fight, whispering tendrils inside my mind urge—and then warmth rushes through me as I give in and stand up.

“You’ve got quite the rack on you, Little Darling,” Roderick says teasingly. “You take after your mother—although I think yours might be even bigger.”

“Shut up,” I mumble, fiddling with the button of my jeans and wanting to cry.

He makes an irritated noise but doesn’t correct me, apparently pleased enough at watching me struggle to pull the zip of my jeans down, both of us listening to my horrible, labored breathing, both of us knowing that I’m definitely not winning the fight right now.

“You’re a pervert,” I say in a trembly little voice as my lacy, hot-pink panties are exposed.

“Who are you addressing?” he asks, rising sharply like he might hit me.

We stand eye to eye, with me having to look up a little, and so close that I can smell his musky sweat, see his little nostril hairs, and hear his nasally breath.

With all the inner strength I can summon, I choke out, “You’re a pervert, sir….”

“And you’re a filthy little liar. Sit down and be honest—or I’ll make you confess completely naked.”

To my horror, my pussy throbs a little at his threat. I don’t want to think about it, or have him force me to strip any further, so I kick my jeans off completely and sit as casually as I can on the corner of the couch. Crossing my legs seems like the safest position, with my arms hugged around my breasts, but I can’t stop my face from burning as Roderick stares down at me triumphantly, the slight bulge in his pants seeming to grow as his eyes slide over my milky-white cleavage and the crease of my thighs.

“Do I have to make you?” he practically purrs, looming over me.

God, just fuck off! I want to yell at him, but instead I find myself clawing at the recesses of my mind for details. “It started just after I turned eighteen. Mr. Jennings used to make us all run the track for any little thing, like if we were chewing gum or talking during a lecture. I’d purposely wear loose shirts and flimsy bras so that he could look down and see—just so I’d get out of trouble. He was too embarrassed to make me run much cause my breasts would flop all over the place, and I’d complain loudly that he was just doing it to watch.”

“That wasn’t very nice of you.”

“No, sir.”

“Anything else with Mr. Jennings?”

“Yes,” I admit softly, blushing deeper. “I found out his personal cell phone number and started texting him pictures of me in the locker room. Undressing. In my sports bra and underwear. One time nude in the shower. I told him it could be our little secret.”

“And how did he respond?”

“He didn’t at first—other than avoiding me at school. He ignored me when I chewed gum or passed notes. It started to piss me off….”

“And?”

“So, I cornered him after class one day and made him feel me up.” I nearly gasp as the redness in my mind throbs straight down into my clit, like the compulsion inside me is a living, alien thing—but then I realize I’m looking at Roderick’s ring again, and his stone-cold voice is telling me, “It’s not fun to be forced to feel things, is it? Right now, you’re going to feel what Mr. Jenning’s felt. Your cunt is about to get very, very wet, Little Darling—yet you won’t quite enjoy it, because you’ll feel trapped, weak, and afraid….”

I inhale sharply as my pussy twinges wetly, soaking the crotch of my panties and starting to make a puddle of fluid under me. Hot fear goes through me as I tremble and moan, my muscles stiffening, my clit swelling and burning against the lacy fabric. I’m sure that I’m making a spot on the couch, and that makes me want to faint in embarrassment.

Let me go—let-me-go! I try to beg, but only horrified moans come out as the memory of Mr. Jenning’s shaky hands were held, by me, against my off-limits, teenaged tits—(“I’ll tell if you don’t,” I remember teasing him. “So you better touch me until I get bored of playing with you….”)—and then I’d rubbed up against his guilty erection, grinding into him until he fell against his desk, letting me dry-hump and kiss him until I reached a shivery orgasm.

“Did you make him cum?”

“No, sir….” I breathe out.

“And what does that make you?”

“A . . . a filthy cocktease,” I whine, and as though the ring could praise me, I feel a burst of warmth at the admission.

“Good girl,” he soothes, dropping his hand away. “Even though I had to force it out of you, we’ll end on that note tonight if you agree on the following three conditions.”

I look up at him fearfully, my head a muddled mess of crimson.

“One, you are to write a hundred lines of ‘I am a filthy cocktease, with a needy teen cunt, and I regret my poor decisions’. Two, you are forbidden to redress until I give you permission—tonight you’ll sleep right here on the sofa in only your bra and panties—”

“Hell no—” I start to argue loudly, but Roderick silences me with a harsh, “Don’t speak!” and a blinding red pain shoots through me as my mouth automatically snaps shut. “You’ll earn the right to wear clothes tomorrow. This is necessary discipline, Little Darling, and I won’t have you questioning my methods. Nod once if you understand.”

I nod miserably, my tears reflecting the red gleam of his ring. My teeth feel melded together. My head hurts. My pussy is still leaking and throbbing and making me feel insane. This is the most awful I’ve ever felt in my entire life. I’ve never felt so scared yet so unnaturally horny before….

“Lastly, you will masturbate for an hour before you fall asleep. You will not permit yourself to cum. You will remember that this is how you made Mr. Jennings feel—when you grossly assaulted him and tried to destroy his job and reputation.” He pauses for a long moment, looking at the wetness leaking down my cheeks. “Drop your arms and spread your legs if you understand.”

Everything inside me sobs, but I realize I’m not being forced to do anything, because it wasn’t a command. I stiffly put my arms down, and then I sniffle as I uncross my legs, slowly widening them until he can see the soaking pink-wet of my panties.

He grins and clasps his hands together, breaking the spell with the ring. “Lovely. I’ll be right here in the lounger to watch over you—so don’t think about trying to trick me unless you want a punishment that’s far, far worse….”

I can’t even comprehend what monstrous punishment he’s thinking of, since the punishments he’s already given me are so completely and mind-blowingly obscene and humiliating. My mind can’t even wrap around the third one, stuttering like a bad connection when I imagine finishing the horrible lines and lying back to try and sleep. In my bra and panties. With my pervy godfather right here . . . watching over me. Will he even give me a blanket? It’s pretty warm in the cabin, so he might not think I need one.

He gets up and says something about fetching a pen and paper, and for a wild moment I think about making a run for it. How far would I get without clothes and shoes? There’s no way I could redress before he comes back. How far could I make it clothed anyway? We’re out in the deep woods—and it’s dark outside. I’d probably be found drowned in a river or—

My frantic thoughts cut off as he comes back with a smile. He hands me a pen and a clipboard with a paper stuck on it. “Here you are. Get to it.”

‘I am a filthy cocktease,’ I scribble-write, blushing furiously.

(The ink is red. Why is the ink red?)

“Make it legible, Ava.”

I rewrite it, but hot tears form in my eyes as I re-read the words. I don’t really believe that about myself, do I? It wasn’t my fault. Everything that happened was deserved—those men weren’t blameless.

“Now the next part, unless you want to lose the bra.”

Sobbing, I scrawl down, ‘with a needy teen cunt’….

“Good girl, keep going.”

‘—and I regret my poor decisions!’ I add neatly.

The words seem to glow, shining up at me and searing into my pupils.

“Read it out loud,” Uncle-Godfather demands, and for some reason the lingering redness in the corners of my mind pulses, compelling me.

“I’m a filthy cocktease,” I whisper in a shaky voice, “with a needy teen cunt,” I gasp as my pussy gushes more wetness into my already soaked panties, “and I regret my poor decisions.”

Because it was stupid of me to do those things, wasn’t it? I could have gotten a lot of people into a lot of trouble. I could have gotten someone fired. I could have gotten someone arrested or divorced….

“Keep writing.”

I write a second line, and then a third, and then the lines all seem to blur red together as my hand writes faster and faster. I AM A FILTHY COCKTEASE, the red thoughts seem to scream at me. WITH A NEEDY TEEN CUNT! I moan as arousal ribbons through me. AND I REGRET MY POOR DECISIONS!

I did make Mr. Jennings feel me up because I was being a mean, horny bitch, I realize. I did play with the janitor so that he would fuck off with his knowledge about it. He was gross and old, but I still felt powerful because I pushed him into it by telling him I’d say he was just as guilty as Jennings and then . . . I left him erect and wanting, implying that he’d made me. Implying that I’d tell everyone he’d tried to rape me.

(Like a filthy, horrible, cockteasing LIAR!)

My hand cramps, and Roderick’s voice seems to come from very far away when he says, “Stop. You’ve written more than enough.”

I look down at the completely filled paper.

“It’s time for bed. But you know what you need to do now.”

Heat rushes into my cheeks as I lie back on the sofa, shivering although I’m not cold. I’m so horny that it’s hard to think straight—and I’m surprised that Roderick hasn’t called me out for completely soaking his couch cushions. I don’t want to touch myself in front of him. God, why does he have to watch? Why does this have to be my punishment? It’s really weird—all of this is really fucking BEYOND weird.

“Can—can I have a blanket?” I stammer softly.

“In sixty minutes, if you start right now.”

I groan and squeeze my eyes shut, unable to think about anything but the red embarrassment filling me from head to toe. It doesn’t stop me from shoving a hand down my panties. I want a blanket.

Fuck, it feels so fucking good! I nearly gasp, whimpering instead as I mindlessly start to play with the slick bud of my engorged clit.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so swollen and aroused before. The first flicks of my fingers against my clit make me moan like a bitch in heat. What the hell? It feels amazing! A violent tremor goes through me as I press and rub myself harder. I bite down on my lower lip, trying not to cum as Roderick says, “Easy now. Remember the rules.”

I nod, blushing furiously, and slow the motion of my fingers, my mind chanting: don’t cum—don’t you fucking cum. This sucks. I suck. This whole situation sucks. How does he think this is right to do to me?

(Because this is what you’ve done to others, the redness pulses in my mind.)

But no, this is different, isn’t it? It was different with Jennings, and the janitor, and—and all the others, too! They wanted it. They liked it! I definitely don’t like frigging myself while Uncle-Godfather watches, do I?

My eyes pop open to see him leering at me, his dark gaze trained on my movements, my overly soaked panties sticking to my hand. The horror of the situation almost makes me rip my hand away, but then he says, “If you stop, you’ll be doing this naked and the hour will restart….”

“I’m—I’m not stopping,” I gasp out, sinking a finger into my wet folds desperately.

At least he can’t actually see it, I tell myself, my eyes rolling back into my head as pleasure expands inside me.

“Careful now. If you cum, I’ll have to spank your bare ass with my belt.”

For some reason those words make my pussy tighten excitedly, but I ignore the sickening thought. What is wrong with me? This is so wrong. This is all so, SO wrong.

My eyes close again and I can feel myself trembling. My clit is so big and throbbing against my fingers that I know I can’t last much longer.

“Please,” I beg, “I have to stop or I’ll—”

“Relax! Slow down and focus!”

I try to listen to his instructions, but it feels like every nerve in my body is buzzing. I can hear my ragged breathing, my desperate little whines, and the wet squelching sounds my finger makes as it slides around inside me.

A cry rips from my throat, and suddenly Roderick is kneeling beside me, his hot hand holding my wrist. I feel a rush of fear, whimpering as he squeezes the delicate bones of my forearm meanly, and blink back tears as he says, “Do you see how it feels to burn with desire? How unfair it is?”

“Y-yes,” I stammer, and then automatically my mouth says, “I’m a filthy cocktease with a needy teen cunt, and I regret my poor decisions….”

“That’s right,” he soothes, letting me go. “Tell you what. If you take off your bra and underwear, you only have to do this for another five minutes. If you can keep from cumming, I’ll let you go to sleep.”

Five minutes is much better than fifty, my red mind insists, and so I nod, my pussy pulsing wildly, and slowly sit up. I can feel Roderick’s eyes roaming over my heaving breasts—they rise and fall rapidly with my labored breathing—and I tremble as I reach around and unclip my bra.

“Wow,” he says as my bubble-gum pink nipples are exposed, my heavy tits firm and perky as they settle and sway.

His compliment makes me want to shrivel into myself, but I don’t dare as I shift to pull down my sticky, wet panties.

It’s just five minutes, my mind tells me, just five and then it’s over….

But will it be over? Or will he do something worse to me after?

(No, the redness soothes, he’s kept his promises so far.)

The thought that he’s been fair during this entirely unfair situation doesn’t help much as I numbly discard my undergarments and keep my eyes trained on the wall some distance away. I can’t stand to look at him. Can’t stand to see the heated desire on his face, or the bulge in his trousers, when I’m not the one in control of any of it.

“Good girl, Little Darling,” he whispers, and nausea rolls through me at the lust dripping from his words. “Five more minutes. Start now.”

Thankfully, he moves back to his lounger, and so I shove my hand between my wet legs, nearly sighing in relief as the pleasure wipes my dark thoughts and fear away.

Ohhhh! Yes! My body sings as I finger myself wantonly, my hips bucking, and breathy sighs and moans escape me as I work myself faster and faster. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad just to let myself cum. (Like the horrible, needy little teen slut you are, the redness teases.) Then this horrible ache inside me would be gone—then everything would feel perfectly alright for a long moment….

“Stop, Ava.”

I cry out in frustration, but then still as I hear my godfather unbuckle his belt. I definitely don’t want to get hit with it, but the red-drumming through my pussy and behind my eyes is screaming: let me cum! LET ME CUM!

“Go slow,” he whispers, and try my best to, spreading my fingers out in the tight, wet sleeve of my teen cunt, and then dizzying horror goes through me as I hear the tell-tale sign of a dick being stroked.

Is my godfather masturbating to this?

It’s so gross yet so hot that I have to fight off the urge to slam my fingers into myself, squeezing my eyes shut as I try to block out his grunting and groaning.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he tells me, and it makes me want to vomit.

This is all so fucked up. How am I still so aroused even though I feel so sick? I keep fingering myself, hating that I can’t help but overlay the sounds of his breathing onto mine, hating that I can nearly feel his pleasure as I pleasure myself. It’s so wrong but so good—this weird fucking thing that we’re doing—and then I hear him curse and the lounger creaking loudly.

He’s cumming, my frantic mind screams as bliss threatens to overwhelm me. He’s cumming—he’s cumming!

I nearly lose it, watching his body jerk out of the corner of my eye as I zone out and teeter on the edge of my own violent orgasm.

“It’s not your turn, Ava,” he whispers breathlessly. “You don’t get a turn tonight.”

It takes every ounce of strength I have to pull my hand out of my throbbing, needy cunt. My entire body aches and my clit burns with denied pleasure.

I lay back and try not to sob.

After a moment, Roderick asks, “Would you like a blanket?”

“Yes, please,” I say in a breathless little voice.

Shock overcomes my arousal as he gets up to fetch one. I can’t believe I wanted to get off while my godfather watched. I’m such a disgusting little freak. And I really do have a needy teen cunt….

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll let you have a turn,” he says affectionately as he comes back to cover me with a scratchy, old blanket.

I don’t even know what to say to that, squeezing my eyes shut as I try to deny what just happened. It feels totally unreal. The way I couldn’t control my mind or body when staring at his ‘old, family heirloom’. The way when I did have control, I just let horrific things happen. The way I kind of wanted it—kind of wanted to get off with him….

It’s a long, miserable night, with me huddled under the blanket as his last words roll around in my head: maybe-tomorrow-I’ll-let-you-have-a-turn….

And, worst of all, the thought of getting to cum tomorrow makes my greedy pussy throb and pulse with excitement.

===

Enjoy this excerpt? Want more? Then head over to the All These Roadwork store and grab the complete e-book of Godfather’s Hypnosis Ring today! (Click here to view in store.)

===

Check out the first chapter of "Godfather's Hypnosis Ring", the hot new incest hypno novella from Bimbo Blackwood!