The young lesbian girls looked so pretty and innocent as they slept, lying nude in their expensive queen bed, cuddled up facing each other so that they were almost kissing.
It was time to wake them up, so Anthony took out his cock, and began to piss on their faces.
They jerked awake as soon as the hot urine began to splash on their cheeks and eyes – but almost immediately they smiled, and began to kiss each other – a long, slow, tender tongue-kiss. Their bodies moved closer together, their tits pressing against each other, their legs entangling.
Their names were Kylie – the slim blonde – and Carla – the buxom brunette. They were both 24, and they had almost ruined Anthony’s life. He had gotten into an argument with them online, and made some unwise and insulting comments, and the girls had sued him for homophobic vilification, taking almost everything he owned. The mansion they currently lived in, and the expensive bed they slept in, had been purchased with Anthony’s money.
Anthony’s flow of urine stopped. The girls were still kissing, and now Carla was humping her cunt against Kylie’s knee under the covers. He began to masturbate, his cock still aimed at their faces, and as he did so Kylie broke the kiss to begin licking Anthony’s piss off her lover’s face.
Neither of them looked at him. Neither of them acknowledged he was there.
Anthony’s life might have been over after the lawsuit, had not a project that he had been working on for a long time borne fruit. Because Anthony was an engineer, working on a device intended to map the human brain. It was a simple handheld scanner, and a user only needed to point it at someone to identify which parts of their brain were in use, and see the connections of thought between them.
You couldn’t “read minds” with it, of course. All it gave you were coordinates within the map of the brain. There was no sure way of telling what someone was thinking – only which parts of their cortex it engaged.
And yet, if you *already* knew what they were thinking, it was a simple matter to map specific contexts to specific parts of their brain. If you showed them a bowl of ice cream, and parts of their brain lit up, it was likely those parts were the coding for “ice cream”, “tasty”, “pleasure” and “hunger”.
The real breakthrough was the second device – the editor. It looked like a handheld torch, and all it did was flash very bright lights very quickly. But when paired with the brain mapper, and when shined into someone’s eyes, it could be used to make – or break – connections between parts of the brain.
Anthony had tested it by breaking into the house of the lesbian couple while only Carla was home. He had mapped her brain as she had first seen him, and then he had slapped her, and tied her down to a chair, and ripped off her clothes. (Making her nude wasn’t necessary, but it was enjoyable.) Then he had stuffed her panties into her mouth and taped them in place, because he didn’t need to hear her talk.
He had spent most of two hours further mapping her brain, by saying specific words to her, and showing her pictures, even as she had struggled and moaned. And when he had the data he needed, he had used the editor on her.
A few hours later, Kylie had come home, and Anthony repeated the process. He desperately wanted to rape her, too, but it would interfere with what he was doing, and anyway, he would have that chance soon enough.
When it was done, both girls had had their minds forever altered.
The first, and most important, alteration was that Anthony was invisible to both girls. There was still an idea of Anthony in their brains – but when their thoughts tried to connect to it, they would find the connections dead. They simply couldn’t think about Anthony, in any way, or acknowledge his existence. He could do absolutely anything, and if it required them to acknowledge that he existed, they would ignore it.
He had immediately moved in, commandeering their master bedroom for his own, and shifting the girls to one of the guest rooms. The girls had looked at the change in bafflement. Sometimes they still tried to crawl into his bed at night, thinking it was their own, and sometimes he let them – but most times he redirected them to their new room, and they appeared to be slowly learning that it was where they belonged.
To complement this major change to their minds – and to protect their brains, because dead-end thoughts could be confusing and traumatic – he re-wired some of the paths that led to “Anthony” to instead point to their arousal centres. If they encountered something that would normally make them think of Anthony, they would find themselves becoming horny. He took particular care to do this for the pathways connected to fear, hate, helplessness and anger, so that the more they disliked the effects of his presence, the wetter their pussies would become.
Right now the girls were grinding sluttily against each other in bed as they licked piss off each other, lying on their pissy pillows, unable to even think that there was anything strange about this, not really knowing why they were so aroused.
He’d made a few other changes to them as well. He’d connected the idea of “cock” to “service” in their minds, and then deleted the lines of alarm and disgust and revulsions that their lesbianism had associated with the male penis.
Now, as he pumped his cock, he felt his orgasm approaching, and he sighed happily as he ejaculated across the faces of the girls. They flinched slightly as his cum splashed onto their faces, but they immediately began licking his sperm from each other.
When he was done cumming, Anthony grabbed Carla’s hair and lifted her head up slightly. Her eyes went glazed as she found herself unable to think about what was happening. He pushed his cock into her mouth, and she immediately began to instinctively suck, cleaning the cum from his dick with her lips and tongue. He knew that if he had pushed his cock into her cunt that she would have similarly squeezed him with her cunt muscles and begun to instinctively hump against him.
When his cock was clean, Anthony went to have a shower. When he emerged, the girls had risen, still nude, and were heading for their own shower, oblivious (as always) to his presence. While they cleaned themselves, Anthony picked out their clothes for the day.
He had deleted their ability to decide for themselves what clothes to wear. They had to be given clothes by a man, or else they would simply remain nude. They knew that being nude was slutty and humiliating, and yet their brain simply didn’t have the capacity to make a decision about clothes. Left to their own devices, they would stare blankly at their clothes, their sense of shame and uselessness growing, and then they would blushingly begin their day completely naked.
Anthony took pity though – at least on most days – and would press a bundle of clothes into their arms when they emerged from the shower. They rarely liked the clothes, of course, but they were better than going naked.
Today he had picked out a schoolgirl costume for Kylie, with high heels and no panties. She was a lawyer, working in prosecutions, and he knew today she was supposed to be in court prosecuting a rapist. He hoped the jury would enjoy her slutty outfit, and completely disregard anything she had to say. Eventually, he assumed, Kylie would be fired for behaviour like this, but it wasn’t like he needed her income anymore, given some of his other actions.
For Carla, he had chosen tiny bikini bottoms that had little more than a thin string between her butt cheeks, and a front section that threatened to vanish between her pussy lips. And for her tits, a tight white top with the word “CUNT” written on it in large pink letters. The top barely came down below her nipples, leaving her stomach and all of her underboob on display.
Carla sold cars at a car yard, and honestly she had been making *more* money since Anthony had started dressing her. He suspected that she might also have been raped once or twice, but that was something he would never know as a result of some of the other changes he had made in the girls.
After dressing this morning, Carla stopped to look at herself in the mirror, and the tears that formed in her eyes as she stared at herself – knowing that she looked like a whore, but unable to change her clothes – were so instantly arousing to Anthony that he felt his cock stiffen, so he dragged her back to the bed, pulled down her bikini bottoms, and began to fuck her. He shoved his cock eagerly into her lesbian twat, and found it sopping wet, because of course all the shame and vulnerability of what he was doing to her had left her intensely aroused.
Carla couldn’t acknowledge that she was being fucked, or that Anthony was there, so she mostly just lay there – but her hips pumped against him, and when he leaned down to kiss her, she kissed him back. He fucked her to a satisfying orgasm, pumping his load inside her, and wondering if this was the rape that would finally impregnate her. He used her mouth to clean his dick, then pulled up her bikini bottoms again. His cum immediately began to soak through the thin fabric and trickle down her inner thighs, but Anthony had no problems with sending her to work in such a slutty state.
Carla may have been humiliated by what was happening to her, but she knew she deserved it, because Anthony had switched the connections for “feminism” and “misogyny” in her brain. Feminist thoughts made her angry. She rejected them. She disliked people who expressed them. Misogynist thoughts made her feel happy and content, and she liked to hear them, and felt close to people who shared them.
Anthony had hung a poster in their bedroom that simply read, “YOU ARE NOTHING BUT CUNTS”, and both girls seemed to truly treasure it as a beloved part of their home.
The girls ate their breakfast on all fours out of dog bowls. Anthony had removed the ability to eat using their hands from their brains, and he had put locks on the cupboards containing the normal plates and bowls, reserving them only for his own personal use.
Then they went outside and pissed on the front lawn. Anthony had created a disconnect between the concepts of “pissing” and “privacy” that left them unable to urinate in rooms with closed doors, or just generally anywhere where they might feel safe that no one would see them. The shame and disgust of this left them wildly horny, and Anthony had noticed with delight that the girls had begun to masturbate as they pissed, even if someone was watching them.
Then they left for work.
While they were gone, Anthony made the arrangements for the girls’ evening. Another change he had made to them was that they were completely unable to respond to sexual harassment – or sexual assault. If someone stared at their tits they would smile and make no attempt to cover themselves. If someone called them “sweetie” or “honey” – or, for that matter, “bitch” or “cunt” – they would respond as if it was their own given name. If someone groped their tits or ass they would allow it to happen, neither encouraging it nor moving away.
And if they were raped, they would perhaps wiggle and writhe in an enticing way, but they wouldn’t fight back, they wouldn’t harm their rapist, they wouldn’t scream or call for help, and afterwards they wouldn’t acknowledge it had happened. They wouldn’t even avoid their rapist in future or be impolite with him.
They knew it was happening. They knew that they were lesbians. They knew that they didn’t want to be raped (although their cunts would be drippingly, soppingly wet for it). They simply couldn’t do anything to prevent it.
And so every night Anthony arranged three or four men to visit each girl and rape her. The men paid for the privilege – and paid well. Anthony made it clear you could rape the girls, call them names, tie them up, use toys on them, and piss on or in them. It cost extra if you left bruises, and extra again if you wanted to take photographs to keep as a memento. The girls would simply let it happen, instinctively serving the cocks that raped them, their faces blank and smiling, their cunts whorishly wet.
He made the men use condoms – although when they left the condoms behind, he would feed the sperm within the condoms to the girls in their breakfast the next morning. It was his hope to impregnate both lesbians himself. He didn’t know how they would react to having babies growing in their bellies and milk squirting from their swollen tits when they couldn’t actually think about Anthony himself. It may be that he would need to further edit their brains, for their own safety.
He had arranged for a reporter to visit the girls next week, to produce a story on what he had billed as “the new lesbianism”. Both girls would greet the reporter naked, and they would discuss their new misogynist ideas with the reporter – how they were dumb cunts that needed to be raped, how they enjoyed pissing in public, how they were too stupid to choose their own clothes to wear.
It had made several newspapers when the girls had first sued Anthony for his comments, so there would be significant interest in their shockingly whorish home life when the story was published. The photograph of them sitting nude, their legs spread to show their twats, as they discussed their pissing habits, would be the first internet search result for their names, for the rest of their lives.
He had wondered where to take things after that. Maybe he could repair some of the changes to their mind, so they would understand what had happened to them? They wouldn’t be able to *stop* it, of course. Maybe they could be aware of him, but just as powerless as before. He would love to see the hate and humiliation in their eyes as they understood they had become his degraded little fuck-slaves.
Or maybe he could go in the other direction. He could delete their names, so that they didn’t even have identities other than as nude little lesbian fucksluts. He could rewire them so that they identified as animals rather than humans. He could even make them want to do this to other women, and send them out with the mapper and the editor to transform other attractive young women into helpless sex-dolls.
The future was bright with possibility. The lesbian bitches had almost destroyed Anthony’s life – almost – but now it was better than it had ever been
Not for Carla and Kylie, of course. It could be, though. If they were very good little lesbian sex-pets, he could make it so they were actively happy and delighted about their abuse. They could be happier like this than they ever had been as independent women with free will.
But he didn’t think so. After all, they shouldn’t have sued him…
… and their tears were just so arousing.
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Anthony moves into the house of hypnotised lesbians who are unable to perceive him, and violates them without their knowledge.