A.I. Dentity - Chapter 27 (Patreon)

The second the UV lamp clicked off, Amy beamed, holding one of his hands up in front of his face. “All done! Aren’t they gorgeous?”

Leslie could only half hear her through the music and words being whispered into his brain. Only by watching her lips could he get the full meaning. He stared down at his hands. The tips were smooth, delicate looking and pink… perfectly match his toes.

You love looking pretty.

You love being pretty, Leslie.

His stomach somersaulted. One voice was they hypnosis track and in the other ear he heard his Mistress. A constant stream of hypnotic commands reinforcing the submissive state that was vibrating through his whole body.

You want to be seen. You want to be seen as pretty…

No.

Amy's hand's were pulling on the velcro tie behind his neck.

No, no, no…

BUZZ.

The toy buried inside him flared to life, a sudden, vicious pulse that made his thighs twitch. He barely smothered a whimper.

Amy didn’t notice. She was already pulling apart the Velcro of the plastic cape away from his neck, her touch brisk and professional. “Let’s get you out of this and into your dress before we do your makeup…”

He could barely hear her, as if her voice were underwater, his head submerged in affirmations and subspace.

The second the cape lifted the feeling of exposure was became overwhelming… the fake breasts on his chest completely bare, the towel beneath it pooling at his waist.

Leslie froze.

Cool air prickled against skin and he felt more exposed and humiliated than he had even been in his life. His arm crossed over his fake chest, trying to hide it, the other gripping the pooled towel to cover his crotch. The action of trying to hide his nakedness somehow made him feel even more submissive and feminine.

A naked girl exposed…

You want to be sexy.

You love being sexy, Leslie.

BUZZ

He squirmed in his seat, his face burning red, trying not to look at Amy… trying to hide. He closed his eyes and hid in the dark.

Amy was saying, something… chuckling. He couldn't hear her clearly with the noise canceling headphones, or see her lips behind his closed eyes. He felt her touch on his hand…the hand crossed over the silicone breasts and his eyes popped open, even as he was being pulled up off the stool.

The towel dropped immediately and he tried to catch it, but with Amy holding one hand, it was a lost battle. The world was spinning around him. He felt himself short of breath, the world pinpointing into black.

The slick liquid on his thighs made them stick together, even as he throbbed another squirt. He felt lightheaded. He felt another vibration inside of himself and he wasn't sure if it was real or a phantom one.

He was standing naked with fake breasts, a chastity cage, and a toy inside of his ass with a pink antenna sticking out… in front of this woman he barely knew. Her eyes were looking down at his cage.

Leslie felt his knees buckle and he was back on the bar stool. He felt Amy's hands grab his arm, holding him up.

"…careful… stood you up a little quick…sorry…"

Her voice was distant and muffled behind the words in his ears.

You want to be used.

You love being used, Leslie.

Amy’s fingers snapped in front of his face. “You ok?”

BUZZ

Leslie tried to nod, even as he felt the intense buzz inside again. He felt more liquid squirt out of the cage, despite his mortification and panic.

Amy looked down at him. There was no way she didn't see it, even as he tried to cover the tiny cage with his hand. Leslie couldn't look at her. The utter mortification of everything burned inside.

Miss Amy is looking at my cage… at the tiny cage… and she can see how much I'm leaking and… and…

He tried to cover it better with his hand, his other arm still trying to cover his fake chest.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to run from the room. He wanted to pass out.

"…grab panties and a bra… … … into your dress…"

Yes… escape… please…

He started to scamper to the bathroom, but Amy caught him by the arm.

"… and … use… … … make a mess…"

She had handed him something. Tucking it into the hand covering his bare fake breasts. He didn't have the wherewithal to even see what it was. All he could do was make a bee line for a bedroom and the safety of being hidden away from the woman's eyes.

Leslie scampered into the bedroom, his heart hammering against his ribs. The door closed behind him. His whole body burned with the shame of being seen naked by the woman in the other room, and the relief of being hidden away almost made him want to cry. The relief was short lived. The voices in his head didn’t stop. The subliminals were coming fast in a loop now… a hellish, intimate mantra with interjections from Mistress.

You want to look pretty.

You love dressing pretty.

You are going to be so pretty, Leslie.

You want men to think you're sexy.

He leaned back against the door, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to block it out. It was impossible. The hypno-track’s synthetic voice was layered over the Mistress’s calm insistence, a double assault that wormed into his thoughts.

His hand was still clamped over the silicone mound on his chest. He felt the crinkly object in his hand that Amy had given him.

He looked down.

A folded, white sanitary pad sat in his palm.

A cold wave of mortification washed over him, followed by a fresh gush of arousal that spurted out of the cage. He looked down, struggling to see past his fake chest. He was drizzling liquid from the cage.

She saw. She didn't just see the cage. She saw me… leaking…

The humiliation was so sharp it stole his breath...

BUZZ.

…as did the incessent buzzing of the toy inside…

He squirted again, liquid practically shooting out in front of him. He whimpered. His body was being aroused against his will. He could not seem to make himself stop the arousal, with throbbed painfully against his cage.

You want to be sexy.

You want to be slutty.

You want to be wet.

The words kept coming, the noise cancelling nature of the headphones making it feel like the words were somehow trapped in his head.

Put your panties on, Leslie.

He didn't want to. At the same time, anything to feel less exposed would be a blessing. He was having trouble breathing.

Now, Leslie.

The direct sternness had him moving, his whole body responding to the sub-space feeling that was radiating from every cell of his body.

With trembling hands, he fumbled with the pale pink cardboard packaging on the bedroom dresser. The thin plastic holding the bra and panties together crinkled under his clumsy acrylic nails, a sound that seemed to echo in his head alongside the words.

You want to look sexy for men.

Put on your panties, Leslie. Final warning.

You want to be sexy for men.

The cardboard slid off. The lingerie lay pooled like a delicate skin. The scalloped lace was a pattern so faint it looked more like frosting than fabric.

You want to be sexy.

He picked up the panties. The satin slithered cold and smooth over his fingers. He held them open, staring at the gusset. The sanitary pad sat heavy and alien on his palm. He looked at the little wings of the pad, the strip of exposed adhesive.

Do I… put it on first? Or…

His mind, fogged with hypnosis and arousal, couldn’t process the simple task. He tried to hold the pad against the cage between his legs with one hand while trying to step into the panties with the other. The pad slipped, dropping to the ground. He stumbled trying to pick it up, the panties around his knees making it extra awkward.

A frustrated, helpless sound bubbled in his throat. He was a dripping, caged mess trying to dress himself in girls’ underwear and failing.

He finally saw it. The peel-away backing on the adhesive strip. Clumsily, he pulled it, the sticky strip now exposed. He pressed the pad into the center of the panty gusset, smoothing it down. It stuck… a stark white rectangle against the pink lace.

He stepped into them. The satin slid up his hairless legs with a cool, shivering touch... over his thighs, over his hips, settling high on his waist. The scalloped lace border tickled his hip bones. And then the pad… it pressed firm and absorbent against the base of the chastity cage. It molded to the shape, a soft barrier catching the next slow, shameful leak that happened immediately.

You love feeling sexy.

I don't… I really don't…

The denial rang false in his sub-space brain.

You love dressing sexy.

Are you panties on, Leslie?

"Yes, Mistress."

His voice was soft and for a moment he worried it was too soft and she didn't hear it and he would be punished again.

Good girl.

You love being sexy.

Put the matching bra on next.

His breath caught.

The AI could not tell that he was wearing the panties. It had to ask. Maybe he could use that to…

Inside he felt the toy buzz incessently causing another squirt of liquid to explode out of him into the thankfully padded panties.

You need to hurry, Leslie.

Rational thought flew out the window and he reached for the garment. Struggling to hold it with the longer nails he now had.

He turned it around, struggling to see the tiny hooks in the dim light. His slick fingers trembled. Everything was so small and delicate and the stupid nails only made it worse. He managed to get the hooks to fasten, finally just as he felt the…

BUZZ

…oh god…

His whole body tensed, unable to function, the focus entirely on the sensation radiating through him. It felt like it lasted days… in reality it was probably only a second or two.

He turned the bra back around, sliding his arms through the slender straps. The empty lace cups hung against his chest.

"please… stop… you have to stop this…"

You want men to stare at you.

You want men to want you.

You need to hurry up, Leslie.

You want men to take you.

The hypnosis track was escalating. He remembered this one. It was a video of a pretty redhead on her knees, giving head to a guy, looking up at the camera with big, wet eyes, her hands on her breasts playing with them.

His own fingers awkwardly adjusted each heavy, silicone breast, stuffing them into the waiting cups. His own hands on them made him feel like the girl he remembered from the hypno track he was listening to. Looking down he saw his long nails cupping the breasts. More liquid leaked into his padded panties.

The fake flesh of his tits filled the lace, pushing against the thin fabric until it formed a soft, rounded shelf. The scalloped border barely contained them. The straps bit into his shoulders, a sweet, sharp reminder of the false, presented shape he now carried.

He looked down. The pale pink lace cupped and lifted the artificial curves. The color was a delicate pink that perfectly framed his breasts. He breathed in, trying to catch his breath and lower his racing heartbeat. It only made his bossum swell and his heart beat faster as everything shifted in the bra.

A fresh, deep pulse from the buried toy made his knees weaken. He felt the hot trickle into the pad. A soft, damp crinkle answered him.

He stood there, panting softly, dressed in the palest pink humiliation. Every inch felt like a pretty, leaking girl ready for her date. Every inch, except the one throbbing in the cage.

You want to please men.

You need to please men.

You need to move faster, Leslie. Your date is almost here.

…noooo…

It was all surreal. How was this happening. He was dressing and being groomed for a date with Jackson. A date! With a guy… that he knew… and each step was going too fast to stop… He had to figure out how to stop this whole thing… before it was too late… before he had to…

It makes you wet to please men.

It makes you happy to please men.

He pulled the headphone out of his left ear in desperation. The audio stopped recognizing that one of the headphones had been removed. He couldn't take it anymore. The words were making it impossible to think. Impossible to try to come up with any rational thoughts on how he might stop this… he had to…

BAD GIRL, LESLIE!

BUUZZZZZZZZZ

Inside him the toy began to vibrate at a higher speed and instensity that he had ever felt. It wasn't a single buzz but a long non-ending sustained one. His knees buckled..

A punishment has been added to your queue. Please replace your headphone or additional punishments will be added.

He was on his knees, his hand trying to reach behind him to pull out the toy. But the panties were in the way.

Put your headphones back in, Leslie. If they are not in by the count of three, you will be punished further.

"…please…stop…"

He was crying. He couldn't help it. His body was betraying him, squirting and throbbing from the stimulation, the humiliation… the fear and shame spiraling into the arousal. His fingers scrambled to find the headphone on the ground even as he heard the counting begin.

Three…

His fingers found it, but he couldn't get a grasp on it with the nails.

Two…

"… please.. I'm trying…"

He was on all fours, trying to pick up the tiny headphone as his whole body quivered with the vibration still exploding inside of him. He managed to get it into his hand.

One…

He scrambled shoving it into his ear, but in his hurry it went in sideways and fell back to the floor.

Another punishment has been added to your queue, Leslie. Replace the headphone immediately or an additional punishment will be added and an email and video of your naughtiness will be sent to your Mother .

"No, please… I'm trying…"

Try harder.

His fingers found the headphone and as quickly and carefully as he could he pushed it back into his ear. The world went softer again with the noise cancelling, and immediately the buzzing inside of him stopped.

Good girl.

You want to be sexy.

You want to be used.

You need to be used.

He struggled to his feet, his body a trembling mess. The pad between his legs felt gooey against his cage.

Return to the living room so that Ms. Amy can continue to get you ready for your date, Leslie.

On shaky legs, he staggered back into the living room. Ms. Amy was sitting on his couch, legs crossed, surfing on her phone. Her smile lit up when she saw him. Her lips moved, but he only caught part of it.

"…cute… … … … better… … … dress on…"

He tried to smile at her, feeling how flushed and sweaty his whole body was. It felt like he had just been fucked, both literally and figuratively in the bedroom and Ms. Amy had no idea.

She was holding the dress… the one he had opened earlier.

Leslie stared at the dress in Amy’s hands. It wasn't just any dress. It was a dream of pale blush chiffon, sleeveless, with a sweetheart neckline. The bodice was dotted with tiny embroidered roses and intricate lacework layered over a blush satin lining. The skirt cascaded into multiple layers of sheer, fluttering chiffon, each with a scalloped hem that trailed delicately to just above the knee. Thin satin ribbons at the shoulders were tied into soft, perfect bows.

You were meant to be a slut.

Put your dress on, Leslie.

Amy held it up, the chiffon catching the light and seeming to float. She said something, smiling, but the words dissolved into the low hum of affirmation in his ears. He caught "arms up."

He raised his trembling arms, crossing them in front of his head like a child being dressed. Amy expertly gathered the dress, letting the soft fabric glide over his head and down his body. The whisper-light chiffon passed over his face, smelling faintly of floral detergent and new fabric.

You love to be a slut.

Good girl.

He felt the bodice settle around his ribcage, the stiffened satin cups holding the fake breasts perfectly. The lace-edged sweetheart neckline framed them, making them look softer, rounder, more real. The delicate fabric of the skirt whispered against his thighs, tickling his bare skin above the stockings.

Amy moved behind him, her fingers cool against his back as she began to pull up the hidden zipper. He felt it glide slowly, the teeth clicking into place one by one, encasing him in the delicate prison of chiffon and lace.

You need to be a slut.

Cumslut.

The music and hypno track in his head thankfully finished. The blissful silence was surprisingly clarifying.

Ms. Amy…. If I tell her what is going on, maybe she can…

New noise began. Not the pounding hypno dance track of the last one, but an eerie drone that he recognized. Binaural audio.

Clothing is not just fashion. It is who you are.

He looked down. The blush pink fabric against his pale skin was devastatingly feminine. The ribbons on his shoulders felt like a final, inescapable bow.

His eyes went wide. This wasn't one of the stupid porny hypno tracks. This was one of the Bambis.

And the more girly clothes you put on.

The more you doll yourself up.

Good Girl.

The more you feel like a Good Girl.

Amy finished the zipper with a soft tug. She smoothed the fabric over his hips, her hands lingering for a moment. She said something he couldn’t hear, her lips curving into a smile before she took his hand, helping him step up and settle his feet into heels. She led him back to the barstool, the world more wobbly than it was.

The stronger it becomes.

The more you want to be a Good Girl.

He sank onto the stool, the dress rustling softly. Amy leaned close, adjusting the little cloud of chiffon around his knees, before fastening the tight little clasps on the heels. Her perfume mixed with a feminine scent that Leslie knew had to be his own.

Sit still, Leslie.

From her kit, Ms. Amy produced a palette. She dabbed a brush into a soft, pearlescent highlighter and swept it along his cheekbones.

Feeling like a Good Girl.

Constantly horny.

The brush strokes were soft, gentle. He watched her concentrated face in the small mirror she’d propped open.

Wet and inviting.

Just so overcome with arousal at her own bimbo perfection.

She moved to his eyes, blending a soft taupe into his crease, then a shimmering champagne on his lids. Each stroke was hypnotic, her movements slow and deliberate. He felt his own breathing sync with her rhythm.

Feels so good.

Feeling like a Good Girl.

She lined his eyes with a thin, expert flick of liquid liner, making them look wider, more doe-like. She curled his long, false lashes and coated them with mascara. He blinked slowly, the weight foreign and seductive.

Locked into her bimbo form.

She held up the mirror again. The girl staring back was stunning.

Locked and loving it.

Rosy cheeks, sparkling eyes, pouty lips tinted a soft, glossy pink.

Whenever she is all dolled up.

The reflection was a confection of femininity wrapped in blush chiffon.

A perfect, empty-headed doll.

His stomach tightened. It was getting harder and harder to ignore the voice in his head… and the river of actions that was pushing him along.

Perceiving it. Feeling it. Unable to snap out of it.

And feeling like a Good Girl.

Amy leaned in with a lip brush, applying a deeper rose shade to the center of his lips, blending it out to create a soft gradient. The brush tip was firm, precise, commanding his mouth to stay still.

As your lips quickly go tight and start to inflate.

Naturally pouting.

A fresh, hot trickle seeped into the pad between his legs. He felt his body betray him, answering the question his mind was too foggy to refuse. Amy finished his lips with a clear gloss, making them shine like wet candy.

With your face now completely perfect.

A perfect dumb slutty bimbo face.

She stepped back, surveying her work. She nodded, satisfied.

"Gorgeous," she said, her voice loud enough to barely pierce the audio haze for a moment. She tapped her own lips, indicating he should press his together to set the gloss.

He did. The sticky, sweet pressure was another sensual anchor.

And you are now completely transformed…and a thick heavy mist…

…descends...

…fills the air all around you… as you breathe in deeply…

Amy nodded, a strange look of professional satisfaction on her face. She didn’t lead him back to the stool. Instead, she took him by the hand and guided him away from the bar, towards the center of the living room.

Leslie stumbled in his heels, the chiffon of his dress swishing around his legs. Panic flickered.

Why are we moving? Where is she taking me?

“Okay,” Amy said, her voice finally piercing the haze as she stopped him near the couch. She released his hand and stepped back, appraising him like a painter surveying a canvas. Her phone was already in her hand, the camera app open. “Let’s get a few shots of this look for my portfolio before you go. You look amazing.”

Portfolio? Shots?

The words rattled around Leslie’s foggy brain but didn’t connect.

Getting wetter and wetter.

Arousal taking over.

Stand up straight, Leslie. Place your left hand on your hip.

Tingling all over.

The Mistress command was absolute, booming louder and more insistent than the droning feminine voice telling him how to feel.

He obeyed instantly, his body moving before his mind could protest. His left hand rose, the delicate acrylic nails resting against the chiffon of his hip. The pose felt unnatural, exaggeratedly feminine.

Just so desperately horny.

At all times.

Ms. Amy had her phone up. Pointed at him

Turn your head to the right. Look over your shoulder. Smile.

Difficult to concentrate.

It feels like your breasts are so heavy that they just pull your brain deep down.

It did feel that way to him.

His neck turned. He felt the stiff collar of the dress brush his jaw. He looked over his shoulder, past the fluttering chiffon sleeve, and forced his glossed lips into a smile. It felt brittle and fake on his face.

All the weight is in your chest.

And not in your head.

Which is light and empty.

Good Girls requires careful posture.

Amy moved, circling him. Another click. She was capturing him from the side now, the line of the dress hugging the false curves of his hips.

And her facial expression is fixed in a sultry blank bimbo stare.

Pouting.

Lift the skirt of your dress with your right hand a small amount to show off your legs.

A dumb slutty Good Girl.

His breath hitched. No.

His right hand trembled as it moved of its own accord, fingers gathering a handful of the delicate chiffon. He lifted it a few inches. The pale blush fabric rose, revealing the sheer white stockings clinging to his hairless calves, the delicate lace tops.

The humiliation was a hot, sharp blade in his gut. He was being posed. Like a model.

Amy crouched slightly, angling her phone upward. Click.

You want to be sexy.

You need to be sexy.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, smudging the perfect eyeliner Amy had just applied. He couldn’t cry. He couldn’t.

Hold the pose. Arch your back. Push your chest out.

A fresh, hot trickle seeped into the padded gusset of his panties. His body was responding to the humiliation, to the commanding voice, to the relentless hypnosis. He arched his back, feeling the corset top dig into his ribs. The false breasts strained against the sweetheart neckline, presented for the camera.

Amy stood up, her expression focused, businesslike. She wasn’t teasing him now. This was work.

She murmured something, but it wasn’t for him. Click. Click.

Curvy in all the right places.

Look down demurely, then slowly look up at the camera through your lashes.

Tight in all the right places.

Heavy in all the right places.

Leslie’s heart hammered against his ribs. Each command was a new layer of degradation. He turned, his heels scraping on the floor. He laced his fingers behind his back, a posture that thrust his chest forward even more. He looked down at the floor, at his pink-painted toes peeking from the chiffon. Then, fighting every instinct, he raised his gaze slowly. His long, false lashes fluttered.

Amy’s phone captured the movement. Click.

Locked into her bimbo form.

Locked and loving it.

Whenever she is all dolled up.

Amy murmured something else, a smile touching her lips. She glanced at her screen, swiping through the shots. “…lighting in … is …good…. the dress… … … … wow.”

Walk towards the window.

Leslie moved, the dress whispering around him. Each step in the heels was a precarious balance. He stopped before the large living room window, the afternoon light streaming in behind him, outlining his form in a soft glow.

Turn your head to profile. Place one hand on the window frame.

Unable to snap out of it.

And feeling like a Good Girl.

He turned, his delicate profile against the light. He raised a hand, resting it against the cool glass. The pose was contemplative, vulnerable.

Amy moved quickly, capturing the silhouette. Click. Click.

Just so overcome with arousal at her own bimbo perfection.

The voice in his head was merging with his own rising panic. He was being turned into content.

Perfectly in tune with her body.

Feeling all the changes.

Lean forward. Let the dress strap fall off one shoulder.

No.

This is too much… Too…

Amazing and so real.

Bad girls hesitate.

The threat was implicit.

Punishment.

With a trembling hand, Leslie hooked a finger under the thin satin ribbon on his left shoulder. He tugged. The bow came undone. The strap slithered down his arm, baring the top of his false breast and the lace edge of his bra.

The gasp that escaped him was soft, pathetic.

Amy didn’t react. She just moved closer, focusing her phone on the exposed skin, the play of lace against silicone. Click.

“We’ll need… close-ups … to show… ” she said, the words soft and barely even audible against the growing hypno drone in his head.

Remain still.

Feeling like a Good Girl.

Constantly horny.

Leslie froze, one strap down, posed against the window like a discarded doll. Amy moved in, her phone just inches from his face. He could see his own reflection in the dark lens…wide eyes, perfectly painted lips parted in a silent plea.

Wet and inviting.

Just so overcome with arousal at her own bimbo perfection.

Ms. Amy continued to move around… pleased and muttering to herself. The phone ever pointed at Leslie.

Amy finally lowered her phone, swiping through the images with a critical eye.

Good girl. You may relax your pose.

It feels so good. Feeling like a Good Girl.

The permission came, but Leslie couldn’t move. He stood there, trembling, the strap still hanging off his shoulder. The pad between his legs was damp and cool. He felt utterly hollowed out.

Ms. Amy nodded, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her face. She looked from the screen to him and back again.

“Yeh…” her lips said, “This is… to… … … perfectly.”

Leslie’s mind was still reeling from the impromptu photoshoot, the weight of the dress and the lingering touch of Amy’s gaze, when she suddenly bolted upright. Her phone clutched in one hand, her other hand flying to her mouth.

“He’s here… your date… he’s here…”

Leslie’s stomach dropped.

Date… here?

He hadn’t heard the doorbell.

Everytime you get dressed up.

Transforming into a perfect bimbo girl.

Ready to be fucked.

The noise-canceling headphones and hypnosis track had swallowed the sound whole.

Amy’s excitement was palpable, her eyes sparkling as she looked from her phone to Leslie and back again. She was practically vibrating with glee. Leslie felt her fingers on his shoulder fixing the strap he had undone.

Unable to express anything except femininity and arousal and submission.

Answer the door, Leslie.

The command slithered into his ear, cold and absolute. His breath hitched. The dress whispered against his stockings as he turned, the chiffon layers swaying with each slow, reluctant step. The pad between his legs was damp, the lace of the panties clinging to him with every movement. He could feel the weight of the silicone breasts shifting inside the bodice, the straps of the bra digging into his shoulders.

A perfect dumb fucktoy.

Now, Leslie.

His nails clicked against the doorknob. The metal was cool under his fingertips, a stark contrast to the heat flooding his face.

You are proud of being a dumb fucktoy.

Proud of doing as you are told.

Because you know how good it feels.

His knees trembled. The words coiled around his thoughts, twisting the humiliation into something darker, more intimate. The toy inside him gave a slow, deep pulse, as if emphasizing the point. He bit his lip, tasting the gloss, as another warm trickle seeped into the pad.

Amy was watching him from the other side of the room, her smile wide, her phone still in hand. She looked like she was about to burst with excitement. The knowledge that she was seeing him like this…this moment…

His fingers turned the knob. The door swung open.

The afternoon light spilled in, framing the figure on the other side. Jackson stood there, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of Leslie. His mouth opened, forming a single, breathless word.

“Wow.”