Continued

The moment the name Charlotte flickered into existence in her mind, her body shuddered with delight, her plump lips curling into a vacant, dreamy smile. "Ooooh, Charlotte," she giggled to herself, the syllables rolling off her tongue in a breathy, exaggerated French accent. "C'est moi!" Her fingers traced over the swell of her new breasts, squeezing them with a soft moan as if confirming her own existence.

A fresh wave of tingles rushed through her skull as phantom memories slotted into place—blurry, half-formed images of a past that never was. A tiny village in France (where? She couldn’t recall). A life spent giggling and daydreaming (about what? It didn’t matter). And most importantly, her raison d’être: her maître. Her master. The thought sent a jolt of warmth between her thighs, her pussy clenching around nothing.

She didn’t question why she couldn’t remember his face. She didn’t wonder how she’d gotten here. Her mind, soft and syrupy, accepted it all with blissful obedience.

A yawn escaped her glossy lips, her eyelids fluttering as exhaustion draped over her like a heavy blanket. "Ohhh, je suis fatiguée…" she whined, her voice slurring as she swayed on her knees. The room spun lazily around her, the pink afterglow of the hypnosis still humming beneath her skin.

Her fingers fumbled at the hem of her maid outfit, the lace tickling her sensitive nipples as she tried—and failed—to keep her balance. With a soft thump, she toppled onto her side, her enormous tits spilling out of the corset as she curled up on the floor.

A giggle bubbled up as she nuzzled her cheek against the cool hardwood, her mind drifting. "Maître…" she murmured, imagining strong hands lifting her, carrying her to bed like the precious, brainless doll she was. Her tongue poked out, wetting her lips as she imagined his praise. "Très bonne fille, Charlotte…"

Her thoughts dissolved into static, her limbs growing heavier. The last thing she felt was the slick warmth between her thighs as her hips gave a tiny, **** grind against nothing. Then—black.

Her breathing slowed, her plush lips parted in a silent oh. A thin string of drool pooled beneath her cheek as she fell into a deep, hypnotized sleep, her mind cradled in the blissful certainty of her new purpose: to serve. To obey. To be perfect.

And when she woke up?

She wouldn’t remember even the last few minutes.

Not that she’d care.