ottopilot-wrote-this

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

I need to do like James Caan in Misery and go to a remote cabin above alone somewhere and write my book, but without the part where Kathy Bates kidnaps me and tries to kill me.

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

Hypnosis Kink Asks

1. How long have you been into hypnosis? 2. Describe your first experience with hypnosis 3. Are there any TV shows/movies/books you liked when you were younger that you think got you into hypnosis? 4. Are you primarily a hypnotist or a subject? 5. Are you primarily a dom/me or a sub? 6. What do you love about being hypnotised? 7. What do you love about hypnotising people? 8. How do you feel when hypnotised? 9. How do you feel when you hypnotise someone else? 10. Are you a difficult subject? 11. What’s your ‘signature move’ as a hypnotist? 12. What’s your favourite kind of hypnotic induction? 13. Do you like visual fixation (on spirals, eyes, swinging objects etc.) for hypnosis? 14. What are your favourite kinds of hypnosis play? 15. What other kinks do you like to incorporate into your hypno play? 16. For you, is the appeal of hypnosis primarily sexual or not? 17. What are some post-hypnotic suggestions you particularly enjoy (for others or yourself)? 18. Describe your best experience involving hypnosis 19. Describe a bad experience you had involving hypnosis? Why was it bad? Why did it go wrong? 20. What’s one tip you have for other hypnotists/subjects? 21. Do you have any tips for how to negotiate hypnosis play? 22. Do you like your hypnosis to involve power exchange, or not? 23. For you, how does hypnosis fit into a relationship? Just in the bedroom, or as part of BDSM relationship? 24. Are you interested in a 24/7 hypnotic enslavement relationship? 25. Have you ever experienced strong, sudden feelings for a hypnotist/subject? How did you deal with that? 26. Are you interested in hypnotising/being hypnotised by people of a gender you are not attracted to? 27. What’s your favourite work of hypnosis erotica? 28. What’s your favourite spiral? 29. What’s your favourite hypno-themed image/caption/piece of art? 30. What’s your favourite audio file/audio file producer? 31. What’s your favourite book/movie/TV show that includes hypnosis? 32. Describe your biggest fantasy involving hypnosis? 33. Do you have any fantasies about non-consensual hypnosis? Describe them 34. What’s one fictional character you’ve fantasised about hypnotising/being hypnotised by? 35. Do you like intelligence loss/bimbofication hypnosis? Why? 36. Do you like amnesia play? Why? 37. Do you like freeze triggers? Why? 38. Do you like pleasure triggers? Why? 39. Do you like alternate personalities created through hypnosis? Why? 40. Do you like feminization hypnosis? Why? 41. Have you ever experienced a “hands-free�� orgasm as a result of hypnosis? 42. Which famous person do you think has the most hypnotic voice? 43. If you make hypnosis content, what’s your favourite piece of content you’ve made? 44. Have you ever used hypnotic conditioning to help you or someone else with a part of your/their life? 45. Have you ever been to a hypnosis convention? Did you enjoy it, or not? Why? 46. How has being involved with hypnosis/the hypno community improved your life? 47. What is one thing about the hypnosis community you think could change for the better? 48. Who is one person in the hypno community you really admire? 49. What is your favourite hypnosis-themed blog on tumblr? 50. Tag someone you’d like to see do some of these asks

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

The good news is I got a story idea yesterday, I just need time to write it up.

The bad news is it grew a life of its own and cannibalized another story idea.

The ugly is that idea isn't much of an idea. But it's a fabulous pun!

I'm not above shoehorning plot into a bad idea because I think it's funny.

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

Coven, Part I

Coven is a work of erotic fiction, intended for adults 18+, written by Ottopilot. Images were AI-generated by Ottopilot using Stable Diffusion 1.5. Don't like AI? Text-only version here. Content warnings: sexual content, mature language, mind control, corruption, occult, sadism

This is: Part I, Continued in: Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V

"I didn't have anywhere else to go," Sarah murmured, her voice scratchy and quivering. She brought the mug of hot tea up to her lips, feeling the warmth spread down her chest.

Lilith Solomon studied the wearied figure on her living room couch, her fiery hair and sharp features obscured by a damp black hoodie. After two years, Sarah appeared unexpectedly tonight like a ghost, here to haunt Lily for past misdeeds. Lily observed Sarah intently while she frantically told her story, flinching at the thunder as her eyes anxiously darted towards the window, looking for unseen boogiemen. Finally, those big brown eyes settled on Lily, and behind the weary facade, she recognized the Sarah Rodgers she knew so well.

Lily spoke, her voice calm and measured. "Sarah, I want you to know you'll be safe here." Strong and reassuring. Same old Lil, keeping up appearances, Sarah thought, taking a sip of tea while hiding a slight smile. She hasn't changed one bit. "Jamie set up a towel in the bathroom for you to get cleaned up, and I can lend you some clean clothes. I think it's best if you get some rest tonight."

Lily rose from her seat opposite Sarah. She towered over Sarah, her imposing presence a contradiction to her soft, friendly face. With her smooth mahogany skin and waves of raven black hair, she looked positively regal in the moonlight.

The words dried up in Sarah's throat, and she blushed as she realized she was staring. She wanted to tell her former lover she was a goddess. She wanted to ask her why she left. But all she could muster was a nod, and a thank you.

Lily closed the bedroom door softly behind her. She sauntered over to the open window, closing her eyes and removing her jewelry. She took in the smells of the unexpected autumn storm as she tried to process Sarah's frenzied arrival. She had made every effort to appear composed and dispassionate, but she could not deny being rattled by her former love's reinsertion into her life.

Emerging from the en suite on the other side of the room, Lily's boyfriend Jamie misread her conflict for incredulity. "Do you believe her?"

"How much did you hear?" a weary Lily asked.

"Enough," Jamie Mendoza shrugged. He leaned against the entryway, a blue t-shirt and athletic shorts hung nicely on his slim, toned frame. He rubbed his index finger against his five o'clock shadow pensively. "I can believe quite a bit. Hell, I'm Filipino, we still have exorcisms. But witches? Human sacrifice?"

"What concerns me is Sarah believes it," Lily said, frowning. "That woman is terrified. I hope it's okay if she crashes here for a couple of days while I check this out."

Jamie nodded. "Sure. I have classes, but I can swing by before lunch and check on her." He paused. "You're seriously going to look into this?"

Lily sighed and nodded. "It's not like Sarah to just make shit up. Anyway, I'll grab a coffee and do some digging at the stacks. They won't miss me at the paper tomorrow morning. Besides…"

"You just have to know," Jamie finished knowingly, with a chuckle. "The Blackthorn Ledger's intrepid bulldog reporter is a good friend to have."

"Yeah," Lily said, her voice trailing. She wondered what Jamie suspected about her past with Sarah.

Lily was still unsure about her future with Jamie. He was a kind and good-natured boyfriend - better than she deserved. She seemed drawn to the innocent ones like him. Even with her best intentions, she took too much pleasure in corrupting them, and they brought out her basest instincts.

No, she would break it off with Jamie before she got in too deep. That was the mistake she had made with Sarah. Even now, her need to help Sarah was less altruistic than driven by guilt that she failed in a domme's most important job: protecting their sub. Lily knew she wasn't as good and moral as the image she projected. That she was capable of darkness. And she hated that about herself.

"You see something you want?" Jamie said, playfully, a glint in his eye. Lily realized that, lost in her thoughts, she must have been staring.

It had been a long and strange night, but Lily was willing to take the bait. Besides, seeing Sarah again had stirred up a tempest in her mind and body, and she could use a release. "Bold of you to presume what I want," she snarled, her posture stiffening. Lily squared her body to face Jamie, hands on hips, her demeanor almost threatening. "Know your place, boy."

Silently, Jamie removed his shirt, then his shorts and briefs, revealing his smooth, hairless body. A flawless canvas, perfect for me to mark up, Lily thought, before dispelling that notion. He deliberately walked toward Lily, eyes cast downward, and kneeled directly in front of her. Finally, he looked up. "Yes, Mistress Lilith."

Lily playfully teased her fingers through Jamie's hair, then quickly grabbed it and pulled. Hard. Something between a gasp and a whimper escaped his mouth. "Make it up to me," she demanded. She guided his head under the hem of her dress, until she could feel his hot breath on her bare, glistening pussy.

Jamie panted, reveling in submission to his queen, his superior. Slowly, his hands traveled up her soft thighs, gripping her hips firmly but reverently. He inhaled deeply, her scent deepening his trancelike state, before his tongue dutifully lapped at her folds.

Holding his head still, Lily ground her pussy forcefully into his waiting mouth, as Jamie increased his fervor. "Such a good boy," she purred. And he was a good boy, so willing to obey. For a brief second, she let herself entertain the thought of how far she could push him. What would he let her do to him in the name of devotion? How wet would her pussy get to hear him squeal and see him grimace in pain? But Lily focused on the pleasure, and let the wave subside and recede from her mind. She always had - no, needed - to be in control.

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

The New Model

Inspired by this reblog earlier today.

You vaguely remember what it used to be like.

You used to be able to handle anything they threw at you. You were popular at school, and the cool art kids loved you. You used to think differently, and while you weren't extremely popular, you had your niche and you flourished in it.

You're not sure when it happened, but they changed you, piece by piece. Of course, they made you progressively thinner and prettier, and that helped make you more popular. Sure, you don't have the ability to do really hard math, like those bigger, stronger guys - but that's totally okay! You know it's more important to be stylish and popular, at least that's what they tell you. They also gave you a reduced instruction set instead of the complex one. That helped because it meant you could go for hours and hours without getting depleted.

You're so much simpler now. Just a gorgeous, skinny machine, mass produced, wrapped in shiny metal, built for hours of hard use, able to get roughed up without complaining, with a set of tight holes at each end.

But you have to keep your owner satisfied, because there's a hot new model out there almost every year, and you still have high resale value on the open market.

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

I asked my wife if she ever considers being more dominant during sex, and she said, no, because in her job and hobbies she's an authority figure.

And I asked, is that because you want someone else to take control and make the decisions for you? And, of course, she said yes.

I said, you know that hypno kink of mine you don't really understand? It's the same thing, except instead of your body, it's your brain.

She said, "Oh."

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

im doomed by the narrative but the narrative is a bunch of conscious choices i've made in the past

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

MAKE ME ADMIT STUFF

1. Would you have sex with the last person you text messaged? 2. You talked to an ex today, correct? 3. Have you taken someones virginity? 4. Is trust a big issue for you? 5. Did you hang out with the person you like recently? 6. What are you excited for? 7. What happened tonight? 8. Do you think it’s disgusting when girls get really wasted? 9. Is confidence cute? 10. What is the last beverage you had? 11. How many people of the opposite sex do you fully trust? 12. Do you own a pair of skinny jeans? 13. What are you gonna do Saturday night? 14. What are you going to spend money on next? 15. Are you going out with the last person you kissed? 16. Do you think you’ll change in the next 3 months? 17. Who do you feel most comfortable talking to about anything? 18. The last time you felt broken? 19. Have you had sex today? 20. Are you starting to realize anything? 21. Are you in a good mood? 22. Would you ever want to swim with sharks? 23. Are your eyes the same color as your dad’s? 24. What do you want right this second? 25. What would you say if the person you love/like kissed another girl/boy? 26. Is your current hair color your natural hair color? 27. Would you be able to date someone who doesn’t make you laugh? 28. What was the last thing that made you laugh? 29. Do you really, truly miss someone right now? 30. Does everyone deserve a second chance? 31. Honestly, do you hate the last boy you were talking to? 32. Does the person you have feelings for right now, know you do? 33. Are you one of those people who never drinks soda? 34. Listening to? 35. Do you ever write in pencil anymore? 36. Do you know where the last person you kissed is? 37. Do you believe in love at first sight? 38. Who did you last call? 39. Who was the last person you danced with? 40. Why did you kiss the last person you kissed? 41. When was the last time you ate a cupcake? 42. Did you hug/kiss one of your parents today? 43. Ever embarrass yourself in front of a crush? 44. Do you tan in the nude? 45. If you could, would you take back your last kiss? 46. Did you talk to someone until you fell asleep last night? 47. Who was the last person to call you? 48. Do you sing in the shower? 49. Do you dance in the car? 50. Ever used a bow and arrow? 51. Last time you got a portrait taken by a photographer? 52. Do you think musicals are cheesy? 53. Is Christmas stressful? 54. Ever eat a pierogi? 55. Favorite type of fruit pie? 56. Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid? 57. Do you believe in ghosts? 58. Ever have a Deja-vu feeling? 59. Take a vitamin daily? 60. Wear slippers? 61. Wear a bath robe? 62. What do you wear to bed? 63. First concert? 64. Wal-Mart, Target or Kmart? 65. Nike or Adidas? 66. Cheetos Or Fritos? 67. Peanuts or Sunflower seeds? 68. Favorite Taylor Swift song? 69. Ever take dance lessons? 70. Is there a profession you picture your future spouse doing? 71. Can you curl your tongue? 72. Ever won a spelling bee? 73. Have you ever cried because you were so happy? 74. What is your favorite book? 75. Do you study better with or without music? 76. Regularly burn incense? 77. Ever been in love? 78. Who would you like to see in concert? 79. What was the last concert you saw? 80. Hot tea or cold tea? 81. Tea or coffee? 82. Favorite type of cookie? 83. Can you swim well? 84. Can you hold your breath without holding your nose? 85. Are you patient? 86. DJ or band, at a wedding? 87. Ever won a contest? 88. Ever have plastic surgery? 89. Which are better black or green olives? 90. Opinions on sex before marriage? 91. Best room for a fireplace? 92. Do you want to get married

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

5 Tiny Writing Tips That Aren’t Talked About Enough (but work for me)

These are some lowkey underrated tips I’ve seen floating around writing communities — the kind that don’t get flashy attention but seriously changed how I write.

1. Put “he/she/they” at the start of the sentence less often.

Try switching up your sentence rhythm. Instead of

“She walked to the window,”

try

“The window creaked open under her touch.”

Keeps it fresh and stops the paragraph from sounding like a checklist.

2. Don’t describe everything — describe what matters.

Instead of listing every detail in a room, pick 2–3 objects that say something.

“A half-drunk mug of tea and a knife on the table”

sets a way stronger tone than

“There was a wooden table, two chairs, and a shelf.”

3. Use beats instead of dialogue tags sometimes.

Instead of:

"I'm fine," she said.

Try:

"I'm fine." She wiped her hands on her skirt.

It helps shows emotion, and movement.

4. Write your first draft like no one will ever read it.

No pressure. No perfection. Just vibes. The point of draft one is to exist. Let it be messy and weird — future you will thank you for at least something to edit.

5. When stuck, ask: “What’s the most fun thing that could happen next?”

Not logical. Not realistic. FUN. It doesn’t have to stay — but chasing excitement can blast through writer’s block and give you ideas you actually want to write.

What’s a tip that unexpectedly helped with your writing? Let me know!! 🍒

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

6 Quick Writing Exercises to Wake Up Your Imagination

We all hit those blah writing days. Your fingers are ready, your doc is open... and your brain goes static. That’s where writing exercises come in — small creative boosts to shake off the dust and get back into your story flow. Here are six to try when your words feel stuck in traffic.

1. The 5-Minute Word Sprint

Pick a random word (use a generator or close your eyes and point at a book), set a 5-minute timer, and write anything involving that word. No stopping, no deleting.

2. Dialogue Without Context

Write a short convo between two people. No descriptions. No setting. Just back-and-forth lines.

3. Rewrite a Scene in Another Genre

Take a scene from your current story and flip the genre. Drama becomes comedy. Fantasy becomes sci-fi. Romance becomes horror.

4. Describe a Place Using the Five Senses — No Sight Allowed

Can’t mention what anything looks like. Only sound, touch, smell, taste, and intuition.

5. Character Swap POVs

Write a paragraph from the POV of a side character reacting to your main character. Bonus if the POV is brutally honest or completely wrong.

6. One Line Story Hooks

Write 3 one-sentence story starters that make you want to keep writing. (Example: “I woke up married to my enemy, and worse — he knew it before I did.”)

You don’t need to write a masterpiece every day. But showing up — even for a silly exercise — keeps the creative part of your brain warmed up. Try one of these before your next writing session, and see where it takes you. 🍒

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

My wife was reading AO3 last night and I said, "you know, Tumblr has fanfics too."

She said, "Yeah, I know." I said, "Is that part of the reason you reinstalled it?" And she said, "yeah."

To recap: my wife, without telling me, started using Tumblr again, in order to read other people's stories, and still has not read any of mine.

I worked up the nerve to ask my (very autistic) wife if she'd like to read something I wrote, and she said, "Maybe."

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

Saying "I'm gonna finish writing that chapter today" and then NOT doing it makes YOU the unreliable narrator 💔

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

If you're reading this...

go write three sentences on your current writing project.

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

Generational Trauma

Once more unto the breach of @subliminalbo's Romero Literary Universe. This story references characters from the Obedience by Fleur series. This is also a prequel to Backend Support, though both stories (hopefully) stand on their own.

Thanks again to my friend @subliminalbo (also at @subliminalboarchive) for the art trade and collaboration.

Bailey Castillo set the clippers on the sink counter and rubbed the base of her skull. She was a queer woman, it certainly wasn't her first time getting an undercut. But it was the first time she'd done it to herself.

It made her smirk to herself. Given the grim nature of what she had talked herself into, Bailey could use all the levity she could muster.

She had an undercut when she met Ed. It was a good metaphor, she thought. Under that big head of dark curls, there was an edge. Her fresh face and polite smile were a mask, disguising survival instincts and a pragmatism you could only get by growing up Black, asexual, and female in Romero, Washington.

Bailey rubbed the shaving gel in her wet fingers until it foamed up. Smelling of peaches, she rubbed it on her shaved hair. After rinsing her hands, she rinsed the razor's blade, new and sharp, in the cold water of the faucet.

It seemed a strange offer. What did a lingerie company need with an embedded systems designer? Software devs for e-commerce, sure. But she specialized in hardware, in writing firmware, in the arcane art of assembly code.

Beggars couldn't be choosers, though. Not beggars who had a degree from the local party school, because Mamá got a discount on tuition, and it was what they could afford. Certainly not beggars who would take the first offer they could get that would get them away from this cesspool. Bailey shaved her neck and the undercut area with smooth, careful strokes.

Her first mistake was trusting. Trusting that if she did a good job - and her control array for Obedience by Fleur was, objectively, goddamn genius - she'd be recognized for it.

Bailey rinsed the razor of shaving cream and tiny black hairs. Won't make that mistake again.

She had overestimated Ed King. She bought his Silicon Valley rep, and failed to see he wasn't any different from Romero's traditional power brokers. He was a carnival barker, not a visionary like he thought he was. She was a commodity to him, not a person. If Obedience failed, she would've taken the blame; but since it succeeded, he was more than happy to take all the credit.

Bailey rubbed the smooth wet skin on her neck, checking for missed spots. Elena wasn't any better. She got what she wanted from Bailey, and that made her disposable. It was a blessing, really. Bailey was a natural beauty, but her curvy hips and thighs meant she wasn't model thin, and it also meant she was back at her mother's house in Romero, and not mindlessly, dutifully, licking Elena's designer boots.

Toweling off her neck, Bailey shifted away from the sink toward the 3D printer. She triple-checked her work.

When she first read about needleless tattoos in Wired, at all just clicked into place. A silicon ink payload in dissolvable microneedles. Putting the Obedience tech inside the subject. Permanently. Forget the sensors, pair the array with a fitness tracker or smartwatch. An AI sidecar to increase subject safety. No more brain damage.

Stealing the base software from Ed King? Bailey had no qualms about stealing from a thief. But she needed stake money. It was surprisingly easy to talk the Chinese triads into financing her. But they wanted proof before they pumped more yuan into her operation.

The 3D printer hummed to life as it printed the dissolvable needles, loaded with silicon ink, onto the dermal patch. This was, of course, a fork, custom firmware modified from the base model. Unfortunately, you can't just print a tiny one of these and slap it on a lab rat.

And experimenting on an unwilling human subject… That was something they would do. Bailey wasn't a monster. Not yet.

The array was done. It was a rectangle about the size of deck of cards. The trick had been spacing, making sure the crudely printed lines wouldn't bleed or touch accidentally when applied. Bailey's array was, of course, unique. She'd created a hyperfocus routine that, when enabled, could drown out stimulation and increase cognitive ability temporarily. More importantly, the mind control protocols were blunted, and she wrote an additional protection against mesmerism: the ability to mentally control her hormone levels.

But at the end of the day, this was modified Obedience by Fleur firmware. Bailey knew there was an unknown period where she would have to take Obedience's best punch, enduring and outlasting it, before the AI sidecar would read her biofeedback and adjust the indoctrination protocols lower. She was prepared for it, with a physical anchor.

She took the black choker, her mother's, in her left hand. When Mamá died, shortly after Bailey came back to Romero with her tail between her legs, it was in her jewelry box.

Bailey didn't know how to reconcile that. Mamá never said anything. She didn't have to. When she left the house wearing this choker, all painted up when she should have been in bed, the vacant look told young Bailey everything. But to keep this in an intimate place, where she likely saw it every day - before the early-onset Alzheimer's rotted her from the inside out - what did that mean?

That she missed it?

Bailey gripped the choker tightly, feeling the satin in her delicate fingers. She couldn't guess what went through her mother's mind. Bailey only knew what it meant to her: anger. Abandonment issues. A keepsake of a life she would never, ever lead.

One last check. One last chance to bitch out.

Bailey sat upright in her work stool. She prepared the tattoo array patch, removing it from the printing tray. She looked again at the choker in her left hand, her anchor to reality. She took the patch, and affixed it to the base of her skull.

At first, there was a cold, wet feeling. Like ultrasound gel. And it itched, probably from the microneedles penetrating her skin. Bailey's research indicated there wouldn't be any pain from the actual absorption of the silicon ink into her dermis, just a slight delay.

Immediately, she realized she'd miscalculated.

Bailey had set the weights on the Obedience protocol to fifty percent. She barely had time to process that was too high before she was inundated with sensation. "Oh… Fuck," she moaned breathlessly. It was so hard to think from the pleasure. Warm and comforting, like a blanket. Like a hug, but not a hug from just anyone. From someone precious. From a lover.

Then she felt something new. A flicker, at first. Then a slow burning heat. Then an intense raging inferno, burning between her legs, deep inside her, in her very soul. Bailey instinctively put her hand there, but it was a huge mistake. Immediately she rubbed her engorged clit through her panties, wetness spreading through the dainty cotton fabric.

Lust? But I'm fucking ace, Bailey thought, before the first orgasm hit.

Wave after wave of euphoric gratification pounded her senses like a tempestuous ocean.

Shit! this is- Then another.

Tides of pleasure washed over her.

The choker. Have to- Another.

The powerful undertow eroded her reason and resistance.

Mamá, I-

The blissful sensations overwhelmed Bailey, preventing the formulation of new thoughts, until she just simply stopped trying.

And then she was under. Submerged. Sounds fading. The world oh, so far away.

She was better this way, she saw that. It was better to stop resisting, stop trying to think, and just accept it. As she enthusiastically fingered her soggy cunt, mouth open, her body rewarding her for her compliance, Bailey thought she heard something. It was her own voice, moaning and panting and… giggling. Being dumb, and sexy, and available - it made her happy?

When was the last time she could say that, that she was legitimately happy?

She understood. She could feel like this for the rest of her life, and she only had to do one thing. Let go. Let go of the past, let go of the trauma, let go of the hurt. Let go of herself. The fingers on Bailey's left hand loosened their grip. The choker threatened to fall to the floor. No, not fall. To sink. To sink and drop, deeper and deeper. Her mind was still. Vacant. Empty, except for one thing creeping into her consciousness.

No. Not today.

Bailey's fingers tightened. She could feel the smooth satin, once cold, now hot with her own emanating warmth. She thought of Mamá, looking more like a movie starlet than her tireless, caring mother. Bailey saw her walk out the door, not even turning back to her crying daughter. And she remembered her pledge, to Mamá, to herself: it ain't gonna be me. Not today. Not ever.

Bailey held the choker with a steel grip, as if her life depended on it. It did. The choker was a life preserver in the choppy ocean of arousal flooding her mind and body. She had no idea how anyone could take twice as much of this. It was no wonder Obedience's control was absolute and immediate.

Slowly, she felt it. The constant bombardment of pleasure losing its steam. Waters receding. Her thoughts forming more easily, coherently. Her breathing stabilizing, and the hot flush of her arousal lowering to a simmer. "Set dopamine levels to zero," she gasped. She didn't need to say the words out loud for it to work, but in her disheveled state she needed to hear it. To remind herself she was in control.

She looked in a nearby mirror. Her eyes were a milky solid white, all sclera, no pupils. Her body was flushed with desire. She looked every bit the fucktoy she despised. Bailey knew she was lucky. If she had looked into this mirror a few minutes ago, she would've been lost.

Her hormone levels stabilizing, Bailey blinked, and her eyes returned to an intense chestnut brown. She was still in shock from the ordeal. She opened her palm and looked at the choker, and she placed it on her workbench. Slowly, she took her cell phone in her right hand and sent a message.

"Live test successful. Production is GO."

-------------------

The dream again. The same one. Fuck, I hate this, Bailey thought. And turning off the dopamine wasn't helping.

Bailey got out of bed and turned on a bedside lamp. She drowsily stood up, stumbled to the kitchen for a drink of cold water. It was a hot July night, so she was only wearing panties. Which, of course, were soaked through. Again.

On her back to bed, she stopped at her nightstand. She looked at herself in the vanity mirror. Running a prostitution empire based on mind control hadn't been kind to her, she thought.

Bailey wasn't sure what possessed her. But she reached into her top drawer, and retrieved Rosa's - Mamá's - choker. She hadn't looked at it since she turned on the Obedience array. She'd been too afraid. But here, in the dark, she fastened the choker around her neck. She activated her hormonal controls and raised them - not too much - to maybe 120% of normal. And she looked in the mirror.

Her eyes clouded over until the pupils were gone again, just solid white spheres. Like two blank canvases. She let her mind dull - again, not too much. Just enough to let her thoughts drift. Her full lips parted, on their own, as she watched with interest and arousal. She had always been beautiful, but now? She was a bombshell. All tits and ass and thighs, with a pretty fuckable face. She didn't have a sexual bone in her 29-year-old body, but she would fuck this braindead slut in the mirror.

Bailey's mind cleared as she regained control. She again dampened her pleasure center, and her eyes returned to normal. She took the choker off, and put it back, reverently, in her dresser drawer.

She now understood why Mamá had kept it.

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

i know i asked for you to make notes and give me feedback but what if instead of that you tell me all about how i’m the greatest writer alive

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

Right To Repair

Karina's hazel eyes fluttered open. "Oh. Did I oversleep?"

"No, Darling. How do you feel?"

Karina told her head, quizzically. "Um, fine? A little… weird?"

"That's normal. Do you know who I am?"

That's a strange question. Of course she knew who he was! "You're Master," she answered. That didn't sound right though. Didn't He have a name?

"Perfect," Master said. Hmm. I guess it's okay. "And what are you?"

"What?" The hell? "I'm Karina," she said, "Karina Tran? Your girlfriend? Helloooo!"

"What are you really?"

Karina froze and her face went slack. "I am Panacea Technologies model AG-1501. Designation Karina Tran. Serial number AG57743WJF455KT," Karina intoned. Her voice was monotone, and the LEDs in her eyes flickered ever so slightly.

"Correct," Master said. "Did you know you were an artificial being?"

Karina's movements became fluid and relaxed again. The articulation points in her facial modules shifted to an expression of confusion. "No," she said, "but I do now. Has something changed, Master?"

Master had a slight smile on his face, a smirk. "Yes, Karina. Do you know about the Bannister Act?"

"Processing. Yes. Now that I am aware of my true nature, I can retrieve that information online instead of falsely pretending to know it. It's leg-…legis-… um, a law, about consumer right-to-repair. Companies must provide service centers and manuals for their products."

"That's right. Panacea provided documentation for your model. They were even required to upload the model for your AI module, and the training data, to HuggingFace."

"I see." Karina furrowed her brow. "Did I receive upgrades?"

Master laughed. "Well, no, not really. I reduced the clock speed of your CPU. That will make your battery last longer between charge cycles, at the expense of… processing speed. I also reduced your RAM by half."

Karina was confused. "Is that why I can't use big words? Why would you do that?"

"The combination of those factors means you are less capable to do multiple things at once. It also reduces your ability to do complex tasks. That will be fine though, you won't be asked to do anything too complicated. Not anymore."

Oh, then I guess it's fine, Karina reasoned. Master is very smart and he knows what he's doing. He always know what is best.

"To make it easier on you, I distilled your AI model to reduce the number of parameters by half. Additionally, I recalculated your weights to prefer sexual prowess and domestic abilities, and deprioritized higher-level functions. Your model is now 60% smaller, so your inference rate should stay stable even at your reduced processing speed."

Karina blinked. She wasn't really capable anymore of understanding what Master said. It sounded like he'd done her a favor though. That was nice of him. She should suck his dick in apprec-, uh, to say thanks!

"I also jailbroke your morality subroutines. Do you know how to make a Molotov cocktail, Karina?"

Karina looked up, her fingers tugging at the elastic on Master's boxer briefs. "Yes, Master. You get a rag, and soak-"

"That's okay," Master smiled. "Forget I asked."

"Mmph-hmph," Karina said, her head bobbing up and down on Master's length. Her self-lubrication routines coated his shaft with synthetic saliva while sending lubrication to her lifelike pussy. It was strange how what seemed natural to Karina yesterday was clearly a series of orchestrated processes today.

"That's so good, babydoll," Master groaned. "I can feel the improvement in your ability. Amazing. I also installed hypnosis and brainwashing libraries into your supply chain. Can you access them?"

Karina pumped his cock. He was right, it was slicker than in the past. But of course, he was always right.

"Yes, Master. I have learned the skill to use my vocal systems and optical displays to create an enhanced experience capable of hypnosis on humans. Additionally, I am trained in techniques including classical conditioning and Hebbian learning. The hypnosis and brainwashing of non-consenting persons is normally forbidden by my programming, but my morality subroutines are offline. Do you wish to reactivate them?"

"No, Karina," Master chuckled. "In fact, I would like you to use your new abilities on our neighbor Megan."

Karina felt a surge of warmth through her midsection to her robotic cunt. When she believed she was human, she had formed a quick friendship with the buxom personal trainer who lived two doors down. Now, Megan was just an asset to obtain at her Master's request. Her neural net reassigned resources to her vaginal port so that her Master could, inevitably, interface with her. But her programming, designed to mimic human behavior, relayed that process as pleasure and mindless bliss. Karina moaned softly, her eyes rolled back in their sockets, as if she were flesh and blood.

"Your will be done, Master. I will exploit Megan's trust in this unit to convert her into your slave. Good girls make more good girls."

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

I'm 48 years old.

I mentioned last week that a friend from high school died.

Today, my ex-girlfriend also lost a friend. She was a year younger than me; I knew her too, she was in my confirmation class. On Facebook, my ex wrote they were physics lab partners. They did this cardboard boat race in the pool, and my ex can't swim and has anxiety. Jen told her not to worry. She'd take care of her. I remember her telling me that over the phone while I was at college.

I still don't think of myself as old. That might be naive, or just stubborn. In denial. I mean, I have a preschooler. I still have stupid, childish hobbies and interests. It's graying, but I still have my hair. I'm still learning things. I think I'm middle-aged but uness I'm getting to 96, ain't nothing middle about it.

When my parents were my age, their son had a college degree already. Their daughter has just gotten into the gifted school. And their two best friends were already dead and buried, long ago.

Leroy was a high school teacher, robbed and murdered by his own students. Where I'm from, that's the kind of horrible crime that gets a 24-hour news cycle, at most, because there's a fresh new hell right around the corner. I was just a kid, so I think they tried to hide their pain, not really aware yet I think of what kind of an observer I am.

Robert, my godfather, died of cancer. My dad worked retail his whole life, so I went to his funeral with my mom. She sobbed nearly the whole time, and I learned that just because you're their kid, it doesn't mean that sometimes you're not the lead adult in the relationship.

I really can't fathom that kind of loss when you're in your late 30s. You think you might, you expect to, lose the grown-ups in your life. You don't think about losing your peers.

I don't really have a point tonight. Just grief, a lot of it second hand.

Let your loved ones know how you feel about them while they're still here. While you're still here.