A Whore In Church

Elizabeth Reyes smoothed down the pleats of her white, knee-length skirt as she made her way to the church on Sunday morning. The vibrant New Mexico sun beat down on her, casting long shadows across the dusty streets of the small town she called home. With each step, her brown eyes darted nervously around, her conservative upbringing echoing in her mind, urging her to maintain decorum and uphold the family’s impeccable reputation.

As she approached the entrance to the church, Elizabeth couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach. Something didn't feel quite right, but she brushed it off as pre-Sunday service jitters. She pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped into the cool embrace of the church's interior.

Instantly, her heart dropped to her stomach.

The skirt she had meticulously chosen for its modesty was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she found herself standing in the foyer wearing a tiny white micro miniskirt that barely covered her modesty, leaving little to the imagination. Panic seized her as she realized she wasn't wearing any underwear.

Frantically, Elizabeth looked around, expecting to see the disapproving stares of the congregation burning into her exposed skin. But to her horror, she found herself drawn forward, her feet moving of their own accord, carrying her toward the front row.

With every step, her cheeks burned with humiliation. She tried to stop, to turn and flee, but it was as if an invisible force held her in place. The hypnosis had taken hold, locking her in a nightmare she couldn't escape.

As she reached the front pew, Elizabeth felt a wave of awkwardness wash over her. She could sense the judgmental gazes of the other churchgoers boring into her, their disapproving whispers like daggers in her ears.

"Mija, what is she wearing?" Elizabeth heard the whispered question from Mrs. Ramirez, one of the older members of the congregation. "Have you ever seen such scandalous attire in church?"

Elizabeth's cheeks burned hotter as she felt the weight of Mrs. Ramirez's disapproval. She wanted to shrink away, to disappear into the wooden pew beneath her, but the hypnosis held her in its grip, forcing her to endure the humiliation.

As the service began, Elizabeth kept her eyes fixed on the pastor, willing herself to block out the whispers and the stares. But with each passing moment, the awkwardness only seemed to intensify.

"Did you see Elizabeth's outfit?" Elizabeth heard a voice behind her whisper. "I can't believe she would come to church dressed like that."

Elizabeth felt as though she were being suffocated by the judgmental remarks swirling around her. She wanted to scream, to lash out at her tormentors, but the hypnosis held her tongue, leaving her powerless to defend herself.

Just as she managed to steady her breathing, Pastor Collins began his sermon. His voice, usually a source of comfort, now seemed like an instrument of her torment. He opened his Bible and began to read from 1 Timothy 2:9-10:

"Women should dress modestly and self-controlled, with respectable clothing and good works, rather than with gold, pearls, or braided hair."

Elizabeth's heart sank. Of all the passages, why this one? She felt a strange sensation beginning to creep over her. Her thighs, as if controlled by an external force, began to part. She tried to clench her muscles, to force her legs to stay together, but it was no use. Her thighs continued to spread wider, exposing her womanhood to the horrified eyes of the congregation.

The pastor faltered, his voice catching in his throat as he glanced down and saw the lewd display. He lost his place in the sermon, stumbling over his words as he tried to regain his composure. Elizabeth's mortification was complete. Her face flushed crimson, and she wanted nothing more than to vanish into thin air.

The whispers around her grew louder, a cacophony of judgment and scandalized disbelief.

"I can't believe she's doing that in church!"

"Has she no shame?"

Elizabeth's mind raced. The humiliation was unbearable. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, but she fought them back, refusing to give her tormentors the satisfaction of seeing her break down. She focused on her breathing, trying to calm herself even as her body betrayed her in the most humiliating way possible.

And then, just when she thought it couldn't get any worse, the hypnosis revealed another cruel twist. What she thought was a conservative blouse suddenly felt different against her skin. She looked down and gasped in horror. Her "blouse" was now a sheer, clinging crop top, completely see-through and revealing her bare breasts. Her nipples, achingly erect, pressed against the thin fabric, leaving nothing to the imagination.

A stifled sob escaped her lips as she tried to cover herself with her arms, but the hypnosis forced her hands back to her sides. She was powerless to stop the lewd display.

Pastor Collins, still struggling to regain his composure, glanced at Elizabeth once more. His eyes widened, and he lost his place again, his face turning as red as hers. The congregation's whispers grew louder, their judgmental remarks piercing through Elizabeth's fragile composure.

"This is disgraceful," hissed Mrs. Ramirez. "Someone needs to speak to her parents."

Elizabeth's humiliation was complete. Her body was responding in ways she couldn't control, and the arousal she felt only added to her shame. She wanted to deny it, to pretend it wasn't happening, but there was no escaping the reality of her situation.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the pastor managed to continue with the service. Elizabeth sat through it all, every second a fresh agony, her mind a whirl of shame and defiance. She knew she had to endure this, but she vowed that when the hypnosis released its hold on her, she would find a way to reclaim her dignity and her life.

As the final hymn echoed through the church, Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to run out of the building, sobbing. But the hypnosis held her in place, forcing her to sit through the entire service with her thighs spread and her humiliating attire on full display. It wasn't until the pastor said the final amen that she felt control returning to her limbs.

With trembling hands, Elizabeth gathered her things and rushed out of the church, her head bowed to avoid the accusatory glares and abusive comments.

"Shame on you, Elizabeth!"

"What were you thinking?"

Tears blurred her vision as she pushed through the crowd and into the open air. She didn't stop running until she reached the safety of her home, slamming the door behind her and collapsing against it.

She couldn't hold back the sobs any longer. They wracked her body as she slid down to the floor, curling up into a ball of shame and despair. The humiliation, the judgment, and the betrayal of her own body were too much to bear.

Yet, even as she wept, she couldn't ignore the simmering arousal that lingered in the background. It was a sickening reminder of how her body had betrayed her. Elizabeth hated herself for it, but the ache between her thighs wouldn't be ignored.

Her hands moved almost of their own accord, slipping beneath the hem of her skirt and finding her slick folds. The touch sent a shiver through her body, and despite her shame, she couldn't stop herself. She massaged her folds, each movement a mixture of self-loathing and desperate need.

The pleasure built quickly, overwhelming her senses and drowning out the echoes of judgmental whispers. She climaxed with a muffled cry, her body shaking with the force of the orgasm. It was the most intense pleasure she had ever experienced, and it left her breathless and trembling.

As the aftershocks of pleasure subsided, Elizabeth curled up on the floor, tears streaming down her face. The shame was still there, but so was a newfound determination. She would find out who did this to her, and she would make sure they paid.

Just as she tried to gather her thoughts and regain some sense of control, Elizabeth noticed an envelope on the floor, just inside the doorway. Her hands still trembling, she reached for it and tore it open. Inside was a single sheet of paper with a typed message:

"From this moment forward, you will be aroused, always. Your arousal will only grow, and you will find no release except in the church. You are only allowed to orgasm in the house of God. Enjoy."

Elizabeth's heart pounded in her chest as she read the cruel instructions. Her horror grew as the reality of the words sank in. A heat bloomed between her thighs, an insatiable desire that she knew would never be extinguished. The arousal that had tormented her in church was now a permanent fixture, a constant reminder of her humiliation.

She clutched the note in her trembling hands, her mind reeling from the enormity of what had been done to her. She wanted to scream, to tear the note to shreds, but she knew it wouldn't change anything. The hypnotist's cruel spell had locked her into a cycle of unending desire and shame.

Elizabeth's sobs returned, mingling with the relentless heat between her thighs. She was trapped in a nightmare, her body a prisoner to a sadistic enchantment. And the only solace she could find was in the very place that had become the epicenter of her humiliation.

She lay on the floor, overwhelmed by despair, her body shaking with a mixture of sobs and lingering arousal. She had no choice but to endure, to find a way to navigate this new, twisted reality. And though the road ahead was fraught with unimaginable challenges, she vowed to herself that she would find a way to break free from the hypnotist's cruel grip and reclaim her life.

One Year Later

Elizabeth stood in the dimly lit alleyway, the neon glow of the streetlights casting long shadows around her. The modesty and self-control that had once defined her were distant memories, swallowed up by the relentless torment that had taken over her life. She wore a tight, revealing dress, her makeup applied thickly, her eyes heavy with dark liner and mascara. This was her new reality: a full-time prostitute in her small New Mexico town, a far cry from the conservative figure she had once aspired to be.

The relentless arousal that consumed her had driven her to this point. Unable to find solace or release anywhere else, Elizabeth had been forced to turn to the streets to satisfy the burning need that tormented her every waking moment. She despised herself for what she had become, but there was no escaping the hypnotist's cruel spell. The only place she could find any semblance of relief was in the church, but even that had been taken from her.

After several scandalous incidents, including the one that had left the pastor stumbling through his sermon, Elizabeth had been banned from the church. The congregation had been horrified by her lewd behavior, unable to understand the unseen force that drove her actions. They saw only the outward displays of her torment and judged her harshly for them.

Elizabeth sighed and leaned against the cool brick wall, waiting for her next client. Each transaction was a momentary reprieve from the overwhelming need that gnawed at her insides, but it was a hollow comfort. She felt dirty, degraded, and further from the woman she had once been with every encounter. Yet, she had no choice. The arousal was a constant, unending torment, and she had to find release somehow.

But Sundays were different. Despite the ban, Elizabeth still found a way to sneak into the church every Sunday. It was risky, and she knew she could be caught at any moment, but the relief she found there, however fleeting, was worth the danger. The hypocrisy of her actions gnawed at her, but she pushed the guilt aside. She had to survive, even if it meant defying the very institution that had once been her sanctuary.

As the sun began to set, Elizabeth's shift ended. She gathered her things and made her way toward the church, her heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and dread. She had perfected her routine over the past few months, timing her entrance and exit to avoid detection. She knew the layout of the building by heart, slipping in through a side door that was rarely checked.

Once inside, she made her way to a secluded corner near the back of the sanctuary. The familiar scent of polished wood and incense filled her nostrils, and despite everything, a sense of calm washed over her. This was her only refuge, the place where she could find release from the torment that consumed her.

Elizabeth knelt on the cold stone floor, her body trembling with need. She closed her eyes and tried to focus, to find the peace she so desperately sought. The heat between her thighs was almost unbearable, a constant reminder of the cruel curse that had been placed upon her. She slipped her hand beneath her dress, finding her slick folds, and began to massage herself.

Her breath came in short, ragged gasps as she sought relief, her body responding eagerly to her touch. She hated herself for needing this, for being driven to such desperate measures, but there was no denying the pleasure that built within her. She bit her lip to stifle a moan, the fear of being caught always present in her mind.

The orgasm, when it came, was like a wave crashing over her, drowning her in its intensity. She shuddered and cried out softly, her body convulsing with the force of her release. For a few precious moments, the torment was gone, replaced by a blissful, all-encompassing relief.

But as the aftershocks faded, the reality of her situation returned. Elizabeth slumped against the wall, tears streaming down her face. The arousal would return soon enough, and the cycle would begin again. She was trapped in a nightmare, her life a shadow of what it had once been.

Elizabeth wiped her tears and stood, her legs trembling. She had to leave before anyone discovered her. She slipped out the way she had come, careful to avoid the prying eyes of the congregation. As she stepped back into the cool night air, she steeled herself for another week of torment, knowing that she would be back next Sunday, driven by the same relentless need.

She walked through the quiet streets, the weight of her situation pressing down on her. She had become the very thing she had once judged so harshly, a woman consumed by desire and driven to desperate measures. The irony was not lost on her, but there was no solace in it. She was a prisoner of her own body, and there seemed to be no escape.

As she reached her small apartment, Elizabeth paused and looked up at the night sky. The stars glittered above her, indifferent to her plight. She took a deep breath and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The heat between her thighs was already beginning to build again, a constant reminder of what she had become.

Dolly

 

Ellie's transformation was as thorough as it was horrific. The nano machines had worked their insidious magic on every part of her body, leaving no area untouched. Her once soft, human skin was now a glossy, pink plastic, each curve and contour of her body exaggerated to fit a perverse, idealized vision of femininity. Her breasts, now perfectly round and firm, had been altered in a particularly cruel fashion. Her nipples, once delicate and sensitive, had been transformed into neon pink hard candy-like protrusions, impossibly bright and enticing.

These new nipples were not just for show. The nano machines had heightened their sensitivity to a degree that bordered on torturous. Ellie's masters, upon discovering this, delighted in exploiting her vulnerability. The merest brush of a fingertip or the lightest suckle on these hyper-erogenous zones sent electric waves of pleasure through her body, forcing her into explosive, uncontrollable orgasms. The pleasure was so intense, so all-consuming, that it obliterated any semblance of coherent thought, leaving her a quivering, moaning mess.

As Ellie knelt on the floor, her body a perfect pink caricature of a woman, her master approached her. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the hard, candy-like surface of her nipples. Ellie's body responded instantly, arching towards his touch, her synthetic flesh yearning for the stimulation it was programmed to crave. Her eyes, wide and doll-like, reflected a mix of terror and anticipation. She knew what was coming, and despite herself, she couldn’t help but react.

When he finally took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking gently, Ellie's world exploded into a kaleidoscope of sensation. The pleasure was overwhelming, a torrent that swept away her thoughts and left only raw, primal need. Her body convulsed, muscles tensing and relaxing in rapid succession as the first orgasm hit her. It was followed almost immediately by another, and then another, each one more intense than the last. Ellie's cries of ecstasy filled the room, a stark contrast to the emptiness she felt inside.

Her master’s hands roamed over her body, exploring every inch of her plasticine form. He alternated between her nipples, sucking and nibbling, sending wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure through her. Ellie's body responded eagerly, hips thrusting and back arching, every movement driven by the insatiable need that the nano machines had instilled in her. She was nothing more than a toy, her purpose reduced to providing pleasure for others.

As the pleasure reached its peak, Ellie's mind began to fragment. Each orgasm was a little death, a surrender of self that left her more hollow and broken than before. She could feel the heat between her thighs intensify, the relentless throb of need that could only be satisfied by another’s touch. Her master’s hands moved lower, fingers grazing her synthetic sex, and Ellie knew what was coming next.

When he finally entered her, the numbness was replaced by an overwhelming rush of sensation. The nano machines had made sure that her synthetic sex was as responsive as her nipples, designed to provide maximum pleasure to her masters. Ellie's body convulsed with each thrust, the pleasure so intense that it bordered on pain. Her cries of ecstasy grew louder, a testament to her complete and utter subjugation.

Ellie's mind, trapped within this living doll’s body, could only watch helplessly as she was used and discarded. The nano machines had stripped her of her humanity, reducing her to a plaything for others to enjoy. Her nipples, her sex, every part of her body was a tool for pleasure, programmed to respond eagerly to the slightest touch. And as the final orgasm wracked her body, leaving her a trembling, moaning mess on the floor, Ellie knew that there was no escape from this nightmare. She was a living doll, a perfect pink puppet, forever bound to the whims of those who controlled her.

Kat's Candy

It was inevitable once she was in the cage. Deny them sleep and food, alternate between extreme heat and extreme cold, and blare deafening music at all times for a few days, and they'll be eating out of your hand in no time. And then it was just a matter of getting her to eat the candy. The spell did the rest.

~~~

Kat’s world had shrunk to the size of the dingy basement she was trapped in. Her life before the abduction seemed like a distant dream, replaced by the harsh reality of her captivity. The cage she was kept in was small and uncomfortable, barely allowing her to stretch out. Her captor, a man whose face she had come to dread, kept offering her a shimmering pink candy, a temptation she resisted for as long as she could. But eventually, hunger and fatigue wore her down, and she accepted the candy, hoping for some small comfort.

The moment she swallowed the candy, a sickening heat bloomed between her thighs, spreading through her body. She felt an uncomfortable, relentless wetness soaking the bottom of her cage. Her breasts swelled, her nipples lengthening and stiffening, becoming hellishly sensitive. Her skin grew flawless, almost plastic-like, and her hair transformed into bright, garish colors, coiling into pigtails that she couldn’t remove no matter how hard she tried.

The changes to her body were horrifying, but the worst part was the ravenous need between her thighs. She tried everything to relieve the aching desire, but no matter what she did, it was impossible. Her efforts were futile, and her captor recorded every desperate attempt, adding to her humiliation. For a week, she was left to stew in her frustration, the need growing more unbearable by the day.

When her captor finally entered the basement, she was a quivering mess of desperation. He approached her cage, opening it just enough to reach inside. His fingers found their way to her aching core, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she experienced sweet release. The orgasm rocked through her body, leaving her breathless and momentarily sated.

But then he told her that it would be the last orgasm she ever had if she didn’t do exactly as he said. The need was already returning, a gnawing, insistent ache that she couldn’t ignore. Desperation drove her to agree to his demands. She had no other choice. The hunger between her thighs was unbearable, and she couldn’t imagine living with it unfulfilled.

He handed her a uniform, and she looked at it with a mixture of horror and resignation. It was humiliating—designed to degrade and objectify her further. The tight, skimpy outfit clung to her newly transformed body, emphasizing every curve and making her look even more like a living doll. Her captor watched with a satisfied smile as she dressed, knowing he had broken her will.

Kat worked for him now. She performed every task he assigned, each one more degrading than the last. She cooked, cleaned, and served him, all while wearing the humiliating uniform. And when he desired, he used her, exploiting the changes the candy had wrought on her body. Her nipples, so sensitive and permanently stiff, became his favorite playthings, bringing her to the edge of orgasm with the slightest touch.

But he never let her find release again. He would bring her close, making her writhe and beg, but always stopping short of allowing her satisfaction. The need between her thighs remained a constant torment, a reminder of her captivity and her helplessness.

Every day was a struggle to maintain her sanity. The basement became her world, and her captor its cruel master. She lived for those rare moments when he allowed her a taste of pleasure, even if it was fleeting and incomplete. Her life was a twisted nightmare, each day blending into the next, filled with humiliation, need, and the ever-present, impossible desire for relief. Her transformed nipples now resembled the candy that had transformed her, and she tempted anyone she could into having a taste.

 

Natalie's Promotion

Natalie, a diligent secretary at a prestigious law firm, stumbled upon a mysterious pair of thigh-high boots tucked away in the corner of the storage room. Intrigued by their vintage allure, she slipped them on, unaware of their sinister nature.

As soon as the boots encased her legs, Natalie felt an ominous chill run down her spine. The leather seemed to tighten around her calves, locking her in place. Panic set in as she realized she couldn't remove them.

To her horror, the boots began to exert a strange influence over her behavior. They compelled her to perform embarrassing tasks, like fetching coffee for her colleagues with a flirtatious sway of her hips. Each humiliation was more degrading than the last, and Natalie's professional reputation suffered with each forced action.

As Natalie struggled to cope with the cursed boots' influence, she found herself facing an increasingly humiliating ordeal. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't keep her legs together while sitting at her desk. The boots seemed to exert a perverse force, causing her thighs to part lewdly of their own accord.

Her colleagues began to notice her peculiar behavior, exchanging awkward glances and whispers behind her back. The men were emboldened and their comments became more crude. Natalie's cheeks burned with embarrassment as she struggled to maintain a semblance of professionalism, but during important meetings, her legs would splay open, drawing unwanted attention from her coworkers. They took full advantage, and eventually she earned herself a promotion as the CEO's personal toilet.