Octavia, Vinyl Scratch Hypno (Pt. 3) (renegade)


                                            >Octavia walked in the front door.

                                            >You wait for her to close it, and then step out from the hallway.

                                            >She opens her mouth to say something, but your magic slams her jaw shut with a click.

                                            >The deadbolt handle behind like an echo of the noise as it engages and then keeps turning until it snaps off.

                                            >She hasn’t even switched from confused to angry before there’s a third sharp noise as you sweep her hooves from underneath her and yank them together.

                                            >She tips over, eyes going wide as she tries and fails to regain her balance.

                                            >Yesterday, the thud she makes on impact with the floor and her muffled “oof” would have seen you rushing over to check if she was okay. Now, though, you just grab her tail and spin her around by it, dragging her into your bedroom.

                                            >She’s making pained noises, her struggles just pulling harder on her tail.

                                            >Yanking her over the boundary and up onto your bed, you gently close the door behind you. Your room lacks windows, a concession to your erratic sleep schedule, so the only way out is past you.

                                            >Octavia’s angry now, but she isn’t acting like something’s horribly wrong, not yet at least.

                                            >You release her mouth, ready to muzzle her again if she starts screaming.

                                            >“Vinyl Scratch! What’s the meaning of this? I don’t appreciate being hauled into your bedroom like you’re a cavepony!”

                                            “And I don’t appreciate you fucking with my mind, ‘Mistress Melody’.” you spit.

                                            >Her face falls as she registers what you’re saying. You can tell she’s fractically thinking about your words. Trying to figure out what command she missed? How you figured it out?

                                            >Whatever, let her think. Won’t be much more of that any time soon.

                                            >“Vinyl, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you I swear. I just wanted-“

                                            “What you want doesn’t matter anymore.”

                                            >You pull out the hypnogoggles from your dresser, and now she’s *struggling* to get away.

                                            >“Oh Celestia Vinyl no, please calm down, we can talk this out, it was just supposed to-agh“ and that’s all the further she gets before you slide them over her face.

                                            >The visor comes to life, dizzying patterns spinning across her vision. She knows what’s about to happen, and not knowing what you’ll do afterward is horrifying her.

                                            >“No! Please!” she shouts, closing her eyes.

                                            >You release her hooves, rope bindings leaping from the corners of your bed to replace your magic, quickly forming secure knots to hold her spread eagle on her back.

                                            >You gently push the earbuds in place, and whisper in her ear, “keep begging. Watching you fight turns me on.” before grabbing the goggles in your magic and lifting them up, her head and neck leaning forward as they’re dragged with it.

                                            >Octaiva lets out a cry at the tugging on her face, trying to hold herself upright, so you grab her mane and pull back down on her head.

                                            >The glasses blink as they detect a unicorn attempting to remove the glasses. Any moment now, they’re going to start “convincing” Octavia to stop pulling them off. Too bad she won’t be able to convince you in turn.

                                            >You hear a burst of static as the goggles switch to audio.

                                            >“No! No, I won’t look!”

                                            >Yes she will.

                                            >“Please! No, don’t make me look! I don’t want to look. I don’t want to! Don’t!”

                                            >Any moment.

                                            >”Vinyl please, it’s so loud! I don’t want… I…”

                                            >With a horrified “No!” her eyes snap open.

                                            >And now she’s obviously struggling to close them again, to no avail, barely managing a half-lidded gaze before she’s staring at the visor again.

                                            >The goggles start making a buzzing noise; they still think she’s trying to take them off. If you’re right…

                                            >“Oh noooo, no no no No NO!”

                                            >then they should stop being subtle about twisting her mind, and she should start to feel it.

                                            >“PLEASE NO!”

                                            >Yeah, she’s feeling it alright.

                                            “You having fun yet, Octavia?” you snarkily ask.

                                            >You’re not even sure if she heard you, her cries of “AAAAAH! Nooo!” unfortunately ambiguous.

                                            “What was that? Couldn’t hear you.”

                                            >”PLEASE! SOMEPONY! PLEEEEA-HE-HEASE!”

                                            >Nopony can hear her. Your walls are soundproofed, on Octavia’s request, amusingly enough. The idea that she’d beg for help pissing you off, nobody saved you. You start to twist and shake the goggles, whipping her head back and forth for a moment and making her dizzy, if the spirals weren’t already.

                                            >You can feel the sound the goggles give off in your teeth as they start flashing an angry red, before Octavia arches her back and starts shrieking.

                                            >“GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT GET IT OUT GET-IT-OUTGETITOUT! IT’S EATING ME!”

                                            >The manual described the sensation of aggressively pruned thoughts "like being fucked in the brain by tentacles made of mouths and bees”.

                                            >You lean down and start talking at her, a snarl on your face.

                                            “You put these on my face no problem. If I fought back, you were going to watch me scream and thrash and cry, huh? Not so fun? Just stop fighting back. Submit.”

                                            >“Nuuuuh! Nooo! Haaaa, nuuuughhh”

                                            “Stop fighting it!” you command, as you let the goggles slip out of your grasp.

                                            >Detecting “defeat” they switch to a bright yellow, and Octavia’s hauled from the depths of Tartarus right to the edge of an orgasm, but no further.

                                            >She’s struggling now, and for kicks you unbind her front hooves. They fly to her cunt and clit and start rubbing as fast as she can.

                                            >You know it’s useless. The goggles’ default method for “orgasm denial” was to pull the edge up any time you were close. All Octavia was doing was working herself up more, confused as she felt herself go flying up and up and up but never hit the ceiling she knew was there a moment ago.

                                            >As much fun as it would be to watch her struggle like this, the same way you did, you have better things to do today. You pull her hooves away, drawing a whimper from the mare.

                                            “Are we going to be obedient?” you ask.

                                            >”…it’s in my head. Please, Vinyl, I can feel it… I can’t... get it out…”

                                            “I don’t care.”

                                            >She’s panting. “I… Vinyl please.”

                                            “Please what. Do you want a cookie? Do you have to go to the bathroom? Are you tired? Good fillies use their words.”

                                            >“No! I’m… I’m not! I won’t!”

                                            “What do you want?” you ask, strumming her clit as she squirms.

                                            >“Hnnng! Ah! I’m so close! Please!”

                                            “No. Bad fillies don’t get to come.”

                                            >“I need to-“

                                            “Bad fillies get punished.” you say, speaking over her.

                                            >You switch to a gentle brushing motion. “Bad fillies get teased.”

                                            >You pull away entirely. “But bad fillies don’t get to come.”

                                            >”Please, I’m so clo-ho-hose!” she shouts, humping the air.

                                            “Are you going to be obedient?”

                                            >She’s visibly conflicted, knowing what’s about to happen, but the heat and growing tension in her cunt is impossible to ignore.

                                            >Her clit is audibly winking, and you stroke a single feathery touch against it.

                                            >“Haaaa! Mffff!”

                                            “Only good fillies get to come. Don’t you want to be a good, obedient filly?”

                                            >Another stroke, and she nods.

                                            “Tell me you’re going to be a good filly.”

                                            >“I- I’m a good filly…” she whispers.

                                            “Louder.”

                                            >A firm tug.

                                            >”I’m a good filly! Let me come! I’ll be good!” she shouts, tears rolling down her cheeks.

                                            >Finally turning a deep green, the goggles chime.

                                            “No.” you tell her, her face shifting to anger, then horror, then slackening as she states “Resistance suppressed. Mind blanked. Ready for orders.”