My dissertation committee thinks I'm collecting data using clipboards and consent forms in a boring college lab with a two-way mirror. I haven't corrected them because the truth, that I signed up to be a phone sex operator, would shock them and likely have me lose my funding. My lab is NiteFlirt and you're my subject. I'm taking notes on you while we speak, learning about your perversions, learning about what makes you twitch. After all, that twitch is the data and I'm here for my thesis.
You budgeted for me. You decided that being told what to do by a twenty-three-year-old with a kinky mind and fucked up set of ethics was worth more than dinner out, worth more than gas, worth more than whatever else you'd planned to do with your day...
So let's begin. I'm ready for you.. I'll take my first note:
Subject is highly aroused by the prospect of being told what to do by a woman half his age.
I'd bet my funding that nobody in your real life has ever looked at you this closely and I see you closely. You have needs. You want to be humiliated. You want to be studied and I'm the only person on earth taking notes on you.
Tell me the thing you've never told anyone. Your secret goes in the dataset with a code number, no name, no face, and I promise I'll be gentler with it than you've been with yourself. Then I'll use it. I'll wield it. I'll say it back to you in my bratty, cruel, condescending voice while you fuck your own hand for me. Maybe afterward you'll understand yourself a little better than you do now.
I'm Sydney, a recent college graduate in school to become a sex therapist and here to learn more about perverts and freaks like you. I started playing around with mind control and mental manipulation after I learned about how effective they are at helping people overcome hangups that get in the way of greater fulfilment and take a real interest in the kind of person who enjoys listening to my voice, falling into a trance, zoning out, and waking up with an… expanded mindset and kinkier outlook on life.
