The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

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Huh? Wha—?

Blinking and disoriented, I looked around. That had been the craziest, nastiest dream of my life, and I was still reeling from it. The room was pitch black, adding to my confusion. My back ached as I sat up. I had been lying on the floor for some reason? Why was I naked?

“Rise and shine, princess,” a voice called. Suddenly, my eyes were blinded by a thousand exploding suns. Or maybe the lights had just been turned on. It hurt all the same.

I found myself in an unfamiliar bedroom, memories of last night crashing over me. Oh fuck, it hadn’t been a dream.

Of course it hadn’t, my nightmares were never so sadistic. Reality was another story.

Flushing scarlet, I remembered what he’d made me feel and wrapped the blanket close around me. That lasted until I remembered his instructions. No more able to resist him now than last night, the blanket was soon folded at the foot of his bed and I was left bare. For some reason, I began to suspect this would be a theme for the rest of our relationship. Still exposed to his wandering eyes, I bent over and began making his bed. Funny, I’d always been a bit untidy, and had rarely bothered to make my own bed. Still, it was my duty to keep things looking neat and clean for him, and I wouldn’t feel comfortable until the job was done.

As I straightened the covers, I wondered what I’d do for clothing now. Fortunately, or unfortunately as it would turn out, I didn’t have to wait long. As I finished tidying up the bed, I heard a noise behind me. He held a plastic bin full of my things, and a gleeful smile on his face. Seconds later, my old clothes were piled high in the middle of his room.

That’s when I noticed the shears.

He held them out to me. Long metal blades, shining in the morning light. Solidly built, they felt a whole lot heavier once I held them in my hands. I blinked my incomprehension. What did he want with these?

“First things first, the clothes,” He said, “They are to be stored neat and orderly at all times. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, “Thank you.”

I was almost grateful to him. At least until I remembered that he was graciously allowing me to keep my own things. He had a big, fancy looking wardrobe. It was solid oak with tastefully abstract carvings all up and down the front. My things were going in the bin. He was not doing me a favor.

“Of course,” He said with a wicked leer, “It would be absolutely intolerable for any of my possessions to appear slovenly.“

Yeah, and that includes me, I get it. Probably thinks he’s so subtle, that bastard.

“But first things first, let’s make sure it’s all suitable, shall we?” He gestured to the pile.

Still not understanding, I did as he instructed and took the first thing off the pile. A green dress. Cute, frilly, it was so much fun to wear on those first warm days of spring when you could finally shuck off the heavy bulk of winter clothes. Holding it up against my body, I realized that I was still naked. Funny, how quickly that came to seem normal. There was nothing he hadn’t already seen to the fullest extent last night, and it’s not like my protests would give him two seconds pause. If anything, they’d amuse him.

His gaze swept over the dress, all up and down my body, and I could tell he cared little for the fashion. How cute it looked, how well it accessorized, those meant nothing to him. All that mattered was how well it showed me off, how it displayed his... property. Did it leave enough of my legs bare, did it show off my tits? Those were the questions he was asking. It made me sick, how much he cheapened the whole experience. Almost, I wished I’d never bought the damned thing, but it was too late now. Apparently it passed muster, because he sent it to the “keep” pile.

More outfits followed, each tested against his own crude standards. Most, he kept. I don’t know if that was an indictment of my tastes, or just practicality on his part. A clear pattern emerged early, especially with my underwear. Colorful, sexy, or see-through were definitely keepers. Anything merely plain or functional was gone. I almost cried when I was forced to throw out many of my most comfortable bras in favor of prettier ones. My protests had fallen upon deaf ears, except when I explained how well a particular plain-looking bra would show off my boobs when it was worn under clothing. I was allowed to keep it. That’s what I was reduced to. Futility bartering my own body in hopes of keeping what should have been mine to begin with.

I learned what the shears were for when we got to an older pair of pants. Victor decided he’d like them better as cutoff shorts, so snip-snip and there went the legs. A few more joined them, and in the end I was grateful he let me keep any intact. Grateful. What a joke.

My eyes lit up as I pulled my favorite sweater from the pile. In this time of trouble, it almost felt like a welcome friend I’d never expected to see again. Oh, surely he’d let me keep it, this was one of the cutest things I owned.

“Useless,” he said, “get rid of it.”

“What?” I asked, shocked beyond disbelief. Surely there was some mistake.

“I never understood why you’d wear something so baggy and shapeless, and you won’t be ever again. Destroy it.”

“You can’t—” I shouted before I caught myself.

“I can’t?” his tone was dangerous.

“Please,” I begged, “I’d gotten rid of everything else you wanted. Just let me keep this one, just this one. It’s my favorite. Please. I’ll do whatever you say, I’ll be a good girl.”

He paused, and just for one brief moment I thought he might relent. I should have known better.

“I don’t remember asking your opinion,” he finally told me. “and it isn’t your anything. I own that shirt, I own you, and I’ll decide what one piece of my property does with another. A good girl? You’ll be that either way. Now destroy it. Cut it down to little, tiny ribbons like the trash it is.“

No! My hands ached to move, but I wouldn’t let them. Little, tiny ribbons. Our eyes locked and I had the increasingly uncomfortable feeling of staring him down. I knew he held all the cards, but I was unwilling to back down. Cut it, destroy it.

My hands itched, yearning to move. I knew that nothing would feel right until it lay in tatters. My favorite sweater, the one I’d worn on my first date with Adam, for our first kiss. Trash. I wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t make me. There had to be a line somewhere, some indignity I wouldn’t cross. It was a silly place to resist. It was just a sweater, after all, but it was My sweater. Call me silly or sentimental, I still would fight.

Oh, but it hurt. That creeping, clawing unhappiness wormed and writhed fitfully beneath my skin. So wrong to fight it. That sweater needed to be destroyed.

I slipped. Just one little moment of weakness and the shears seemed to leap out on their own. A gash appeared down the front of it, ruining the sweater forever. Immediately, my hand recoiled. No, I wouldn’t, I couldn’t. But I had. The damage was done. My hands cut again and again, tearing, ripping, destroying. Screaming in forlorn rage, I tore into it, crying out all my frustrations against the clothing because I could never do against my real tormentor. Again and again I cut, ripped, tore, demolished. It was a berserk frenzy of ruination unleashed against the target of my rage.

When I came out of it, I was kneeling on the floor. The ruined remnants of my orgiastic destruction were scattered around me. There was little left to tell that had it had ever been a sweater, much less my beloved favorite.

“Good girl,” Victor said, bending down to give me a pat on the head. “You can clean up the mess later.”

The worst part was that his praise did make me feel good. I’d just destroyed a priceless memento of my old life, and all it took to console me was a cheap pat on the head. This was nuts. Lost and groundless, I felt like I was losing my mind. Where could I turn, when even my feelings were the enemy? I sobbed again, and all he did was laugh.

The sun had risen by the time we finished, shining through the broad glass door of his balcony and warming my still bare skin. A small pile of shredded cloth lay beside my knees, courtesy of Victor’s continued opinion of my fashion sense. More clothing slashed and ruined beyond use, others so heavily altered as to be unrecognizable. I would have considered the latter ruined beyond use as well, but apparently Victor had other idea. Too tired and numb to resist, I didn’t question it. There didn’t seem any point.

We made it to the bottom of the pile, the part I’d been hoping had been forgotten by whoever had gone into my room and collected my things (and they were my things, whatever Victor said about the matter). The stuff from the bottom of the drawers, the back of my closet. Things I’d bought or acquired over the years, but never dared wear in public.

“Now that’s more like it,” Victor said as he held up a lace-covered red basque. “You’d been holding out on us. How come I’ve never seen you in anything like this?”

“iveneverwornitbefore,” I mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I have never worn it before,” I said, averting my eyes and blushing as scarlet as the lingerie. It had been a gift, a little joke from Emily last year when we took a trip together. We’d laughed and giggled about it, but I chickened out when she suggested I try it on and take some pictures. It had lain in the bottom of my underwear drawer ever since. It had been a thing best forgotten, until now.

“How sad,” he said in mock sympathy, “Well don’t worry, we’ll fix that before too long.”

Great. Just what I needed, another indignity. Even standing there naked, the thought of wearing that for him turned my stomach.

After that, there was nothing quite so bad. Some of my sheerest panties, the secret sort I’d only worn when I wanted to feel sexy. My tightest spandex workout shorts, a few shirts I’d outgrown years ago, and in some cases wondered what I’d been thinking back then. He approved of those on general principle, favoring the way they clung tightly to my skin. We made it to one of my miniskirts, a scandalous little number I’d never worn in public. Just in a few silly dress-up parties with Emily and some of our other friends. Victor took a good long look at it, and his pensive expression chilled my heart.

“Looks good,” he said, “but just a little too concealing, don’t you think? An inch and a half off the bottom.”

“But...” I started. It barely came a quarter of the way down my thighs, there wasn’t any room to cut it down further. I should have known better.

He clapped his hands, startling me, and when I settled down again he just pointed at the skirt. With a forlorn sigh, I began to cut.

“Much better,” he told me, “now it’s time to get dressed for school.”

“My first class isn’t until—”

“Mine is,” he interrupted, and then he began to select my outfit. I was dismayed, but not surprised to find that the cut off skirt was the first thing he selected. That was soon joined by a skimpy black thong, and a tight halter top that I’d last worn in my mid teens.

“What about the bra?” I’d asked vainly.

“What about it?” was his only reply.

Sigh... Why do I even bother?

“One last thing,” he said as I was about to head for the door.

No!

I looked back to find him holding something, a leash and collar, like something a dog would wear.

“To remind everyone what you are.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but the words vanished into the ether before I even voiced them. What was the use? No matter what I said, he would do it anyway. My head lowered in defeat. He grinned as he closed the collar around my throat.

When his hand brushed against my neck, I let off a sudden gasp of pleasure, my nipples tenting the thin, clingy material of my shirt. This was hot! Helpless to resist, I found myself getting aroused by the thought of being chained and collared by my new owner. Already, my privates warmed, and I suspected that I’d be dripping by the time we reached his class.

We left for class. I trailed behind him like a good little puppy dog. At every step, my skirt threatened to slip luridly. A few students were up and about, and I watched their eyes bug out as they caught sight of me. I’d better get used to that, I told myself, trying to steel my emotions for the day ahead. I told myself that I was done weeping. But how? How can you possibly prepare for something like this?

Just as I was about to pass through the door from the dorm to the campus proper, he stopped. Choking as he yanked upon my leash, I collapsed helplessly against him.

“Before I forget,” he told me, grabbing hold of me by the shoulders. “There’s the matter of punishment for your little outburst this morning.”

This wasn’t my punishment?

“You need to learn that you’re nothing more than a possession, just particularly clever pet. Pets crawl.”

“Please! I’m sorry, I—”

“Want to find out what happens if you say please one more time?”

Quietly, I shook my head.

“Then be glad the school dress code still applies to you, or we’d be doing this naked. Now down.“

Too afraid of what he’d do if I refused, I sank to the ground, my hands pressed to the cold marble floor. Conscious of the eyes on me, all I could think of was all the classmates that would see me like this. I didn’t dare oppose him. Who knows what indignities might come if I tried to resist. And, as always, there was a little voice in the back of my mind telling me that everything was as it should be. That it was right and proper to be on the floor, if that was what he willed.

That voice did nothing to ease my shame.

“Good girl,” he said again, reaching down to pat me on the head, and we were off.

If I’d held any faint hope of keeping some tiny shred of decorum, it was quickly dashed. My skirt, already too brief for modesty, slid freely up my hips as I wiggled and scrambled to match his easy walking pace.

Eyes focused on keeping pace with my owner’s heels, I heard but didn’t see the attention I drew. Cutting voices. Sometimes amused, at other times triumphant, but always interested. Oh, wasn’t this the talk of the year, the poor, stupid girl who’d fallen so far. How delicious it must be for them. Were there any sympathetic faces out there? Was anyone more appalled than gleeful at my pathetic circumstance? Emily? Sarah? Adam? Oh, I didn’t dare look.

Please don’t let Adam see me like this.

Even though I refused to look, I still heard the voices as we passed.

“Slut”, “Skank”, “following like a bitch”, “did you see her panties, I bet she loves it”

Classmates, strangers. Voices I recognized and people I had only seen in passing. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. Everything sounded so different from down here, and I still couldn’t bear to look. My mind’s eye could already picture the gawking, the mocking, tittering stares that were sure to follow me all day. The last thing I needed was to look up and confirm my fears.

He left me at the door to his classroom. Despite all the indignities and humiliations I was forced to endure, I still had that much left to me. I was still required to attend school and keep up with my classwork. He couldn’t take that away. Still leashed, but at least I was allowed to walk on two legs again.

Allowed

I fled, seeking out somewhere safe, somewhere that a hundred prying eyes wouldn’t follow my every move. An old, musty closet by the drama department served nicely. This time of year, it probably went untouched for days, maybe even weeks. It was cramped, unlit, and smelled like cheap paint and old fabric, but while I was there I was alone. In the darkness, I could pretend that my clothing hadn’t been defaced and defiled. I could pretend that things were still the same as they had always been.

In the dark, nobody would see me cry.

I cried not just for what had been done to me, but for the things it made me feel. However much I tried to block it out, I could not forget the way my body had responded to his commands. Even now, the degrading touch of that collar around my throat made my pussy heat like nothing else.

At some point, my sobs gave way to soft, stifled moans as I began fingering myself. I didn’t mean to, but I just couldn’t help myself, I was too worked up for anything else. Even the humiliation at my lack of control was starting to turn me on. I tugged at my leash, recalling how helpless I had felt when he led me down the hallways, and just barely had time to muffle my screams of pleasure at the remembrance.

I hated him. I despised everything about his smug presumption. But if he were here right this instant, I had no doubt whatsoever that I would eagerly jump him and fuck his brains out.

My phone beeped, a reminder that class was only minutes away. How long had I been lost in my wild reverie? I’d come here to try and find some balance, some way to center myself and cope with these changes, but then I had turned them into some kind of perverted masturbatory fantasy. What was wrong with me?

But that was the wrong question, wasn’t it? I already knew exactly what was wrong with me. The better question was: How do I fix it?

There was a little bit of time just before class, enough for a quick run at the bathroom. I tried to wash up as best I was able, scrubbing away at my hands and trying to rinse off my slightly sticky inner thighs. Was it enough? Even after almost five minutes of scrubbing, I was paranoid that I could still smell myself, and that everyone I passed would know exactly what I had been doing. My panties were a total loss, so thoroughly soaked as to be beyond salvaging. I threw them into the trash. I buried them as deep as I could in hopes that no one would ever notice them.

Only afterwards did I think about what this would mean. What was it I had used to think about girls like that? That only skanks and tramps went around without any underwear. Especially in a skirt like this. I wondered, was this really me? Or had the idea to ditch my underwear come from a less savory source?

Whatever the cause, I certainly wasn’t going to go diving in the trash bin for a pair of sodden panties. Besides, being bare like this was actually kinda hot.

Wait. Did I just think that?

Shit!

When I finally made it to class, Mrs Applewhite was not at all happy with my appearance. In fact, I wound up having to plead with her to even stay in class.

“If this outfit is supposed to be some kind of joke, Ms Doyle, then I can tell you I am not amused,” she said as she dragged me to the side of the class. “I demand attention and respect in my classroom, and I am not inclined to tolerate disruptive elements.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I really am. I didn’t want to dress like this, it’s just...”

“Ah, yes, now I remember. I had forgotten about your little problem.”

Right. My life upended completely, and it wasn’t even a blip on her radar. What did I rate these days? A perfunctory announcement? A three line memo tucked away in the bottom of a pile? To the extent that we’d interacted at all, I had always gotten along with Mrs Applewhite, but now I saw how important I really was.

“Still,” she told me, “I do expect a certain level of decorum.”

“I know, ma’am. It’s just, there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t help myself.”

Her lips pursed, and she looked a little disturbed by it, but from her disapproving glare I could see that the blame still rested upon me in her eyes. Great. Was this to be my life, now? Always blamed for things that were no longer in my control? Admitting how powerless I was had hurt, but it was ten times worse to see how little that really mattered to her.

“Very well,” she finally allowed, “You may sit in the back, provided that you are quiet and diligent and do not draw undue attention to yourself. Is that understood?”

No undue attention? Little chance of that, but what else could I say?

“Yes, ma’am,” I told her, and went to take my seat for what was shaping up to be a long, long class.

If I’d thought that was bad then Business Calculus with Mr Warner was a thousand times worse. From the moment I stepped into the room, his eyes were glued on me. Worse, I had taken too long getting there, and the only available seats were in the front of the classroom. I made do with it as best I could. He was going to watch what he watched, but that didn’t mean I could make it easy for him.

Not that it did me much good. Mr Warner had a habit of wandering, and I couldn’t help but note that he always seemed to wind up right where he had the best view of my seat. There was nothing I could do about it either. I just kept my head down and tried to take notes, but it wasn’t easy.

About halfway through, his lecture stumbled, and I looked up to see him staring at me. Only then did I realize how far my already short skirt had ridden up. Then I remembered what I was wearing under it. Or rather, what I wasn’t.

My face went beet red as I scrambled to pull it back down, but the damage was already done. Had anyone seen? Of course they had. Anyone who wasn’t completely zoned out would have noticed the teacher stumble like that. Anyone who had a clear line of sight would be able to see why. Again, the noxious chittering had started. The judging stares, and the not so subtle glances from leering classmates hoping for another peek.

I slid down in my seat, trying and failing to make myself invisible. All it accomplished was to make my skirt ride up once more for all to see.

My breath caught in my throat as I felt my breasts brush up against the desk’s top. I bit my lip, squirming uncomfortably in my seat as I realized that my nipples had become so hard that I half expected them to leave scratch marks. I slunk down in my seat, hoping that no one would notice them sticking through my bra-less shirt. I wanted to touch them but was afraid to draw more attention to myself.

Think about math! Or geography, or history. Anything! Just so long as it distracted me from what I was feeling.

No use. These feelings could not be denied.

It was humiliating, utter and complete embarrassment, and I was helpless to prevent it. But that wasn’t the worst of it. No, the big problem was how much it was turning me on. Apparently, my sense of embarrassment was wired directly to my libido now, because each witness to my shame was like another little nibble straight to my clit. As soon as class was done, I was going to go frig myself silly.

“Do you need to be excused, Ms Doyle?” the professor asked. Fully half of the class laughed at this. Which only served to embarrass me further, meaning, of course, that I was even more turned on than ever.

“N-no, sir,” I told him, though I really, really needed to get myself off. More than that, though, I needed to learn to live with this. They had taken so much from me already, they were not going to take school, too.

“Very well,” he said, looking a little skeptical (and still more than a little interested) “Moving on, then...”

Somehow, I made it through the rest of the class, though I doubted my notes were particularly thorough or organized. I was just about to gather my things and head out for a little privacy, when I noticed Mr Warner heading straight for me.

Oh god, he was going to ask me to stay after, wasn’t he. Then I’d have to find some excuse, or else I’d spend the entire office hours getting hit on and trying to fend off his advances. Even as horny as I was, I most certainly did not want to fuck my middle aged math teacher. I packed up my things in a hurry, trying to make it out the door before he had a chance to stop me.

What if Victor found out? He’d make me do it, wouldn’t he? Make me screw my ugly old teacher. Victor would do it just to humiliate me, if nothing else. And I’d do it, too. There was no denying that, anymore. If he told me to fuck my teacher, then there wasn’t much chance of resisting, was there?

No, no. Victor was jealous and possessive. There was no way he’d share me with anyone else. At least not yet.

Ha! Just look at me now, actually grateful to that bastard because he wouldn’t make me fuck anyone besides himself.

“Ms Doyle,” I froze as I heard Mr Warner’s voice call from behind.

Could I pretend that I hadn’t heard him and make it out the door in time? No, I’d already stopped, hadn’t I. Shit! Ok, now. You can deal with this. Just think of an excuse.

By the time I turned, he was within arm’s reach of me. I gulped, doing my best to face him down, though his own eyes were glued straight to my exposed cleavage.

“A word, Ms Doyle.”

“Yes?” I said.

“Considering your... condition. I think it’s best that you sit in front from now on. Where you can be more easily supervised. Is that acceptable?”

“I—ok,” I said, “Sure thing, Mr Warner.”

With that out of the way, I hurried out before he could ask anything more of me. That could have gone worse. Sure, I’d just agreed to be his own personal piece of eye candy for the rest of the year, but there were worse things in the world. Yes, I’d have to deal with him again next class, but I’d handle that when it came.

Just when I thought the day couldn’t get any worse, a chillingly familiar voice stopped me in my tracks.

“Mandy, wait!”

I froze. There was only one person I let call me that. Turning, I found my boyfriend Adam standing there at the end of a long, empty hallway.

How many times had I pictured this fateful meeting and how many different ways had it gone in my head? Whatever I had expected, I had not anticipated the sudden, instinctive revulsion I felt as soon as I laid eyes on him.

He rushed towards me, arms out to envelop me in his embrace. It was no different than a hundred other times, except that now I recoiled from his touch.

“Adam, we can’t. I’m not allowed to see you.”

“Not allowed? Since when have you let something like that ever stop you?”

“Since this,” I said, touching the almost unnoticeable tiny scab on my head that was the only outward sign of the procedure.

“If only I’d known in time, I could have—”

“There’s nothing you can do. Please, you have to go, I can’t see you anymore.”

“We can fight this,” he said desperately.

“I can’t. This isn’t something we can just ignore, when I—we just can’t, that’s all.”

What could I tell him? That the very sight of him disgusted me? That however much I should welcome the feel of his arms around me, the touch instead left me queasy?

He pushed forward, his lips against mine, but before I could even think about it I was pushing him away.

“Stop that! Don’t you understand? We’re done, through. Face the facts, Adam, it’s over.”

He stepped back, his eyes searching. There was an immediate sense of relief, even as my wounded heart felt a pang of loss for what we’d once had.

“Are you even in there anymore? Is there anything left of the woman I loved?”

“Would it make you feel better if I said there wasn’t?”

“I want the truth.”

“The truth is, it doesn’t matter what I feel. The truth is, it’s over between us, and we both need to accept that. Just remember the good times, that’s all I ask.”

His eyes flashed with triumph, and I knew that I had failed.

“Ha! So you do still love me!”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, trying not to cry. “That’s not enough.” “Love is everything!”

“Not this time,” I told him sadly.

“It will be, you’ll see.”

“No,” I said, “Please, don’t talk to me again.”

I turned and ran. He called my name, but he did not follow.

I fled, my footsteps unsure as I ran away from the last remaining connection with my old life, a connection that I could not bear to embrace. In my head, I could see the hurt on his face, but instead of horror, I found desire. The love of my life had kissed me, and I had felt absolutely nothing. There was only one man I desired now, and he was my worst enemy.

Victor. How I yearned for his unwelcome touch. Despite—no, because of the pain I felt.

After everything else I’d been through today, I half expected to find my favorite bathroom unusually occupied today. Luckily, it was as empty. I wasted no time, locking myself away in a stall to take care of my mounting need.

It was an instant relief to touch myself after being denied for so long. I mean, it had only been a couple hours, but by the end there it started to feel like an eternity. Fuck, maybe I should have just done it. Let’s see what the administration had to say about it if I just jammed my fingers up my pussy right there in the middle of class.

No, with my luck, all the heat would fall on me, and the whole reason I had taken this deal in the first place was to finish my education. Besides, win or lose, I’d still wind up being that girl for the rest of my time here.

Mmm.... A shudder of pleasure ran through me at how embarrassing that would have been.

Stop that!

Stupid sexy asshole Victor, making me dress like this in front of everyone. Fucking pervy professor. I saw the way he was looking at me. I’ll bet he was in his office right now, jerking himself off as he fantasized about the little peepshow I’d been forced to give him. Gross!

Fuck, and now I couldn’t get that image out of me head.

No, fuck no. There was absolutely no way I was going to sit here and frig myself to the image of my perverted old professor jerking off to my accidental up-skirt. Think about something else, anything else. Movie stars, athletes, underwear models. Whatever, just get that out of my head.

It didn’t work. The implant seemed designed to take every little humiliation I suffered and make a fantasy out of it. Try as I might, I couldn’t shake the thought that it was hot as hell to picture my disgusting old professor using me to get himself off. Had to fight it, had to think of something, anything—

Victor.

I remembered what it had been like to look up at him from my knees last night, and I immediately came just a little. Ah, yes. That was something the implant was ready to allow. I took hold of the leash around my neck and thought about how hot it had been to be led like a dog. How wonderful it had felt to sink between his legs and run my tongue against him.

Even back before all this, I’d considered him good looking. Arrogant and condescending, sure, and a good dose of obnoxious as well, but still pretty hot. All the implant had done there was to take my existing feelings and shove them to the forefront.

This wasn’t right, I should be fighting this, not fantasizing about it. But this fantasy sure beat the alternative. Besides, I was so horny right now that I had to get myself off to something, and I wasn’t really in a position to complain about what. It was safe to fantasize about him a little. It’s not like he was here or anything.

Besides, he was pretty hot.

“Oh, yes,” I groaned, so incredibly glad that nobody else was around. I thought back to last night, to how good his cock felt when it speared me from behind.

“Mmmmmmph. Fuck me, Victor, fuck me!”

My hand shot up to cover my mouth. I could taste my pussy juices on it.

Holy fuck, had I really just said that out loud? Already I was falling into his trap. Even knowing what a sadistic creep he was, I almost wished he was here right now. That collar he’d made me wear was so fucking hot. Would he make me wear it the next time he fucked me? God, I hoped so.

No, that was stupid, dangerous. If I didn’t keep fighting, then I would lose myself in this forever. Another few weeks of this, and I really would be Victor’s slave. Nothing more than his eager little fucktoy. Now and forever.

My pussy clenched, and I came a little right there.

Stop that!

It was no use. Even now, all I could think about now was how great it would feel to bend over and let Victor fuck me in my slutty little pussy. I wanted it. I needed it. My fingers worked faster and faster as I felt it growing within me. All the while imagining that it was him filling me instead.

“Master!” I cried as waves of orgasmic bliss washed over me. I’d meant to call out his name, but that had slipped out instead.

Master. My lips mouthed the word again, trying it out experimentally. It felt disturbingly right.

There were three and a half hours until I was supposed to meet him outside his final class of the day. Three and a half hours on my own, free to do whatever I wanted without him looking over my shoulder.

Hardly any time at all, in the grand scheme of things, but already I found myself impatiently waiting for it to end.

I wasted nearly a full hour masturbating, each time climaxing helplessly to an image of Victor’s smirking face. It drove me far more wild than it had any right to. I tried to think about Adam when I touched myself, tried to build my fantasies around him instead, but I simply couldn’t. I couldn’t even recall his face.

My heart still loved Adam. They hadn’t been able to take that away from me, but I no longer felt even the tiniest shred of desire for him. It was Victor whom I now lusted over. It was my former enemy who kindled a fire between my legs.

By the time I cleaned up, there was little more than two hours left of my free time. Far too little, but I vowed to make the most of it. The library was my first and only stop. If I was to have any hope of weathering this, it was essential that I understood exactly what had happened to me. Slaves had never been something I thought much about. They were a part of life, something I was always aware of in the background, but never as something to bother myself with. My family had never been able to afford one. The procedure was not cheap, I knew that much. Not lavishly expensive, but the price was still in the realm of a good airskimmer.

The librarian was my first stop, of course. This was, in a sense, the most important research project of my life, and I knew that I could use some help. Unfortunately, I wasn’t going to get it. The man who had been so helpful only weeks ago now looked down his nose and informed me that he was busy aiding “real students”. When he condescended to ask what I needed help with in the first place, I fled without speaking. I didn’t dare tell him. With the way he’d been acting, he might have told Victor what I was looking for, and that was something I didn’t dare let happen.

A part of me cringed from the thought of deceiving my master, but I was not quite so far gone as that. To be sure, my will would crumble in a second if he ever actually asked me about it, but I doubted that would happen. Someone as sexily egotistical as Victor—Stop that! Not sexy, just egotistical. There is absolutely nothing sexy about this.—would never even consider that I might seriously try to break free of his control. Unless I gave him reason to be suspicious, he would remain just as blithely overconfident as ever.

I thought that one of the research assistants was interested in helping me, but it turned out that all she wanted was to get me alone in the back rooms so that she could feel me up. Eventually, I talked her into finding what I needed, just so long as I spent the entirety of her search time beneath the desk eating her out.

The worst part of it was that she just assumed I’d do it. As if the fact that I was a slave now meant that I would get down on my knees and service anyone who asked. No, actually that wasn’t the worst part. The real worst part is that I was desperate enough to take her up on the offer. What other choice did I have?

It felt like it took forever for her to unfasten her belt and wiggle out of her pants. Her underwear was pink, though a bit faded and with a small tear right under the waistband. Unfortunately, I got a much closer look at it than I could ever have wanted or needed. Especially when she demanded that I pull her panties down with my teeth. It took me three tries, and she got upset when I ripped the hole wider. What the heck had she been expecting? I mean, it’s not like I do things like this every day.

Though considering the past couple of days, I wondered if that would stay true.

In the end, I gave up and used my hands. Either she was going to be satisfied by my attempt, or I’d go off and do the research myself, even if it took longer without her help.

Apparently she was satisfied. No sooner had she sat down than I found my head firmly stuffed between her thighs. It was dark and musty, and harder to breath than I’d expected. With her hand gripped tight around my leash, all I could do was lean in and keep my bargain, trusting on faith that she was keeping hers. As I licked, I found a new appreciation for Adam’s efforts back when we’d been dating. They’d seemed fumbling at the time, but I doubted I was doing any better. I’d enjoyed it then, and if the researcher’s moans were any indication, she was satisfied enough.

What would Victor think of this? Would he find it sexy? Most guys were turned on by girl on girl, weren’t they?

Either way, better not to tell him. The last thing I wanted was for him to ask why I’d been coming here in the first place.

True to her word, she let me up once she’d finished gathering the references I’d asked for. However, just when I thought it was safe to rise, she’d grabbed hold of the collar and pulled me forward into her crotch. By the time I rose, she managed to paint a sticky line all the way up to my forehead.

She grinned in smug satisfaction as she surveyed her handiwork.

“Shame I didn’t bring my camera. I’d love to show you just how cute you look right now.”

“So you’ve found everything?”

“MMmmmmmm, maybe?” she smiled coyly.

“Please!” I hated this. Hated having to beg, but time was running out and I was so unbelievably desperate.

She just laughed.

“Oh, it’s there. There’s a lot to get through, I know, but that should be enough to give you a solid foundation. I am a pretty damned fine researcher, I’ll have you know.”

She almost sounded hurt that I doubted her. Oh boo hoo, my heart broke for her hurt feelings.

“Of course, this is just as start,” she said, with impish glee, “I’m sure you’ll need to... plunge into the archives again and again. Or should I say, we will.“

“I don’t know,” I stammered, but a finger to my lips silenced me. Lips that were still wet from her taste.

“I do. And trust me, with what you’re trying to find, you’re going to need my help. Then again, maybe I should call up your—hmm.... what is it the school calls them? Ah yes, your sponsor. Maybe I should call him up and see what he says.”

“No! You can’t tell my ma—I mean, please leave him out of it.”

“Not the sharing type, is he?”

I shook my head.

“Say, you were about to call him master, weren’t you?”

“I—” I tried to deny it, but in the end nodded in defeat.

“Kinky! I like it.”

She turned to look at me, her stare disturbingly calculating. It didn’t help at all when her grin began to widen. She had me here, and we both knew it. I really did need her help. More importantly, I needed her discretion. If Victor found out what I was doing, he would put a stop to it. Even that sent a twinge of anxiety through me. Not the thought of discovery, but the very fact that I was doing something that he would disapprove of. I liked to consider myself strong minded, but there was absolutely no doubt what would happen if he ordered me to stop my research.

What a pair we made. Before the operation, I would have considered her plain and pedestrian. Yet now I was in her power, and it was I who stood in the lesser position. True, her clothes were staid and uninspired. Her plain jeans and slightly too large navy shirt were never going to be the height of fashion, but her outfit was tastefully elegant next to the obscene trappings I had been forced into.

Though we were much the same height, she seemed to loom above me. Frightening and powerful. It was as if I had already acknowledged her as being superior to me. Or was that a function of the chip, forcing me to place myself beneath my free peers? I really needed to learn more about how these things worked.

“Here,” she said, pulling out a piece of paper, “is my number.” She wrote quickly. “Call me when you’re going to be free. I do suggest that you memorize it. Wouldn’t want that scary old master to start asking questions, would you?”

“Right,” I said as I took the paper. Already, I was resigned to the fact that I was going to call her.

“A shame, really,” she said wistfully, “that I wasn’t rich enough to buy you myself. You haven’t got the slightest clue what to do with your tongue, but I’d have loved to train you.

“Ah well,” she said as she lunged forward to give me a surprise peck on the lips. “Guess I’ll just have to make it a hobby. See you later, sweet tits, I’ve got work to do.”

She left as fast as she’d came, and I just stood there staring at the paper. “Hope”, it said across the top. She’d never bothered to give me her name before forcing me to go down on her. Was I really going to call her again? Could I afford not to? Questions for later. There was reading to do, and little time to do it.

At the very least, Hope had been true to her word about the research. Before she’d left, she had come up with nearly two dozen books and articles, sorted in order of importance. I skimmed over the collection quickly, conscious of how little time I had. More than half were heavy technical papers, all of which assumed an understanding of biology and electronics that went way over my head. Another handful were sociological studies that dealt more with the effects of the chips upon society, thought Hope had helpfully highlighted chapters that discussed their workings at a more basic level.

I decided to start on one of the informational pamphlets, hoping that it might be a good place to start for someone who had no clue what they were doing. No such luck. Turns out, it was an old, withdrawn pamphlet meant for newly chipped students, and it proved a laughably useless piece of propaganda. It was full of gems like:

“In the old days, people were sometimes sad because they didn’t want to be obedient. But now we have The Chip. It sits in your head sending happy, helpful pulses whenever you think good thoughts. So make sure you think lots of good, obedient thoughts, and before you know it you’ll be nice and used to your new situation.”

Yeah, real helpful, thanks for that one. Like I’m going to sit here and think happy thoughts so I can help that smug shit fry my brain even faster. Then again, I had just spent most of the morning frigging myself to the idea of being his subservient little fuckslave.

Shit! My hands were back between my legs. I was doing it again.

Ok, time for the next book. To my surprise, it was one of the history books that actually had the first useful passage.

“—From the beginning, the idea of chipped spies proved irresistibly tempting. By planting spies within the ranks of newly inducted slaves, a nation could freely insert personelle into even the most secure of places. With their loyalty considered above reproach, an enslaved spy could bypass many of the checks that would catch a normal agent. Unfortunately, said loyalty proved even stronger than anticipated. As the Fushun Incident proved, nations had every reason to have faith in their chipped spies. That first generation was made up of intelligent, independent minded agents, yet still suffered a nearly a one hundred percent defection rate. Despite improved training methods, failure rates continued to exceed thirty percent (See also: The Lima Affair).

“Particularly damaging were those whose chips used honor or duty as a focal anchor. As can be imagined, agencies relied heavily on the agents’ sense of duty to see them through the process. With that suborned, compromised agents soon saw it as their duty to divulge any classified information they had available. Though steps were taken to limit the damage, these failures continued to hamper intelligence efforts for decades to come. Even the less dangerous foci often saw their agents’ identities subsumed by their slave role. Though in many of those cases their owners did not discover what they possessed for years to come.”

If nothing else, it gave me a new term to look for: “Focal Anchor”. I found it hiding away in the back of a textbook glossary.

“Each chip is keyed to a single primary emotion or drive. By careful and constant manipulation of this anchoring emotion, the chip is able to modulate subject behavior. In time, the subject is conditioned such that the focal anchor centers fully around the owning entity, ensuring willing compliance with all directives.”

Two guesses what Victor had picked for his focal anchor, and I can tell you right now that it sure as hell wasn’t fond respect. No, the fact that I’d spent the day getting myself off made it all too clear what he’d chosen. That clever bastard. Why settle for doing one thing, when you can do three at once. In his choice of anchor, he’d not only taken control of me, but done it in a way that humiliated me at the same time. All while getting his own sick gratification out of it.

There was no question that it was working. I’d been under for all of what, a day? But already the idea of submitting to him seemed like the hottest thing in the world. I hated the bastard, but I couldn’t wait until it was time to get out of here so that I could feel my leash in his hand as he thought up new and exciting ways to use me.

... I was doing it again there, wasn’t I?

Shit!

Something was tugging at the back of my mind, though. Something I had missed. I returned to the passages, trying to tease out what had caught my attention. Or was I just wasting my time? Was the chip trying to sabotage my efforts, making me return to useless passages I had already looked over? How was I supposed to get anywhere when I couldn’t even trust my mind?

No, wait, there it was! I reread the passage about chipped spies, the one that had taught me about anchors. I’d been so excited about those that I’d missed the important bit: “Despite improved training methods”. That meant there was a way to resist it. Sure, nearly a third failed, but the important point was that it could be done. If they could defeat it through training alone, then so could I. I just needed to learn how.

Before I could get any further, my alarm rang. It was time, Victor would be expecting me.

I stared longingly at my research. I was so close, if I only had more time to read. It was no use. I wanted to continue studying, but I needed to obey Victor. As I rushed towards his classroom, the anticipation took on a life of its own. Before long, I found myself jogging, my leash swaying from side to side with every step. I drew stares, of course, but I was used to that. It didn’t matter. I needed to see him as soon as possible.

I needed him.

Considering my hurry, it was no surprise that I made it well before the class let out. At first my heavy breathing was from my frantic sprint, but it didn’t take long until it came from another source entirely. Although Victor was still nowhere to be seen, I was already turned on in the extreme. Here I was, waiting hand and foot upon his pleasure, and it was the hottest thing in the world.

Almost, anyway. Things wouldn’t get really hot until Victor arrived.

The first sight of Victor was like a bucket of cool water splashed onto the face of a poor desert wanderer. I wept tears of joy to see him, knowing full well that it was absurd that I should miss him so, but feeling it regardless.

“Have you been a good pet,” he asked in full view of the entire gawking class, taking the leash from my outstretched hands.

“Yes, master,” I told him, biting down the twinge of guilt at my library trip. I started to speak, but luckily he interrupted me before I had a chance.

“Good girl,” he said, patting me on the head.

I smiled uncontrollably. His praise meant everything to me. It wasn’t hard to see how a slave could be seduced into true surrender. I had to find a way to free myself from this torture. Just... not quite yet.

As a reward, he allowed me to follow on my two feet this time. Trailing after like the slave I was, yes, but as a person, not a pet. He spent the rest of the day and night parading me in front of his friends like a new toy, and once we returned to his room he used me like one.

I loved every second of it.

That night I cried myself to sleep, but also masturbated all the while. Hope’s number ran through my head, and I knew that I would call her. She wanted to use me, yes, and I would let her. The difference was, after she was done using me, there might be something of myself left over. After Victor finished, I wasn’t so sure.

Oh, but what a blissful loss it would be.