The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

39.

“Stop and lean back, Anita.”

Anita relaxed her mouth and obeyed Mistress’ instruction. Leaving the hot tight universe of Livvy Danziger’s spasming thighs and crotch left her suddenly cool and still as she settled back on her heels. Her own pussy quivered as she watched Livvy’s glisten, and looked up to see Livvy’s heaving belly, her breasts low and spread. Her nipples might have been stiff, but her aureoles were too wide in the dimness and the flickering from the screen to see.

The screen.

Kneeling at Mistress’ command to eat Livvy out, Anita had faced away from the high-resolution image of her friend, Carly, being pleasure/pain conditioned. She’d managed to lose herself in the sensations of bringing Livvy to orgasm again and again, finding the rhythm of Livvy’s own responses and joining it, focusing on Livvy’s moans and her futile attempts to speak.

When Carly screamed again as Mistress’ helpers hurt her, Anita barely knew it.

She waited; the screen was showing a pleasure sequence now, and Carly’s happy little gasps and laughing drew her, despite herself.

Livvy was staring upward now, her mouth open and loose and her eyes locked above her on the spiral Mistress had offered her again, blinking with the shifting light it dripped into her mind.

The transmission stopped, and Anita saw no reaction from Livvy. She was lost in the hypnotic whirlpool. Anita registered that and contemplated her old boss, nude and bound and wet and mesmerized. She blinked, realizing that she hadn’t reacted either.

She breathed, smelling Livvy’s arousal and her own, relaxing in the kneeling position, waiting quietly to be commanded.

When Mistress said nothing, she blinked again and rose to her feet, coming to attention by habit, her thighs slick against each other and her hands cool from Livvy’s sweat.

She looked at Livvy, comparing her stillness to Carly’s erotic dance in her bonds, feeling the images of Carly climaxing and Carly screaming starting to blur. She looked at Livvy’s mouth.

Anita wondered if she could climb onto the chair and straddle Livvy, riding her and fucking her mouth. She remembered Janine in her kitchen, kneeling to her and ready at a word or a touch to eat her out, dead to everything else in her life. Anita couldn’t see Livvy’s tongue now, to imagine how it would feel.

Then Mistress did speak and her voice was like a smooth wall holding Anita up. “Once again, you’ve pleased Me, Anita.” When Anita hesitated, she went on, “It’s all right, Anita. The spiral has her now; she can hear nothing but what’s coming through her own personal speakers in the chair.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” For the explanation? The praise? Anita’s head swam for a moment. She fought for clarity.

She looked at Livvy. “Is Livvy . . .” She was starting to think, now. She was starting to remember beyond the quivering hypnotized woman in the bondage chair, and that made it harder. She pressed herself.

“Is she broken, Mistress?”

Mistress breathed audibly, and Anita swayed without knowing why. She was still and straight again when Mistress said, “No, Anita. Not yet. Olivia is a strong woman and very brave, and this is a very long process when it’s done this way. Obedience can be achieved quickly, but there are other costs, and I prefer not to pay them in her case.

“But she’s learned that she can be, Anita. That’s the beginning of the end.”

Anita looked at the other woman. “I understand, Mistress.” She thought about looking Livvy in the eye again. She wondered how much more Livvy would loathe her. But the loathing wouldn’t be pure, anymore.

“You may see to her now, Anita.”

“Yes, Mistress.” She hesitated, then stepped over to the side to look down at Livvy, seeing her eyes close when the spiral went dark and released her, and heard the whispering of the speakers by Livvy’s head fade to nothing. There was a faint hiss from the screen, and Livvy’s rapid, shallow breathing, and silence. In the silence, Anita heard Carly screaming again in her mind, and remembered Livvy’s panting and moans instead, the way the flesh of Livvy’s legs had cupped her ears and helped keep the sounds out.

She reached down and found juice between her own legs. She tasted it and thought of Joyce.

Then she went to Livvy, and leaned over her, smelling the exertion, gently wiping the older woman’s hair from her forehead. Livvy’s glazed eyes slowly recovered focus, and wandered before they focused on Anita. Her mouth opened and only a sigh came out. Her face was blank but an expression formed: she almost looked like she was going to start laughing very hard, but her emotions missed the turn and she looked like a traumatized child.

Livvy felt it happening and visibly tried to get a grip, but it was as if Anita’s nearness and stillness were too tempting, and soon Livvy’s eyes were brimming.

“Carly?” she whispered, gingerly as though even saying it too hard would hurt Carly again. “Why? Why?” She blinked and looked up, the tears running down beside her eyes. She didn’t even look angry, just terribly at a loss, trying to understand.

Then Anita realized that Livvy had left an ugly marriage to a dangerous man, had faced and defeated corporate pirates and soulless bankers, had even, they said, stared down a mugger when she had one arm in a sling.

But Livvy had never seen anyone deliberately tortured.

Livvy had just learned the world was much more hideous than she’d thought possible.

She’d learned this to multiple orgasms on the tongue and lips of her tormentor’s whore.

Anita reached down and stroked her face. Livvy shook her head weakly but couldn’t look away from Anita. “Please. Why?” She closed her eyes, trying to pull her mind back together. “Carly never hurt anyone. What did she . . .” She reopened them, and Anita saw some of the old fire.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to. Livvy would just fight and hurt herself . . . She stroked her again and cupped her cheek.

“She did nothing, Livvy. Mistress wants to condition her. She told you when you were first presented to her. Carly’s going to be”—she breathed in—“a bonbon, a pure sex slave. Mistress is helping her learn how to stop thinking for herself, so she can just obey.”

Livvy shook under her hand. “You bastards. You bastards. You . . .” Her lips quivered and she stopped but she was already too late, and she was crying again. “You hurt her . . .”

Anita crouched down and held her. Livvy was trying to hiss “bastards” through her weeping but she held still for Anita’s touch. Anita kissed her cheek, tasting the tears and Livvy’s sweat, and rested her head by the other woman’s. She felt Livvy stir, and nuzzle her uncertainly in return, too overwhelmed to resist the comfort. Anita slid more fully onto the chair.

Gentling Livvy, she found herself drawing out the grief that Livvy had been able to hold in while actually being assaulted with Carly’s ordeal. She remembered Patrice, and wondered which of the two would envy the other. She didn’t let herself feel anything else, though she did reach down and lightly set her fingers on either side of Livvy’s nether lips, still warm and swollen.

Livvy moaned. It started as “No” but faltered.

They lay still. Anita felt their breathing start to phase together.

More calmly, Livvy whispered, “Why? Why—you?”

Anita kissed her ear and raised herself to look down at Livvy’s face, wiping at the tears there before answering.

“Because I’m a slave and I obey,” she said, realizing she hadn’t thought about it before speaking. “Because I get turned on doing what Mistress tells me to. Especially what my keeper—what Joyce tells me to.”

She saw Livvy’s eyes widen. “Very long story, Livvy.” She smoothed Livvy’ s hair back again. Livvy closed her eyes at the touch.

“No . . . Joyce isn’t a brainwasher. I was given to her. Joyce is . . .” She found herself tearing up, and leaned down to put her face against the cool skin of Livvy’s neck. She felt soft pressure as Livvy instinctively moved to nuzzle her again.

Kissing Livvy, she raised herself again, swallowing. “Joyce is the most perfect human being I’ve ever known.” She smiled. “Yeah—sounds like another movie about mind control.“ Livvy didn’t smile, but her eyes showed a flicker of their native light. “But it’s true. Joyce is the reason why I live.

“The woman you met. That’s Joyce. You weren’t wrong about her.”

“You love her,” Livvy whispered.

“I . . .” worship her.

“She was there. She was helping do that to Carly. She was getting off.”

Anita nodded, looking over the chair to the shadowed corner of the room. “Mistress makes her do things. Joyce hates it. Hates herself, even though it’s control. She has to obey but she still . . .”

“This is insane,” Livvy said softly, halfway between anger and complete confusion. “This is hell.” She looked up at Anita. “Don’t you know that? Anita?”

Anita shook her head. “It’s where we are, Livvy. It’s where we’ll become what our owner wants us to be. It doesn’t matter if we fight. She controls us and we’ll submit.”

“No.” Livvy’s whisper was ragged but final, and Anita felt her tighten again. Livvy’s eyes were closed. Anita gripped her arm, wanting to do more. Livvy spoke quietly.

“You’re never going to turn me into that. A monster that would hurt Carly just to make her some kind of zombie whore.

“You’re not. Ever. Fuck you.”

“Yes,” Anita said. “We will.”

Then she realized what she’d said and stopped moving completely.

Livvy’s eyes stayed closed, so she didn’t see Anita freeze, and the chill that took her was too deep for shivering, so Livvy didn’t feel it where their bodies met, either. Anita was so lightheaded that it was easy to go on.

“Mistress will train you to love it, Livvy. You’ll live to obey—as Carly does.” She thought of Joyce. “As I do.”

Anita gently slid off, and leaned back to kiss her shoulder. “Livvy. I know you’re going to fight. You’re magnificent and you’re only going to destroy yourself. I love you, but Mistress will win.” She tried to say more, but she heard the speakers start again by Livvy’s head and saw Livvy move feebly, trying to avoid the whispering.

The older woman’s body started to go slack as the triggers they’d already implanted put her into trance, and her eyes opened dully, glazing over as she obeyed a whispered command to look up into the spiral again, and listen, and believe.

“So well said,” Mistress’ voice came softly, too low to distract Livvy from her lesson.

Anita bowed as she backed away from the chair. “I am glad to please you, Mistress.”

“And so skillful already at doing that. Pretty Anita.

“Will you give yourself to Me, now?”

Anita froze again, and then, feeling too warm, she sank to her knees. She felt something in her head, her pussy, her pounding heart. It was a huge current taking her, sucking her down into the warm floating dark . . .

But something caught her, only a small delay but enough.

“Mistress, may I . . . ?” The hammering in her chest was keeping her from breathing. “I . . . need . . . to see Joyce.

“Please, Mistress.”

Mistress laughed, a friendly sound. “Be at peace, Anita. You are still joyce’s. If you were ready for Me you wouldn’t hesitate. You wouldn’t remember how.”

Still—Joyce’s! It was almost unrecognizable—happiness, like raw liquor igniting her inside.

“You may go back to your room now, Anita.”

Anita breathed deeply, rose from her knees, and walked unhurriedly out without looking at Livvy again.

Joyce was still gone, and Anita went to shower in the cubicle, finding warmth in the water and the towel. Joyce’s image on the screen ran through Anita’s mind, masturbating as she watched Carly.

Anita sorted numbly through it and finally clutched to herself Mistress warned me. She did. She said if I knew what Joyce did for her I’d never ask to do it.

What Joyce did for her. All the time.

Oh Joyce. And you hold me when I fall apart. Anita went quickly to the bed and curled up again, telling herself—again—that she could smell Joyce in the sheets, that the warmth she was making there belonged to both of them.

Still . . . Joyce’s.

40.

Before slave joyce could even look at her daughter again she lost herself in the exquisite feeling of her daughter’s lips holding her tongue with irresistible gentle strength, and the tip of amanda’s tongue teasing the vulnerable tip of her own.

It turned her to jelly. Lust took slave joyce before any other feeling could claim her.

joyce heard herself moan plaintively through her captive mouth, wanting more, sagging back in her daughter’s arms, lost in amanda’s dark eyes so close to her own.

she moaned again, mutely begging, when amanda spat her gently out.

It took only a few seconds, but joyce’s vague twitches of struggle let amanda turn her and settle her softly on her back on Mistress’ carpet and straddle her.

slave joyce’s mind was spinning from shock, and too many buried feelings ripped out from inside her, and the waking trance of being Mistress’ pussy-licker for a timeless hour.

But she was seeing her daughter.

slave amanda.

The girl rode her and looked down, and even as joyce looked at the face that she’d stopped trying to dream of, remembering pride and love and awful shame, she saw it was someone else. The woman burned into the walls of joyce’s brain, who’d lain in her fear and grief and loved joyce with the last free breath in her body, whom joyce had honored in her sane moments and mourned and dreaded ever to face again, wasn’t here now.

The woman astride slave joyce leaned over her with the smile of something hungry and far too old to die on the supple, trembling lips she parted and held slightly open. It was so unlike anything joyce had seen on her daughter’s face that it almost steadied her. That’s not amanda. That can’ t be.

But she knew it was. Steadiness deserted her.

joyce felt amanda moving, her thighs rhythmically squeezing joyce’s body, slowly rubbing her pussy on joyce’s yielding belly, where joyce felt amanda’ s hot slickness against her own cooled sweat. amanda’s feet pressed joyce’s inner thighs outward, as delicately and powerfully and maddeningly as her lips had captured joyce’s tongue and joyce’s wits.

she tried to say amanda’s name, but her own lips moved without sound, and on them, the taste of amanda stopped her mind again. she looked helplessly up into the smile. Even without teeth showing it was carnivorous. Being eaten . . .

“Alive . . . ?” she managed, shaking her head in apology to this beautiful thing that looked like her daughter, unable to come up with better.

amanda’s eyebrows lifted mockingly, and her smile widened a bit as she leaned back.

joyce felt her clit tapped lightly, expertly, and cried out.

The fingertip plumbed her slit, and then amanda lifted it and put it to her own lips, looking up as she sampled her mother’s taste. she narrowed her eyes, but nodded approvingly and smiled down again.

she lowered herself slowly, grinning, reaching down to hold joyce’s shoulders. joyce barely felt the smear of her own juice as amanda pinned her, leaned down and ran her face along joyce’s, tracing her cheek back and stopping, her mouth warm and just touching the rim of joyce’s ear.

joyce shivered beneath her, paralyzed. she whined her need.

amanda stayed perfectly still against her ear and let her wait.

joyce’s breathing was fast enough to touch her nipples to amanda’s but even that just . . . she was hyperventilating and her vision had started to blur.

“Alive.”

The word’s sound and heat and touch in her ear made her scream.

The soft laugh that followed it made her moan.

“you didn’t expect that, mom? mommmmmm?” Trilling that against her ear, making joyce spasm up against her, amanda licked her suddenly and harshly and reared up to loom over her again, head up and eyes down . . . aroused, and scornful.

After gazing at her, amanda lowered herself again, smoothly taking joyce’s mouth and kissing her, deeply and firmly, and it made joyce’s head swim with pleasure before anything else. As the rest of her stunned feelings began to reassemble, amanda released her mouth and rested her forehead against joyce’ s, eye to eye with her, and impaled her thoughts with the familiar/alien stare.

amanda spoke. her words buzzed through joyce’s skull. her breath was hot against the inside of joyce’s gaping mouth and joyce sucked in her words. “you know the last thing you feared was that our Divine Mistress would kill me.

“She wanted the rest of our family . . .” amanda licked her lips, and then licked joyce’s. " . . . alllllive.”

joyce gasped.

Easing up to sit astride her again with slow serpentine grace, amanda nodded. “Yes, mom. i saw you kill him.” she stared solemnly down at her mother, motionless, and joyce could only lie there, unbearably turned on as her daughter paused in playing with her.

“i saw you come while he screamed. He tried not to but he did.”

joyce closed her eyes. she tried to drift away, but amanda’s juices were fresh on her and in her and amanda’s lithe hot body gripped her and amanda’s voice had softly cut into her brain.

“mom.” her breasts sang with pain as amanda grasped them and joyce’s eyes flew open as she stifled another cry. amanda was still looking grimly down at her. “i saw you do what your Owner told you to do.”

joyce lay there. There was a high, silent whine in her head. she stared up into amanda’s eyes.

“i saw you do it with nothing but the memory of Her voice liquefying your mind. you had so little will you stood there and did it, all by your . . . self.”

amanda closed her eyes, opened them. “i saw it all later, on the tape. Because while it really happened, i was going under deep hypnosis, when one of the bitches you commanded tweaked my mind with an inducer. i was in la-la land while you killed my father.”

amanda looked down, calculatingly, her mouth slightly open, and began very slowly to work her hips around, rubbing her loins against joyce’s. joyce felt herself join the slow dance, keeping the light contact with her daughter’s cunt as though tethered to it.

“Whatever.“ joyce shivered, hearing amanda parody a girl she’d never been. “She’s certainly done wonders with mine! Sometimes She lets me remember what i used to be like, but She doesn’t need to do that much at all, anymore.” she looked up and over her shoulder, and joyce realized Mistress was still there, watching, drinking it in.

“She thought of breeding me at first, did you know? As a broodmare? First a lobotomy, and then I’d just be fed and fucked to make babies. A fresh new slutchild for Her every cycle, and no backtalk from amanda the stuffed artichoke.”

she laughed. “She let me think about that for two days. i was okay until i fell asleep, and then—”

she hadn’t broken the circular rhythm of her hips, and joyce moved helplessly to it, the arousal worming into her numbness and dripping down past it, opening her to amanda’s words.

“Maybe She still will, mom. She says you’re excellent slave stock, and since i responded so well to Her control”—amanda’s eyes rolled up and her breathing hitched but she seemed totally unaware—“She said it might well be genetic. we were born to be enslaved, you and i. Just a question of whose chain we ended up licking . . .

“Then She let me help interview that really candyass friend of yours. slave sheila. Something about an artificial personality She’d implanted and something interesting it tried to do. Whatever it was, it sure as shit cried a lot.”

amanda lowered herself slightly, looking down, no longer even pretending not to be playing for effect. “i can’t really remember whether she cried more when Mistress made me hurt her, or when She made me hurt myself. Actually, i can’t remember which one made me cry more.

“Or why either one would make me cry, period, but go figure.” amanda slowed and stopped her gyration and raised herself from joyce. her mouth twitched into a grin as she watched joyce try to fight it when joyce’s tantalized pussy drew her up, her pelvis shifting, seeking blindly for its lost rider.

“Then She put me on urban outreach.” amanda looked down at her. “i can look way younger than early-twenties, and i can run with the sluts now. Runaways, rich bitches slumming, and”—she licked her lips and gazed into space for a moment—“ravers. i brought Mistress lots of new talent.” she raised her eyebrows. “They trust me.”

joyce was numb.

she clung to numbness like a rock in an ebbtide, even as the gentle deadly undertow of desire that amanda was stirring tried insidiously to pull her off. There is no bottom. There is always something beneath it to sink into.

“i worship Her because She’s the Supreme Being,” amanda breathed, and looked back once again for Mistress’ approval. “But you got me started, mom. Even when i helped try to drag you out of slavery, you slid back in and you brought me with you.

“you’re the best, mom.” amanda’s fond look down was worse than any of the rest of it.

“And i know you mean it. When you were killing Dad. i told you—on the tape, i saw you come. While you did it.

“When Mistress lets me watch it, it certainly makes me come like crazy.”

41.

Anita didn’t know what woke her. She opened her eyes to silence.

But when she turned to look down toward the bath area, she saw Joyce kneeling on the floor facing the vanity. For a moment she just stared, drinking in Joyce’s supple silhouette and her straight dancer’s posture, the long curves of her thighs beneath her.

She slid out from the sheets and stood, looking at her keeper as she waited to grow more wakeful. She realized Joyce was moving slightly, and just as her eyes cleared, she saw Joyce bow her head. Then she heard the little sounds Joyce was making as she wept, keeping them almost hidden.

Joyce saw her moving and turned toward her, and seeing her face now, Anita saw how hard she’d been crying. She thought of Patrice, and of Livvy in the chair. Joyce’s body betrayed a suppressed impulse to turn away and hide, and Anita ached as she thought of Joyce holding it all in again to let her pet sleep in peace. But Joyce didn’t turn away, and knelt there waiting for her.

Feeling wrong to stand, Anita flowed to her knees and moved quickly to her on all fours. Even apart from hating whatever was making her keeper hurt so much, Anita was worried by how open and frail she looked.

“Ma’am?” she whispered, and felt What happened? bend neatly into “Please, Ma’am, is there . . . something your pet can do to make you feel good?”

Joyce looked at her, and tried to say her name, but her voice cracked. When Anita tried to reach for her, her refusal was an agonized moan. Anita pulled back but her resentment evaporated in the dread of what had done this to her keeper.

It registered that Joyce’s gaze had been drifting to a spot on the floor before her. Anita followed the path to where the carpet gave way to tile, and there she saw a neatly-folded towel on the floor.

The straight razor lay on it, open and gleaming.

Dear merciful god.

Joyce looked at it and then down between her parted thighs. “Anita,” she whispered, barely breathing it. “i have to . . .” Then she broke down again, and when Anita moved to touch her again, she made a short sound almost like a hyena’s cry, desperate and lost.

Anita bent to the floor, and moved forward almost on her belly, touching Joyce finally not hand to arm but lips to knee, looking up at her.

“Joyce,” she whispered, winning Joyce’s look again. “I am yours, Ma’am. I am here to hear anything. Do anything.

“Please use me.”

Joyce looked at her, and Anita realized just doing that was costing Joyce a lot. “i,” she said, “i was . . .” She breathed, closed her eyes. Anita trembled, prostrate on the carpet before her, trying not even to think about the sliver of steel over there.

Joyce opened her eyes.

Her calm, now, was so much worse.

“Amanda. Owen. It was me. i did it.” She stared at Anita, and made herself say it. “i was the fucking monster that enslaved my daughter. i was the thing that murdered my husband.

“i gave them to my Owner. Obedience . . .”

Anita gaped up at her, and suddenly realized again what the Danziger women felt, seeing her there in the cells. Robotized and deadly.

What Joyce had done to obey—Mistress. What Mistress had commanded.

Dear merciful . . .

Anita felt more alone than ever in her life, staring at the woman who had just told her this. Helpless on her belly inches from her.

Then she remembered her first time with Joyce, lying this close, and like a nightscape under a moon as the clouds parted, everything they had said shifted shape and depth.

This was what Joyce kept locked inside herself.

Trying to protect Anita, terrified every moment because she’d failed before.

Anita remembered thinking: This is a woman I could belong to. And worship. She had not had any fucking idea then.

She did now.

Joyce still was.

Anita looked back up at Joyce, almost falling into her eyes, and reached out, putting her hand on Joyce’s thigh. The other woman’s skin was cool, and Anita wondered whether the strain might actually be putting Joyce in danger. Slowly, she drew herself up to kneel in front of Joyce, almost between her knees.

Joyce looked at her, spent. Worried. Feeling . . .

Anita held down all her own urgent emotions and focused on Joyce. She took Joyce’s limp hand and held it. She looked her keeper in the eye.

“You are not a thing.

“You are the most wondrous being who ever walked the earth.

“You saved me and I am not nothing, and I am not worth a hair on your—head . . .”

Joyce didn’t try to move. Anita couldn’t tell if she was squeezing back as they held hands.

Anita. Her lips moved but there was no sound. Her head shook, slowly. She closed her eyes and tears ran from them but she stayed still.

She opened them and they were bright.

“I can’t . . .” She moved her head toward the razor on the floor behind Anita. “I should. I must. But I can’t.” Anita realized Mistress would have piled Joyce’s mind with inhibitions—and suicide would be the first door to bar.

But she had left Joyce with the need undiminished. Anita suddenly had a whole new appreciation for their owner.

“Will you?”

Anita blinked. It made no sense at first, and then she understood.

Before she could stop it her mind showed her how it would feel, the toughness of tissue as it fought the blade, the hot ejaculation of bright arterial blood, perhaps blinding her to the sight of Joyce’s beautiful eyes going empty forever. She was ready to cry out her disbelief but then she paid attention to Joyce’s face.

The hope in Joyce’s face.

This was the best her lover hoped for in all the life she had.

I love her. Before anything else, before even belonging to her, I love her.

Anita stared back at Joyce, and put her hands by her sides, then bowed down, low, touching her forehead to the carpet and coming up again. Joyce watched her.

Putting her hands forward, she leaned in and down to Joyce’s crotch and kissed her gently, reverently above her pussy, then raised herself again. She leaned in and kissed Joyce below her breasts.

Settling back, she kept down the emotion that hit her, the sobs that simmered quietly in her chest, holding them carefully like a pail full to the brim. She locked eyes with Joyce, savoring the scent and taste of Joyce that she’d taken on her lips, and put her hands together as though to pray.

Offered them toward Joyce in the old gesture of vassalage.

“Ma’am, I am yours. I am your pet. My life is yours. I will please you and obey you.” She had to keep her teeth closed to force the next words out, hoping it wouldn’t sound like anger.

“Yes.

“I will do it. At your command.” She looked inside, desperate to mean it, to set Joyce’s heart at rest on this one terrible thing at least.

If it was all she had to give, it was Joyce’s for the asking. As was she.

Joyce’s eyes seemed to glow, and her mouth trembled. “Anita. i can make it easy. i can put you into trance—” She stopped.

Anita thought about not even being awake when Joyce died, and shook her head twice, roughly, like a child. Deeper reasons floated up when she fished for words. “No, Ma’am. Not easier than for you. Please.”

She swallowed, balanced, waited, blinked her eyes clear to look into Joyce’ s. “I love you before myself, Ma’am.”

Anita kept her hands together and held them forward to Joyce, bowing her head between her arms. “Yours, always.” She breathed. “Lady Joyce.”

She waited, trembling and just refusing to fall and felt Joyce’s palms cool against her hands, clasping them. Accepting her offering. She felt Joyce pull them gently apart and kiss each one, and she raised her head, the tears now streaming down her face as Joyce drew her closer.

Joyce leaned forward and took her mouth, and Anita moaned with the unexpected fierceness of Joyce’s kiss. She sagged and Joyce held her up, and when Joyce released her mouth she leaned against her, feeling Joyce’s thighs close against her legs as they knelt together.

“You are no pet, Anita.” Joyce whispered to her, letting Anita’s trembling move them both. “You are my love.

“And i will never ask my death of you that way.”

Relief made Anita limp and she sagged in Joyce’s arms, ashamed to need her help but too wrung out to resist it. Joyce put her lips gently to Anita’s ear. “i wasn’t even thinking. Mistress would have stopped you—but i saw you. i know what you would do for me. i can’t believe it. i don’t deserve it.

“But, Anita. You are so . . .”

Swooning against the warmth of Joyce’s neck, Anita opened her mind and heard herself. “You may ask anything you want of me. My life, my sanity . . .” With an effort, she turned in Joyce’s embrace to look at her. She was noticing the way Joyce smelled, the sheen of fluids on her skin. She leaned to her and slowly licked her cheek, tasting someone else. Someone who’d fucked Joyce, probably fucked with her.

Anita knew her Lady was a slave and a whore and a special toy of the other-than-human being that owned them both.

It didn’t matter.

She found strength in her arms and held Joyce tight.

“I am yours. Take anything. I just beg a chance to thank you for taking it.”

When she moved to kiss Joyce she found Joyce’s lips already seeking hers.

The joy hurt so much she moaned into Joyce’s mouth.

Joyce let the kiss linger until she was still and quiet again, her tongue impossibly tender as it seduced Anita’s. Anita floated . . .

Thighs dovetailed, they knelt. They held hands and leaned against each other. Anita felt the cool presence of Joyce’s knee against her cleft, and the heat of Joyce’s against her knee, cradled between Joyce’s soft, firm thighs.

Anita eased back and looked at Joyce, seeing how close to collapse she was. Joyce looked so bruised, so bled out. Anita longed to soothe her, and shivered with relief one more time to know that she wouldn’t have to obey with the razor.

She would have, and Joyce knew that. They knew Mistress would have hypnotized both of them before Anita could have turned to take it. But Joyce knew someone lived for her and would try to do even that for her.

Anita had never felt more worthwhile in her life.

“Joyce,” she whispered. “You need to rest. To sleep.”

Joyce smiled, and her eyelids fluttered. She looked lovely. “We both need sleep, my wonderful ex-pet.”

Anita sensed her weariness, her weakness, and focused on it. “You do need to sleep. Joyce. You’ve endured so much and you need to relax.” She saw Joyce’s eyes widen and blink, and was fascinated to see how caught Joyce looked. She kept staring, and let her hands start to squeeze Joyce’s, lightly and rhythmically. She would help her lover sleep, and her lover’s soft resistance would fade.

“So sleepy now, Joyce. So hard to think of anything but sleep. No need to fear or worry, because I’m here. I’ll watch over your sleep, I’ll watch you as you sleep. Relax, Joyce, and enjoy your sleep.”

She saw Joyce’s body start to loosen and her face go blank, but Joyce’s lips tried to work. “Anita . . .” Less a whisper than a sigh. “Not . . . this . . .”

So vulnerable, was Joyce now. Her will so weak. “Shh, love,” Anita said. “Soon you’ll be asleep. Just listen to my voice and relax and stop thinking. Thinking has hurt you and now you can stop thinking, you can just listen to my voice and let it relax you and put you to sleep.

“Let my voice be in your mind, Joyce. Where the thinking is. In your mind, my voice. Where the thinking was. Nothing there now but my voice.”

Anita had raised her hand to Joyce’s cheek, and now Joyce was leaning against it, her eyes almost closed. She might have been crying again, but her cheeks glistened with other things.

“ . . . voice . . .” she breathed.

Anita savored a strange feeling as she leaned in, took Joyce’s unresisting weight in her arms, passed her hand down over Joyce’s eyes and watched them close. She felt her pussy dampen and a tremor radiated out from it.

Such a strange feeling, to be hypnotizing Joyce again. I’m more freaked than I thought, Anita told herself, trying to forget the razor.

“You can hear me,” she whispered, and her pussy twitched as she heard Joyce ‘s ghostly murmur.

“Hear you . . .”

“You will go into this relaxing trance for me, Joyce, whenever I . . .”

42.

The door opened and Anita sat up, remembering Joyce’s words about Mistress’ slaves going where they wished, but dreading being taken away, now, hypnotized even for a little while out of her focus on the woman dozing next to her. She crouched protectively against Joyce and kissed the top of her head, and she felt Joyce relax. She thought of worrying about Joyce being ready to be so weak now, but thought about what she’d just been through and decided her Lady could be weak when she needed.

Anita looked at the intruders, both in nothing but collars—and headbands that bound their hair up and back. One was Sheila, and she trailed the other one, staring at her with a wide-eyed fascination that moistened Anita’ s pussy. It reminded her of how she must have gaped at Sheila before, under the spell that made it easy for Sheila to handle her when she was just more of Mistress’ merchandise.

Was? Anita didn’t listen and the inner whisper passed.

She looked at the woman who’d bewitched Sheila, a firm-bodied woman with olive skin and strong native American features. She remembered her now, from Danziger, when Kit had taken her from Joyce and detailed her to help herd the secretaries into draining the computers. Anita had an erotically-fogged memory of the dim room, the softly dangerous whispering voices, the skyline outside glimmering hypnotically. She and Sheila and another woman had drawn Anita into a seductive game, gently spun her into a trance that she’d awakened from in Joyce’s arms.

“Hello, Anita.” The voice was even more compelling this time. “We thought it would be good for you to join us in a fitness session.”

Anita pictured that. A roomful of naked slavewomen, moving rhythmically, identically, to the numbing throb of subliminally-laced—oh god. I might never wake up from—that.

“Didn’t we, Sheila?”

Sheila’s head bobbed lightly as she agreed, then her gaze focused as she realized what she was agreeing with. She murmured, “Yes, Elise.” Blinking, she turned to Anita. “Yes. Please join us, Anita.”

Anita’s skin chilled as her crotch grew warmer and the abstract danger of the mass-exercise enslavement faded before the immediate, seductive menace of this domme/slave. She could feel the aura of power around Elise, found herself enjoying the sight of pretty Sheila trapped in it like a fly in sap and wondering how it would feel to be suspended in the hardening amber of submission to this strange woman. So easy to lose herself.

She remembered the frightening pressure of Dr Calvert’s will when she’d delivered Janine for reprogramming, and how hard it had been to resist the need to give herself to the woman. She’d prayed to Mistress and to Joyce then, and Dr Calvert had let her go without leashing her mind . . . but Joyce was here, asleep against her. Anita thought of waking her.

Imagined the pain on Joyce’s face if she wasn’t after all, able to help Anita resist. No.

But then Joyce woke, and Anita felt the warmth of her arm tightening around her. Joyce’s voice was soft but clear. “If Anita wants to go, so be it, but she can stay here if she likes.”

Elise smiled so venomously that Anita’s heart skipped a beat, and gracefully reached forward to let a golden disc fall from her upturned palm. “Yes, Joyce.” Anita found her gaze drawn to its fall and blinked when its chain brought it up short, to swing gently. She felt Joyce’s identical twitch to follow it. “I thought you and I could talk about that.”

Anita heard Joyce’s breathing, recognized the weariness and fear as she nerved herself for a losing fight with the pendant’s hypnosis, and didn’t let herself think as she reached around, touched Joyce’s cheekbone and throat and put her lover into a trance with her own trigger. Joyce sagged against her and despite the two women there she closed her eyes and hugged her.

Lowering her gently to the bed, she kissed her and stood to face the others. Sheila looked at her dreamily but briefly, her gaze returning to Elise like a compass needle to a new north. Elise smiled.

“Very assertive, Anita. Done like a Controller.” She licked her lips as she watched the tremor that word sent through Anita, and Anita trembled again as she realized This woman can push any button she wants. Every button I have. What was I thinking?

I was thinking about Joyce, she told herself, and then tried to tell herself that was why she was starting to . . . feel good about this.

“I thought Joyce was in control of you, but you seem to have taught her to be a good girl.” Elise’s sneer thinned the compliment to nothing. “But it was hardly a contest, was it? Joyce has been brainwashed into an obedient slave. she could be taught to submit to a parakeet if it told her to. And you . . . " She held Anita’s gaze long enough to let her realize she’d let Elise transfix her for a moment. “Anyway, it’s well known that to command you must first learn to obey, and you know you still need that, Anita.

“To obey. To obey a Controller.”

Anita squirmed where she stood, and wanted to touch herself. She remembered Joyce masturbating while Carly was being brainwashed, and that—barely—snapped her out of it. She grasped for other reasons not to, but the obvious one, the hostile stranger in front of her, turned in her hand, as the idea of humiliating herself suddenly betrayed her into deeper arousal.

Elise watched her, intrigued, still smiling, waiting.

If she started frigging herself now, in front of Elise . . . and she sensed Elise would rouse Sheila from her reverie to watch, too . . . she could imagine the heat of shame. Anita could imagine it warm and wet, like being licked. Like licking herself. The ache in her neck roused her, and she realized she’s been looking down, trying to see if she could get one of her own nipples into her mouth.

For Elise.

She forced herself to turn back to Joyce, to look at her lover curled on their bed, heartbreakingly awkward as Anita had lain her down. Hypnotized. Joyce was so vulnerable. So helpless. So open.

So much like Anita felt.

She turned back to Elise, whose smile threatened to break into laughter but whose self-control kept it back. She’s the most powerful person here, Anita whispered to herself, seeing the rest of them in varying degrees of thrall to Elise. Elise’s control was completely devoid of the love that Joyce’s had, but that made it as seductive as . . . as it had been to let someone she barely knew bind her down. Sex with a stranger.

Anita swallowed and it didn’t help.

Elise lidded her eyes and shifted her head, and it seemed to soften her, a bit. It drew Anita, who looked at her, mesmerized by her mouth, the fine muscles around it that made her smile and her sneer so precise. The mouth spoke now for Elise.

“Obey now, slut.”

The shudder ran through Anita as she stiffened and turned to the bed. It built in her like a cruelly-withheld orgasm, what she was going to do. She was going to awaken her lover, her Lady, but first she would implant commands. To stare at Elise’s pendant, to accept Elise’s words, to lick Elise’s ass.

She knelt by the bed, feeling Elise behind her, and reached for Joyce’s head. She felt Joyce’s neck.

Joyce’s pulse. Her lover’s life beat under her fingertips. She remembered it awakening her when she’d spoken with Mistress, and now she remembered the last spell Elise had put her under, that night at Danziger.

Joyce had come for her then. She’d risen from the strange waking dream with Joyce’s hand warm on her ass, Joyce’s business suit pleasantly rough against her hips and her nylons between Anita’s thighs. Joyce’s worried eyes looking into hers, seeking Anita in her trance.

Joyce would not give her away just to scratch a submissive itch. She closed her eyes as she tried to dismiss the slow fire in her loins as an itch.

Anita remembered kneeling here before while two slaves waited to take her. She remembered how the obeisance to Joyce had come to her like a heaven-sent inspiration.

Joyce’s trance-dimmed eyes had lit up. Anita had reached past all the humiliation they’d used and knelt to her.

No.

I’m—still—Joyce’s!

Once again, just touching Joyce, watching her breathe, brought Anita back to sanity. She kissed Joyce and whispered to her only, “Sleep well, my Lady. I love you. Dream of me.”

She stood and faced Elise, respectfully at attention. She remembered Dr Calvert, and the truth she and Dr Calvert had shared echoed in her head again: Because it does not struggle, it is never faulted. She did not even think of defying Elise’s spell.

But while Anita was still adrift in the warm ripples of dominance the other slave exuded, she could float now instead of sinking into it. She was Joyce ‘s submissive, and that kept her head above the surface.

“My Lady has already spoken, Elise. I may go with you. Thank you for inviting me.”

Anita saw an odd tightening in Elise’s eyes, as if she’d somehow been thwarted. There was a flicker of something in Sheila’s eyes, but in Anita’s furtive glance it vanished, perhaps just a trick of the light as Sheila gazed adoringly at the other slave.

“Are you my Controller?” She knew the risk she was taking, giving Elise that opening, but this was no longer about resisting.

Elise smiled. “We will meet a Controller, Anita.”

She swallowed, trying not to panic at the thought of how the exercise session would overwhelm her. If Mistress ever wants to take me to that level, she’ll do it another way, she told herself. And she said she’d wait until I was . . . ready.

But as she followed the other two women out she was very glad she’d told Joyce I love you now, in case she didn’t remember, afterward.

43.

Anita had to lean against a wall outside the gym. She wasn’t used to that much exertion—she hadn’t used the health club that much when she was free, and after Master enslaved her she learned his preference for shapely-but-soft.

But she couldn’t remember a lot of what had happened inside, after Elise had led her and Sheila in and introduced them to the instructress, a hardbodied young woman whose gaze had been so intense Anita had completely zoned out on what her name had been.

Then there’d been the class itself, thirty or forty of Mistress’ slaves, identical in headbands, wristlets and anklets, and open-fronted bras. Anita recalled a brief weird thought of how practical Mistress was about support—and then the music started. It had been easy to follow the moves, and exciting to obey the instructress as she commanded them in a firm clear voice. And in the mirrors, Anita had seen the perfect unity of every woman in the room doing as she was told, exactly in step, submitting to the beat and the commands.

Anita submitted.

It had felt like the moments with the other uniformed slaves in the garage before they took Danziger, being one more unthinking perfect myrmidon among the others, but now it was even more intense and sexual, and Anita had zoned out again, her mind suspended in a lovely syrup of gyrating, gleaming women . . .

Of being one of them. One with them . . .

Now she leaned against a wall, the quiet deafening her, feeling well-fucked and still aroused at once.

A cool hand on her shoulder. Elise. “Refreshments?” she said, with a lewd grin totally unlike the crocodile leer she’d had back in Joyce’s room.

Elise looked dazed and happy, something like Anita felt but apparently without Anita’s misgivings. But that’s part of the payoff when Mistress brainwashes you—no misgivings. She shivered, but Elise herself was reassuring, and so was Sheila behind her, looking angelic with her flush from the workout.

Anita thought about Joyce, but pictured her sleeping, and knew she’d just fret over her lover if she went back. She’d hypnotized her involuntarily, twice, and it was only fair she let Joyce sleep all of it off undisturbed.

“Sure. Refreshments.” She followed them to another room where other women were gathering, still in the headbands though she and Elise left their bras in the gym. Sheila twirled hers in her left hand thoughtfully, and Anita had a sudden image of her using it for some imaginative knot.

More women entered—Kit and four others she didn’t recognize, all booted and bodysuited. Then Anita saw the servers . . . other collared women in heavier makeup than slaves here seemed to affect. An officers’ club, she thought. And I’m some kind of not-quite-lieutenant. The word “shavetail” passed through her mind, and she let it go.

“Candy coming?” Sheila asked Elise, seemingly free of the spell Elise had kept her under before.

Anita didn’t want to ask, but they saw her puzzlement. “Lapcandy,” Elise said, then looked past her and motioned with her chin. Her leer was back, and it was damn sexy when it wasn’t aimed at Anita. “Bonbons.”

Anita turned, and watched nude women crawl nimbly in through another door, moving sinuously on all fours around the legs of the women who seemed to be their handlers. Some of them went eagerly to the slaves who’d been waiting, while others knelt with demure caution in the center of the room.

No, not demure. Anita saw them spread their thighs, and every pussy shone with arousal even this far away. They arched back and moved, and she watched as they did something that wasn’t quite posing or stretching or floor gymnastics or exotic masturbation, but had her breathing very hard. She watched Kit nod to her troop, who stepped toward the . . . bonbons. Kit herself held back, but watched her girls with what looked like indulgence.

Was Carly . . . ? But she couldn’t see the other girl there. No, Carly was still being trained. She closed her eyes, but the thought of her friend screaming and moaning was distant now.

Real moans made her open her eyes. An active bonbon had crawled to them and knelt winsomely at Elise’s feet, smiling hopefully up at her. The girl’ s eyes went in and out of focus, and seemed to bounce between Elise’s face and her slit. Anita saw Elise waver, and realized the sex-slave, deliberately or as programmed, had been blowing gentle breaths at her pussy. Elise smiled, half in awareness and half lost in lust.

A server came by with a tray of drinks, and she took one. Sheila took two and held one for Elise, laughing softly as her friend tried to stay upright while the bonbon lapped delicately at her.

“Oh, fall down already,” she said, and laughed again as Elise tried to articulate a comeback but failed, whimpering instead and resting a shaking hand on the head of the girl eating her.

Anita felt exquisite softness against her thigh and looked down to find a plump young blonde kissing her leg with dazed absorption. The girl seemed to be working her way inward to Anita’s crotch but had gotten obsessed with the skin on the way. Her hand drifted down to caress the top of the girl’s head, and Anita stood there for a few moments, just enjoying it.

There were chairs and couches here and there, and she needed only to step back to recline and enjoy whatever this girl could do.

But I’m . . . Anita listened to Sheila and Elise laughing, and heard for the first time the musical giggle of the sex-slave who was serving them.

“ . . . I’m . . . married,” she thought, and bemusement gave way to a sweet ache as she thought of Joyce.

How totally fucked-up it was. And how right.

Anita sipped her drink, something nonalcoholic but pleasantly kicky, then set it down on an endtable. She stroked the girl’s head, feeling the warmth already close to her crotch, and gently used her fingertips to draw the other woman to look up at her.

She was not ready for the helpless need, the terrible openness of the slut-girl’s eyes, or her abject submission, or for how hot they all made her. Anita didn’t know whether to hug the girl and try to spirit her to Joyce’s room so they could take care of her . . .

. . . or grab her and rape her pretty round face until she fucked the girl to suffocation.

Anita held the face in her hands. “You’re so delightful,” she murmured, sensing the bonbon’s need to please and oddly reciprocating it. She felt the girl wriggle gently at the praise. Smoothing the blonde hair, she said, “You’ve been very good. Run along now.” The girl looked uncertain.

Wondering if her programming required her to bring a woman to orgasm, Anita leaned down. “You’ve made me happy. I bet there are lots of women here you can please!” She saw the girl’s face light up, and felt guilty.

The girl planted a parting kiss on her mound with a delicacy that almost made Anita break down and call her back, and beamed at her as she turned to crawl to another higher-level slave.

Anita wondered perversely what the blonde had done before she became Mistress’ girl.

No. She just wanted to go back to Joyce.

But she saw Kit across the room, by herself, and felt safe and strangely compelled to try talking to her. As she approached, she felt a familiar vulnerable warmth, very aware of the contrast of her nudity with Kit’s killer-robot garb. Kit’s gray eyes with their gold flecks swung to regard her, and Anita felt the danger as the thrill of a dancer taking a loaded gun ‘s barrel to her lips to mime fellatio.

“Hello, Kit.” Kit nodded.

Anita took a deep breath. “I’m glad I was able to perform well on the mission.” It felt like the beginning of flattery—she could already taste a sentence about Kit’s leadership forming, and only its inanity stalled it—but part of her was just eager to pay that kind of tribute to this other slave. It was like standing in front of a dark twin of Joyce, and she had to . . .

“You pleased Mistress,” Kit said matter-of-factly. “You did as well as a completely brainwashed slave.”

“Thank you, Kit.” It was praise—and it hadn’t been easy. “I felt very secure obeying your orders.

“Thank you also for telling my keeper that, before. I want to please her, too, and I was proud that you mentioned my obedience.”

Kit looked at her, and Anita realized that she was seeing through Anita’s little improvisation. She felt more naked—and that felt good.

So—it was like tonguing the gun barrel, now.

“slave joyce is a very obedient girl, too.” Kit didn’t elaborate.

Anita blinked. “Are you drinking anything?”

Kit looked at her, then out to the center of the room, where her followers had lost most of their uniform items in a cooing tangle of limbs. “The servers and bonbons are occupied.”

“May I . . . ?” Anita had an idea what she was doing, and the idea was so scary for so many reasons that she got wet just thinking about it. “What would you like?”

Something flickered across the Valkyrie face. “Anything.” Anita sucked a breath and stepped away, taking something from another server passing by and already back with Kit before she realized that she hadn’t gotten a drink for herself.

That she hadn’t meant to.

She held the glass before her, and then kept it there, sinking to one knee as if the glass were a fulcrum and looking up into the eyes again, as they looked down at her opaquely.

Now the gun barrel was against her soft palate. And she was learning ecstatically that she didn’t care. As she looked up at Kit’s sculpted body, resplendent in the leotard and polished where the leotard left her bare, she knew there was real adoration on her face.

Kit accepted the drink. Anita let her hands fall and stay down.

“May I lick you, Ma’am?” she whispered. Kit’s eyes narrowed and she nodded, a smile growing on her face. Not a nice one, but Anita wasn’t seeking nice now.

Anita leaned forward, and then decided not to use her hands. She leaned further, sliding her cheeks between Kit’s slightly-parted thighs, feeling their inner surfaces like satin-wrapped steel against her skin and face. The scent, different as everyone’s was, filled her nose and sent her mind spinning off into a salt world of hot, helpless . . .

Her lip found the fastening, and as she pictured the treasures of Kit’s crotch, soon to be hers to feast on, her teeth and tongue frantically worked it. She turned her head aside as the spandex whipped it up and away when she got it open, and she whined her pleasure as she nosed up tentatively, tasting and smelling, feeling the soft textures.

She eased back, wanting to ask permission again. She looked up at Kit.

“So—now, if you can lick ‘em, join ‘em?” Elise, her hair a little wild but otherwise quite in control, was leering again, as she and Sheila and one or two others who’d been using the bonbons stood a bit away, watching her abase herself before Kit.

Without Joyce there to balance her—or at risk if she melted—Anita was adrift again, and the fear of what oh what the FUCK am I playing with? was drowning in the warmth of being as degraded as a bonbon but with her mind intact to feel it.

Her compulsion to please Kit brought her in again, and she licked. She knew Sheila was watching, wondered if there were anything left of either of the Twins to remember what they’d had. If Sheila hated her for being used by her ex-lover in public.

But hate required respect, and now that Anita had sunk from guest to sex-slave with nothing but her own appetite ruling her, eating out her Controller in front of comrades and strangers—was “respect” one of the first words she should lose, when they started bimboizing her vocabulary?

She thought about Joyce and fled the thought, drunken on Kit’s sharp essence, more aware that she’d be sampling pussies than of anything else.

But I’m married, she tried to think.

Thinking was getting harder. But I’m . . .

A word glowed in her mind. It had seared the air before her long ago and been withdrawn, but now she was finding it emblazoned on her brain.

But . . . I’m . . .

She was.

Fuckwhore.