The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Sara Chase took a moment to suppress both her anger and her anxiety, before plastering a deeply fake smile on her face and knocking on the door to her boss’s top-floor executive office.

“Enter,” came the imperious command from within.

Sara opened the door and stepped inside, and was confronted by the imposing sight of Isabelle Capet, CEO of Merolingia Ltd., sitting behind her formidably large and expensive desk and tapping her fingers on it impatiently. The tapping was no surprise; Isabelle Capet was always impatient. But as always, her boss’s visible contempt for anyone she considered unworthy of her time never failed to set Sara on edge.

Isabelle Capet was 5′9 of ice-cold ultrabitch, dressed in a fantastically expensive suit to match. Her dark brown hair was in a cropped, side-swept style that, along with her dark eyeliner and wine-red lipstick, only added to her refined, dominant, predatory look. Her appearance was always immaculate. From the very first moment Sara had set eyes on her, she’d had a gut feeling that Isabelle was bad news, and she’d been right. The CEO had been an outside hire, brought in to address some of the company’s financial issues. She had done so with brutal efficiency. Every department had been decimated by mass layoffs, and for those that remained, long hours for less pay had become the norm. Everyone who’d tried to stand up to her had soon found their own heads on the chopping block; unfortunately, with the full confidence of the board behind her, Isabelle was unstoppable. As a department head, Sara was a little safer than some, but the price of that was that she had to deal with the tyrannical CEO up close and personal almost every single day. And, as Isabelle had recently taken great pleasure in reminding her, no-one was truly immune if she decided they didn’t deserve their position.

Isabelle Capet was unstoppable—until now. Or at least, that’s what Sara was hoping.

“Ah, Sara,” Isabelle said, eyeing her coolly. “To what do I owe this… pleasure? Be quick. I’m sure neither one of us wants to be late to the meeting.”

Sara nodded. Keeping a smile on her face was the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life, but it would all be worth it, if her plan came off. “I… just wanted to offer my congratulations, Ms Capet,” she replied, unconvincingly.

Isabelle raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Your congratulations?”

“Yes!” Sara did her best to sound enthusiastic. “You’ve been in your position for 6 months now, and you know, things have been going so well. Congratulations seemed in order. As did a small token of my respect.”

Isabelle looked no less skeptical. She was fully aware of how disliked she was—in fact, if anything she seemed to revel in it. “I see.”

“Here.” Sara held up the bottle she’d been carrying, and stepped forward to place it on the edge of Isabelle’s desk. Golden liquid bubbled and fizzed within. “Champagne,” she explained.

Isabelle picked up the bottle and inspected for a moment. It was entirely unremarkable, except for a brand name and logo she didn’t recognize. The logo was a strange, gold and pink crown, with what appeared to be a cartoonish pair of eyes on it. ‘Super Crown Champagne,’ it said beneath, in embossed, gold letters. Her face relaxed. “Oh, I see. I understand what this is about.”

“What?” Sara started sweating.

“You think that by giving me a gift, you can stay on my good side and keep your job.” Isabelle laughed. “Well, it’s not going to work. I’m not so easily bribed, Sara. It’s just like I warned you before. You need to run a tighter ship—and if you can’t, I’ll find someone who can.”

Behind her smile, Sara was gritting her teeth so hard her face was beginning to hurt. “Right.”

“I will keep the champagne, though,” Isabelle said. She smiled a mean, malicious smile. “You said it yourself. I’ve really turned this company around. I do deserve a reward. Perhaps I’ll take a few sips at the meeting. It’ll make dealing with you witless idiots a little more bearable.”

For once, the needless insult didn’t bother Sara. Isabelle was going to drink the champagne. That was all that mattered. Soon enough, none of them would have to put up with her bitchy bullshit anymore. Sara knew that the bottle she’d just handed over was no ordinary champagne. It hadn’t been easy to get her hands on, but Sara had been promised that, along with a small incantation, the potion had the power to rewrite reality itself. As the caster, Sara would be immune, but to everyone else, it would be like Isabelle had always been a very, very different person.

“Come along now,” Isabelle instructed. She stood up and slung her handbag over her shoulder, before picking up the bottle of champagne in one hand and using the other to reach beneath her deck and produce a single champagne glass. “The meeting starts soon. We don’t want to keep anybody waiting, do we?”

It was a bad joke. Isabelle loved keeping people waiting. But Sara did nothing more than nod, and follow silently as Isabelle led her out of the office and towards the elevator. For the first time ever, she was looking forward to one of Isabelle’s meetings. She wasn’t sure exactly what was going to happen, but she’d have a front-row seat, and she felt certain the results were going to be better than her wildest dreams. As she’d always said, if Isabelle was going to act like a spoiled, arrogant princess all the time, maybe she deserved to be treated like one.

“…so that’s going to be our plan going forward. And I fully expect each and every one of you to be totally on board with it,” Isabelle Capet finished, taking a moment to drink in all the dismayed expressions of all the women sitting around the conference table with her. Standing at the head of the table, she could see them all perfectly. She clapped her hands. “Comments? Questions?”

“But… these cuts…” spluttered Olivia Ducat, head of the marketing department. The poor woman looked utterly shocked. “Last time, we already had to cut every little thing that was non-essential! We can’t cope with this.”

Isabelle sighed. She was tired of dealing with these morons. “If you can’t cope,” she retorted frostily. “Perhaps you’re unsuited for your current position. If you feel unable to implement these cuts, you need only tender your resignation, Miss Ducat.”

That shut her up. After that, none of the others seemed inclined to speak up. Isabelle smiled. That was good. She didn’t need these people talking back to her. She’d had to fight tooth and nail to become CEO. She wasn’t some kind of over-privileged, upwards-failing rich kid. She was a self-made woman, and she wasn’t going to let anyone stand in her way. Looking around, Isabelle could see that all the other department heads seemed suitably cowed—except for Sara Chase, strangely. She’d been expecting some kind of show of defiance from her, as usual, but Sara was just sitting quietly with a serene expression on her face. Isabelle nodded to her approvingly. She didn’t for a moment believe that Sara’s change of heart was sincere, but perhaps she’d at least learned her place.

“Nothing else? Good. In that case, I think a small celebration is in order.” Isabelle lifted the bottle of champagne Sara had given her earlier, and popped the cork.

“Champagne?” piped up Amy Harker. “Oh, how kind!”

“Oh, shut up, you little kiss-ass,” Isabelle snarled. Nothing got on her nerves like a sycophant. Seeing Amy quiver did go some way to restoring her good mood, though. “This is all for me—at least, until the day one of you shows me that you actually deserve any kind of reward.”

Contemptuously ignoring the naked outrage she could see on faces all around her, Isabelle poured herself a tall glass of champagne, and held it to her lips.

“Cheers—to me,” she said, and took a sip. Her first thought was that the champagne was utterly delicious. Her second thought was that it must have been stronger than she was used to, because the moment she swallowed it, the whole world turned blurry around her. She felt dizzy, like the room was spinning and like the floor had collapsed underneath her, sending her plummeting all the way to ground level. Isabelle had to hold on to the conference table for stability as she rubbed her eyes, trying to somehow wipe away some of the bleariness.

Once her vision cleared, everything seemed different.

Well, perhaps not everything. Isabelle was still standing at the head of the table in the top-floor conference room, surrounded by all the department heads. It was still the same meeting. But something was strange. Everyone was looking at her differently. They seemed far more at ease than usual; their body language was relaxed, and their faces weren’t filled with fear and outrage. Some of them had polite, even friendly smiles on their faces. Isabelle was shocked. That wasn’t right. She liked that they were afraid of her. It helped her get her way. Was there something on her face? Something wrong with her clothes? Isabelle set her glass of champagne down on the table, looked down at herself, and gasped.

Her clothes were different. Nothing outrageous, but nonetheless, they were wrong. Her suit jacket was gone, replaced by something far more feminine: a white blouse, with a slightly frilled collar. Her suit pants had somehow morphed into a tasteful, knee-length pencil skirt, with tights underneath. Isabelle stared at herself, aghast. She would never wear anything like this to the office. It sent entirely the wrong message about the kind of boss she was. In fact, she wasn’t sure she owned clothes like these at all. And yet, here they were, a perfect fit for her body. Before she could even begin to try and think of an explanation, something else strange happened: a few locks of her hair fell down into her face. Isabelle froze. That was impossible. Her hair wasn’t that long. As the other women in the meeting watched quizzically, Isabelle bent over the conference table to look at her reflection in the glass. When she saw herself, she gasped yet again. Somehow, in the span of minutes, her short pixie cut had grown all the way out into a neat, chin-length bob. Her makeup had remained intact, but that was little comfort. Isabelle’s eyes went wide. What the hell had just happened to her?

“Isabelle?” Olivia asked, looking concerned. “You still with us?”

Isabelle’s blood ran cold. No-one ever dared called her anything else but Ms Capet, and that was exactly how she liked it. For now, though, she let it pass. There was something more pressing to be dealt with.

“Did any of you see… that?” Isabelle asked manically.

There was a pause. “See… what?” asked Priya Arnette, head of R&D.

Isabelle had no idea how to explain. “You know… this. Me! My clothes, my hair!” She gestured at herself frantically.

There was another pause, and then friendly laughter. “Oh, of course, we did!” Amy said reassuringly. “You look stunning as always, Isabelle. Is that a new hairstyle for you? It looks like you cut it back a little.”

“It’s… what?” Isabelle was growing more and more confused with each passing moment, and all of a sudden she had a throbbing headache. “Yes, it’s ne—… I mean, no. I mean… cut it back? W-what?”

Her voice petered out as, all of a sudden, Isabelle’s headache turned so intense she felt like her temples were about to split open. It was like, for no reason that she could see, there was now more in her head than there had been before. More memories. She couldn’t explain it, but when Amy had mentioned she’d cut her hair back, she could remember that. She could feel its truth. But that didn’t make any sense. She could remember the opposite too. She could remember waking up with short hair, and putting on her business suit to go to work. What was happening to her? More and more, with each passing moment, new memories flooded in, threatening to drown the old. It wasn’t long before she was struggling to tell them apart. Feeling increasingly panicked, Isabelle tried to grasp at her bedrock, only to find that, too, crumbling away. She could still remember all those long hours working dead-end jobs to pay her own way through her MBA, but the memories were growing more and more distant, falling apart in her mind’s eye like they were being sucked into a black hole. And, as if to perfectly plug the holes that were opening up in her past, a very different set of memories started to form. She could still remember college, but she remembered lounging around at the weekends in the apartment her parents had paid for. They’d taken care of everything—tuition, rent, even the parties she liked to host. But… they hadn’t, had they? It felt so deeply wrong it was making her nauseous, but the more Isabelle searched her memories, the more she kept turning up evidence that it was right. Under the weight of all that, her certainty started to bend, and before she knew it, she found herself accepting the impossible.

“Do you need to sit down for a moment?” Amy asked, concerned, after watching Isabelle clutch at her own head for several long seconds.

“Um, no, that’s alright,” Isabelle replied slowly. Mercifully, the headache was starting to fade. She was still feeling a little faint, but she could deal with it. She needed to seem like she could handle things—she didn’t want people whispering that she’d only gotten this job because her mother was on the company board. Isabelle frowned momentarily. Was she? Was that right?

“Are you sure?” Sara asked, although she sounded more curious than concerned.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” To Isabelle, it had felt like someone rapidly pulled her mind apart at the seams, and now, they were putting it back together just as hastily. A smile flitted across her face. How silly of her, to get so confused about such obvious things. Of course her parents had put her through college. She’d always been their princess. And she remembered getting her hair cut just last week. How could she have forgotten?

“Good. So, can we talk a little more about these budget cuts?” Olivia pressed. “I know it’s what the board wants, but personally, I think it’s much too hasty.”

“You do?” Isabelle had always believed it was important to listen to input, even if it was ultimately her decision as CEO. She felt the unfamiliar urge to shout Olivia down, but she suppressed it. That wasn’t her.

“Yes. We’re already working people hard, and less manpower means we have to work people even harder. Employee satisfaction is going to fall just as fast as employee productivity. I don’t think this is a sustainable approach.”

Isabelle nodded thoughtfully. She believed the budget cuts were important, but she also hated the idea of making any of their workers unhappy. “Thank you for sharing your concerns with me, Olivia. I appreciate it very much. Perhaps we can take a second look at some of these cuts—but only some. Ultimately this is my call, and I hope you can respect that.”

Olivia nodded, seemingly satisfied with that. Isabelle smiled at her. It seemed like a fair compromise, and she was glad that people would respect that. Even if having a parent on the company board had helped her get her foot in the door, she’d still earned her position as CEO. All of a sudden, Isabelle felt nauseous again. It was as if, deep inside her, something was rebelling. A voice, buried within, wanted to scream that this wasn’t right, that she’d never needed any help, to get her foot in the door or for anything else. Isabelle rested a hand on the table again. What was wrong with her today? Maybe it was nerves. She still got a little anxious about big meetings, sometimes. To calm herself, Isabelle picked up her champagne glass and took another sip.

The world changed again.

Isabelle groaned audibly and clutched at her head, as the room once again started spinning around her. The sense of vertigo she’d experienced returned, as did her splitting headache. It was even worse than before. The CEO’s eyes went wide as her memories returned. The jarring discordance she felt at keeping both sets of memories in her head at once was beyond painful, but she refused to let go of any of it. How could she have forgotten so much? How could she ever have believed in that other, fake life, even for a moment? Isabelle was disgusted with that version of herself. So privileged. So weak. It wasn’t her. She refused to let it be her. But as she grappled with herself, she realized with horror that she was dealing with not just two sets of memories, but three. Isabelle started to panic. She couldn’t let this happen again—whatever ‘this’ was. She had to hold on. She had to-

The world stopped spinning, and Isabelle’s vision cleared.

The first thing Isabelle did was look down at herself, to make sure she hadn’t changed even further. She gasped as she saw that she had. She was wearing a dress now—a long, full-length dress with a full, pleated skirt and long sleeves. It was like something she might wear to a fancy party, but more old-fashioned somehow. It was modest, yes, but nonetheless entirely inappropriate for a business setting. It wasn’t long before she discovered that underneath, her flats had morphed into heels. Heels? Isabelle never wore heels. She could barely keep her balance in them. Isabelle was shaking as she reached up to find that, sure enough, her hair had yet again grown longer. It was shoulder length now, and curlier than before, and she was wearing a small clip to keep it in place. Her makeup had changed too, her lipstick becoming a far brighter shade of red and her dark, pronounced eyeliner becoming glittery eyeshadow. What was happening to her? She felt like she was going insane. The worst part was, she could remember the dress. It was Louis Vuitton; she could remember her mother buying it for her. But that was impossible. Her mother didn’t have that kind of money. She knew the memory was wrong, and yet there it was, in her head, sitting neatly alongside the rest of her thoughts. Isabelle felt like she was going to collapse. Three realities was far too many to keep in her head.

“Hey, Bella?” she heard a distant voice call out. “Are you sure you’re OK? You don’t seem well today.”

At first, Isabelle was simply confused. Bella? Who was that? But before she could ask, she found her own face contorting into a sweet, prissy smile, as she replied: “Oh yes! I’m fine.” Her own voice sounded oddly high-pitched, and she spoke with a new, more refined accent. “Just one of those light-headed moments. You know what I’m like!”

Isabelle found herself giggling, and the rest of the room laughed with her. Internally, though, she was apoplectic. She did not giggle—not ever. And ‘Bella’? Isabelle hated that cutesy nickname with a passion. She never allowed anyone to call her that. But now someone had, right here, at her company, and everyone was acting like it was completely normal. Isabelle wanted to rage and scream and throw things—but she couldn’t. In fact, she quickly found that she couldn’t even wipe the pretty, wide-eyed, simpering smile from her own face. Isabelle felt like a prisoner in her own body, which was piloting itself around like a ghoulish puppet held on someone else’s strings.

“Oh, we know,” said Amy, with a knowing wink. Isabelle felt her cheeks flare with embarrassment as she blushed, giggling all the more. It felt so wrong. “But, look, Bella, we really need to talk about these budget cuts. They’re just not going to work out. It’s… well, I think the explanation would go a little over your head. But the bottom line is, we need you to take this back to your moth- I mean, the chairwoman of the board, and tell her that this isn’t acceptable.”

Isabelle wanted to tear out her own hair at the absurdity of what she was hearing. Even Amy was questioning her now? And her mother wasn’t chairwoman of the board. Was she? No, Isabelle told herself. That was surely one of the false memories she was dealing with. It couldn’t be real. There’s no way she could have gotten her appointment as CEO from pure nepotism. The mere idea of it disgusted her. Yet, the more she thought about what Amy was saying to her, the more uncertain she started to feel. She wanted to bite back, but she suddenly found herself doubting whether or not the budget cuts were really so important after all. She’d thought so, but… why? All the numbers she’d so carefully memorized started to turn into just so much mathematical soup as years of business expertise started to fade away. That was perhaps the most alarming thing of all. Isabelle knew she couldn’t let all of that knowledge slip away. She’d worked so hard on her MBA for it! Hadn’t she? Those memories were growing fainter too. Had she been to college? She thought she could remember it, but she was also starting to remember her parents affectionately telling her that she wasn’t suited for it, and that all she needed to do was look pretty. Idly, Isabelle raised a hand to her mouth and giggled demurely to herself. That was the main reason they’d made her CEO, after all. No wonder she couldn’t make sense of complicated things like budget cuts!

Isabelle’s blood froze. No. No, no, no. She couldn’t let it happen again. She couldn’t let it all slip away again. However, she wasn’t sure how she could fight it. She could feel the remorseless pull of the yawning black hole in her own mind, pulling in all her real memories and leaving her with this ridiculous, false life.

She had to remember. Isabelle tried to focus on the absolute basics. Her name was Isabelle. Her name was Isabelle. Her name was Isabelle. Her name was…

What was her name?

She could feel it in her mind, she could feel the shape of it, but she couldn’t quite grasp it.

Isa… Isa…

Belle? No, that wasn’t quite right. It was longer than that, she was sure

Isa…. Isabella? That was close. She could feel it. But there was still a little off about it. What was her name?

Isabella? Isa… bella? Bella?

Bella?

Bella.

The name settled in her mind like a lead weight. Bella. Her name was Bella. Part of her knew that was wrong, but that part of her was rapidly disappearing, its furious, screaming voice fading into nothingness. Once it was gone, Bella felt much better. Her headache was gone. She tittered, as she turned to look back at Amy.

“Of course, Amy,” Bella said generously, a happy, placid smile on her face. She took a moment to settle back on her heels, and adjust her pretty dress to make sure it was absolutely perfect. “Whatever you say! I’d be ever so glad to help. I know I’m not as intelligent as all of you, but if you can furnish me with an alternative proposal, I’d be more than happy to take it back to Mother. I’m always happy to be of service.”

Bella knew some people found her flowery way of speaking a little strange, especially paired with her posh, clipped accent, but to her it came perfectly naturally. It was simply how she’d been brought up—with a silver spoon in her mouth, as some people like to remind her. There was an odd knot of tension in her stomach, though, as if something wasn’t right, paired with a little voice telling her it was wrong to be such a weak little pushover. Bella quashed it with ease. She was just doing her part to help and be helpful, and provide service to others. Wasn’t that what good girls were supposed to do?

“Thank you so much, Bella!” Amy said, a warm smile on her face. Bella was struck by the feeling that it was strange to see her employees looking at her so gratefully. But weren’t they always like that. “As expected of our princess!”

Everyone around the conference table laughed, but Bella was confused. Princess? Why would anyone call her that? In little more than an instant, though, new memories rushed in to fill the gaps. Once she remembered, Bella blushed slightly. Of course. It was her nickname! How could she have forgotten? Personally, she’d always thought it was a little over-the-top, but if it made everyone else feel good, who was she to complain?

“Yeah!” exclaimed Olivia. Bella yelped abruptly when the head of marketing, seated right next to her, reached over and shamelessly slapped her ass. “Good girl!”

“O-oh! Um…” Bella blushed furiously and started squirming. She had to fight not to whimper, especially as Olivia’s hand lingered on her ass, feeling and groping her for a long moment. What the hell was this? This wasn’t normal… was it? No-one else seemed surprised by it. Perhaps it was normal after all. Now that she thought about it, Bella could remember things like this happening before, once or twice. Or perhaps three or four times. Or perhaps more. Anyway, what was she supposed to do? Protest? That would be terribly rude, and completely unbecoming of a woman of her station. Besides, employee morale was one of her responsibilities. Since she so often felt like more of a figurehead than a real CEO, Belle supposed she should do her bit wherever she could. “T-thank you.”

“So… how are you actually feeling, Isabelle?” asked Sara Chase, suddenly. At first, Bella wasn’t sure who she was talking to—no-one called her ‘Isabelle’, after all—but then she realized Sara was staring at her intently.

“Who… me?” Bella giggled, although once again, she felt a strange knot of nausea form in her stomach. “My name’s Bella, silly!”

“Oh, of course.” Sara was smirking now. “OK, Bella, how are- actually, never mind.” She was struggling not to laugh now. “Why don’t you just take another sip of champagne? You know, to celebrate.”

“Hm? Well, OK!” Bella didn’t really know what she was supposed to be celebrating, but she wasn’t one to make a fuss. Smiling demurely, she raised her glass of champagne and took another sip.

For a third time, the world changed.

This time, the shift was even more violent than before. Isabelle was so disoriented, she could barely remember who she was. Was her name Isabelle, or Bella? She wasn’t even sure of that much. She could remember four different versions of her life, and each of them seemed just as vivid as the others. Deep inside, her inner sense of self was still there, fighting to be heard, but it was rapidly drowning underneath a deluge of competing memories and personality traits. Once the world stopped spinning, she looked down at herself, and her eyes went wide.

Her clothing had changed again. Or at least, so she thought. She wasn’t completely sure if her clothing had changed before, but she found herself marveling at the dress like it was something new. It was long and flowing, made of a rich, deep, silky purple fabric, and adorned with all kinds of frills and lace details. It was beautiful. On some level, Bella—that was her name, wasn’t it? Bella?—knew it was wrong, but she was far too enamored with her dress to care. It was like something out of a fairytale. She’d always loved dresses like that—hadn’t she? Yes, she was sure she had. Underneath, she was wearing a corset and crinoline, ensuring her figure looked absolutely perfect. Some might have found such things uncomfortable, but Bella didn’t. She’d spent so many long hours wearing them, at debutante balls and in special classes at her finishing school. Hadn’t she? Yes, she was sure she had. Her memories were a complete mess, but Bella didn’t feel any need to try and figure out what was going on. That kind of effort was unbecoming. Her job, after all, was simply to act sweet and look pretty. Bella quickly whipped out the small, pearl-laden mirror she always carried with her and checked herself in it. She was doing her job very well, in her own estimation. Her long hair hung around her in neat, pretty ringlets, and her bright pink lip gloss made her look so disarmingly innocent and feminine. For a moment, Bella thought to herself that she viciously, violently hated looking that way, but she knew that had to be wrong, because she always made sure she looked like this. Didn’t she? Yes, she was sure she did.

Bella looked up. No-one seemed to be paying attention to her. Instead, all the department heads were talking amongst themselves, discussing the budget cuts on their own. Belle frowned briefly at that. It felt strange not to be in charge of a meeting. But why would that be? She wasn’t supposed to be in charge. She was just a figurehead. A pretty face. That was what her parents had always told her, and they always knew best. After all, they owned the entire company. Bella knew she only had the job through nepotism, but well, that was the way the world worked.

“Did you catch all that?” It took Bella a moment to register that Priya was talking to her. She blushed, and curtsied.

“Oh, I’m afraid I did not. Please do accept my sincerest apologies.” Somehow, Bella’s voice sounded even more posh and refined than before.

Priya sighed. “Please try to pay attention, Princess. You are our CEO.”

Bella’s brow furrowed, as her head once again started to throb. Princess? Why did that feel so wrong? For just a moment, a totally different life flashed through her mind, one of struggle and self-improvement. Bella found herself giggling slightly. The more she focused on it, the more she could remember of it—and the more absurd it seemed. As if she could ever have lived like that! Whoever that girl in her memories was, she seemed rude and vulgar. Bella was an entirely different class of lady. She was a princess. The thought was growing more and more comfortable. Princess Bella. People had always called her that. It made sense. Her parents were practically royalty, after all. Still, though, she couldn’t completely shake her own discomfort. Why did she want to start swearing and tearing off her pretty dress? It made no sense. She was feeling decidedly unwell.

“Oh, relax, Priya,” said Amy, a grin on her face. “You know that’s not what Princess Bella’s here for.”

“W-what am I here for?” Princess Bella asked. Suddenly, she was sweating. She felt so uncertain. Why did what was so familiar seem so wrong? Why did what was clearly absurd seem so right? She was swimming in confusing, contradictory memories.

“Duh,” Amy replied, grinning wider still. “Stress relief.”

“Oh. Oh!” Princess Bella blushed fiercely as she realized what Amy meant. Her first instinct was to protest in shock, but that soon started to fade, smothered by other, far more submissive urges. A good princess did as she was told, and Princess Bella always wanted to be a good princess. She wanted to be kind and sweet and helpful, and if she could only help by allowing the others to work out their stress on her… well, surely any good princess should be willing to make a few sacrifices. It was a way of putting her pretty face to good use—or so they’d told her, when she’d done this before. Had she done this before? The memories were forming almost as soon as she asked herself that question, but still, Princess Bella wasn’t sure. Something was wrong.

“Yeah.” Amy spread her legs, and looked at Princess Bella lasciviously. “So, get under the table, Princess.”

“I… I… I… hngng… no!” Isabelle’s headache rose to ear-splitting intensity as she forced her way back up through the layers of false memories, managing to reclaim control of herself. “What the fuck?”

Everyone around the table looked at her in shock. “Princess Bella?” Olivia asked. “Are you OK? What’s wrong?”

“D-don’t fucking call me that!” Isabelle cried. She had to fight for each and every clear thought, but she refused to give up. “What the fuck is this bullshit?”

“Hey!” Sara Chase shouted, her voice as sharp as the crack of a whip. “There’s no need for that kind of language, Princess.” She spoke the last word with a pointed sneer.

“Fu—… fu—… f—…” Isabelle let out a wordless cry as she discovered, to her horror, she couldn’t say it anymore. Years of strict education and refined upbringing had drilled into her that she shouldn’t, and even though she knew those memories were false, she couldn’t seem to stop them affecting her. The urge to submit was so deeply ingrained in her now. Trying to figure out exactly which memories were real and which weren’t was futile. The memories she thought were true, the ones she thought she could rely on, kept changing and distorting, trying to bend her life out of shape to fit this new narrative.

“Should we call someone?” Olivia asked, worried.

“No, don’t worry,” Sara said. “I’ve got this.”

Isabelle looked at her. Sara seemed to understand something. To know something. But what was going on? Isabelle thought as hard as she could, and when she started piecing it together, she let out a shriek.

“You! The champagne!” She didn’t know how it was possible, but the pattern was unmistakable.

“That’s right. The champagne.” Sara smiled cruelly, and then adopted a tone of entirely fake concern. “The champagne will help calm you down. You just need a drink, Princess. That’s all. Drink up.”

“I… no!” Isabelle cried, but the urge to obey was unbelievably strong. She felt like a prisoner in her own body once more as she found herself taking hold of the glass and raising it to her lips.

“Drink,” Sara repeated firmly. “Don’t you want to be a good little princess?”

Isabelle couldn’t stop herself. She drank—not just a sip, but the whole glass.

The world changed one last time. Reality warped all around Isabelle, the effect so intense it utterly swept her off her feet. This time, there was no resistance, no fighting to hold on to her memories. They simply disintegrated, swept away along with the sense of self she’d once known. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she was a very, very different person.

Princess smiled serenely from her throne at the head of the conference table, watching contentedly as her subordinates discussed what was best for her and her company. Her trusted advisers always knew best, and so Princess always happily deferred to their wishes. Her makeup was just as pretty and feminine as before, her hair just as curled and carefully-styled as before, and her dress just as rich and opulent as before—the only difference was that underneath it, she was wearing a chastity belt. It wouldn’t be right for a princess to do something like touch herself, naturally.

“Excuse me,” Princess said politely, addressing Sara, seated at her side. All memory of what Sara had done to her was long gone. “Would you care to be serviced?”

“Yes, Princess,” Sara said, smiling gleefully. Smiling demurely back at her in return, Princess slipped out of her throne and onto her knees, waiting for Sara to spread her legs. No-one else batted an eyelid. It was part of her duties as a princess, after all.

“You know, Princess,” Sara continued, as she parted her knees to allow Princess access to her pussy. “I was just starting to feel a little guilty. But you actually seem a lot happier this way. I think it’s for the best. Don’t you?”

“Of course,” Princess replied, even though she didn’t know what Sara was talking about. Without any sense of discomfort or unease, and as if she’d done it a thousand times before—which, as far as she knew, she had—Princess started eating Sara out, happily resigned to her royal duties as a posh, pretty executive toy.