Femdom Mind Control Flash Fiction
by S.B.
Working as Expected
“Hey, Dean. Do you have a minute?”
“I always have a minute for you, baby brother. What’s up, Kyle?”
“I need to tell you something. It’s about Joan.”
“Okay. What do you think she did this time?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, that sounded awful. What I meant to say was: what’s troubling you?”
“I know this is going to say weird, but I overheard a conversation and...”
“Slow down. What conversation? When did this happen? Spare no details.”
“It was... about a week ago or so. I was on the kitchen getting dinner ready the way she likes it when I heard her giggle. She had just stepped out of the shower and was talking to one of her friends, I guess. I didn’t want to eavesdrop, but it became impossible not to when she said: ‘yes, his programming is working as expected.’”
“That’s what you heard? Working as expected?”
“No. The full sentence was ‘his programming is working as expected’, emphasis on programming, and that’s scary as hell, don’t you think?”
“If that’s indeed what she said, I admit it’s a bit strange but scary? I don’t think so.”
“How can you not? She’s been programming me! I repeat: programming me! I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but if I can’t even trust my girlfriend, who am I going to trust? God, this is so frustrating. My head hurts.”
“Easy, Kyle. One thing at a time, okay? First of all, breathe. Can you do that for me? Take a long, deep breath and then exhale. I don’t you hyperventilating. Long, deep breath, that’s it. Now, do it again. Long, deep breath. There. Better?”
“Not really.”
“You will, trust me. Keep breathing like that and let’s go through this one more time. You say you heard her talking to someone on the phone and that she mentioned something about programming but how can you be certain she was referring to you?”
“Who else would she be talking about?”
“Unless you heard her specifically mention your name, it could have been anyone, really. Did you at any point heard her say: Kyle’s programming is working as expected?”
“No, but...”
“But what?”
“It doesn’t make sense she would be referring to someone else other than me.”
“Because deep down you yearn to be programmed by her in some way? Is that it?”
“No!”
“Then what is it? I really want to help you, but I don’t understand why you’re so fixated on the idea that she’s programming you just because you think you heard her say something she probably didn’t.”
“Wait... wait... wait... are you telling me I’m imagining things? That I’m projecting a delusion or something?”
“We imagine things all the time, I don’t know. Do you still read erotic mind control stories?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“A simple one, really. I seem to remember you enjoyed them quite a bit when you were at college. What was the name of that site again? EMC... something?”
“Fuck, Dean. You’re not helping!”
“I’m trying to. Do you still read them or not?”
“Sometimes, but...”
“Did you read one recently? Perhaps on the very same day you heard her say those strange things?”
“I....”
“Yes?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Okay? Do you remember what you had for lunch that day?”
“Sure. It was chicken... or... a cheeseburger and fries or... or... damn it!”
“So you’re not sure.”
“I guess not.”
“Interesting. You don’t remember simple things such as these and yet you clearly remember what she said. Why is that? Why is that particular memory so vivid for you and others aren’t?”
“Perhaps she made me forget. Maybe that’s what her programming is all about. Memory control.”
“Sounds like a plot for a campy B movie, if you ask me. I think there’s an easier explanation.”
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
“You’re tired. I know you’ve been working hard to get her that jacket she covets for her birthday. All those extra hours, all that stress that comes with them have been putting a dent on your state of mind. Coupled with the stories you say you keep reading, isn’t it possible that you started mixing things up? Not intentionally, but... isn’t it possible?”
“That I’m paranoid? Is that what you’re going for, really?”
“No, not paranoid, just exhausted. Memory is a weird thing, and our need to justify things we’re not sure even weirder. Sometimes, when we can’t process things correctly, our brains fill in the blanks on their own. Do you remember my wedding day? The color of the suit I was wearing?”
“How could I forget that dark brown monstrosity you chose?”
“Yeah... about that... I recently looked at some pictures of the event and even though I have this brown impression in my head, the suit was teal. Brown is what Dad wore.”
“No way!”
“It’s true. We both got fooled, somehow. You’re being fooled, too. Joan is the most adorable girl you’ve ever met. She would never program anyone, and you know it, so do yourself a favor, get some sleep, and then everything will be right again.”
“I don’t know if it’s that simple...”
“It is. You trust your big brother, don’t you?”
“Of course, I do.”
“Then get some rest and we’ll talk again soon.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Kyle hung up the phone and laid down in bed, eyes fixed on the blinking lights on the ceiling. A remnant of his childhood days, the faux starry sky was his balm of choice for haywire thoughts. At first, he struggled with the idea of falling asleep, but he eventually succumbed to the need of rest and smiled. He was lucky to have someone like Dean in his life. He had lost count at how many times his brother had helped him cope with his erratic behavior. If there was a medal for sainthood, he deserved it. Yes, his older sibling was an amazing person.
Too bad he didn’t exist.