The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

8.

Serena hurt and realized she was breathing, hard, as though she’d just sprinted too far. There were hands on her back and her neck. She leaned into them.

When she heard the numbers count back, she let herself go. Sobbing, she pressed her face into the warm shoulder without asking whose it was.

It had felt so good, ecstasy and passive sleep at once, for the price of an endless Yes. Now Serena felt filthy inside. Her juice was like icewater on her inner thighs. The arms holding her up held her closer.

“You are not guilty, Serena.” The voice was compelling but now it compelled her to stay awake, and despite everything she let it convince her.

“I’m sorry,” Dr Calvert murmured into her ear. “I was skating very close to the edge of ethics, there—let alone decency. But you told me you wanted to know the worst.”

“Was that—?” Serena half-remembered what she’d said as she’d slipped at last into trance, too seduced by watching Perri submit to fight it anymore. She’d asked to know what made the dark so enticing.

Damn her id, for thinking it was a journalist. At least she hoped that’s what her id had been after.

“It was based on what I’ve seen in the casework, but—” The arms tightened on her.

“I’m very, very sorry, Serena.” Dr Calvert’s voice was softer, bereft of its authority, as though by abusing its power she’d lost it. Her sudden vulnerability was almost more compelling. “That was wrong. I don’t care what you said you’d allow, I—”

Serena hugged her back, suddenly horrified at the prospect of this woman turning herself in for an ethics violation because of Serena’s . . . whatever it had been.

“No. I needed to know that. I guess I hadn’t really appreciated how it can feel to be controlled. If I’m going to write about this I need to know what it means.” She was still and felt Dr Calvert carefully release her. “I came here with a certain idea of what it meant to be mind-enslaved to someone else, bent into an instrument of their will.

“I guess I thought someone should be able to resist.”

“Serena.” She looked down. “Serena. Listen to me.

“You did resist.” She looked up. “That was what snapped you out of trance. It was why I asked that particular question. It was one I knew you wouldn’t answer, even under deep hypnosis.

“Someone could make you tell them, Serena.” The hypnotist looked sad. “Could make you happy to tell them. With drugs or certain technologies I know you’ve researched. There’s no way to fight that—although I think you’d hold out longer than many. But where you could resist, you did.”

Dr Calvert’s regally beautiful face looked fragile now, and more so as the hypnotist smiled a little crookedly. “Here, at least, with just hypnosis and the power of your own recent research and our talk, you let it control you for a while, but then you broke free. My brilliant idea with that question was not only that you’d wake up, but that you’d see where your strength was. A few more brilliant ideas like that, though, and . . .”

“No, Doctor.” Serena smiled back, and it was genuine—she could feel the warm pride at what she’d done. “It did work. Thanks.”

“Oh, Serena. Please don’t thank me. Not for doing this to you.”

She looked up into the anxious tawny eyes. Dr Calvert had watched her lose her virginity about how dangerous it all was, and mourned for her.

“No, Doctor.” She was whispering. “I know how I just felt. I know—” She looked at Perri, oblivious to Serena’s trauma and to the cruel little wetdream she’d starred in. Serena thought of how wet it had made her to think of Perri brainwashed into making herself a fucktoy, and nearly put her head on Dr Calvert’s shoulder again.

“No. I know what you just let me . . . taste . . . is just a whisper of what someone being controlled would face. Resistance isn’t even conceivable by then. I didn’t—”

“Serena. You did resist. I didn’t tell you to.”

Serena nodded, not wanting to argue. I know, she didn’t say. Part of me didn’t want to.

Before Dr Calvert could bring it up, she said, “Look. I’m a big girl. I just got a major life lesson and I can deal.” She smiled up at Dr Calvert. Some of that weird bisexual vibe from the trance still hummed in her, and she wondered what it would be like to wake up to that face, in bed.

If Dr Calvert were into women, herself—

She shook her head. “Anyway. This is Perri’s session. Please take care of her.”

Dr Calvert looked over at her patient and nodded. She rose from the arm of the chair, where she’d perched to comfort Serena, and then turned back to her. “Your source is lucky, whoever they are.”

Great! Just when I’d stopped crying. But Serena felt good as she dried her eyes again, and paid alert attention as Dr Calvert spoke softly to Perri, and Perri softly answered. She listened to a smart, well-adjusted girl confident enough to let someone stroll through her mind, and felt good.

When Perri was awakened, Serena was able to thank her and even to ask some intelligent questions about how it felt being hypnotized. Her trance was different than mine, at least, she snapped to herself when she felt hypocritical.

Perri answered in useful detail, and didn’t mention any erotic dimension for her. For Perri, it seemed to be another opportunity to exercise, flexing her mind instead of her body. It was hard to picture her now as the sweetly receptive somnambulist.

What a moron her ex-boyfriend was, Serena thought—wanting to trade this woman for a slutbunny.

As she left, Perri gave her e-mail to Serena, offering to help with research. “I’m not really that interested in working on mind control, per se,” she said. “But there’s a lot of stuff I can probably help with, and it comes up in the course work a lot.

“Some of the professors probably wish they had some, though.” She made a gag-me gesture and they were all laughing as she went to schedule her next appointment with Michaela.

Dr Calvert kept smiling, but with effort. “Serena, it’s up to you, but I’d be happy to have another session with you—some other time if you like—to talk about this. On the house, since I’m part of what caused it.” Seeing Serena hesitate, she added, “If you’d rather speak to someone else, I can also refer you to—”

Serena shook her head. She looked into the marvelous brandy eyes, and heard Dr Calvert breath in sharply. “I trust you, Doctor. If I have questions or . . . I’ll come to you with them.”

The gratitude in those eyes was heady. She drank more of it. “I wasn’t hurt, Doctor. You ‘first, did no harm.’ So I don’t need to be healed.”

She made herself walk over and take Dr Calvert’s hand. Not because she didn’t want to touch the hypnotist, but because she was going to have to make herself leave here. “If I need something, I’ll call Michaela. But in any case, Doctor—you really did help. I’ve never felt anything like that, and I needed to if I’m going to tell this story right.”

Dr Calvert shook her hand, and nodded without speaking, and Serena made it out to the reception area without finding an excuse to stay and bask in her attention a while longer. She was lucky she had. As she spoke with the receptionist another thing occurred to her.

“Um, Michaela.”

Michaela was one of those blessed people whose efficiency was more contagious than intimidating, and just her glance helped Serena get the idea together.

“One thing I didn’t have a chance to ask her. Does she work with hypnotic-resistance training, that sort of thing?”

“She could. Usually she refers people for that—it’s becoming a subspecialty.” The blonde snorted. “Not to mention all the quacks.”

And the predators. Neither of them mentioned that.

“But Dr Calvert does sometimes work with people. A lot of it’s self-esteem. Helping people know they have a right to resist.”

“Thanks, Michaela. I may touch base again, but if it’s just some basic questions I’ll try other sources first and then I can just leave them with you for her.”

Michaela nodded. “Speaking as the guardian of the gateway, I appreciate that. A lot of people abuse her accessibility.

“But she did say that she wants to be as available to you as possible. Your editor Ms Kassel is an old friend of hers.”

Serena left without making another appointment. She really did want to talk with someone about what had happened. Away from the hypnotist’s strong, reassuring presence she was starting to worry, again, about how she’d responded to the strange temptation.

Someone could make you tell them, Serena. Could make you happy to tell them. Serena shivered as she drove home. If just watching someone else fall under the spell and hearing a soothing voice could make her that susceptible, “certain technologies” would leave her crawling across the floor, pleading to be used.

She fought the arousal with something worse. If someone had conditioned Abigail Warrinder to feel that kind of joy at being their slave, then Eve had probably lost her friend forever. And someone had complete control over the mind and will of a very smart and very well-connected attorney.

Lori’s voicemail was on, and Serena just thanked her for setting up the meeting with Dr Calvert. She was relieved, in a way. After hearing about Lori’s foray with the gun, it seemed she’d be even more sympathetic to Serena’s worries. But Serena wasn’t sure she wanted to tell Lori how easily she’d succumbed.

She was between boyfriends, and it made her cold to realize that she hadn’t been with anyone she’d be able to talk with about this, not for a while.

Valerie Joplin’s voicemail was full. She’d given Serena another number, but Serena decided to leave her alone.

9.

abigail was Mistress’ slave now.

her head was empty as she slowly realized she was awake. The procedure was over. she waited passively, though she no longer remembered for what.

she might still have thoughts, but she no longer had access to them. she would be told to think them, once they had been selected for her.

Someone was undressing her, taking off the strange tight things she’d worn to be converted. Earbuds left her ears and goggles were taken from her face, but the room was quiet and dim and nothing hurt.

she heard only the soft, even breathing of the dronegirl who tended to her, standing still as the programmed hands gently made her naked again. It felt nice to move her leg or arm in silent obedience to a touch, both she and the more deeply enslaved dronegirl moving like puppets on invisible strings.

Another dronegirl stood at the console, looking expressionlessly from abigail to the monitors. she would make adjustments as the first dronegirl removed a sensor from abigail’s body, and abigail knew Mistress’ computers were still compiling the afterword on the destruction of Abigail Warrinder as a free person.

abigail stood there and steeped in her first conscious moments of slavery.

The first dronegirl handled her some more, and it felt as though there was nothing else on her. she felt water on her skin, but didn’t connect it to anything. The room was warm as well as silent, a place where she could grow used to outside reality without shock. The wet on her skin . . .

The wet where her thighs met was too close to her awareness for her to focus on it.

The conditioning was mostly a blank. What little seeped out into her blunted consciousness was like a saint’s vision of heaven, a glorious sense of Her deep within abigail’s selfhood, shining beauty so bright it would consume anything that wasn’t prostrate in worship. Her voice, replacing any other idea abigail had ever had.

abigail knew she didn’t need to remember.

she enjoyed knowing all three of them in this room were equally Mistress’ creatures, two slaves helping convert a third. her heart beat with gratitude for having her life and mind obliterated, to become something She could control.

she looked at the dronegirl who’d been monitoring her conversion, and caught glimpses of the first one, who now dabbed at her with a towel. There was something like the outline of a memory about giving women to Her to be made into Her dronegirls. abigail remembered nothing of any other women—it was hard to think of any woman at all without thinking also of Her, and then only of Her.

But it was sweet to imagine that these two might have known her before, perhaps worked for her, in the waste-time when she’d been Abigail Warrinder. They might have trusted her, even deferred to her. They would have been easy to send to their doom, told to go to Her on any pretext. They would have had no idea they were doing anything but obeying their boss—then flailed in a futile struggle before She overcame them.

The two slaves who’d processed her didn’t seem to recognize her either. But they were soulless, in a way that would have frightened the former Abigail but now only made her hot. There was only their programmed duty in their eyes now, and nothing but Mistress behind them.

abigail felt fairly mindless now, too. What she thought so idly now might just be droplets of her old awareness, beaded on the inner surface of her emptied mind before She had it filled with something new and more useful.

These naked, pretty dronegirls might be readying abigail for further brainwashing, to make her one of them. In a few minutes she might be padding blankly out of this room on Her errands, not even abigail anymore.

she looked at the empty-eyed thralls, and now they looked back at her. Both women stood at attention, as she did, while their minds registered that the currently-programmed tasks were complete. At some point a new task would take control.

The one who’d waited on her body sighed and slowly closed her eyes, turning off. The dronegirl behind the console stepped around it, taking abigail’s hand.

“Come with me.”

abigail gasped. she could obey commands. she could obey now.

she did, as the dronegirl led her to the door.

There was a softly-lit room with a circular bath. Two glassy-eyed women in silver bikinis knelt in the water, rising together to beckon her. The dronegirl led abigail to the edge of the tub and gave them abigail’s limp hands. They drew her in.

Slowly and silently they cleansed the sweat and juice and tears of abigail’s brainwashing from her. she stood and knelt at their touch. None of Her slaves said a word and there was only the thick sweet fog of the water and air, the gently lapping and splashing of the water, the scent of perfume. The restful sound of completely controlled women breathing and obeying.

They led her out and dried her. The dronegirl had remained at attention, staring through the steam of the bath. she was oblivious to everything except the command in her head to wait until the bath attendants signaled.

When they did, she stepped forward and took abigail’s hand. Neither looked back, forgetting the hypnotized attendants as the attendants forgot them. Both of the other women knelt back into the warm, soapy water to wait for the next commands they were to obey.

Mistress’ brainwashing chamber was downstairs in a large house. abigail knew she’d been here before, already bound to Her will but still having one of her own.

But she wasn’t even sure this wasn’t another phase of the brainwashing. she would happily accept an illusion of being in Mistress’ house, if it helped destroy some last remaining part of the old her, and made her a better slave.

Or a better dronegirl. Maybe there was another chamber where She completed the erasure. abigail’s pussy was warm now. These might be her last moments of even partial selfhood. How thrilling it was to spend them walking naked and dazed behind a mindless dronegirl, getting wet at what she was about to lose.

But they were upstairs, in familiar rooms made strange and wondrous by dozens of candles. There was no one, even in rooms where abigail’s stripped memory tried to tell her Mistress usually had Her devotees. Not even other dronegirls or servitors walked the halls. For a few steps abigail remembered spending time here herself as a hypnotized chambermaid, in hose and tiny cap and tinier skirt, at the beck and call of any of Her other slaves. Her thighs had been nicely sore from all the flawless curtseys she’d dropped, tending to her betters and happy to be of use with every hole she had.

That time was nothing, compared to this. The Abigail mincing in her heels then had been practically a free woman.

The brainsmoothed slave forgot her almost instantly, lost in the dream of being dulled into a nameless dronegirl instead.

Then there was a door. A dronegirl sentinel stood rigidly on either side. Each wore a decorative harness that glittered golden in the candlelight, leaving hard nipples and swollen labia displayed. Each one held a candelabrum in both hands like a ceremonial axe, the glow flickering across the golden blindfold that kept the light from each girl’s eyes.

Between them stood another slave, wearing only a collar, with her long hair gathered on her head. Her eyes were closed, and she might have been put to sleep when the two candle-sentries had been placed here.

abigail looked at her. Alyssa Pierce passed through her mind and was gone.

The face of the dronegirl who’d brought her stayed blank, but there was almost a hesitation as she stepped closer to the sleeping slave and snapped her fingers.

The slave awoke, and her eyes shone in the candleglow. She smiled at abigail and walked to her. She reached for abigail’s hands, and leaned forward to kiss her on the lips. She tasted of wine.

Her eyes burned with joy as she whispered. “Be welcome, sister. It was the way for me to beg Her, so when i greeted you it would be with Her flavor.”

Tears ran from the slave’s eyes, but she seemed happy and no regretful. “It is the way, but it was need for it that made me beg.” She shook, and seemed to fight an urge to press herself against abigail. “But She smiled, and kissed me, and told me what i already knew.

“That tonight, only Her new bride may taste Her.”

The slave looked at her again, but then only took her hand and led her to the door, between the motionless slavewomen and their candelabra.

Inside, She waited.

abigail saw nothing of the room. Commands embedded in her mind started to control her, but all she knew was Mistress. she forgot her erotic but melancholy dream of being mindstripped into a drone, as she realized that all along she was chosen, betrothed in her deepest sleep to the Beloved Who shaped her.

she forgot the slave who’d kissed her, though something made her squeeze the hand in hers before it, and even the memory of it, slipped away.

Mistress lay glorious on the bed, awaiting worship. But before abigail could even think of how, She rose with unbearable grace and went to meet Her bride.

abigail couldn’t speak, but Her smile said She knew what Her chosen slave tried to say.

That She had put the passionate truth in Her slave’s mind, Herself, didn’t matter.

10.

Serena had just slipped into her T-shirt and panties for bed when Eve called. Serena couldn’t dump her angst about the visit to Dr Calvert onto her source, anymore than she could afflict Valerie Joplin. She just mentioned she’d contacted an expert, and Eve didn’t seem interested, other than in making certain Warrinder’s name wouldn’t be mentioned.

Eve was the one who needed to unload, and Serena listened.

“I just . . . I don’t want to be someone’s robot, Serena.” The young lawyer’s voice was steady, but Serena could tell this was something Eve might have wanted to scream out loud. Maybe already had, inside her head.

“To walk around and look like myself, but with someone else’s commands blanking out my own will, my own sense of right and wrong.” Eve’s breathing was silent. When she paused Serena strained to be sure she was still there.

“I might end up working harder than ever to fulfill someone else’s agenda. Doing something I hated. People would trust in me, tell me secrets, put themselves in my hands . . . and they’d be giving themselves to my master, whoever it was. I might not even know.”

Serena opened her mouth and then closed it. She couldn’t spill her thoughts about this afternoon—she was listening to them.

“It wouldn’t even be my choice. Whoever controlled me would decide if they cared what happened to my client, and then they’d program me—to defend the client, to betray them, to string them along. Maybe I’d think it was what I had to do.

“I don’t know. I’ve heard that some mind controllers actually brainwash their victims into wanting to do their bidding. Maybe I’d enjoy—” Mercifully, she stopped.

Serena remembered wanting to do as she was told. How close Eve’s name had been to her lips, just for the asking.

“You know, Serena? Back at Endgames when we talked. Part of me is glad that miserable shit Fischer was exposed. But it’s still wrong. Someone wants him to die, or to spend the next ten years in appeals trying not to. I’d like to think it’s because they want him to pay for what he did to his wife, but people aren’t that good.

“But what if she was on trial? What if his wife had snapped first, and split his skull with his own nine-iron or whatever?” Eve had clearly visualized this, and for the first time she sounded halfway happy.

“And if we were defending her—but some bastard decided she was a bad little wifey and needed to pay for killing such a fine upstanding citizen, and could just throw a switch in my head to make me think that too. . .”

Eve started to lose it then, and Serena didn’t know how she managed to help her hold on. Eve could see herself as the brainwashed pawn that destroyed that woman on command, and it was starting to make her mind crack.

Before Serena went to bed, she looked out at the city, feeling safe from view so far up the cliff of her apartment block. It was less safe down there.

She thought again about Abigail Warrinder as a slave, serving not her client, not even her own self-interest, but the whims of some secret master. If Abigail was someone’s slave now, and they’d used her to destroy her own client, they might program her to frame someone else for it, so they could keep using her.

Serena wondered if that suspicion might even fall on Eve. She knew Eve enough, now, not to be surprised that Eve had never mentioned that fear, although Eve was too smart not to have thought of it.

It wasn’t just Warrinder, of course. If someone could enslave her, they could get to her opposite numbers in the DA’s office, too. It could be something large: a brainwashed Assistant DA would be targeted at someone the mind controllers wanted to destroy, and the target’s brainwashed counsel, Attorney Warrinder, would give them the necessary bad advice. Or just give the controllers access to her client, who would soon obligingly confess.

It was scary, and Serena knew it was hard to tell where that kind of control would stop. It could happen in any institution where people wielded power and where they could be useful and very dangerous as someone else’s obedient thralls.

As she had in Endgames, she reflected that they might want journalists to obey them. She herself wasn’t high enough in the press pecking order to be worth making into a puppet, but it might be easier to control the press at the top.

People like Lori Kassel, on the other hand, could be useful. Someone with the switches to Lori’s mind could use her to control what Serena or others could publish. They might not ever need to put Serena herself into a conditioning chamber, to make her say what they wanted.

She shivered and stepped back from the window, suddenly wary of night shadows that didn’t need telescopes. It was much too temptingly reassuring to rule oneself out as a target. To believe one was too small a fish to catch.

The mind-thieves slinking around down there among the lights might be quite happy to enslave her anyway. Precisely because a freelancer like her could disappear for a while without too much notice, she’d be a prime candidate to be abducted for long-term behavior modification at one of those quiet farms or warehouses they turned up now and then.

After quietly reappearing, an obedient Serena would get her big break from an obedient Lori, just when some better-known free journalist inexplicably up and vanished, or died in an accident. It would all go so well from there. If their masters were patient, both women would be part of a large, careful pattern of control that the public would never even suspect. Serena would be groomed to succeed Lori in her slave duties, and to select protegees of her own whom her controllers could brainwash into more like her.

Serena hugged herself. She remembered her fear from the talk with Eve at Endgames. If she did too well on this story, she might move herself up someone’s to-do list for exactly that reason. What an irony, if the media’s rising go-to girl on mind control were herself a mindslave.

What a disaster for anyone who relied on what she wrote . . .

She scuttled off to bed.

Sleep proved harder than she thought, but the problem wasn’t paranoia. As Serena drifted off, she kept dreaming of Perri helpless in trance. She saw Perri falling into the power of the light machine. Perri standing still with pulsing lights flickering in her pretty, empty face as a man slowly stripped her and began speaking commands. Perri slipping her own top and miniskirt off as she stood submissively in the hypnotist’s office, aroused and mindless.

It was making Serena wet.

She tried at one point to imagine Dr Calvert lulling Perri to sleep, in case the memory of her voice was as hypnotic as hearing it live. But soon she was fantasizing about kneeling captivated alongside Perri, just as lost under the spell of whatever hypnotist was enslaving them. Neither of them able to resist the command to turn and fuck each other, slowly. Feeling the sex bind them more tightly to their controller’s will.

Serena realized she wasn’t just dreaming that she masturbated. But it took real effort to draw her hand away from her pussy, and for a moment she fought the need to put it back.

She shivered. She thought about calling Dr Calvert, but it was late, and she was humiliated at the thought of what she’d say. So much for being resistant.

Pulling off the T-shirt and the soaked panties she’d tried to sleep in, she tried to make it feel as unerotic as possible, but seeing herself in the mirror almost dropped her to the floor to frig herself again. She was naked, pale, wild-haired—she looked like prey. The glitter of horror in her eyes could easily have been the fanatical light of a newly-converted slave.

Fleeing into the shower, she tried to calm down. She had to force her eyes from the pulse-nozzle attachment until that urge faded. Soon, soap and shampoo had replaced the bitch-in-heat scent, and she toweled off as roughly as she could. She avoided her clothes, which still reeked of her wetdreams, and went back to the bedroom, feeling cleaner.

Serena sensed she’d made a mistake. She’d worn nothing from the shower. Now she stepped into the bedroom like a freshly-bathed concubine sent in the night. The room was dark, and she found herself moving languidly, as if to seduce someone lying on the bed.

For a moment that roused her from the sex trance. She stopped, peering at the bed and then around, in case there really was someone. She reached over for the light switch.

But then she imagined the intruder flourishing something that glittered in the dim light to capture her mind. Serena let her eyes widen, transfixed, then closed them and let her hand float down again.

“Absolute obedience,” she promised the phantom, softly, submissively.

Her hand went to her pussy as she swayed into the empty room, and then crawled onto the bed. She stopped and put her face down, and smelled her earlier dreams in the sheets.

Serena made a sound. It might have been arousal or despair, but she forgot it a moment later. Then she slipped down on the bed, surrendering to it.

The phone startled her. She slithered across the sheets to get it, slipping snakelike over one of the pillows and leaving it under her hips. Just like that, positioned to be fucked from behind, she answered the phone.

Someone asked for a name she didn’t know. Serena apologized for being the wrong number in a sultry voice she didn’t know she was capable of, and hung up. She stayed on the pillow and let her ass move in the air as she masturbated. Then she slipped off to sleep.

11.

While Serena slept, she had another dream.

“Coooooome . . . coooooome . . .”

A soft, insistent voice called her out of slumber. A woman’s voice.

“Coooooome . . . coooooome . . .”

It was a voice she knew she must obey.

It was easy and sexy to move slowly, obeying the hypnotic summons in a trance.

Serena drifted out of the bedroom into the twilight world the city lights made of the apartment.

In the hallway waited Perri, nude and hypnotized.

“Coooooome.” As Serena obeyed, so did Perri, equally controlled by the voice.

Serena’s pussy glowed. She knew she was dreaming, and she could just relax and accept it.

They stopped, facing each other. Perri wore a collar, black and shiny, and she was even more subdued than when she’d been hypnotized. Being so deeply enslaved made her sexier.

Slavery was part of a dream, and Serena could just relax and accept it.

Perri raised her hand so a faceted jewel on a long thin chain hung before her face—and Serena’s, as they stared at each other.

She swung the jewel back and forth, and Serena ignored it, watching Perri’s wide eyes seem to go even blanker as they locked onto the jewel, back and forth.

Serena touched her pussy as she found herself caught as well. She’d been too mesmerized to notice right away. It was easy to keep watching and lose herself in Perri’s trance. Perri was whispering about how hypnotic the jewel was and they could not look away, and whispered other things Serena was too sleepy to hear.

Being hypnotized by another slave was just a dream, and she could just relax and accept it.

Dimly she realized the jewel was stationary, spinning slowly between their blank gazes. Perri let go and the jewel vanished in a shimmering of chain. Neither girl remembered it had been there. It made no noise when it hit the rug between their bare feet.

By now neither girl was capable of snapping out of her trance even to a much louder sound.

Their hands hung by their sides as they stared deeply into each other’s glassy, unblinking eyes.

From somewhere behind her, Perri produced something shiny and black. It was another collar, and as Serena stood still in trance, Perri fitted it to her throat and secured it.

“We must obey,” one of the them said.

“We must obey,” the other girl repeated.

They slid together and kissed. Serena was overwhelmed by feeling another woman’s lips and skin and hot slippery cleft, all against hers, for the first time. She squirmed against Perri’s firm, athletic body, melting in the way the girl’s strong arms held her so firmly and gently.

She’d never done more than fantasize about lesbian sex before, but this was a dream, and she could just relax and accept it.

Perri was a dreamgirl, dream-perfect, and Serena could enjoy her guiltlessly. There was very little left of guilt in Serena now, wiped away by the jewel’s hypnotic swing and melting against Perri’s hot smoothness.

Their tongues danced and then she sagged in Perri’s grip as the hypnotized girl kissed her way down Serena’s jaw and up her soft, soft throat to her ear. She might have whispered to Serena, but a thigh flexed against Serena’s desperate pussy and her mind whited out.

They were moving, dancing, fucking in motion toward the bedroom, and then Serena had taken the lead. She kissed Perri still and quelled the stronger girl with a wave across her eyes, making their lids droop as the powerful young body relaxed against hers. She led Perri by the hand and crawled onto the bed, proud of the still-damp places where she’d lain and juiced, seeing it inflame the girl.

Perri attacked her as she curled enticingly below, and Serena lost herself in the sex. Her first taste of pussy was something she sucked down between screams as her own cunt rode a tongue, and she nearly died ecstatic as powerful thighs spasmed around her collared neck.

She was sucking on the slick plastic of Perri’s collar as she writhed impaled on Perri’s finger in her ass. Perri was whispering to her . . .

Serena woke up alone and played with herself until it hit her like a cold draft.

She whirled in the sheets but no one was there, and she was dizzy from the tides of guilt and fear and longing where her mind drifted. Half-conscious, she slid out of the linens and reached blindly for a weapon, the antique bayonet she’d bought years ago.

Unsheathing it, she held it out and stalked through the apartment, at first not even thinking to turn lights on. When she did, she saw she was alone, and had been alone all night. She knelt on the rug where she’d dreamed Perri had kissed her, shaking with what she’d dreamed.

There was no collar around her throat.

It hadn’t been real. Perri hadn’t come to her like a hypnotized succuba. Serena let the bayonet thump to the rug where no spellbinding jewel had fallen.

Only the orgasms had been real. Her own mind had turned free, friendly Perri into a brainwashed sex slave—just like her. She’d dreamed it all herself.

Serena curled onto the rug, crying.

12.

“Serena?”

Michaela hadn’t bothered with formality when she’d heard Serena speak. Serena curled around the phone, no longer caring how she sounded. She could barely believe she’d called.

It might have been another dream, but things felt too shitty now to be anything but real.

“I’m sorry. I really . . .”

Michaela had stopped telling her not to apologize. Serena hadn’t told her what was wrong, but she knew something drastic was, and she was focused on getting Serena in to see Dr Calvert.

“I’ll open up 11 AM,” she said. “Can you make it then, Serena?”

Serena looked at the daylight. “I can’t—if there’s someone already—”

“This one can wait.” Dryly: “She has before.”

“But—” They both knew she was desperate.

“Serena, it’s all right.” Her voice went soft, and it took everything Serena had not to sob. “Dr Calvert’s taught me to tell the difference. It’s why she trusts me.”

Michaela hmmphed a little. “And it’s why I say who comes in, when. So I say you come in, at eleven. If you have any trouble getting here, let me know. OK?”

“Yes, Michaela.”

“See you then.”

When Serena sat up reality hit her again. She’d panicked. What had been a hardcore but private aberration, confined to her apartment and her head, was now something she was going to spill to a woman she was slightly afraid of, slightly aroused by, and didn’t really know at all.

She could call back and cancel, but then Dr Calvert would want to know why. It would certainly make it hard to consult her again.

Oh god. The story. She put her head in her hands. There was a real mind controller out there enslaving high-profile attorneys, and the next time Serena met her source, who was risking everything, she’d have this slave fantasy to try not thinking about.

She opened her eyes. And how do you know brave little Eve didn’t have the same dream last night—starring Abigail?

Or you?

Serena stood, and then looked down at herself. There were no bruises, no bitemarks. Nothing to show that she’d had hours of passionate sex with a brainwashed female jock. She wasn’t sure why she’d checked. It had just been a dream—did she really want to think it had happened?

She just hoped she didn’t run into Perri at the office.

In fact, there wasn’t anyone there but Michaela when Serena arrived, well before eleven. Which was good, as she realized from the way Michaela was carefully not noticing anything about how she looked. Or smelled.

She hadn’t even thought about a shower, and she’d just pulled on a new T-shirt and sweatpants. She put her hands over her face, trying to think of where her head had been when she rushed out of the apartment. Trying not to think of how much wilder her face and hair looked now than when she’d seen herself last night.

Michaela came over, warm with perfume, and very gently took her shoulders. She let Serena keep her face covered, so Serena stopped feeling quite so flyblown and let her hands down.

“It works,” Michaela told her, and smiled. “Kind of a gamine look.

“Really,” she murmured, “you shouldn’t worry, Serena. You’re the kind a lot of us hate—you still look good after a night like that.”

Serena looked over at her, trying to picture brisk, coiffed Michaela having A Night Like That, and suddenly she could. Like seeing La Deneuve herself roll out of the covers and purr. Toujours chic. She swallowed.

Michaela just smiled and propelled her further into the suite. “We have the amenities,” she said. “There’s the occasional patient who needs to really freshen up, and very often Dr Calvert needs to change for meetings or social events in the evenings and can’t rush home.” She hmmphed again. “She tried to convince me she could just ‘throw something on’ in her office and splash her face at the wetbar.”

The bathroom was sumptuous—it even had a tub. Michaela must be such a nice office despot, to make this kind of thing happen for her boss.

Serena turned to her and took her hands and suddenly her throat was full.

Michaela saved her from speaking. She squeezed Serena’s hands and said, “Unlimited hot water,” and then pointedly took a lush terry robe from a closet and hung it by the door. “I’ll see what we can do about the clothes.”

The shower soothed her, and when she belted the robe she wasn’t even terribly concerned about what she’d wear when she saw Dr Calvert. She stepped out and padded to the office door, which stood open. She saw Dr Calvert at her desk, radiant in a dark green ensemble, and the hypnotist looked up.

“Serena.” She modulated her voice, and Serena could feel the alarm and concern—and lingering guilt—that had been filtered out of it. Long practice in keeping patients calm.

She liked being calmed. She went inside and Dr Calvert met her halfway, not batting an eye at how she wasn’t dressed. A true aristocrat, Serena remembered someone saying, doesn’t trouble about protocol. Only bourgeois do.

But her head was spinning. She was about to talk about it.

Dr Calvert sat her down in the same chair where Perri had been hypnotized yesterday. Serena tensed, and then made herself relax. It just let Dr Calvert take an offset chair, so as not to be directly—

But then the hypnotist took the chair where she’d been yesterday, when she put both women under hypnosis. Serena felt herself weaken. She’d come here as a supplicant, was given someone else’s time. She’d used Dr Calvert’s tasteful soaps to wash her own sex off, and she sat here, nude under Dr Calvert’s robe.

She shivered, though the robe was warm and soft. This was a way people got brainwashed—thrown off-balance, feeling emotionally indebted, stripped of identity. She closed her eyes under Dr Calvert’s stare. It wasn’t an impatient stare. The truly aristocratic doctor wasn’t rushing her, even as a freeloader who’d displaced a paying patient.

Serena forgot about it. Being bathed and near-nude and rushed just made it easier. She had less dignity to lose, now, than if she’d come back as the self-possessed journalist and then tried to confess it. Confess what she’d thought about as she stroked herself senseless last night.

“I dreamed,” she said. The hypnotist nodded.

“About being hypnotized. Not just hypnotized.” She breathed in, out. “A slave. I was hypnotized into being a slave.”

“Whom did you obey?” Dr Calvert made it seem almost sane.

“It was . . .” Someone who sounded like you, Doctor. Mistress. She looked up. “It was a woman. I only dreamed her voice. I didn’t see her.

“I didn’t have to.” She shivered, realizing what she’d given up, just saying that.

“Were you the only slave, Serena?”

How did she know? Serena swallowed. Maybe Dr Calvert heard about a lot of dreams like this.

“No. There . . . Perri was with me.” She looked into the tawny eyes although she didn’t want to. “I dreamed Perri was another hypnotized slave. She—deepened me. She . . .” Serena stopped. She felt horribly guilty to say aloud what yesterday’s remorse had warped into.

But she was also aroused, and there was only the robe to hide it.

“Serena.” The voice was so calming.

“Would you feel more comfortable if you removed the robe before you tell me the rest of this?”

She looked up and met the brandy-colored gaze. Her heart pounded and she shivered in the chair. She remembered being held and apologized to yesterday, but she also remembered the powerful woman in the shadowed room, soothing the two of them into passive, obedient trance.

Her thighs moved apart a little.

“Yes, Doctor.”

13.

Dr Calvert nodded, and Serena stood. She looked into the hypnotist’s eyes, but she stayed awake, her fingers numb but lucky on the loose belt-knot.

Then she was opening the robe, showing her flushed, trembling body to Dr Calvert.

Dr Calvert looked at her for a long time. When she nodded again, Serena let the robe slide back onto the chair, and stood completely naked. She went hot and cold at once at the flicker in the hypnotist’s eyes—should she have put it back on?—but it was thrilling to humiliate herself anyway. Submitting to Dr Calvert felt too good.

Dr Calvert kept looking at her. Serena couldn’t tell whether she was being ogled or just humored, and just trembled in admiration for the other woman’s power to stay that inscrutable.

Unlike Serena.

A sound behind her made her think Michaela was coming in, but Dr Calvert didn’t blink and Serena didn’t move. It was Dr Calvert’s to decide, if her nude visitor was for display or not.

It was just the vents. Serena stayed there, being looked at. She felt her pussy, wet in the room air, and knew her nipples were taut.

“Does that feel better, Serena?”

She nodded, and then made herself say, “Yes, Doctor.”

It was so much more than better. The humiliation was doing things to her she’d never dreamed of. She felt as though Dr Calvert, lovely regal hypnotic clothed Dr Calvert, could ask her to do anything and she’d obey, without needing to be hypnotized.

“You’re being extremely submissive, Serena. Is that how you feel?”

“Y-yes. Doctor.”

There was a long pause. If Serena hadn’t already been nude at attention, it might have been an awkward one. “Are you submitting to me, Serena?”

She gasped and closed her eyes but forced them open. “From the moment I met you I wanted to,” she panted. “I—” She closed her eyes again.

“I don’t know why,” she said. “You’re so magnetic, so . . . beautiful . . . but I thought I was strong.”

“You are strong, Serena.” It made her groan.

“I—” She looked up again. Dr Calvert was freely studying her body now. The brandy gaze was almost palpable on her hips and across her thighs. On her wet, wet sex.

There was no sign of desire. Today, a woman leering at her would have made Serena damp. Somehow this cool regard left her almost dripping.

“I might have been strong, Doctor.” She said it softly. Submissively. “I thought I was. But then, I let you hypnotize me. I was under your control. I know what obeying you feels like.

“I can’t resist that now. If it were just a what-if . . . but . . . not now.” She swallowed.

Saying it felt so good.

The hypnotist looked at her. In other circumstances someone in Dr Calvert’s position might say I’ve created a monster. There was no sign Dr Calvert was thinking that.

And this wasn’t Dr Calvert’s creation.

“What do you need right now, Serena?” Again, the question was as simple as it sounded.

Before she could answer, Serena felt her hips swivel. She moved, not much. It was just need, but she wondered if Dr Calvert thought Serena was trying to seduce her.

Ohhh. She moved again as her thighs tightened. No. Not seduce. A woman seduced her equal, or her inferior. Not someone who could own her mind.

Serena was a slavegirl on the block, trying to get herself bought.

She looked desperately at the hypnotist and for a moment wondered why she was being allowed to simmer like this.

But Dr Calvert’s gaze was steady, and she realized that even now she was being allowed dignity. She wouldn’t be told what to say. She could choose it.

“I need to obey, Doctor. I need someone to obey.”

Dr Calvert nodded. “All right, Serena. Do you need to obey me?”

She straightened where she stood. “Yes, Doctor. I need to obey you.” Please.

“Is obedience a good thing, Serena? That kind of obedience?”

She breathed. “No, Doctor. It’s—dangerous.”

“Does it frighten you, Serena?”

“Ye—” She shivered. “Not as much as it should, Doctor. I’m scared but I’m aroused, and it’s like something’s come loose inside me.”

“Why are you asking to obey me that way, Serena? Have you fallen in love with me?”

“Yes!” she cried. “No. I mean I’m ready to, I . . .

“Please.”

“I won’t reject you, Serena.” Dr Calvert didn’t come to her but her voice was very soothing. “Just relax. Your submission is something I cherish and you are very, very attractive. As a journalist and a woman, and as a potential . . . slave.”

Serena bowed her head and nodded. The hypnotist was taking it in stride. Maybe other women, patients, had fallen for her this way too. Maybe they’d been under hypnosis when they told her. If Dr Calvert liked women after all, how hard it must be for her to coax them out of it. Or just quietly hypnotize them into forgetting the weird longing for her collar.

I’m not her patient.

“You are asking me to enslave you, Serena?”

She nodded, and found herself posing, as if on the auction block again. “Please, Doctor.

“Or someone else will.”

Dr Calvert digested that. “You came to me for help today, Serena.”

It took a moment, and then she felt cold. Dr Calvert had decided she was a patient, and not to be touched.

“You think that if someone’s controlling you, then others cannot.” Dr Calvert paused, and Serena heard her take a deep breath. “But you trust me, Serena—enough to feel safe in asking me to be your controller.” Her voice softened. “No one has ever asked that of me. Thank you.

“I could help you manage the submission that you’ve found in yourself. You could keep functioning as the free woman you are, but be able to deal with this.” She breathed, and looked Serena up and down again.

“We could never make love, Serena.” For once Dr Calvert’s eyes, and voice, weren’t opaque. Serena did love her, then, for showing that she wanted Serena—and regretted that they couldn’t. “But I could probably arrange for a surrogate. Equally consenting.”

Serena barely let herself realize this was agreement. Having sex to please their Mistress . . . unless the other woman was a friend, someone to whom Dr Calvert would lend her hypnotized slavegirl . . .

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Dr Calvert seemed to understand. “It won’t immunize you against brainwashing, Serena. A hypnotized woman, even one conditioned to obey one person, could still be overcome by other methods.” She let that sink in. “It might even make her easier to brainwash, once they controlled her submission. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Doctor.” She sighed. “I know that. Partly it’s that I feel alone—all of them and just me. But now that I’ve opened this door, I do need someone . . .”

She was crying. “Oh god. To care for me. God. I’m so—”

“Relax, Serena.” The voice was firmer now. “I do care for you. You’re like no woman I’ve met. You have a need and it does give you the right to ask this of me.”

Dr Calvert waited. She nodded. Then Dr Calvert looked at her again, and Serena was back on the auction block, winning the interest of an experienced slaver. When it softened, she felt the fond stare of someone who wanted her.

A woman. A very beautiful one, who was about to help her try to save her soul.

“Come to me, Serena.”

It startled her. It was like the command in her dream. She’d wanted this.

She obeyed, crossing to the other chair, close enough to feel the warmth of Dr Calvert’s long legs in their sheer hose.

“Kneel.” She sank down and kept her hands by her sides, looking up slightly.

“Look into my eyes, Serena, and listen only to my voice.”

She didn’t even ask, Serena thought happily.

“I have already trained you to sleep and obey at my command, so it’s very, very easy for you to be hypnotized now, so ready to relax and listen and do as you are told to do.”

Serena knelt before the hypnotist and obediently went deeper.

14.

Serena stood nude and utterly content, open to suggestion. She drifted comfortably in the tawny eyes, powerless and thrilled. The last thing she remembered was surrender.

“Fully awake now, Serena.”

She was aware of the office, the chair with the robe draped on it. Mistress in her green dress.

“How do you feel?”

“Incredible, Mistress.” She felt the little jolt as she said the title while conscious. She hypnotized me naked on my knees.

“Do something for me, Serena.”

It was a trigger and it was delicious as she aligned herself to it. “I obey, Mistress.”

“Go to that shelf and pick up the tray.”

“I obey, Mistress.” Saying it was like touching her clit, and her hypnotist knew it. She turned and walked across the office. She felt even more lusciously nude in its tasteful opulence, like some extra toy Mistress had treated herself to.

She slid the tray with the ewer and glasses back off the shelf—and stopped. She’d obeyed the command. She breathed faster. A maidservant might now take this to her mistress, even serve from it.

But a hypnotized slave could only wait to be instructed.

“Bring it, Serena.”

“I obey, Mistress.” She carefully carried it to where Mistress sat. Mistress let her stand a while, leafing through a professional journal.

“Pour two glasses now, Serena.”

“I obey, Mistress.” She welcomed the trance-calm that steadied her hands. She resumed attention as Mistress took one of the glasses.

“Pick that one up, Serena.”

“I obey, Mistress.” She raised the other glass only to waist level.

“When I snap my fingers, bring it to Michaela.”

She shook. “I—I obey, Mistress.”

Mistress didn’t react to the hesitation. “Tell her I bade you to bring her this water, and then that you are hers to command. Obey Michaela completely, Serena.”

“I obey, Mistress.” Her pussy clenched and her skin flushed, and she loved Mistress intensely.

Mistress read some more. Serena waited comfortably.

Snap.

Serena turned and carried the water to the door, and opened it. Stage fright, and more, tingled through her body and reminded her she was nude.

She strode out into the reception area. There were women there now, perhaps five of them. Something in her quailed but she felt it vanish before her utter trust in her hypnotist. Whatever happened, Mistress had made it safe.

Most of the women were looking away. No one called out or pointed. Serena felt charmed as she padded naked through the cool air, watching Michaela frown at something on her desk.

Maybe Mistress hypnotized them, first, and made me “invisible” to them. How thoughtful!

Then she felt eyes. One patient, an attractive woman with long red hair, was smiling at her.

Admiring her. Wanting her.

Wondering about a girl who fetched receptionists’ water in the nude. About what else a girl like that could be told to do.

She was damp when she reached Michaela’s desk. Michaela looked up—at her cleft, at her breasts, at her.

“Yes, Serena?”

“Hello, Michaela. Mistress ordered me to bring you this.” She held the glass in both hands and bowed a little, and Michaela took it graciously.

“Thank you, Serena.” She watched Serena straighten, saw her arms fall to her bare hips in open-palmed servility. She kept watching Serena as she drank some of it, then set the glass down. She raised an eyebrow to see Serena still there.

“I am under your command now, Michaela.”

The receptionist nodded. She looked past Serena to the others, who—other than the redhead—still made no sound to show they’d even noticed Serena. She thought for a moment.

“When I take my next drink of water, Serena, go at once to the waiting area. Present yourself to the woman you’d most want to sleep with.

“Choose a fashion magazine from the table, explain to her that you’re under hypnosis, and ask her to help you pick the best picture to masturbate to. Answer truthfully any questions she asks. You have no will to conceal anything.” Michaela looked at her. “If she rejects you, Serena, remain calm. Kneel and beg her pardon, and then see who else might be interested.”

Serena ached with the sheer need to do this.

“If no one is, bring the magazine to me.

“But if your first choice does want to play with you, ask her if she would like to see you play with yourself to the photo you choose. Then excuse yourself and return to me. Do you understand, Serena?”

“Yes, Michaela.” The blonde’s self-possession was driving her crazy, and she wanted to kiss Michaela’s ass for it.

“Do you have any questions, Serena?”

She blinked. “None, Michaela. I will obey.”

“You’re very obedient, Serena.” Michaela enjoyed looking at her some more. Then she took a dainty sip from the glass Serena had served her and turned back to her work.

Serena went to the women. Each looked up and scanned her nudity. She smiled back shyly but did nothing to cover herself. Each one kept her views to herself.

Serena already knew the redhead was the one she’d want.

She looked at the coffee table, blinking at its shimmer of beautiful pictures, savage and demure. She took one she knew would have fishnets and PVC—a tease for tame readers, but enough.

The redhead was tapping a gold pencil on the day planner in her lap. She looked up, smiling but a little surprised. Serena bent from the waist, offering the magazine like a menu.

“Excuse me.”

“Yes?”

Serena waited until the eyes had risen back to her face. “I’m very deeply hypnotized, and I really need to play with myself.” She spoke slowly and clearly. She heard murmurs but they just excited her. “I’ve been commanded to find a picture to watch while I do. A pretty, sexy woman to make me wet. I have to obey that command. Would you help me choose?”

The redhead slid the pencil into its loop. “What should I call you?”

“My name is Serena.”

“Serena. You may call me Ma’am.”

Someone chuckled, but Serena just responded as she knew she must. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Are you another patient of Dr Calvert’s, Serena?”

“No, Ma’am. I’m her slave.” Serena didn’t hear anything then. The blood was roaring too loudly in her ears as she said it.

The woman nodded and patted the arm of her chair, and Serena perched on the smooth blond wood. As she offered the magazine, the woman slid a hand onto her thigh.

“Let’s see, Serena.” Leaf leaf leaf.

“You’re lesbian, and submissive . . .” Leaf leaf pause. “Would a dominatrix turn you on?” She pointed at a slim-legged woman in a leather catsuit, glaring hatefully at them past an asymmetrical bottle. Before Serena could answer, the woman quieted her with a pat on her thigh and leafed further.

“Hmm. Or maybe a fellow slave?” A girl in torn fishnets and smeared makeup groveled in the back of a limousine, her legs spread around someone else’s black high-heeled boot. Her eyes peered up adoringly past the boot from the raccoon-domino of her mascara. This time Serena waited, and was rewarded with another caress. She knew her place.

The other women’s whispers were like feathers on her skin. Serena breathed faster. The pages turned. She hoped Michaela saw her.

Then she gasped.

On her thigh, the hand stroked her. “This one, Serena?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Tell me why this girl excites you, Serena.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” It was dark around the girl in the black-and-white gatefold. She was soaking wet, her sheer top not hiding her small breasts or taut nipples. Some of her hair streamed across her pretty face. She’d tried to run, but now she’d been frozen, not just by the camera but by something above and behind it. Soft lips parted, pale eyes wide and glazing, face loosening from fear she’d already forgotten.

“She’s been hypnotized, Ma’am.” Fingertips encouraged Serena to continue. “She’s helpless. She’ll be called and she’ll have to obey, and . . .”

“Serve them forever,” the redhead said. Her blue eyes were stunning after the paler ones of the spellbound model. “Wet and hypnotized and unable to say no. Is that what turns you on, Serena?”

Serena was lost in the sharp pretty features. She fought not to sag down and kiss her.

She closed her eyes. The lovely face was waiting when she opened them. “I guess we’ve found what you need, Serena.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am.” She sobbed a breath. “Would you like to watch while I masturbate?”

The woman stopped smiling. Serena’s breathing paused again. Then the smile returned. “That might be fun to start with, Serena. But a girl like you doesn’t just put on a show. Does she?”

Serena shook her head.

“It’s the difference between an exotic dancer and a prostitute, isn’t it?”

The chair arm was smoother and slicker as Serena squeezed her thighs around it. Suddenly she wondered if this were a policewoman. If she were a few breathless offers away from being dragged out in nothing but handcuffs.

Naked in a holding cell, with the other whores. Hypnotized to obey.

“What would you like me to do, Ma’am?” She spoke up so they could all hear her.

“What would fifty dollars buy me, Serena?”

She was a slave. It was up to her owner to price her body. But she mustn’t implicate Mistress as her pimp.

“For fifty dollars, Ma’am, I’ll do anything you want me to.”

The redhead laughed and tapped her thigh. “Up, girl. Unlike some, I don’t go twitching my ass in public. Is there a more private room we can use?”

Serena thought of the bathroom. “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll have to ask if we may use it.”

As they stood the redhead took her wrist, gently but firmly. “I will use the room, the way I use this whore.” Her other hand pinched Serena’s thigh. “You will be used.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Serena said. “There is no ‘we.’ This whore is sorry, Ma’am.”

“That’s fine.” The woman smiled and released her, and even let Serena take her hand and lead her away from the other customers to the desk. She waited for Michaela to look up.

“This whore was chosen,” she told Michaela. “May this whore do fifty dollars’ worth in the bathroom?”

Michaela studied them, and then lifted the glass to drink the last of the water.

Serena felt the trigger in her nipples, and obediently closed her eyes.

When she opened them, her hands were by her sides, and there was no glass on Michaela’s desk. Michaela pointed. Serena looked back to see the waiting area empty.

The redhead had seemed so real. This whore could almost taste her . . .

“Pretty and totally obedient,” Michaela said. “She’ll be very pleased.” She waved her hand, and Serena needed to return to her hypnotist.

She came to attention before the desk, looking over Mistress’ head while Mistress spoke softly on the phone. She hung up.

“You did wonderfully, Serena. You accepted my suggestions completely, and obeyed every command. Even from imaginary dommes.”

Serena squirmed.

“You’re excellent hypnoslave material, Serena. Once someone found her way into your head, she could turn you into her willing concubine, or a mindless drone. Anything she programmed you for.

“Girls like you are worth a fortune.”

Serena wondered what that would have been like, if someone else had taken her.

“You’ll be very easy to brainwash now.”

She blinked and looked down into the marvelous eyes. She tried to be afraid but she was too aroused. If she wasn’t at attention through a posthypnotic suggestion she’d be . . . she’d be . . .

. . . crawling under the desk . . .

“Oh god,” she breathed. “It’s—you’re the—mind con—oh god . . .”

She wondered why Mistress didn’t snap her back to sleep.

“If I really am the Evil Mind Controller, Serena—what will you do about it?”

Serena stared at her.

She stood straighter and pressed her thighs together.

“Only what you tell me to, Mistress.”