The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The thunderclap shook the earth and the bright flash of light that followed illuminated the yellowness of the expansive, one-story building and the compound behind it making them almost glow.

The roar of thunder didn’t register on the ears of the building’s inhabitants nor did they see the lightning from inside its vast windowless interior. Nothing, in fact, broke the fluid if somewhat mechanical movements of the two rows of workers who stood alongside the conveyor belts, each with a specific task to perform with the exactitude of robots.

There was no chatter, no background music, no misplaced shuffling or clanging. The workers were submerged in their duties. Nothing else.

I was at my station, station 23, at the far end of one conveyor, second to last. I didn’t concern myself with the storm. I didn’t concern myself with how long I had stood there, how many repetitive days I had taken my assigned position and performed my assigned task. I may have been there a year, ten years or a day. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was lifting the instrument from the conveyor belt as it rolled along slowly and plugging it into the large round socket in front of me, checking to see if the tiny green light flashed confirming that it had been assembled correctly. Then placing it into the waiting hand on my right to be boxed up. And starting again.

I couldn’t recall a moment when the little green light didn’t flash but I knew there was a bin behind me to place the defective instruments into. I never noticed the large, unmarked boxes being taken away and being replaced by empty ones.

Still, I kept count. 431, 432, 433. As if it was the ticking of some slow-motion clock. Forty-five seconds to wait, check for the green light on the device and hand it off. I didn’t do the math in my head to appreciate I had been standing there over six hours. Was it an eight-hour day? Did I ever leave? Eat? Sleep? 461 ... 462 ...

There was a rumble beneath my feet from the storm raging outside, yet it didn’t alter my movements, didn’t give me a moment’s pause. 474 ... 475 ...

I lifted instrument 476 and plugged it in.

Another rumble. The sterile, white lights overhead flickered off and on again as I pushed. Then I felt a surge. And a jolt!

I flew backward and landed hard on my elbows, the back of my head connecting with the cement floor. I saw stars. My first instinct was to hurry back to my station and continue, but my legs wouldn’t move. My hands tingled with numbness.

I strained with my arms as I swung my lifeless body around, forcing myself up into a kneeling position as I clung to the edge of the conveyor. I lifted instrument 476 and passed it thoughtlessly to the still-waiting hand above me.

Nothing had changed. No one noticed that I was on the floor, my legs nearly paralyzed. Instrument 477 rolled toward me and I grabbed it, clutching it tightly as I tried to pull myself up. I was in tremendous pain. My head wanted to explode, my fingers tingled so strongly that it felt like needles were being stuck into them. And my legs ached as life slowly returned to them.

I passed instrument 477 to the hand beside me without even plugging it in.

Nothing had changed. But me.

I finally was able to stand. Without thinking, I picked up the next device, plugged it in and handed to ... 113B.

It was startling. I knew where I was and didn’t know where I was. But that face. I knew that face. I wanted to grab her, tell her what had happened. But I could see in her vacant stare that she wouldn’t even know how to react. All she knew, all I knew she knew, was when the next instrument would be placed in her hand for her to carefully align with the dozens of others in the plain, brown box.

A dream within a dream. I woke up from one nightmare and found myself in a more profound one—awareness. I continued with my task. I didn’t have to think about it. I had done it hundreds, thousands of times. Hour upon hour. I was also able to look around. I knew what everything was, but I had never thought about it before. I didn’t start screaming, “Oh my God! What is this place?” I knew what this place was. And I knew that drawing any attention to myself was a bad idea. I knew what I was, what all the others along the two long rows of the assembly lines were.

We were slaves.

Every one, everyone, female. Twenty-four times two. Even the “guards” who stood by or slowly circled the assembly lines. Even the few who busied themselves moving boxes or unloading parts. All women. And each dressed the same as I—silver bodysuit, silver slippers and a silver swimming cap presumably meant to keep hair out of the way of the machinery. No distractions.

The women were all sizes, all ethnicities, all ages. A slave was a slave. It didn’t matter how we were packaged. Except that we were all female.

503 ... 504 ...

I still kept count, oddly enough. I still performed my duties. It’s weird to think of that now, that I would do that. Even though I had been suddenly shocked back to life, I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know who I was, who I really was. I knew this was slavery. I didn’t belong here. I had been kidnapped or seduced or tricked into this.

More than that, though, I knew the instruments I was plugging in and checking were the reason. Part of the reason anyway. Zapped by those damned flashlights that continued to roll by. 518 ... 519 ... The slaves—we slaves—were making the devices to create even more slaves. An ironic horror.

I had to keep at it although my legs were tired from the high-voltage blast they’d gotten and the unslavelike awareness that I had been standing for hours. Even a moment’s hesitation could cause a glitch in the system and all the eyes of the slavers would fall on me. The one without the glassy eyes. The slaves around me weren’t angry or scared or confused like I was. Believe me, I was confused. There was a universal expression of contentment. Blank contentment, but contentment just the same. I didn’t see a single blip of emotion on a single face out of place. Only the unwavering, shallow half-smiles of satisfaction of doing their jobs efficiently.

As I passed each instrument forward ... 522 ... 523 ... to the woman next to me, my eyes held on her just a little longer each time. 113B. Yes. That face. Those eyes. Those lips. I may have abruptly broken the shackles around my slavemind, but I couldn’t break the hold that face had on me. Even with all the crazy nothingness surrounding me, the thought of lying in bed naked with 113B surpassed all other thoughts in my head.

I can’t explain it now and I sure couldn’t explain it then. I was in hell and what l most wanted to do was fuck 113B.

The last device, shaped like a typical flashlight, rolled toward me and I plugged it in and handed it to 113B. Instrument 538. Then two women sat down at the small tables on the ends of the two assembly lines by station one. All the slavewomen turned toward them ... to report now that the shift was over. Eight hours. Was it night? Would they put our minds to sleep and start again? What am I supposed to say? One by one, the slaves were questioned, then walked slowly and directly toward the first of two doors on that side of the room.

I was gradually becoming more alert. I was waking up more fully. The effect of the slave trance that had a grip on my mind was loosening. And I was scared. I began to panic. Should I run? Make a dash for the door? Now wasn’t the time, I knew. I wouldn’t get ten feet. So I watched, taking note of how many “guards” were there and what they looked at.

There was a weird mix of thoughts in my head, especially now that 113B was behind me and I couldn’t look at her. Part of me wasn’t a slave. I had another life somewhere else. Although I couldn’t recall much more than flashes of the real world outside and me in it. Yet the other part of me knew what was expected of me as a slave. Not just a slave. A completely obedient, mind-wiped, oblivious slave.

I tried to listen to the soft voices ahead of me as my line grew shorter. The woman sitting at the end of the row was familiar. She was my Advisor. My boss. There were only two women left ahead of me in line and I could hear what was being said.

“Slave 112A. Your count?”

“The count was 538, Advisor.”

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary today, Slave 112A?”

“I noticed ... the lights. They blinked.”

“Did this distract you from your duties, 112A?”

“No, Advisor.”

“You have performed well. Goddess is pleased. Goddess commands: 112A. Reward.”

And the woman’s body began to shake, a deep sigh left her lips.

She had an orgasm. Right there!

Once she stopped shaking, she went on her way toward the door as if nothing had happened. In front of me, the last slave approached the Advisor.

“Slave 112B. Your count?”

It occurred to me, strangely enough, that someone was missing. Slave 112C. Where was she? A-B-C-D. Groups of four. The woman who should have been between us was gone. 112B shook from her powerful orgasm. I had to snap back together. I was next! I had to answer correctly and perfectly.

“Slave 112D. Your count?”

My Advisor looked up at me and smiled. The smile of a nursery school teacher and I was a 4-year-old. But she also scared the shit out of me. I knew behind those upturned lips were teeth that bit.

“The count was 538, Advisor.” I answered automatically.

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary today, Slave 112D?”

112D. My fucking name. I knew it. I was a number and a letter. I was an it. I couldn’t even recall my birth name.

“I noticed the lights flicker, Advisor.”

“Did this distract you from your duties, 112D?”

Hell yes! I got fucking electrocuted you fucking bitch!

“No, Advisor.”

“You have performed well 112D,” she said flatly but the smile was still there. “Goddess is pleased. Goddess commands: 112D. Reward.”

I was trying to figure out how to fake an orgasm when it hit me. A deep, wondrous climax. My hand pressed on my clit in reflex as I trembled before this smiling woman in the throes of spontaneous ecstasy. I knew I couldn’t just stand there—amazed—and give myself away for showing real emotion as the sexstorm passed gradually. I began to walk weak-kneed toward the door, but I stopped. I didn’t want to know what was waiting for me on the other side.

Then a soft hand fit into mine. I turned to see 113B, her glass eyes almost twinkling in the bright lights above us. She began to walk me toward the door. And in that moment—feeling that hand and looking at that face—I would have walked off a cliff with her.

It was dark outside, but not completely. It was early evening. We walked along a well-worn path toward a cluster of smaller buildings—slave quarters. I had stopped thinking about why I had just orgasmed on command. A command from “Goddess.” I wasn’t fully detached from the hold my captors had on me yet. I was distracted by 113B’s hand in mine, her scent, her beauty even in the sexless clothes she wore.

We entered one of the buildings and down the hallway before stopping at a door which slid open automatically. We were roommates. Not much of a room either. It was like a train compartment or a second-class cabin on a cruise ship. A twin bed, a small table and tiny washroom.

There was food on the table—a glass of milk and a plate with a chicken breast, green beans, an apple and a roll. At least my slavers considered all the food groups. They wanted us healthy and alive.

We ate in silence. I didn’t know what else to do, although I did have trouble keeping my eyes off 113B. B. Yeah, B. Beautiful B. Our eyes caught now and then and I almost got the feeling B wanted to chit-chat. I wondered what she could possibly be thinking about, if she even thought at all. Then she put down her plastic fork and smiled at me.

“I love you, D.”

What??

B stood next to me for eight hours and said nothing, not even acknowledging my existence in any way, and the first thing she said to me was, “I love you.”

“I ... I love you too, B.”

I don’t know why I said that. Maybe it was expected. Maybe I wanted to put her at ease not knowing I wasn’t a zombie slave anymore. Or maybe I meant it. Because that’s what I felt inside. I loved B and didn’t know why. I got a pretty good idea why in the next 30 seconds.

B stood up and pulled off her cap. Long, golden hair spilled out. I was dumbstruck. I knew that face so well, but I gawked at it like it was the first time. She was maybe 24-25, ocean-blue eyes and flawless skin.

She grabbed the zipper under her neck and pulled down.

It was a casual, even robotic, movement for her. For me, it was like a striptease so inviting my jaw actually dropped. She peeled off the bodysuit and her body matched her face—flawless. Firm breasts and unmarked skin so smooth and untanned that it looked like it had never been touched. I had touched it, I knew that.

She stood before me naked ... and waited. I yanked off my cap, kicked off the slippers and stepped toward the washroom and its tiny mirror above the sink. I gasped at what I saw. It wasn’t from shock or surprise. It was from recognition. A flurry of disjoined memories popped into my head. I knew me. My super-short-cropped hair, my small breasts, my thin waist. My hand went to my ear, feeling for the holes of the multitude of piercings I knew where there. I’d been here at least a month or two for some had already closed up.

I wanted to just stand there and look at my naked self, hoping the young woman looking back at me would tell me what to do and tell me who I was. Tell me everything was going to be okay.

However, my eyes returned to B. It was crazy. I wasn’t a mindless slave anymore. I needed to figure out what to do. B helped me decide. She walked toward me, took my hand and kissed me deeply and lovingly. It didn’t matter that she had been turned into a droneslave. This was real. I closed my eyes and returned the kiss.

I tasted freedom for the first time.

I was a slave. In a slave’s room. Doing a slave’s job. I need to escape! I escaped. We collapsed onto the bed and made love. It wasn’t steamy, lust-filled, groping love either. It was slow. It was gentle. I didn’t have to know myself any better to realize that making love to her, a woman, was who I was. Not the slave me. The me me.

B was slick and warm. I felt something on my fingers as I slid my hand between her legs. It was a ring pierced into her labia. I moved my hand down between my own legs and felt one there too. They were thick. My right outer lip wasn’t sore. It had been pierced long enough ago to confirm that I had been here awhile.

I crawled between her legs to lick her, to make her feel good. I lapped around the ring—thick like a wedding band. And it was gold. Not cheapo gold. Probably 18k. We had been made slaves and we had expensive jewelry punctured into our pussies.

I made B cum. And she me. Then again. Each shattering orgasm only drove me to continue and B didn’t hesitate. We must have fucked for three hours! And it wasn’t enough.

The lights in our room began to dim slowly. B broke my embrace and looked at me with a combination of fulfillment and emptiness. It’s still hard to explain that look.

“Sleep time, D.”

I shouldn’t have wanted to sleep. I should have been totally freaked out and planning my escape. I should have been trying to figure out what I should do about the predicament I was in. But I was exhausted. I kissed her once more and we both fell asleep quickly, our legs and arms wrapped around the other.

Portland, Oregon.

I woke up not knowing where I was at first. It was light in the room, but there were no windows. All it took was one look at the beautiful face beside me to snap me back to reality. I knew where I fucking was. I also knew where I had come from.

Portland. My home. I was less fuzzy-brained than I had been when I fell asleep after a night of sex. I definitely knew the situation I was in. I knew more and more of who I was, not who 112D was. My heart was racing. It’s one thing to be a prisoner in one’s own mind. It’s another to be physically imprisoned. And I most assuredly was. B was both. Her eyes opened slowly, either because she felt my heart pounding against her chest or she (and I) had been trained to wake up precisely then.

She kissed my cheek, but my body pulled me off the bed. I was panicking again. I wanted to run! There was nowhere to go.

Breakfast was already waiting on our little table. Just walk right in why don’t you? Orange juice, oatmeal and a sweet muffin. It was a bizarre imbalance. This wasn’t a concentration camp. Hell, no one was concentrating. But the food was good. The rings which dangled between our legs were solid gold. And B and I had been allowed to escape our enslavement, even if it was just for a few hours.

We fucked again after breakfast. Why not?

I had a vague idea of what my daily schedule was like. I’d done it maybe a hundred times. Breakfast, then sex, then some kind of exercise, then ... oh my God! A treatment in “the room.”

A chill passed through my body almost as numbing as the charge that unfried my mind. This was the hotel from hell. “The room.” I tried not to think about that. What came after? I couldn’t recall the rest of the day’s routine except for the eight-hour shift on the assembly line. It varied. But it was always something unpleasant. I knew that.

I had to get out. Today. Before I went into “the room” again. I knew doors would be locked. Eyes were everywhere. Most disturbing of all was that I didn’t even know where on earth I was. Was I still in Portland? Omaha? Zimbabwe? All the voices I had heard were in English. Americans. I doubted I had been moved very far considering I was probably so brainless when they shipped me here that it would have to be a complicated and dangerous operation to send me very far. Send all of us very far. No. I was in the U.S. Probably on the West Coast somewhere. The compound was surrounded by fir trees, forest, distant mountains.

I probably wasn’t all that far from home.

B and I showered together, washed each other. As I scrubbed her and kissed her, however, another thought drove into my head. I hadn’t thought about it at all since I started to think again. But there it was.

Goddess.

My clit began to throb as if it was being pinched. Just saying that word in my head made me momentarily forget I wasn’t under Her control any more. Probably because I still was, to some degree. Goddess. Spasm. The mastermind behind all of this. I must have met Her but I couldn’t—and still can’t—describe Her. I didn’t want to try. I knew if Her eyes fixed on mine even in my memory I’d drop back into the blank comfort of my slavemind. Her possession.

It occurred to me, just then, that except for a few, breathy “B’s,” I hadn’t spoken a word to her at all.

“B? Have you met Goddess?”

“Yes, D,” she said. Her eyes closed and she took in a deep breath like her neck had been licked. “Four times.” Her eyes opened and she smiled at me. “Twice with you.”

Oh. I tried to remember. I should have, but as difficult as it was to remember my real life it was just as difficult now to remember fully my slave life. I was caught between two worlds and wasn’t part of either one.

“What ... what did we do?”

B looked down between my legs. Sex, obviously. Then I realized what she was really looking at. “I remember the last time,” she said, her face showing genuine emotion at last.

I moved in front of her and knelt down, inspecting the ring pierced into her. I looked on the inside of it, reading the truth.

The inscription etched into it, into my being: 113B-112D

Wedding rings! My God! Goddess (moan) had mated us. Married us. Made us one. Why?

I don’t know why I did it, but I gently kissed her folds. She brushed her fingers through my bristly hair and I kissed her again. I was about to lose myself in her taste, her scent, when I heard a voice.

“Slave 113B. Slave 112D. Exercise time. You are to report to the exercise room for your session with Advisor 8A. Dress and proceed there immediately.”

The unfamiliar voice had come from a speaker somewhere in the room. I knew there were cameras, microphones and speakers carefully hidden about. B’s hand dropped and she crossed the room and opened a small drawer embedded in the wall. She took out two bikinis—one blue and one green. She handed me the green one. I always looked good in green, I thought anyway. The blue matched her eyes.

We put them on. Then the door opened and we walked out together, hand in hand. As horrible a place as I knew this was, I couldn’t help losing myself a bit. Willingly moving toward what awaited me.

Bending, twisting, stretching.

Being a tranced-out slave has its advantages. I was awake, alert, aware. And I was struggling to keep up with the 20 or so other slaves who did the strenuous, repetitive motions without a groan, without difficulty.

Not only did I have to do the exercises I was told to do—the slavers wanted us in good shape too, it seems—I had to do them as fluidly and efficiently as my slave sisters. All under the watchful, stern eyes of 8A. The devil herself.

For some reason, a reason I never knew, 8A hated me. I know I had been alone with her more than once and I also knew she was a sadistic bitch. She liked hurting people. She liked hurting me. Maybe it was because of who I was. The pierced ears, the butchy haircut ... I wasn’t the girl next door, I knew that. It may have been jealousy over B being linked with me. I got that feeling too. 8A got off hurting the slaves in her care, but I was certain she enjoyed hurting me most of all.

Every movement exactly right. Exactly the same as the others. It was grueling. I couldn’t stumble, I couldn’t let out an errant breath, I couldn’t say, “Enough with this shit!” I had to do it all perfectly or I would give myself away.

It was about an hour—a freaking eternity!—before we finally stopped and I noticed I was sweating twice as much as anyone else. Kinda odd. I was in decent shape. We all did the same exercises. However, my body knew what was being asked of it and it reacted to the strain.

Fortunately, I survived. 8A didn’t perceive any difference in me. Maybe I was always a bit of a slacker in her cold eyes. B and I made it to our room, showered, dressed in our silver suits. I think B expected to make love again, but as much as I wanted to—and I wanted to constantly—I wasn’t physically up for it. Mentally either. I knew what was coming next. We were going to “the room.”

I hadn’t found even the possibility of escape. The few doors we had passed going to and from the exercise room were either guarded or would only lead me deeper inside the building not outside. There were cameras all over the place.

I had no choice. My one day of awareness was about to be erased from my mind. In an hour or two I’d be back on the assembly line, back to being 112D.

“The room” smelled like sex. B and I had just arrived and stood in the doorway as another slave was walking out. I knew her face, but I had no idea what her numbered name was.

“Enter 112D.”

It was 8A. Great. Maybe she was going to whip me or bite me or make me lick her body from the bottoms of her feet to the last hair on the top of her head. The slave passed me and her face had a look of utter and complete happiness. Like she had just had the greatest sex of her life. She may have been pulled and twisted and slapped and fucked and still looked that way. It made me feel slightly better knowing that whatever happened to me inside this damned room once I walked out I’d be happy too.

I’d probably sat in that fucking chair fifty times and I couldn’t tell you about one second of it. It was like a lounger or a comfy dentist’s chair, reclined and soft. There were buckles and straps all over it but 8A didn’t need to bind old 112D. She was a well-conditioned slave, right? I just sat there waiting for the inevitable.

8A’s face was hidden behind the video monitor which hung down from the ceiling on an arm that swiveled. She was busy setting up the program to give me my daily dose of brainwashing. Then it occurred to me. She wouldn’t be able to tell if my eyes were opened or closed. If she did walk around the console she was sitting behind, well, I’d be screwed. But what choice did I have? I looked over at B ... she wasn’t really looking at anything. Just waiting her turn. Obeying.

I knew from somewhere in my memory that there were sounds and words that accompanied the flashing, spinning, colorful images that would blank me out, but those were just instructions and commands and reinforced lessons for a slave completely under the influence of the visuals. It didn’t matter. I was going be subjected to both. If I could shut my eyes, I could just as easily ignore the words too. The drumming beat of a death metal song popped in my head. Concentrate on that. I was definitely a punkergirl. I almost laughed.

As if on cue, 8A got up, walked over to me, leaned down and bit my nipple hard. I let out a pained gasp. I couldn’t help it. 8A just sneered. I must have responded the way she liked. She pushed my knees apart and slid something inside me. A vibrator. She turned it on and my back arched. The top of it spun clockwise, while the base spun counter-clockwise. It was the kind of vibrator someone like her would use. It was torturously stimulating. She twisted my other nipple before returning to her seat.

This was going to be harder than I thought. I heard words whispering in my ear ... from somewhere. I knew that voice. I anticipated the lights being turned on in front of me and shut my eyes. I could see the swirling lights snap on even with my eyes shut tight. Yet I didn’t sink. I didn’t blank out. I tried to think of that song in my head again but all I heard were the whispers. I tried to ignore them, but the less I concentrated on them, the more I felt the erotic spinning between my legs.

It would have been so easy to open my eyes. I was getting wet. The whispers telling me instructions and commands that were so familiar to me that I felt myself nodding in response. I was losing myself in the pleasure. I was turned on even though my mind was supposed to be getting turned off.

Strangely enough, it was just that pleasure that kept my eyes closed. I got into it. I allowed myself to get lost. I could feel the orgasm building. I didn’t have to worry about trying to fool 8A. I didn’t care. I just wanted to cum.

And I did.

I moaned, my legs trembled. I could hear my own voice betray me: “Yes, Goddess, I obey!”

As I started to come down from the peak, the flashing behind my eyelids stopped. The whispers stopped. But the vibrator kept spinning inside my drenched pussy. I opened my eyes. 8A was approaching. She roughly yanked out the vibe and pulled on my ring so hard I thought it was going to rip right through my skin. I knew she was going to do that. I held as still as I could.

“Enter 113B.”

I climbed off the chair, dizzy. B passed me, not even looking at me, as I walked out. Another Advisor was waiting for me outside. I stiffened and blanked my face as much as I could.

“112D, you are to be a playmate. Follow me.”

A playmate? Oh, that didn’t sound good. I had dodged another bullet. But as I walked behind the shapely brunette escorting me, I knew there was one more headed straight for me.

I wasn’t thinking about escaping any more. I was thinking about surviving. The exercising, the programming and now ... well, I knew sex was going to be part of it. I was going to be a playmate. At least my pussy was primed, my nipples were still stiff. If I was going to have to endure being a sex slave there was some comfort knowing I was horny going in.

I undressed at the door and was led into a large room filled with pillows. Pillows on the floor, pillows on the beds, on the chairs, everywhere. The room was low-lit and the smell of flowers and honey tickled my nose. Three women sat near the middle of the room relaxing on fluffy chairs completely naked. Kneeling between two of them were slave girls, playmates, obediently serving the women’s needs with their mouths.

Between them was a slightly older, slightly rounder woman who looked at me with lustful anticipation. I was there for her.

I thought to myself, things could be worse. She looked nice. I could handle an hour or two eating her out if my life depended on it. And my life did depend on it. I had to do it, one way or another. At least she wasn’t one of the few million or so people who would have made me throw up.

My escort had left, but I got the distinct feeling that someone else was there, standing in the shadows watching. I had to force myself to keep my eyes forward. I was an obedient slave. Waiting to be commanded.

“Come here, darrrr-ling,” the woman purred, rolling the R’s like a human feline with an accent. I knelt down between her legs and slowly pushed her thighs apart. “Not yet, dearie. These first.”

She presented her breasts to me, her dark areolas and plump nipples. I straightened my back and pressed my lips to them, left and right. I gently kissed them before engulfing them hungrily. Her “ohhs” and “mmms” letting me know I was doing what she wanted with them. They smelled of soap and clean skin with a hint of the honey in the air mixed in.

She cradled my head and continued to purr, her knees pressing tightly around my ribs. I suckled her for a good long time. I heard the woman to my left moan loudly from a deep orgasm produced by the attention of her playmate. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that it was the slave who had preceded me in “the room.”

Then she pulled on my ears and opened her legs. She forced my head down roughly, as if I needed to be forced. I knew why I was there. What was unusual was that she had no taste. She smelled like a woman, reacted like a woman with the gradual wetness that bathed my tongue. But it tasted like nothing. Which was fine with me. It made it easier to just do the job and get it over with—getting it over with meaning that she orgasmed over my lips in a hurry.

She twisted one of my ears until it hurt, forcing my head up. I saw the glint of steel. She then pressed under my chin and lifted my head up, up, up so that I was looking at the ceiling. I felt a sting on my tit.

“Stop!”

The woman released me and my head snapped down. In her hand was a straight-razor. She had cut me!

Her head turned toward the voice in the shadows. I remembered that voice. My knees began to twitch.

“You are not allowed to mark my slaves.”

The woman huffed. “What do you mean, I am not allowed? She’s just a pretty piece of meat. Besides, after all I’ve done for you it should be me giving you orders not the other way around.”

There wasn’t a breeze in the room, but I could swear a cold wind blew right into my face as She approached. Goddess. She didn’t walk so much as float across the room. I dared not look at her eyes, knowing that they would freeze me on the spot, but I didn’t have to see them to know they were full of anger.

“You ladies will excuse us.”

The other two women and their slaves walked out quickly. I wanted to hurry after them, but I needed to remain still. I looked down to see a tiny trickle of blood by my left nipple.

“Of course, I am grateful,” Goddess began again. “And you are always welcome to sample the merchandise. Also, I do have slaves that are ... put to better use. I can always find one to suit your particular tastes. But not this one. I offered this slave to you because I thought you would appreciate her. She one of my favorites.”

The woman stood, her knee slamming my shoulder as she stepped away from me. I didn’t know what the hell was going on but I was kneeling in the middle of a power struggle. One between my slaver—my Goddess—and evidently one of the people who helped her make it all possible.

They talked face to face for a moment, and I couldn’t really make out what they were saying anymore. Just being in the same room with Goddess kinda fuzzed out my brain. I can’t really explain it. But what happened next I definitely will never forget.

The woman stepped away and looked down at me with distain.

“I can make things very difficult for you, you know that,” the woman said. She was eyeballing me but spoke loud enough for Goddess to understand clearly her threats without looking at her face. “It wouldn’t be very difficult for me to get enough of the others to see things my way. You run this camp like a health spa. Your quotas are not what we were anticipating. There will be some changes made around here, I guarantee it.”

Goddess laughed. I don’t think I ever heard her laugh before. The woman did not expect that and she turned. My eyes followed.

“Yes, there most certainly will be changes,” Goddess said ... and then I saw it! She had raised her right hand and held an instrument toward the woman. She pressed the button. The thin beam of light shot out from it and I heard the tinkle of the razor hit the floor. The beam changed colors rapidly—redyellowgreenblue—as it bore into the woman’s forehead. He mouth opened and a long strand of saliva dangled over her lower lip.

I heard shuffling and two “guards” were there. The woman’s eyes never wavered, fixed on the beam from the device. Goddess lowered it. The woman didn’t move a muscle. Goddess walked around the older woman as if inspecting a prized cow. Goddess stood beside me and with her index finger slowly scratched me behind my ear. My eyes rolled up in my head and I felt the faintest yet sweetest orgasm of my life.

The last thing I remembered was watching the naked woman being escorted out of the room by the guards and toward her new life as a number and a letter.

I couldn’t remember anything ... when I left the room, getting back to B waiting in our quarters, showering and dressing for our shift, walking across the compound ... none of it. The first thing I remembered was thinking ... 101 ... 102. I was back on the assembly line and had been for nearly two hours.

I didn’t know much about Goddess and what her plans were but I sure knew one thing—she had the fucking power! A little scritch behind my ear and I lost all sense of myself.

I had to get out of this place. I knew I’d never last another day. I’d make a mistake. Or worse, I would unknowingly just slip back into my slaveself again and the safety of not having to think or worry or wonder again. I could just stay with B ... my wife ... and do what I was told. Make love to her all day and dream of Goddess all night. I was a prisoner, and prison was made so inviting that as I stood there plugging in those hellish instruments I actually debated my options.

Fuck! I had to escape.

There was only one way I could see. Just thinking about it didn’t fill me with confidence. I needed some luck. I’d been lucky so far, so it wasn’t like I had no chance. 430 ... 431. I was still counting. It was stupid. I knew 112B would tell my Advisor what the damn count was. I didn’t have to. The repetition and the training, the brainwashing, made me do it despite myself.

Eight hours. I was already tired, yet I knew this was just the beginning of a long night. I recited my report to 8A, doing my best not to even think about punching her face in. And then outside.

It was about a 40-yard walk to my building and, luckily, B and I—at stations 23 and 24 in the second row—were the last two to file toward it. I had to chance a look over my shoulder to see how many guards trailed us or if 8A was padding behind like a wolf drooling over the flock of sheep. I turned quickly ... there was no one behind us. The guards and Advisors were still in the building. No one was standing guard at the door. Was B supposed to close it behind her or leave it open? I couldn’t remember.

I was about halfway there with only a few seconds left to make my move. The coast was clear. There may have been booby traps, guards hiding in the trees with guns or flashlights, snake pits and land mines. Any number of things to prevent a runaway slave. Yet I had the feeling if I could get far enough away fast enough they would never know. At least for a few hours. They never would anticipate a well-trained, well-conditioned, well-mindfucked slave to even consider making a dash for the trees.

I ran.

I look back on it now ... and I know I didn’t think about why I did what I did as I took those first steps. I hadn’t planned it. I hadn’t weighed the reasons. I just did it. As I took off for the tree-lined forest that was maybe 100 yards away, I grabbed B’s hand and pulled her with me.

She followed me as I tugged her hand, but she was jogging, looking confused. We needed to run!

“Run, B!” I said in a loud whisper before adding, “Obey!”

Her pace picked up and we ran together, making a bee-line for the trees. I didn’t dare look back. B’s long legs actually carried her farther and faster than my own, so that by the time we reached the woods she was pulling me along.

I yanked on her hand, bringing us to a stop just inside the woods and crouched down. Only then did I look back.

No one. Not a soul. No one had seen us or if they had they were too slaved-out to do anything about it.

“Come on, B. We have to keep moving. As quickly as possible.” I kissed her cheek and smiled. “Obey.”

She smiled back, and we began running through the dense forest. I had no idea where we were going. No idea that the journey we were beginning would end where it began.