The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1.

Until the fetish maid opened Diane’s front door, the afternoon had been pretty normal.

Cary took a moment to look around, wondering if it were a practical joke and if it were aimed at her. But the girl in the doorway of Diane and Arnie’s villa didn’t look like she was playing a game—she was subservience in heels.

Well, heels and sheer black hose and a flared miniskirt under a form-fitting top and a choker that seemed to glisten and what the HELL?

“Yes, Miss?” The girl’s voice was soft but very clear.

Cary stared at her. The uniform showed her off well—she was slim and petite but curved with enviable grace, and her posture put everything on display in a way that was both demure and sensuous. She could get work done in those heels, but not the kind that had anything to do with housecleaning.

A fetish maid.

Cary was suddenly furious. She couldn’t picture Diane having a maid, much less this decorative bimbo, not even as a “gift” for her husband. It must be Arnie’s own idea, and Cary started to hate herself for the times when she’d laughed off his comments and his subtle groping. The scene she could have caused might have spurred Diane to dump him and spare herself—this.

The bastard. How had he made Diane let this girl swish into her house? Some kind of weird bet?

She realized she’d been staring, and the maid just stood there and let herself be stared at. She didn’t preen, just waited on the guest’s pleasure in her sex-toy outfit.

Cary sought her eyes, under the demeaning little cap and the short dark hair. There was no glee, nothing like a whore would have, flaunting herself in front of the discarded wife or on her territory. The girl seemed almost dazed, alert but only when she focused on serving. Cary had heard about drugs, and other things, and men who used them to make girls this agreeable. Maybe Arnie had done worse than rent her.

“Is Diane here?” Standing in shorts and sandals, here to spend a few hours lazing around Diane’s pool, Cary felt unreal. Her social question came out a lot more urgently.

“Tell her it’s Cary.” Tell her I can come back with help.

The maid closed her eyes and bowed her head. “Yes, Miss.” She straightened, and her look at Cary became more intense, as though she’d suddenly remembered her. Cary felt a little awkward now.

“You are expected, Miss.” The girl’s eyes widened a little and she seemed almost in awe. “Please enter and be welcome.” She stepped back, her eyes tracking away from Cary as she opened the door. Cary followed her eyes, wondering if the maid were trying to see if she’d disengaged the alarm, but there was no panel where she was looking. She was just staring into space.

The girl brought her feet together and held the door open, and now Cary wondered if she were trying to balance in the heels. But she moved easily in them as she minced forward to close the door. Cary looked at what the heels did to the sweep of the maid’s thighs, and the way the miniskirt just covered her pert ass, and fumed at Arnie.

For a moment the girl just froze, looking out the door as though the world outside were a revelation she couldn’t take in. She trembled almost imperceptibly.

Then she stiffened, and swung the door closed, shutting it in her own face.

Cary shook her head as the girl paused, standing straight and staring at the featureless door as though she needed to consider her next task. She made an almost military about-face and looked again at Cary, and now her eyes were even more blank.

Cary stared. She could swear there was a tear under one of them.

Heels clicked on hallway tiles behind her, from deeper in the villa. The maid went wide-eyed and taut, snapping to attention.

“A treasure, isn’t she?” Diane had come in from the inner courtyard where the pool and garden were.

Cary turned to look at her, fearing bruises or seven cocktails too many or something worse, and gasped.

Maybe this was worse. Diane was dressed for the pool—in a movie about the adulterous rich. Her suit was a maillot by courtesy, a shimmering heart-shaped top linked with complex but very narrow straps to a tiny scrap of matching fabric that barely covered her crotch.

Cary stared at Diane’s crotch for a moment too long, but she was helpless not to. She knew Diane didn’t shave down there, but now there was nothing around that bit of lycra except skin. Or beneath it—Cary suddenly thought of camel toe and tore her eyes away from it.

Diane leaned against the wall, draped in a sheer robe that hung to her heeled sandals, and smiled at her, as if she enjoyed the eye-candy she’d become and that her best friend was seeing her that way.

Cary and Diane had tried each other, in college, and they’d always been quietly aware of each other’s bodies. Cary hadn’t felt the need for another woman since and she hadn’t thought Diane did either.

Now, though. Now. Diane was all but seducing her. It woke old hungers and she really did love Diane in many, many ways, but this had an attractive but dangerous aspect that scared her more than it drew her.

Diane looked so hot, and so—corrupted.

God. What had Arnie done to her? He wasn’t tormenting her by bringing a girl in to play with—he’d done something to both of them. He’d turned his wife and his girlfriend into the bisexual playmates of his fantasies. He might be thinking of a harem.

Cary thought, for the first time, that she should run away from this. Now.

Diane seemed to wait, like the maid, content to be leered at, but unlike the maid she was just languid, not blank. Now she laughed.

“I knew you’d be a little shocked, Cary. I’m sorry to enjoy it so much.”

“Shocked.” Cary took in how in-control Diane sounded. “I thought—” What? How to explain she’d thought Arnie had drugged her or done something to—?

No. Cary wasn’t the one to explain.

She looked around and saw the maid staring fixedly at Diane, and there was something painfully sweet about how completely at Diane’s mercy she seemed. Her gaze held need and horrified fascination, and somehow Cary knew the girl couldn’t really see her anymore.

Couldn’t really see anything, unless Diane told her to.

“What’s going on, Diane?”

Diane smiled. It made her look like Arnie did when he looked at Diane and radiated that look at the fine piece of ass I married vibe. It bothered Cary almost as much now, on her.

“You’re worried, Cary. Don’t be. A few changes have been made, that’s all.”

“Arnie—?”

“That piece of shit is no longer in a position to object. Or grab ass.” Diane kept smiling, and Cary felt glad and mournful at once as she saw the hatred fountaining out of her friend, held in so long.

“He grabbed that pretty ass over there, and it was his last mistake.” Diane wasn’t sputtering. The venom flowed out smooth and thick. Cary heard nothing from the maid and didn’t look back this time.

“His new secretary. Or ‘personal assistant.’ Or whatever. He used to laugh at friends who poached on their own property, and then lookee here.”

A caught mistress as the wife’s handmaiden . . . she barely knew what would make Diane play that game, and it seemed as though this wasn’t just play. What would keep the girl compliant, though? What did Diane have on her, that she’d stay and be tormented?

Maybe the girl found being the wife’s plaything was hotter than being the husband’s playmate. But the maid looked—obsessed. More than that.

Enslaved.

Diane paused, looking at her. Cary thought of a shark.

“Funny. The first time he lets sex make him stupid, she’s not even his type. He usually likes curvy, voluptuous women.” She looked at Cary. “Like you.”

Oh my god. Now she was in the water too.

“No, Cary.” Some of the shark receded and the old Diane flowed back into her face, as though she knew how much she was scaring Cary. “He was always saying how hot you were, but I know you hated him. And I know how hard it was trying to be a friend, not to tell me about what a shit he was, always after you. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” She sighed, closed her eyes.

Smiled again. “But we’re here to play by the pool, Cary. Not to discuss sewage.”

She moved her head slightly. “Girl.”

The maid gasped—and panted a little. “Yes, Mistress?” she breathed from behind Cary.

“Attend us by the pool.”

“I obey, Mistress!” the maid said, ardently, and pranced past Cary to lead them to the courtyard. As she went past Diane, Diane reached out and touched her with a fingertip without stirring from the wall. The girl stopped dead but kept facing forward. Diane ran her finger over the girl’s shoulder, down her sleeve to the bare arm below the elbow.

The maid shivered but held position. Diane watched her closely, easing herself away from the wall and closer to her victim, as her hand drifted lower and played with the skirt. She cupped the maid’s ass and Cary saw skin over the high stocking tops.

Diane just let her go, then, and sauntered after her, beckoning to Cary.

Cary caught up with her and murmured, “What’s her name?” It sounded inane, but most of her other questions were too embarrassing—and she had a queasy sense she might not have to ask them.

“She doesn’t have one. I’ll decide later if I think she should.”

2.

The pool had two loungers laid out with towels, and there was a small array of refreshments under an awning.

Diane strutted over to a lounger and waited, and the maid quickly clicked over to her and reverently took off her robe, running her eyes hungrily over Diane’s body and stepping away reluctantly. Cary looked at it too, displayed like a pagan queen from some fantasy novel in the intricate web that bound so much of her friend and covered so little.

What kind of tan lines—?

Maybe Diane would take even that off. Or stand regally still while the maid worshipfully made her nude.

Diane’s ass was hidden in plain sight just as wantonly as her cleft, just as much a false offering. Cary saw her friend’s body gleam, and suddenly Diane’s contours were making her warm.

Diane stretched and then turned. The genteel shark was back. “Let her undress you, Cary.”

Cary looked, seeing that odd look in the girl’s eyes. She didn’t want to become part of this—not that deeply. She opened her mouth to say no. Then she thought how much worse this forced-slave would feel, if someone broke the spell and reminded her that in the outside world girls weren’t supposed to be obedient fetish maids to women who hated them.

The girl had looked out at that world, and then locked the door against it.

Cary adopted a pose like Diane’s, and felt skilled, quick fingertips as her shorts and tank top peeled off. The maid smelled sweet, with a healthy little tang of girlsweat as she stood in the heat in her tight black uniform. She took up Cary’s clothes and curtsied, and then walked to fold them under the awning on the chair where she’d put Diane’s robe.

She came to attention again, facing Diane.

Things became surreal, as they lay in the sun and Diane talked calmly, as though about people they knew distantly, describing how she’d found out about Arnie and this girl. She snapped orders to the maid now and then and they were served cool drinks and light hors d’oeuvres. Cary didn’t know how happy to be that Diane was drinking fruit juice, playing this game cold sober.

When the maid was back at attention by the table, out of the sun and of earshot, Diane peered up at the sun, then at Cary. “I’ve been properly anointed, but I think you need some coverage.” She lifted a hand with the fingers poised to snap.

“Diane, for god’s sake!”

“What?”

“Why is she letting you do this to her?” Cary felt new fears rush over her as she said it. “If she’s done something so bad you can blackmail her into—being a freaking slave, then you could get into the same trouble for hiding it! Besides the blackmail itself. God.”

Diane looked at her. She closed her eyes and then opened them. “Some slut trash can become very guilty about what they do. Some of them may be fucking around precisely so they can be caught and disciplined by the people they hurt. Being humiliated and abused gets them off. They want it. They crave it.”

Cary looked back. “That isn’t you, Diane. That’s nothing like you.” She found a lump in her throat, and Diane’s eyes seemed to flicker something. “Diane, do you know what you sound like, saying that? I don’t care what she did with Arnie—this is going to hurt you. If she’s that sick don’t let her drag you down.”

Diane’s eyes narrowed. “I think you’d care, Cary. If you did know what she did.

“No, I’m not abusing some poor slut because she wants to be mistreated.

“I made her want it. I made her forget ever not wanting it.”

Cary stared at her. The venom had cooled even more, and it still flowed out of Diane in such a horribly normal way.

“What did you do to her?” she breathed.

“It’s mind control,” Diane said, nearly as softly. “Drugs, very deep hypnosis, sensory deprivation, repeated commands that become part of her mind. Pleasure-conditioning so intense that the compulsions it welds to her will are stronger than instinct. I stunned her and then entranced her and then programmed her to help me find her weaknesses. I’ve conditioned her so deeply that she can’t even conceive of not being my slave.”

Cary thought of the girl spending that paralyzed moment looking out the door. Maybe Diane had wiped her brain clean of any thought of just walking through it and not coming back.

If there was anything left of the girl she’d been, Cary didn’t want to think of what Diane would do with that surviving bit of self if she knew, so she decided not to mention it.

But Diane smiled slightly as she’d said it, and Cary wondered if she’d just lied. Diane might like the idea of some piece of the woman who’d ended her marriage, still trapped inside that obedient body, awakening each day to life as her worst enemy’s willing slave. Screaming, or just dazed. Perhaps each time the girl though of going back into the world of the free, Diane’s programming made her imagine her slave heels clicking rhythmically and the sound hypnotized her back into being a fetish maid again.

“I know how to do that, you know. I’d started researching it as a joke with myself, a fantasy. I was going to trick Arnie into letting me into his mind and then I’d be able to change it. Get back the man I’d fallen in love with, or build myself a new one. I really studied.”

Diane stroked her arm absently. “Then the truths started coming clear. One was obvious: the love of a brainwashed man isn’t love. It isn’t anything.” Her face moved, as though she’d cried once about that, but stopped.

“The next followed—that I just hated him, and there was nothing else.”

She looked into Cary’s eyes, then. “The one after that was that it wasn’t a joke anymore, that I could really do this. Bend minds, make people obey my will. All I needed was access, and then I could make them want to help me turn them into my slaves.

“The last truth was that I wanted to. That now that I was free to hate, I had something I could do with the hate.

“I already knew who I wanted to do it to.”

3.

Cary settled back on the lounger. She wanted to go to Diane and put her arms around her and they’d cry it out, as they had in the old days. She wanted desperately to help Diane out of this.

She wanted it to be this morning, before she’d seen this.

“Where’s Arnie?” She didn’t even tremble.

Diane just smiled. “Where he belongs.” Her eyes flickered in a much colder way, and she must have seen Cary flinch, but she said nothing.

Cary sat still and breathed. My friend murdered her husband. He may even have deserved it but she’s destroyed herself too. He wasn’t worth an afternoon of tears, much less decades in prison. She grieved, wondering how much of that was getting through to Diane. She had to face the question of whether Diane really cared.

Then there was the maid. Golddigger or Arnie’s fool or whatever she’d been. Diane said she was a brainwashed slave now, and the maid hadn’t done anything to contradict that.

Diane could have killed Arnie and woven this tale of hypnotic vengeance. She might even have screamed at him as he drove away one night and gotten to the joint accounts before she could stop him, and stayed here, losing herself in evil daydreams. All of it nasty and sad, but harmless to anyone but Diane.

But—there stood an attractive girl in a fucktoy costume who seemed to be under her complete control. Who didn’t mind being displayed for a stranger.

Cary made an effort. Maybe Diane had gone off men and looked for a bi-curious pawn, and lucked into a partner, or soulmate, who wanted this as much as she did. Who was willing to play the hypnoslave, or even turned on by it. But the rational explanation made less sense.

Reluctantly, she also realized that if Diane had ever wanted something like that, for anything remotely loving and friendly, Diane would have come to her for it.

The girl really was a slave, then. And Diane really had taken her identity, along with her will and her mind.

Cary turned and looked at the maid, hearing Diane’s even breathing behind her. It was like spying on a blind woman, able to look and know there was nothing—maybe not even awareness—that the girl could shield herself with. She stood on display.

There were all sorts of things wrong with this. If the girl was normal enough to be hired as Arnie’s secretary, did no one else out there know her, or wonder what had happened to her? Had she just come off the bus from East Treestump, and didn’t even have a landlord looking for rent?

But the girl was standing there, where Diane—her Mistress—had told her to. She might sit at the phone, making calls and telling programmed lies, or . . .

Cary lay back. It was like a stormcloud that had crept over her while she worried about the ground beneath her. Whatever had happened, her best friend had snapped. She’d said nothing about it.

Diane was dangerous. Either she had really figured out how to turn someone else’s free mind into her obedient tool, or else she thought she had, and had seduced or actually somehow hypnotized this hapless girl into believing it.

Maybe the girl did remember she’d had a life before being Diane’s slave, and maybe part of her did try to escape to it—but she’d let Diane bewilder her into believing that she couldn’t, and that Diane’s will was her will now. Maybe they stoked each other’s delusions, and Diane convinced herself each day of her mind control prowess as the girl submitted and obeyed and forgot.

When Diane’s delusion broke down, she’d be even sadder and angrier, and she could hurt herself or others—like self-mesmerized “slave” maids and best friends who weren’t wise enough to leave.

Cary shivered in the warm sunlight. Of course, if Diane was for real as a mind controller, she could do a lot more horrifying things, a lot more deliberately.

Maybe she wanted a harem. And remembered Cary was good in bed.

Her blood running cold, Cary only now thought to wonder about what she’d been drinking. What Diane’s brainwashed obedient maidservant had been told to serve the pretty guest.

Was she just imagining it, or was her mind getting a little sluggish even as she thought about it? Oh, please, let it just be panic that was making her dull-witted.

“Diane.”

“Yes?” Her friend sat calmly, as if she knew the turmoil in Cary’s mind and decided it was natural.

“My head is spinning. Could you have—her—show me the bathroom?”

“Of course.” Diane smiled warmly and then snapped her fingers. The maid stepped toward them, her slim legs shining in the dark hose, and came to attention.

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Show my guest the powder room.”

“I obey, Mistress!”

Cary stood and didn’t look anywhere near where her clothes lay next to Diane’s robe. I’m not running away. I don’t need my clothes. I’m just going to the bathroom. Right.

My keys are in the car.

“Cary?”

She kept herself from jumping and turned. “Diane?”

Diane was lying down, sinful and soft in her evil-queen suit, looking up under the shade of her hand. Cary felt a rush of desire, and in the weird mood this had raised part of her wanted to join her friend there and explore each other. Maybe she could—

“Cary, if you want to use the little twat, she’s yours. I programmed her to obey you before you arrived. She’ll do anything you want her to.” Diane smiled. “Anything. Just don’t break her.

“Much.”

Cary stared at her.

Diane closed her eyes and let the sun shine on them. “Or if you do, give a yell and let me watch, OK?”

Cary breathed and found a way to say “Of course” that sounded agreeable and not frantic. She turned and saw the girl still waiting, erect and taut and mindless. She nodded, and blessedly the maid curtsied and pivoted to lead her in. Cary didn’t think she could bear commanding the girl aloud.

But she stared at her as they went inside, seeing how lovely her legs were and how exquisitely her ass moved. Cary was aware she was padding along in just her bikini, and as they entered the air conditioning, her nipples stiffened inside her top.

She imagined beckoning the maid to a chair and opening her legs. She thought of Diane smiling in triumph when she found them, the maid still licking tirelessly, and how Diane might undo her top and come closer . . .

They were nearly past the front door when she came back to what she was trying to do.

“Wait,” she said, and felt it in her pussy as the girl obeyed instantly. Programmed, Diane had said, to obey a stranger. She’d do anything Cary asked of her.

Would she escape?

Cary took her shoulder, feeling a silken arousal actually to touch this slavegirl, feeling her warm and firm under the satin fetish getup. She thought of things to say but then just led her to the window.

“Look out there,” she whispered. “Do you remember?”

The girl stared at the lawn, the driveway with Cary’s car, the stone wall before the street. She blinked and Cary felt her tremble. Her face started to twist and she blinked, as though the thoughts were confusing her, frightening her.

Cary started to panic. She needed just to get herself and the girl the fuck out of here. The girl could pitch a fit if she wanted to, as long as she did it in the car, on the way to a police station.

“My,” the girl whispered.

Cary stopped her own mental thrash and held the maid closer. “Yes?”

The girl tried to focus on her. Cary wondered if Diane’s stories of layered high-tech brainwashing came down to dosing the girl with sedatives and then hypnotizing her—able to paralyze her will when she was isolated here, with only her hypnotist and the place of her “enslavement” around her, but disrupted by something like a new person who wasn’t with the program.

I may get programmed if I don’t leave. But she made herself listen to the girl.

“Name.” The girl closed her eyes and leaned against Cary. Cary felt herself responding, and the girl seemed to feel it too. Her skin, naked to the feel of the other woman, came alive to it. Cary steeled herself against the arousal even as the nyloned thighs tightened against her own. Diane might actually approve of her fucking the maid, but not this close to the door.

The girl looked up, and there were fresh tears. “Please help me,” she whispered, and then fell forward, her face smooth and hot against Cary’s. Her mouth was moist and sweet and when it found Cary’s she couldn’t resist the kiss at all.

She tried. The maid might be falling into some sexual subroutine Diane had burned into her brain, and she’d be bonelessly unable to help Cary get her out.

A hand found her thigh, moved inward. She was lost in how it felt to be so bare and so touchable, and moved away too slowly. Swaying her hips just turned her on more intensely. Fingers were inside her bikini panty and it was sopping. She kept trying to fight it.

Something smooth and warm and solid slipped into her mouth just as the hand slipped into her cunt, and as it touched her she went off into a powerful orgasm. She moaned and bit down on whatever it was, not even able to think if anything but the glory between her thighs and seeking the lips that left hers now . . .

The hand still played her and Cary thrust herself mindlessly against its pleasing flutter. There was a chalky taste in her mouth and a soft roar in her ears but the climax kept breaking up her attempts to think and then even when she stopped trying it kept obliterating her.

Someone held her as she fell back but she knew nothing of people. Nothing but orgasms. They weren’t mind-shattering.

Her mind was liquid now, dripping down her inner thighs, beyond any shattering.

4.

Cary purred under the massage. It was nice. It was in her mind, strong fingers reaching into the folds of her brain and stroking her thoughts. She tried to open herself.

Her eyes were open. The crystal flashed back and forth over them and she gazed at it. She was unable to look away and that made her moisten and want to submit herself to it further.

The crystal let her submit. Its hypnotizing rhythm was what massaged her mind, soothing out all the jagged “ideas” that kept her restless and unhappy and leaving her thoughts smooth and relaxed and supple, ready to be remolded.

Cary knew someone would speak to her soon, when her mind had been massaged and she was supple and receptive. She would trust them completely. What they told her she would believe, and when they commanded her she would obey.

She would obey. She must obey. Obey. Obey. Obey.

Cary moaned. The crystal was wonderfully insistent as its motion massaged that spot.

There was a faint, faint remnant of something. Something that was against “obey,” something about thinking for herself. Free will. Her own . . . will? . . .

Obey. Obey.

Cary felt it fade and purred again as freedom glimmered in her mind and then left it. That idea had been especially spiky and not nice at all. Now it was smooth and soft there, and she could just relax and obey.

The crystal stroked her mind some more.

It swung endlessly back and forth, and a small dreaming part of her pictured the iconic hypnotic victim, stupefied and vanquished by simple reciprocal motion. That part of Cary realized she was so helplessly entranced that she wasn’t aware enough to be bored by it now. Just the back and forth was too fascinating to look away from, and the beauty of it ruled what little was left of her mind.

There was a lovely siren song echoing from her pussy. She became aware of her thighs and the soft place between them where the pleasure was deeper and more irresistible than the mind-stroking of the crystal.

The voice she’d been told she was waiting for now began to speak to her.

As soon as she heard it she believed it. It told her there was no more difference between the pleasures. Her pussy and her brain were one, and as long as she was obedient, and thought what she was told to think, then she would live in orgasm.

Believing the voice was orgasm. Orgasm was the voice in her head.

Cary opened her pussy-brain and found it already slick and wet and waiting to be rubbed and filled.

“Sleep now.”

Her pussy-brain obediently went dark.

Cary was obeying as she regained consciousness, too. She didn’t hear the command to awaken but her mind tingled from its control. She knew she’d been hypnotized, and that she was already well on her way to being able to obey without thinking. The knowledge calmed her and made her very, very wet.

It felt right just to stand at attention and wait for more commands.

Women were having sex nearby—they sounded within reach, but she wasn’t facing toward them. No one told her to look, and it felt better just to stand as she’d been instructed to. Cary thought of being with the women, joining her little cries and growls to theirs. She could smell them—or maybe it was her own arousal.

She needed, very badly, to turn and sink down into the writhing girlflesh. But instead she just stood blankly and dripped, simply because someone had hypnotized her and told her to.

The orgasm was small, but she was hooked on it. Obedience was better than sex.

Fingers snapped and then she wanted to turn, staying still but now able to see the lovers. The maid lay back on the bed in nothing but the leather collar, thighs spread and face contorted. Diane crouched between the girl’s thighs, leering at her and working her with both hands—thrusting hard into her anus but playing her cleft with sadistic delicacy.

The girl arched her back and meowed.

Diane let her flop to the sheets again with her eyes rolled back, drool starting from her slack lips. She stroked the inside of the maid’s thigh with cunt-slick fingers, watching the girl twitch.

Diane’s head lolled back and she turned to look up at Cary, who kept still, like the well-trained hypnotized girl she was. Diane still wore her sprayed-on maillot, and her conical nipples were indecently visible behind its minimal sheen. She looked deliberately up and down Cary’s body, and without being able to look Cary knew she’d been stripped so she could be seen, just that way.

Or—ooohhh. Maybe she’d stripped herself, on command, in the hypnotized time she hadn’t been told to remember. She mewed as she came, a tiny echo of Diane’s semiconscious maid.

Diane truly was an evil hypnotist, then. Perfectly ready to reduce even her best friend to nothing but an alternative fucktoy. Cary melted a little inside behind her eyes, and waited to learn what it was like to be a fucktoy.

“Chains?” Diane’s eyes went a little vague, and Cary’s pussy had aftershocks, imagining what her best friend, captor, hypnotist was picturing her in. “Or lace?” Diane licked her lips, and Cary wanted to taste them.

Diane turned back to the maid, whose wiry body was becoming still. Grinning evilly, Diane crouched down again like a cat and blew into the girl’s shaven pink groin. She closed her eyes and then shuddered. She raised her head as if trying to get it clear of the maid, but her eyelids were at half-mast and fluttering.

“She . . . mmmm . . . her scent . . . take her scent now . . . must . . . forget . . .” Diane’s eyes were shut as she nosed in and began to kiss the girl’s nether lips. She leaned on her elbows and ran her hands lightly along the backs of her slavegirl’s upraised thighs. The maid shimmied on the bed and made a high, pleasured sound, and soon her hips were thrusting liquidly into Diane’s face. Her hands reached spasmodically behind her.

Then the maid closed them around a pillow and slid it under her head and shoulders. Her eyes opened and she smiled. Her smile was a happy, well-fucked woman’s, loose on her face now with how skillfully Diane’s cunnilingus kept her peaked.

Her eyes had cleared, but what was in them now was like nothing Cary had ever seen.

They flicked across her and down to where Diane’s head bobbed industriously.

“Yes. Take my scent,” she hissed. Diane’s answering moan was muffled.

The maid looked back up at Cary, who felt deliciously helpless and even more deliciously aware that her confusion would cost her nothing. She was under hypnosis, and her decisions were made for her by someone else.

God. Diane had fallen into her own trap somehow, and the girl she’d abused had turned on her. The evil hypnotist was now completely under her victim’s control. Cary wondered if it were a game Diane were playing, but the idea was too complex for her quivering pussy-brain. And the look in the maid’s eyes was real.

“Slut is sooo good at this.” The girl’s voice was suddenly deeper than her sleepy servant-murmur, and Cary thought she looked older, too. Not the young twentysomething who’d supposedly seduced Arnie. “I wonder if she learned how to deeptongue from you, Cary. When you were bedmates in college.”

Not a game. Diane had told this maid about them, something neither of them had ever revealed.

Oh, god. Not a maid. Nothing like a maid at all. Cary knew it, and saw the demonic glee in the girl’s eyes. The girl was no slave and poor Diane was no mind controller. Poor lecherous Arnie had probably had nothing to do with it. This whole afternoon had been theater, and the girl had trained Diane to play the vengeful dominatrix perfectly—no director had ever had a more obedient actress.

I’m so—fucked.

“Ooooh. Ooh.” The girl broke off for a moment. “Yesssss.” She squeezed her lean thighs around Diane’s head and braced herself with her arms, fucking Diane’s face with a sudden rapid rhythm.

When she subsided, loosening her grip, Diane stayed nestled in her crotch, licking and purring.

“If she didn’t learn it from you, she can teach it to you.” The girl raised her hand, fingertips poised. Then she frowned a little and looked at them, and put them to her mouth, sucking them clean before she raised them again.

“There will be a quiz later.”

Fingers snapped.

Obediently, Cary’s hypnotized mind dimmed again.

5.

“Cary.”

She pressed her thighs around the hand between them, but it was too narrow. Then the buzzing in her cunt intensified and her eyes flew open.

No one had touched her. Diane knelt before her, beautifully nude now. They faced each other on their knees, hands draped by their hips. It was nice to kneel now, and Cary noticed casually that she must still be hypnotized.

“I want to masturbate,” she whispered. “I need to.”

“I know,” Diane said consolingly. “You can’t, though. Goddess forbade us to move our hands.” She strained. “Or our bodies, either. Oh, I wish, Cary. I wish I had enough willpower to lean forward and make love to your pussy.” Her nostrils flared at Cary’s scent. Cary thought of her sniffing the girl’s arousal and realized it had put her back into trance.

“She must have programmed you,” she blurted to Diane, and Diane shivered and nodded.

“She’s programming you, too, Cary.”

Cary hummed. “With this vibrator?” she whispered raggedly.

Diane shook her head. “I saw her hypnotize you into thinking it’s there. It’s a—game of hers.”

Cary opened her eyes and stared into Diane’s. “She controls me that much?” Cary wasn’t sure why she said it, but the joy in her voice became real. “I’m ready to crawl to her and promise her anything to keep feeling this—and it’s just her hypnotic hold on my thoughts?”

She panted now, and Diane was squirming as the words hit her.

“Goddess is enslaving you,” Diane said. Hearing it made Cary thrust around the phantom toy inside her.

Diane moaned and it sent Cary further as she watched her friend’s head droop forward. She could remember Diane clearly from before, the tyrant queen in her robe and more-than-naked suit, wanton and merciless with her mindfucked maidservant.

It made seeing her drip and shiver in nothing but a slave collar, now, so much more arousing.

Cary writhed, knowing that she’d have no orgasm until her hypnotist allowed her to and enjoying that leash almost as much as the unbearable need for release.

She’ll use it to make me more of a slave. Then, ohh, then She’ll do it to me again. And again.

Cary pictured herself in the maid’s uniform, walking robotically through the house, seeing nothing but her new Owner. Telling her friends in a monotone that she must obey and forget them.

Heels clicked again and Goddess was next to them, looking down at Her trembling naked slavegirls with a benevolent smile. She was dressed now, in a sleeveless black top and grey lycra hotpants, with matching suede boots, and Her legs held Cary’s gaze for a moment.

“I know my new girl is enjoying her new game.”

Cary wriggled but didn’t break pose as the poisoned-honey voice awoke the memory. “Yes, Goddess!” It was so right to say it. “I love Vibrators. I love how it programs me into obedience!”

Goddess reached down and stroked her hair. “Yes. I’m going to have a lot of fun with you. When I’m through with you . . .” She laughed, and snapped Her fingers, and Diane raised her head, looking stricken.

“But I might never be through with you, Cary.

“Yummy curvy Cary. I can see why diane liked you. And I can really appreciate why she chose you to come here and be next, when I asked her who her dearest friend was.” Goddess laughed again, prettily. “And why she tried so very hard not to tell me about you, when I let her resist a little. She was a lot easier to program into ‘remembering’ that I’d met her through Arnie, or that she was the one who’d brainwashed me.”

Goddess looked at Cary and Cary felt herself blush, nipples tightening. Diane’s weeping throbbed against her mind. She thought about tears, a stream of hypnotizing crystals, and orgasmed under Goddess’ gaze.

“You were such a sweet rescuer, Cary. I didn’t think you’d do it, and I had some contact anesthetic all over your steering wheel for when you ran out on me, but you didn’t. You tried to rescue the helpless little hypnoslut from your tragically evil best friend, the domme.

“Just as diane told me you would.”

Cary’s head spun a little, but hearing that about Diane didn’t matter anymore. She was hypnotized, and her Goddess was pleased with her.

“I had my doubts, but no one lies to me when she’s that deep or that turned on.”

Cary felt herself rising a little against the pose. Goddess’ crotch curved too invitingly in the hotpants. Only her new brainwashing kept her tame and on her knees.

“Mmm. Soon enough, pet. I want it too. But first we need to complete the cycle and give me your soul, and then Cary can become cary. Mine and mindless, most of the time.” She stepped back.

“Up.”

Cary and Diane obeyed instantly, and Cary nearly orgasmed at how erotic Diane looked, her long body flowing upright under her collar and her staring, moist eyes. Then she realized they were playing Vibrators again, and simpered gratefully at Goddess.

Goddess had turned away to a sideboard and was rummaging through a medical bag. Things clinked as She took them out and laid them out on a towel. Cary was too enthralled by Her ass to pay attention to what they were.

The metallic sound was a trigger, though. She yielded to the light trance it put her into and said, “Everything sounds erotic to me if it’s suggested to me while I’m Vibrating.” Without turning, Goddess nodded, pleased that she knew her implanted lesson.

“Umm . . . I . . .” Cary panted, fighting the pussyjoy to remember and recite.

But for a hypnotized girl it was always easier to obey. “I’ll—have to do it. Whatever it is, sexy or boring or horrible, I must do it, while I’m Vibrating!”

Goddess kept nodding.

“The more that it scares or disgusts me, the hotter I’m going to be to do it! And come and come and come . . .”

“Right.” Goddess rolled the instruments up in the towel and briskly turned. “diane, take us to the basement now.”

“i must obey,” diane said in a quiet, lost voice, and did, unbearably graceful as she led them across the room.

Falling into step beside Cary, Goddess put her hand on Cary’s ass and chuckled at the sound Her new slave made.

Whatever She’s going to make me do, I’ll be cary when I come back up. Diane—

No, I must think as She has hypnotized me to think. Her slut diane looks so hot and obedient.

“Please make me be like that,” she whispered desperately, and hissed as Goddess’ finger teased her asscrack.

“Oh, I will, hypnotized girl,” her Owner assured her. “You’re excellent slave material. I’ll teach you to be my obedient puppet.

“How convenient that we kept Arnie alive.”

diane cried out something in a strangled voice that sounded like “Joss!” But she didn’t break step, and she held the door open for them as they went down.