The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Zabzik, Part I

March 2006
mc: mind control
ff: female/female sex
mf: male/female sex
fd: female dominant
ft: fetish
hu: humiliation

Cassandra wants to wean her boyfriend from an addictive video game. She’ll do, well, anything. . . .

Warning: If you are underage or if explicit sexual fantasy offends you, stop reading now. This story is fantasy, and the characters, locations, and situations are all imaginary.

The techniques described in it are not possible in the real world, and the behaviors in it are emphatically not to be imitated by real people. In reality, nonconsensual sex is a crime, and promiscuity is dangerous. Other people should always be treated with respect and due consideration, not made the objects of grotesque experimentation.

This story is my intellectual property. It may be reproduced for your own pleasure, but do not charge for it or post it on any web site that charges for the privilege of reading it.


By Captain Easy



Cassandra heard the beeping and wheeking the second she unlocked and opened the door to her boyfriend’s apartment. The whirrs, thuds, screams, and explosions were coming from the bedroom. She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and heaved a sigh, exasperated and sibilant. Tek was at it again.

She stood in the open doorway to his bedroom, leaned against the jamb, and crossed her arms. There he sat, a tall, brown-haired guy leaning way too close to the screen, mousing away at that stupid online game as the flickers of explosions painted his cheeks yellow, red, orange. “Hello,” she said.

He didn’t even look around. “Hi, Cassie. Hey, would you bring me a soda? Fridge is loaded.”

“Get it yourself,” she said. “We had a frigging date, remember?”

“Something came up. Look, we unlocked the Sword of Destruction, so the Steel Lord is on our tails. We’ve been trying to get into the freaking castle for three hours! If we can’t, we’re toast—c’mon, Cass, get me a soda? Pretty please?”

“Fuck you. Get it yourself—you’re not on crutches.”

Tek writhed in his chair. “Can’t leave my post, babes. My party’s about to take the Bridge of Diamonds.”

With an annoyed grunt, Cassie pushed away from the door, stalked to the kitchen, and snared a lemon-lime soda, not Tek’s favorite flavor, but the hell with him if he wanted to ignore her. She looked at the mountain of dirty dishes in the sink, wrinkled her nose at the garbage-stink wafting from a lumpy, open green garbage bag. It looked as if were on the verge of spontaneously coming to life. Pig. The soda was cold in her hand. She fleetingly thought of giving it a few vicious shakes, but he probably wouldn’t even notice if it spewed all over him—unless maybe it took out his keyboard. Cassie ground her teeth together. Lucky for Tek she wasn’t the vicious type. She took the soda to him. “Here you go.”

“Open it for me.” He didn’t even look up. He was frantically jigging and jogging the joystick, his thumbs flashing over the buttons. On screen, a mighty warrior wielded an impressive sword, eviscerating various hulking brutes. “Oh, yeah, baby!” Tek exulted as the last one fell. “I rule! Where’s my soda?”

Selfish bastard. But she popped the top, and he reached with his left hand to take the can and hold it to his mouth for a quick gulp. On the computer monitor, the gold-clad character raised his shimmering broadsword against what looked like the charging offspring of an unholy three-way mating between gorillas, crabs, and squid—oops, the creature also flashed lightning from one of its tentacles, so make that a four-way and throw in electric eels. “Oh, man, I don’t know how much longer I can hold these guys off. I’m defending while Jas and Craig blow the castle door.”

“That’s the only thing that’s going to get blown today,” Cassie muttered, sinking down to sit on a small clear spot at the foot of Tek’s bed. The room reeked of sour, stale sweat. It smelled like feet and ass. “My God, Tek, you haven’t done laundry in a week! And how many classes did you make since you started this fucking campaign?”

“Don’t sweat it.” Tek flinched, ducked in his chair, then made his character leap over the charging monster. “Ha! It’s two weeks until midterms, and most of the profs don’t even take roll. I can catch up.”

Cassie crossed her arms under her well-developed breasts and jiggled her foot. Tek was in boxers and stained T-shirt, obviously in no state for dinner and a movie. And he smelled so rank that her appetite for a little cuddling, a little intimacy, had evaporated. She watched him jerk in his chair, using body language as he feinted the monster off-balance before charging in to wound it with a roundhouse swing of the sword, lopping off a tentacle. The stump spewed blood while the monster bellowed and shot a jag of lightning that barely missed the warrior.

I am so damn tired of this, Cassie thought. I’m tired of being a—a damn big sister to this geek. Oh, sure, he had a charming smile and his head was packed with brains, and in the sack he had his moments of tenderness, but a girl needed more. She didn’t want a warrior. She wanted a guy she could depend on, show off, and make love to. Damn “Zabzik,” and double damn the computer nerds who programmed it.

To the accompaniment of monster deaths—“Arrgh!” “Urk!” “Mommy!"—she pushed up and wandered restlessly into Tek’s bathroom. Disgusting. Damp towels littered the floor like linoleum roadkill. Soap scum covered the shower doors. You expected to see mushrooms sprouting in there. She leaned on the sink and studied herself in the toothpaste-spattered mirror: a good, pretty face, not cheerleader quality, but attractive, with full, long auburn hair, startling green eyes—her Irish legacy, her dad had always called them—cute uptilted nose and full, pouting mouth. Sort of an innocent quality, people told her. She looked younger than her nineteen years, people said. Whatever. Anyway, with equipment like that, she could do better than this—this chair potato. Hell, her history teacher, Dr. Brock, had hit on her not all that long ago, and for an old guy of thirty-five, he wasn’t bad looking.

Her nose twitched to a new leitmotif in the symphony of stench that was Tek’s apartment: the bathroom smelled nasty and stale, as if mildew were beginning to creep in under those neglected and moldering towels. This time I am not going to pick them up, she told herself. I am finished with picking up, cleaning up, and washing up after this selfish, childish bastard. She came back into the bedroom. Tek punched the air with his left hand, incidentally knocking over his soda. He ignored it as it lay on its side, the fizzing contents spreading and soaking into the stained carpet. “Yes!”

“Capture the bridge?” she asked.

“Got it!”

“My hero,” she said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “Okay. Switch that damn thing off. We have to talk.”

“Nu-uh! Now we can get into the forbidden tower!”

“Goddamn! That’s it, Tek! You can’t blow off our date and then treat me this way. I’m out of here—babes!”

“Hunh? Uh, in the fridge, I think,” Tek muttered, leaning even closer to read a banner scrolling across the bottom of his screen.

“Fuck you.” Cassie headed for the apartment door. “Don’t forget to eat,” she said.

The game was whirring and chiming as his character hacked at the mechanism that would raise the drawbridge in the face of the dread Steel Lord, who was charging toward it on the back of a twice-life-sized sabertooth tiger, swinging his terrible Morning Star of Doom in a menacing arc. “Hunh?” he asked, but she had already closed the door behind her.


“Boys!” Lacey DeMore said when Cassie complained to her late that Friday evening. They were in their pajamas, sitting in the dorm TV lounge. “Conan” was on, but they weren’t really watching. “I swear to God, sometimes you want to just strangle them. Or pinch their little round heads off.”

“Tell me about it,” agreed Cassie, weariness in her tone. “Lace, I swear to God, Tek would starve to death if I didn’t remind him to eat. Why does he have to be such a jerk about that idiotic game? It’s not like he’s some kind of a moron. I mean, he’s smart in some ways—he doesn’t even have to study, he’s got like a photographic memory—but he is so stupid about video games!”

Lacey, a black-haired, black-eyed beauty, nodded her agreement. “You don’t have to tell me. Here I am dateless on a Friday night, too. See, there’s some sort of stupid Internet tournament going on, and Eli has been playing that goddamn ‘Ziggyzaggy’ for—”

“Zabzik,” corrected a voice that made both Cassie and Lacey jump a little.

“Wynn,” Cassie said as a tall, short-haired girl peered around at them from the wing chair where she had been sitting concealed from view. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” Wynn said, her weepy-looking eyes big behind her round spectacles. “Lacey, the game is ‘Zabzik.’”

“Whatever,” Lacey said, annoyed. “Look, Wynn, this is talk about boys, so we know you won’t be interested.”

Wynn shrugged. “My sexual preference doesn’t affect my knowledge of computers,” she said.

Cassie nodded. “We saw your picture on the front page of the student newspaper with your award for the highest grade in IT classes.”

“Yeah,” Lacey agreed. “Look, why don’t you go and play with your computer right now?”

“I’ve been playing with my computer, as you put it, for a long time,” Wynn shot back, her voice cold. “In fact, I’ve been playing around with something that just might help Cassie solve her problem—but if you girls don’t want me here, I’ll leave.”

Cassie felt a twinge of guilt. Wynn Brandon was not a beautiful girl, far from it. Tall, willowy—no, let’s tell the truth, skinny—with brown hair that spiked up in all directions from her skull, she looked like a vaguely alarmed and malnourished owl, especially when she wore her big round black-rimmed glasses. She was a lesbian, as the whole dorm knew, but she seemed to be discreet. Nobody knew whom she slept with, anyway. Assuming she slept with anyone at all, and that might be a stretch. “That’s okay, Wynn,” Cassie said. “We don’t mind if you stay.”

“Wait a minute,” Lacey said. “What do you mean, you might be able to help Cassie?”

“I’ve been working on a computer program that might just possibly . . . distract Tek from his game and make him more thoughtful where Cassie is involved.”

“Huh?” Cassie asked. She knew Wynn was some kind of dorky computer whiz, but she hadn’t expected any offer of kindness from—

Wynn swiveled her chair around. Cassie winced at her appearance. She wore awful pajamas, dark blue flannel with yellow moons and stars printed on it. She looked like an ad for a planetarium. “Look,” she said, “’Zabzik’ is a game that fascinates guys for some unknown reason. A few girls, too, but mostly guys. What do you know about it?”

“It’s a lot of slicing and dicing, from what I saw,” Lacey replied.

“Kind of a role playing game, isn’t it?” Cassie asked. “I mean, the players create characters and then run them through their paces and all.”

“Both of you are right,” Wynn said. “Guys create characters that are sort of idealized versions of themselves—warriors, magicians, spies, thieves, even politicians and priests. They give these characters personalities based on themselves. When they’re playing online, a lot of the time they hook up with headsets and actually talk through the character’s mouth to the others in the game.”

“Yeah,” Cassie said with a pout. “More than they ever talk to their girlfriends.”

“That’s because they see the world of ‘Zabzik’ as real,” insisted Wynn. “They can kill, loot, and rape with no repercussions—unless some other player takes them out. But the guys revel in this shit. They get all wrapped up in the fantasy world, they get hypnotized by it, right?”

Lacey snorted, but Cassie said, “Yeah. Tek had rather play that fucking game than have a game of fucking.”

Wynn pushed her glasses back into place. “I’ve read studies where psychologists have wired guys and monitored their brains while they played. The game arouses the players’ imagination, makes them suggestible, encourages them to lose their own personalities and assume those of their characters. What’s Tek’s real name?”

“Ted,” Cassie said.

Wynn nodded. “And I’ll bet Tek is the name he gave to the character he created, right?”

“Right,” Cassie said. “Only now he wants people to call him that all the time.”

With a wicked grin, Wynn said, “Okay, he’s hypnotized already. He’s submerged his personality into Tek’s. And the game parameters determine to an extent how Tek can behave. So all my program has to do is tweak the suggestion pattern.”

“How does it do that?” Lacey asked suspiciously.

“I’ll show you, if you agree to my terms.”

“Uh-oh,” Lacey said. “Watch out, Cassie!”

“What terms do you mean? I don’t have a lot of money, Wynn—”

“I don’t want money,” she said scornfully.

“Cassie, forget this,” warned Lacey.

But Cassie asked, “What do you want, then?”

Wynn arched an eyebrow. “I want you to be my guinea pig. If my program can put you under, even after I’ve warned you about what it can do, then it can put anybody under. I want twenty-four hours of controlling you.”

“No way!” Lacey said. “You fucking dyke!”

“Exactly.” Wynn licked her lips. “Here’s the deal: You’re mine for twenty-four hours, if the program works. After that, I set you free and give you the instructions on how to use my program to . . . change Tek’s mind. Hey, if you’re uncomfortable with what develops, I think I can even wipe the twenty-four hours from your memory, make it at worst a kind of . . . steamy dream. All I ask is that after I release you, you then give me periodic reports on how well you’re succeeding with Tek. I need the data.”

“Wynn, I’m not a lesbian,” Cassie said. “No offense, but I don’t feel the least attracted to you.”

“You know what they claim,” Wynn said with an enigmatic smile. “You can’t force a hypnotized person to do something against her nature. Come on, what have you got to lose?”

The thought of prying Tek away from that damn computer monitor was awfully tempting. Slowly, thoughtfully, Cassie asked, “Just twenty-four hours? And if it doesn’t work on me?”

“Then I’ll still give you the program and you can still try it on your boyfriend. It may affect some people and not others. May affect boys but not girls. See, I don’t know yet. I have to experiment.”

“Wait a minute,” Lacey said. “I am not going to let Cassie do this alone.”

Wynn swept her eyes over Lacey. “Deal. I’ll take you, too.”


Lacey brought her laptop to Wynn’s room, and Cassie sat at Wynn’s keyboard. It was a little daunting: Wynn’s computer was even more state-of-the-art than Tek’s. “Okay,” Wynn said as she finished running cable. “I’ve networked just your two computers so the two of you can communicate. You’re offline, of course. Can’t have my program getting out on the Internet before I know for sure how it works. All right, I’ve booted the game. Now, the first thing for each of you to do is to create a character. You both on the ‘Generation’ screen? Okay, just follow the directions.”

“What is this?” Lacey asked suspiciously. “Sex masc, fem, herm, neut?”

“You have to start with the gender of your character,” Wynn said patiently. “Masculine, feminine, hermaphrodite—”

“Eeuwww!” said Lacey

“—or neuter. The neuters can only be government bureaucrats or harem eunuchs, though, so I wouldn’t recommend that.”

Cassie asked, “Do many girls play masculine characters?”

“Who the fuck knows?” Wynn asked. “Half the time you’re talking to somebody online, it’s not who you think. The twenty-year-old blonde virgin is a fifty-year-old man, some deve with a beer gut and a prick the size of your little finger. I’ve had computer sex with girls who’d die if they knew a girl had them on the floor fucking them. Of course, some of the girls have undoubtedly been guys, but in cyberspace it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m being a girl,” Lacey said with decision in her voice.

Cassie also had picked “fem.” Then an avatar, naked but with no sex characteristics—no nipples or pudenda, anyway, and bald—appeared on the screen. She got to decide how muscular to make her character, then choose the look: race, complexion, hair color, eye color, size of breasts—she went for a more generous bust than her real one—clothing, and so on. She picked out a set of skills, and the computer recommended that her character become a Valk—a female warrior, as Wynn explained. In twenty minutes, Cassie’s character, “Karm,” stood looking, well, sexy in form-fitting chrome and enamel-blue armor. She looked over at Lacey’s monitor. “Oh, cute, Lace.”

Lace had chosen to create a magic-wielder, a tall, black-haired beauty of a woman with a shock of white streaking back from her left temple. She wore an extraordinarily sexy-looking outfit of clinging black—thin black rubber, it looked like!—which clearly showed the ample bulge of her breasts, the jut of her firm nipples, even the cleft outline of her sex. “Her name is Shock,” Lacey said complacently.

“Hang on now,” Wynn said. She popped one of the CD-Rom trays out and dropped an unmarked CD into it. “This program will augment the ‘Zabzik’ operating instructions. All right, ladies, I’m going to launch the trainer game. Put on your headsets and remember to say the dialogue out loud as it appears on the screen.”

The headset was comfortable, one of the kind that covered your ears, isolating you from the sounds of the real world. Cassie heard the ambient sounds of a tavern and saw her character standing just inside the doorway, as if she were standing just behind and to the right of Karm, the Valk warrior. She found the way to control the character’s gaze, and Karm looked around until spotted Shock sitting at a table alone, a glass of wine before her. Using the joystick, Cassie made Karm walk toward the table.

Shock looked up and lifted her wine glass in salute. “Hello, stranger.”

Cassie smiled. The voice was Lacey’s. “Hello, magic-wielder,” she read from the script at the bottom of her screen, knowing that Lacey couldn’t see her script, as she couldn’t see Lacey’s. “Interested in searching for a little treasure?”

Shock sipped her wine, signaled a waiter for a bottle and another glass, and said, “Tell me more.”

As the two of them conversed, making their deal, Cassie had to listen intently, because non-playing characters were carrying on conversations all around her. As she and “Shock” came to an agreement, she kept hearing fragments of other voices: “. . . mistress is always right . . .” “. . . submission is pleasure . . .” “. . . my duty is to her.” Pretty obvious stuff, she thought, and it certainly wouldn’t have any effect on her. Though she had to admit, if she had been inclined to make it with a girl, Shock wouldn’t be a bad choice to begin. She kept being distracted by Shock’s bobbing bosom, the proud nipples so clearly outlined by the black, rubbery material that she could see the little pucker of the milk ducts, the small bumps that dotted the aureoles.

But they came to an agreement about dividing the spoils—sixty-forty, in favor of Karm, because she was the one who had discovered the map, and Shock was only a first-level sorceress, so she couldn’t offer any really powerful spells. The two set out to find a cavern protected by a small lava dragon and had various adventures along the way, gaining experience and fending off relatively weak and inept attackers. They reached the cavern, slew the dragon, and found a golden hoard inside. Shock, who had raised her magical abilities one level during their game, wallowed in the coins. Karm, a little scorched and battle-damaged, sat down near her. “Kiss me,” Cassie read from the screen, now accustomed to speaking the lines of her character.

On the computer monitor, Shock rose to her knees, took Karm in her arms, and planted a long kiss on her lips. The camera zoomed in to show the two computer avatars hungrily sucking on each other’s tongues. Cassie chuckled. As if anything like that could ever. . . happen . . .

Shock knelt on the pile of gold and released the catch of Karm’s loin guard. She smiled wickedly as she bared Karm’s love mound. She bent mischievously, her lips puckered, to give Karm’s clitoris a . . . a kiss . . . .


Squirming, feeling hot, Cassie raised her ass from the seat and felt eager fingers tug her pajama bottoms down.

On the monitor, Shock was peeling off her skintight costume. Karma moved with a jiggle of the joystick to take one of Shock’s firm red nipples in her mouth . . .

Soft, fluttery tongue, oh, nice, and Cassie spread her legs to welcome the attention.

Wait, wait, this was wrong, this was real, not—

“Lace,” she murmured. “My God, Lace!”

Cassie reached to tug the earphones off. She tore her eyes from the screen.

God, she was naked from the waist down! And Lacey was kneeling before her, under the computer desk, and her mouth was at Cassie’s snatch. . .

Wynn leaned on the top of the monitor. “Take off your top,” she said.

Cassie heard, and Karm obeyed. “Yes, Mistress,” she heard herself say, as if she were reading the words from a script. She leaned forward—Lacey smacked away at her clit, her tongue probing deep, moving up, oh, so nice—and yanked off her pajama top, popping buttons in her haste.

“Run your hands over your breasts, slave,” Wynn told her.

“Yes, Mistress.” Cassie felt weird, but also detached, safe. After all, this wasn’t real. She was only pretending to do this in a game. She was breathing hard as she cupped her own breasts, playing with the already stiff nipples. Oh, God, now Lace had two fingers inside her, squirming and wriggling! And Lace knew just how to suck her clit to make her—oh, but she couldn’t come!

“I think I’d like to see both of you naked,” Wynn said. “Lacey, get to your feet and strip! Cassie, come and sit beside me on the bed.”

Cassie did so, leaning against Wynn, spreading her thighs to permit Wynn to finger her pussy, so nice, ah, so . . . so exciting. Lacey, her cheeks glowing red, took off her top, freeing her pretty breasts, oh, why hadn’t Cassie ever noticed how suckable they were? Then she pushed down her pajama bottoms and her panties, revealing her pussy, pouting and tempting beneath a neat, trimmed triangle of black pubic hair.

Wynn stood. “Beautiful, Lacey. Let’s get a little lez going here, girls. Okay, Cassie, lie on your back. Lacey, sixty-nine her!”

Lacey’s face writhed. “You bitch!”

“Ah, ah! Bad, slave Shock! I’ll have to punish you for that.” Wynn mimed cracking a whip, and Lacey jerked as if it had just bitten into the tender flesh of her hip.

She whimpered and murmured, “Please, Mistress!”

Cassie’s heart was pounding. “Wynn, don’t,” she pleaded.

“You’re mine for the day,” Wynn reminded her with a smile. “I know just how you girls talk about me when my back is turned. I know the kind of jokes you all tell—too queer to get a guy, too ugly to get a girl. Well, now I have myself a couple of girlfriends, don’t I? You know what? I’m so tired of being humiliated myself, I want to find out what it’s like on the other side. So you might as well enjoy this, because I’m going to get comfortable, then give you ladies a few special directions.” She stripped, too—not a great body, Cassie couldn’t help thinking, modest breasts, hips a little too narrow—and then sprawled in her computer chair, idly stroking her slit. She tilted her head, a dreamy, anticipatory smile on her lips.

“Lacey, give Cassie your little pussy, and you suck hers. You seemed to enjoy it so much when you were being Shock.”

“I won’t!” Lacey said, though she climbed onto the bed and threw her leg over, so that her pussy hovered right above Cassie’s face. “You can’t make me!”

“Obey me, slave Shock!” Wynn said.

“Yes, Mistress.” Lacey lowered her head and—Cassie writhed—she felt her busy tongue at work again, flickering, enthusiastic, fiery. It was as if the name Shock were a magic word, she thought, as if calling Lacey by her game name made her somehow—

“Slave Karm, eat Shock’s pussy!”

“Oh, yes, Mistress!” Cassie exclaimed, filled with a sudden blinding joy that she could please Wynn in this delightful way. Cassie reached to embrace Lacey’s ass, so hot, so charmingly firm, and pulled her down. Lacey’s slit opened for her, hot and salmon-colored, already oozing. Cassie felt humbled, honored, that her Mistress would watch her pleasure this delectable woman. Her tongue quickly dipped into the flowing juices of Lacey’s slit—

“It tastes good,” Wynn crooned.

Oh, it tasted so good. Cassie couldn’t help smacking her lips, couldn’t help thrusting her tongue into that burning, flowing slit for more—

“Shock, you are a slut. What are you?”

Lacey murmured the words right into Cassie’s pussy, and she felt the vibrations: “Mistress, I am a slut.”

Cassie was sucking at the folds of Lacey’s labia, her mind reeling with a kind of insane, drunken pleasure. Lacey’s tongue was teasing and probing at her clit, and oh God, her whole body was quivering, she was trembling on the very edge, so close to coming—

“Slave Karm, you cannot come until I give you permission. Same for you, slave Shock. But try. Try for all you’re worth! Show me how much you want to come. Try to make each other come! Do anything! You’re sluts!”

They writhed and licked and sucked and probed pussies and assholes with their fingers. Sweat poured from both of them, making their skin gleam lewdly in the muted light of the one table lamp, the sheen of perspiration gluing their flesh together as they gasped and panted and groaned with urgent, mounting need. After a few minutes, or after an eternity, Wynn said, “Now you may come!”

“Oh, God, yes!” Cassie yelped and bucked as she felt a fresh, hot gush of Lacey’s fluids over her cheeks and lips and as her own needy center exploded in a shuddering orgasm that left her limp and dizzy. “Oh, thank you, Mistress!” For a moment the two girls lay, head to pussy, and Cassie felt Lacey’s belly pumping as she gulped in lungfuls of air, heard her whimpering and cooing. Dimly, Cassie realized that Wynn had fingered herself to at least one fulfilling orgasm, maybe more. The air was musky with the scent of feminine sex.

Wynn was still playing with her own clit, as if she were just keeping the motor at idle. “Stand up, slaves.”

“Yes, Mistress,” they said in unison, rising from the bed. Lacey gave Cassie a despairing look, and her eyes were the eyes of a trapped animal.

Wynn moved over and lay back luxuriously on the bed. “Slave Cassie, get astride me. I will eat you out. Slave Lacey, you will eat me out.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Cassie said, her heart pounding with joy and excitement at the thought of pleasing Wynn.

“Yes...yes...Mis-tress....” Lacey moaned, bending to her task.

“You may finger yourself while you do so,” Wynn said generously. “Now, slaves!”

Cassie settled on her knees, gently lowering her pussy to Wynn’s waiting mouth. She began to rotate her hips as Wynn’s tongue found her slit and started to lick it. In a dazed, pleased kind of way, Cassie admired Lacey’s figure. She looked so sweet kneeling at the foot of the bed, her face buried in Wynn’s snatch, her wonderful bouncy ass in the air. She could tell that Lacey was masturbating herself as she licked and sucked Wynn. Oh, look at her, so frantic. Cassie enjoyed the electric sensations of Wynn’s warm tongue and smiled to herself. Silly, silly Lacey. She wanted to come so badly.

Silly Lacey.

Mistress would tell them when they could come.

She could wait. . . . .


Hours had passed.

Lacey stood naked and trembling uncontrollably, as if her muscles were on the verge of shutting down. Cassie could hear her suppressed sobs, the gasps and pleas high-pitched and heart-rending, like the weeping of a child. Cassie frowned, trying to understand why Lacey was unhappy. Their Mistress would take care of them, think for them, and direct them. They had no need, no cause to worry. If they served Mistress Wynn, why they were being all that they could wish to be, all that a bitch slut could aspire to be. The knowledge that she was serving well filled Cassie with a soft happiness.

“Slave Karm,” their beautiful Mistress said, “you will prepare me. Slave Shock, I have chosen you to fuck.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” mumbled Lacey, her voice small and miserable.

Wynn handed a dildo and a web of leather straps to Cassie. “Prepare me,” she ordered again. “Do well and I shall reward you.”

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress,” murmured Cassie, dropping gratefully to her knees and untangling the black, chrome-studded harness. She had never even seen one of these things before, but it was a kind of clothing, after all. She could figure it out.

“What are you, Slave Karm?” Wynn asked as Cassie fumbled with the dildo, finding just how it fitted through an opening in the harness, understanding how the soft, nubbled base of it would fit snugly against Mistress Wynn’s pussy, pleasuring her as she fucked Lacey’s hot holes.

“Mistress, I am a dirty slut,” she said contentedly.

Mistress Wynn caressed her hair, making Cassie shudder with delight. “Clever Cassie. And Slave Shock, what are you?”

“M-Mistress, I am a d-dirty whore cunt bitch s-slut,” stammered Lacey. Each time she had failed to answer properly, Wynn had added another description she had to recite. She writhed now, her body streaked with sweat, her face tear-stained.

“You are improving, Slave Shock. Hurry, Slave Karm.”

Cassie held the harness up and Wynn stepped delicately into it, right foot and then left. Cassie gently pulled the harness up over her creamy thighs, marveling at her Mistress’ smooth skin, her wonderful hips, and her tight wet pussy. Licking her lips, Cassie carefully fitted the studded, curved base so it would stimulate her Mistress’ labia and clitoris. Then she buckled the straps, looking down to admire the clean curves of Wynn’s buttocks as she did so. Mistress was so beautiful! Mistress was everything that a dirty slut could only dream of being.

Wynn reached down to stroke her mock erection, a monstrous flesh-colored bulbous thing, thicker and longer than a man’s cock. “Suck it, Slave Shock,” she said.

Obediently, Lacey dropped to her knees and began to slurp and slobber over the rubber dildo. From the faces she was making, Cassie guessed it tasted bad, but her grimaces and gags of disgust seemed to please Mistress Wynn, and Cassie hoped that pleased her friend as much as it pleased her. If vomiting made Mistress Wynn happy, then Cassie would gladly puke for her—and lap it back up if ordered.

“Slave Karm, you will lie on the bed,” Wynn said firmly. “Slave Shock will bend over you and you will eat out her pussy as she eats out yours. I will fuck her ass.”

Lacey whimpered and winced, but she kept slobbering over the fake prick.

“Yes, Mistress,” Cassie said calmly, feeling wetness flowing already. She lay crossways on the bed—it was so narrow she had to draw her knees up, her toes touching the wall, and let her head half-dangle off the side—and waited in hungry anticipation.

Lacey straddled her head, bent over, and began to lap her pussy. “Lick it, bitch,” Wynn told her. “Suck her clit, slave Shock! Is she doing well, Cassie?”

“Oh, Mistress, she is!”

“Good. You will continue, Slave Shock. You will try to make Cassie come. Cassie, you may pleasure Lacey now.”

Cassie’s throat ached from all the pussy-juice she had swallowed already, and her tongue felt raw, but if her licking Lacey’s swollen labia and clitoris brought pleasure to Mistress Wynn, it pleased her, also. Happily she began to polish Lacey’s clit with her tongue, her eyes on the hovering tip of the dildo. Wynn put her hands on Lace’s ass cheeks, forcing them apart, and pressed the head of the dildo against Lacey’s puckered pink asshole.

Lacey groaned and whimpered as Wynn forced the head, then the shaft, inside her. “What do you want me to do, Slave Shock?” asked Wynn.

“Ohh...f-fuck me, Mistress. Please fuck me.”

“Tell me you love it.”

With a hopeless moan, Lacey said, “It f-feels good, Mistress. I love it. F-fuck my ass, please. H-harder—oh!”

“Tell me you love it!”

“I—I love it, Mistress! Oh, yes! Oh, God, fuck my ass faster, deeper, harder!”

“Make Cassie come!”

Lacey dropped her head and Cassie pushed her pussy against that warm invading tongue, those knowing, sly, nibbling lips.

“Oh, yes!” barked Wynn in a throaty growl.

Humming happily to herself, Cassie licked and licked. Lacey worked hard at her own task, and soon waves of urgency spread out from Cassie’s clitoris, building to the release she could not have until Mistress Wynn said she had permission. Lacey’s tight ass must have loosened up under the assault of the strap-on dildo, because now Wynn was pounding into her, sweaty flesh slapping moist against flesh, hands clenched cruelly deep in the yielding flesh of Lacey’s buttocks. Cassie imagined being fucked that way, and a flush of warm happiness spread through her. If it would please Wynn, it would be so wonderful to offer herself to that plunging impalement, to feel that rubber shaft expanding her, filling her, driving in and out. Lucky, lucky Lacey!

Wynn came three or four times, and then she ordered, “Slaves, you will come now! You will come as you have never before come in your lives! Now!”

Lacey’s body jerked and spasmed, and she shrieked. Cassie lifted her ass off the bed, pressing her pussy against Lacey’s chin, feeling as though a dam inside her had broken, as if a flood of passion were sweeping her mind away—ohhh . . . .

They didn’t sleep—except with each other. They didn’t eat—except each other. They relieved their bowels and bladders once or twice. They bathed their Mistress, shampooing her hair, lovingly soaping her body, rinsing her beneath the shower, and they the slaves took quick, freezing cold showers that left their nipples hard and prominent. They sucked Wynn’s toes. They fingered each other’s pussies as she watched. They used dildoes to pleasure her in her ass and in her pussy, and then they thanked her when she whipped them.

And then Wynn said that Cassie had earned the right to whip Shock. And Shock deserved to be whipped because she kept whimpering in a beaten-dog kind of way. Like a hurt puppy. A hurt bitch puppy, Wynn crooned.

Through a dreadful kind of fog, dreadful because it was rosy and warm and made her feel so good, Cassie reached out her hand when Wynn offered her the whip. A distant part of her mind told her she held nothing, that the whip was make-believe, insubstantial as air. But then Slave Shock’s chains were imaginary, too, and yet she stood in the center of the room, hands stretched over her head, as if her bound wrists were secured to the ceiling by the heavy chain that Cassie could see only when Wynn told her it was there. Lacey begged for mercy, standing on tiptoes. “Please, don’t—Cassie, don’t hurt me any more. Please, please—”

“Punish her,” Wynn ordered.

And Cassie swung her empty hand back, and she imagined so strongly the heft of the bullwhip that it seemed to her she actually held it, and she lashed forward, hard, and she clearly heard the harsh crack of the leather against the flesh of Lacey’s ass. Lacey jerked her whole body and her hoarse voice keened in pain, and she wept. An angry red welt formed across her right buttock.

“Harder,” purred Wynn. “Slave Karma, you will come after every stroke. Slave Shock, you will come whenever the whip touches you. Pain will become pleasure, pleasure pain. Whip her!”

Had the whip been real, it would have drawn blood, would have peeled flesh from backbone and ribs. As it was, Lacey’s white, bare back became crisscrossed by flaming red weals, so real did her imagination make the strokes she received.

And just as Mistress Wynn had said, Cassie came, over and over, with the pleasure of hurting her friend, and Lacey at last gibbered and sobbed her thanks for the abuse: “It’s so good, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress. Oh, I’m coming! Oh, that was good. Thank you, Cassie. Thank you, Mistress Wynn.”

They collapsed in a warm heap of flesh at last, fucked out, exhausted, unable to resist the tidal pull of sleep. Cassie woke late Saturday to find Wynn kissing her, tongue deep in her mouth. She stirred and smiled and whispered, “Thank you, Mistress.”

“Your service has ended,” Wynn said, stroking her hair. “Slave Karm, I release you.”

Something shot through Cassie like a jolt of electricity. She pushed away from Wynn, sprang to her feet. “Oh! Oh, my God, Wynn, what the fuck did you do to me?”

“You remember it all,” Wynn said with a wicked little smile. “In fact, you’ll never be able to forget it. I implanted that suggestion in you, along with all the others. Know what, Cassie? I suspect that no matter how well your boyfriend fucks you from now on, there’s always going to be a little something missing. Get dressed, for God’s sake. I’m starving, and I want to take Shock out for dinner.”

“All right,” Cassie said, fumbling for her scattered clothing. Pajamas beside the computer chair, panties on the floor. God, she ached everywhere, and—she pulled on her panties, wincing—her pussy was tender, as if it had been flayed raw! She couldn’t fasten her pajama top—the buttons were all gone. She clutched it to her chest and felt a dizzy lurch of disgust for herself, for what she had done.

She gave Wynn a hot-eyed look of fury, but her mind blurred before she could curse or protest. Wynn smiled at her. That made her feel nice. She smiled back.

Wynn held out a thin jewel case with a CD-Rom inside it.

Cassie took it from her. “This will do it?”

“This will do it. Put it in Tek’s computer while ‘Zabzik’ is running. It’s self-extracting, and it will take care of the rest. Have fun with your new toy.”

“Cassie. . . .” the exhausted, terrified voice was Lacey’s.

“Quiet, Slave Shock,” Wynn said casually.

Cassie looked at her friend, spread-eagled naked on the bed. Welts covered her torso and breasts, as if she had been beaten. Had she been beaten? No, of course not, it was all a game, just pretend—“Come on, Lacey,” Cassie said.

“Sorry,” Wynn replied with a smile. “I keep Lacey.”


“I said I’d let you go after twenty-four hours. Lacey just tagged along, so I get to keep her. You understand, don’t you—Slave Karm?”

Comfort washed over Cassie in a warm, sweet wave. She smiled in absolute trust and devotion. “Of course, Mistress.”

“You won’t see much of Lacey any more,” Wynn said, reaching down to the bed to pinch one of Lacey’s nipples, hard. “Slave Shock is going to take her place. She’s going to learn to keep me happy. What are you, Slave Shock?”

Dully, Lacey replied, “Mistress, I am a dirty whore bitch cunt skank slut.”

“And who do you belong to?”

“I belong to you, Mistress.”

“You may lick my hand.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” Lacey wearily rolled to her stomach, rose on hands and knees, and began to lap the back of Wynn’s offered hand.

Cassie smiled. It was nice that her friends were so happy. She was so pleased for them. “Well—I’ll leave you two, then,” she said.

She paused in the doorway to wave. Wynn was fastening a black, chrome-studded dog collar around Lacey’s neck. It looked so right, so good on her! “Bye,” Cassie said.

And in a rasping, hopeless whisper, Lacey begged, “Help me.”