The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I’d gotten the neural network from some particularly scary ‘Russian businessmen’ as partial payment for a brace of former spies. Olga and Svetlana had done some pretty terrible things, but that still hadn’t stopped the pangs of guilt when I’d handed them over.

What ever its provenance, the black box certainly wasn’t Soviet, the absence of Cyrillic on its casing was the biggest give away. Neatly stencilled letters identified it as an ‘adaptive learning evolved intelligence’, which was a bit of a mouthful. I took to just calling it ‘the machine’.

My original plan had been for some sort of production line setup. Feisty recalcitrant victims would be dropped in one chute, and docile, programmable slavesluts would emerge from another, some time later. The machine would oversee this process, and I could focus on picking up the raw materials and spending the money we made. But, as I may have mentioned, it was just too delicious, watching them first fight against, then finally accept and embrace their fate.

The problem, as it turned out, was that my machine had been learning ever since it had been installed. With each new victim it expanded its knowledge and pretty soon came to an unavoidable conclusion. There was a weak link in our enterprise, someone with too much empathy, and far too little ruthless pragmatism. Try as I might to banish the feelings, the simple truth was that I cared about my slaves.

At some point, the machine decided to step in. Some changes needed to be made, for my own good. I had programmed it with efficiency in mind, and the first thing it had noticed was how inefficient I was. For the good of the company, I needed to be supplanted.

But even then, I had gotten off lightly. The process was supposed to work by first stripping away the victim’s resolve. Then, moulding and reshaping them into whatever the client desired. The ‘Bondova’ twins, for example, had been dispatched with the standard package. It lacked imagination, but then that was why I left a backdoor into their slavebrains, just in case I needed to go back later and upload a ‘patch’. Most customers seem satisfied, and the more discerning always made their needs known before hand.

Whatever it had hit me with, there was very clearly nothing standard about it. It wasn’t even the variant ‘honeytrap’ program that was chasing around Joan’s limbic system, although there was something of that to it. No, this thing was entirely custom made, its code written exclusively with me in mind, and that was scary as hell.

With the machine in charge, we began to push the envelope, going after targets that previously I would have dismissed as being too dangerous. But, even as we soared, I still couldn’t keep from worrying about what had been done to me. There could be any number of unpleasant surprises hidden in my subconscious, and I would never now about them, until they were activated.

I couldn’t even reprogram myself back to my default. It was one of the first things that I had tried, but of course the machine had already shut off that possibility. It held the keys to my mind, and no one else could make the necessary changes, even using all of the other tools at my disposal. It was only then that I realised just how deeply I had fallen.

We’d never gone after another ‘exporter’ before. Not so much out of a sense of camaraderie, but more because it had seemed too risky. Slaving a slaver was definitely crossing a line. Looking back, that was when it had all started to unravel. Not that I’d noticed at the time, I was far too excited at the audacity we were showing. But I can’t help but wonder whether what happened had been part of the machine’s plan all along. It always thought so many steps ahead.

Madame Sin was our main competition in the region. Although she lived slightly higher up the pecking order, I had always seen that position as entirely temporary. It was easy to justify her capture and subsequent sale, after all, wasn’t that exactly how she dealt with her own victims? But, one thing was very clear. There was no way that we were going to be able to chloroform her in some nightclub bathroom. No, this was going to require finesse and subterfuge.

The Madame was apparently so confident in her invulnerability that she made no effort to conceal either her identity or location. Working out of a fetish clothing store seemed somehow ‘tacky’ but, then our base of operations used to be a fish canning factory, so I was hardly in a position to cast aspersions.

The plan was to let Joan pose as a customer/potential victim. We had to be careful; if it were too obvious, then the Madame would sense the trap. But, we also needed to make sure that she wouldn’t overlook our pretty bait. I wasn’t so certain, short of painting a bull’s-eye on her delectable arse, I couldn’t see how we could be anymore blatant. The machine, however, was very clear, and our only option was to trust that there was method to its madness.

Safe and secure in our non-descript panel van, I watched as Joan’s bio-readings continued to climb. It had only been five minutes since she stepped inside ‘Sin’s of the Flesh’ and I still hadn’t stopped wincing at the misplaced apostrophe. I chalked up another mark in the ‘bitch must pay’ column and wondered if I should add basic grammar to her custom program.

“Problems?” I asked carefully, putting my trust in the bone-induction system.

“No,” she subvocalised, “Just been checked out by a thrall.”

I grinned, finding pleasure in the idea of releasing the Madame’s pretty captives back into the wild. She wouldn’t have any more need for them, and from what I knew; her girls wouldn’t meet my exacting standards. Then, the weight of compulsion pressed down onto me, with a suddenness that took my breath away. Pure mercenary desire welled up from somewhere deep inside, and I realised, with a growing sense of horror, that my standards were no longer important.

This was business, pure and simple; it wasn’t some kind of rescue mission. I moaned, as the need to obey slowly intensified. It was an almost unbearable ache, and somehow I knew that the only way to ease it was to do as I was told. But, there were some things worth fighting for, and in this case, giving in would make me no better than the creature we were hunting.

The effort made me gasp, and the injured ribs protested. I hissed in pain, clutching at my side, but that only made it worse. Without the benefit of the drugs, or Joan’s soothing touch, it was all I could do not to cry out. I fought to get my breathing back under control, but I couldn’t quite keep myself from whimpering piteously.

“Mistress?” Joan asked, uncertainty practically dripping from the single word.

“I’m fine,” I answered quickly, cursing my weakness, “Now, be my good girl and concentrate on what you’re supposed to be doing.”

“Yes, Mistress,” she simpered, and I could hear her sarcasm even through the transmitter.

But, as I began to calculate just how long Joan should be left to the Madame’s tender mercies as a punishment, I realised that the ache had gone. The compulsion was there, still lurking in the background, it had simply lost its strength. It was an effort to fight down the sense of elation, but I knew enough not to get ahead of myself. I’d managed a small victory, however, I wasn’t about to assume that I had this thing beat.

Still, it was the first sign that the machine’s hold over me might not be absolute and, more importantly, it gave me some small measure of hope. Joan, it seemed, had done me a favour. I made a note to reward her appropriately, just as soon as we’d secured our first Domme and her entire harem. After all, I had reasoned, there was no point in tipping my hand this early in the game.

Joan knew she had to do what she was told, but that didn’t stop her from worrying. Mistress’ attempts at reassurance seemed half-hearted at best, and that did not bode well. Despite her concerns, and the leeway, which the programming granted, she couldn’t just ignore her instructions. Mistress had been very clear and, however much she might secretly enjoy her slave’s bratty disobedience, Joan knew that she had already used up any remaining good will.

She let her attention flick back to the svelte woman who seemed so keen to ingratiate herself. Joan had her pegged as a thrall from the moment she’d laid eyes on her. The slightly glazed expression and vacant smile were the most obvious clues, but there was more to it than that. Although she was really quite beautiful, there was something missing. An absent spark that made her seem strangely hollow.

Joan stared into those soulless almond eyes and forced herself not to shudder. This close to closing, the store was practically deserted. She swallowed, not having to fake her nervousness. However meticulous the machine’s planning, they were still embarking on an incredibly risky (some might even say foolhardy) path. There was just so much that could go wrong.

“Do you see anything that interests you?” the thrall asked, emphasising her point by stroking perfectly manicured fingers over her latex-clad body.

There was something about this place that was getting to her. The rich scents of leather and rubber, mixed with sweeter and muskier perfumes. Everywhere she glanced, there were promises of even greater pleasures. It was decadence, a veritable pleasure palace, and the longer she stayed, the more powerful that sensation became.

She could feel her pulse pounding in her throat, as she fought to stay in character. It was supposed to be her first time in a place like this, and her excitement mingled with embarrassment and just a hint of fear. She didn’t quite scream ‘victim’, but she certainly whispered it loudly enough to be heard clearly.

“Oh,” Joan gasped, blushing prettily and glancing away, “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

The other woman smiled indulgently, nodding her understanding. Then, she seemed to come to a sudden decision, and Joan knew that the bait had been taken. So now, all that she had to concentrate on, was not getting eaten.

“Why don’t I show you some of our beginner’s range?” the thrall asked easily, taking Joan by the arm and guiding her towards the back of the store.

It was an effort not to shrug off the hand. But instead, she allowed herself to be led, and focussed on all the treasures that surrounded her. Even to the naïve customer she was emulating, it was very clear that the rear of the store was where the truly disturbing items were kept.

“Uhm,” she began, haltingly, “This all looks a little extreme.”

The thrall didn’t pause, and her grip on Joan’s upper arm suddenly became a little tighter. She gasped, and tried to pull away, but it was no use. Then, without warning, the sensation she had felt since her arrival suddenly grew more intense. A warm tingle caught her somewhere deep beneath her sacrum and rippled wonderfully into her pelvis.

“That’s right,” the thrall smiled, seeing Joan’s reaction, “Let’s get you started with something gentle, we can work up to extreme once you’re feeling a little more comfortable.”

Joan couldn’t really hear what the other woman was saying, but it didn’t seem to matter. The tone sounded reassuring enough, and as the heat continued to roll up and down her spine, everything else became secondary. She tried to distance herself from the feelings, knowing that something was being done to her, but even that knowledge wasn’t enough to let her break free. Instead, she just let herself be led meekly, relishing the growing pleasure than each step gave her.

Joan’s bio-readings had changed quite suddenly. Whereas before she had been growing steadily more agitated, now she appeared to be on the verge of sleep. All beta activity had abruptly ceased, and now her electro-encephalogram showed mostly alpha waves, with the occasional theta beginning to appear here and there. There had been no warning, at least none that had registered. She hadn’t even had the chance to say anything, and now it seemed that my partner was well on her way into trance.

It wasn’t entirely unexpected, but the speed with which it had happened, was at the very least, unsettling. The warm blanket of artificial calm descended once more, and this time I let it wrap and hold me. Panicking wouldn’t help anyone, and for the moment, (at least), I needed to place my trust in Joan.

I compared the tracker’s position with the building blueprints, and saw that she had stopped somewhere between the main shop floor and the loading dock. It was impossible to be any more accurate than that, but I had to hope that close would count.

The frustration began to build, and all that I could do was wait. For what must have been the hundredth time, I carefully checked my pistol, trying to focus my attention on something practical. But it was no use. Despite the best efforts of my conditioning, I just couldn’t stop worrying about Joan.

We’d known that the ‘witch bitch’ was some kind of hypnotist. But the machine wouldn’t let me give Joan the protection she needed. I understood the reasoning, and even agreed with it in principle. But, that still didn’t change the fact that we were risking her mind so that Madame Sin wouldn’t recognise our trap.

The gun was a reassuring weight in my hand, and I’d spent so much time on the range and in the ‘killing house’ that it almost felt like an extension of my arm. I flexed my fingers, putting just enough pressure on the trigger to engage the laser-spot projector mounted under the barrel. The bright red dot wavered for an instant, before I shifted the wavelength. Just as soon as I was let off my leash, I was going in there to dart the bitch, and heaven help anyone who stood in my way.

Joan sighed, as her pussy clenched in anticipation. The thrall’s hands were soft and warm, moving with deft precision to the buttons of her captive’s blouse. The pleasure continued to build, while those same clever hands scooped her heavy breasts from the silken prison of her bra. She moaned as the thrall exposed her, and blushed more deeply when she recognised the rising scent of her own sluttish need.

Then a second pair of hands reached around and grasped hold of her engorged tits. Joan let out a long, whimpering cry, as strong fingers crushed her breasts together and began to work on them in earnest. Her nipples were caught and rolled, pressed deeply into her flesh and stimulated relentlessly into quivering nubs of swollen agony. All the while, both women moaned in sequence, their words barely audible over the throb of her pulse.

“Look at her, Haruka,” Joan dreamed that she heard, “Practically ours already.”

“I know, Akane,” came the giggling reply, “and we’ve barely started, poor thing.”

“Oh, it won’t be so bad,” breathed into her ear, “See how much she’s already enjoying having me play with her slavetits.”

The hands gripped tightly, nails biting lightly into taut skin. Then, very gently, Joan felt her breasts drawn upwards. She shuddered, feeling another ripple of pleasure climbing up her spine and washing into her mind. Then, just as the next wave began to build, the hands relinquished their hold and let her tits drop heavily back onto her chest.

“She does like that, doesn’t she?” asked a lilting voice, as Joan cried out again.

“Yes,” replied the first voice, while the hands clutched at and caught her again, “But we have to hurry, Haruka. Mistress will be here soon.”

The fear in her voice was clear, even though Joan’s head was spinning. But it was so hard to focus on anything other than those wonderful hands. Her thoughts chased themselves in vicious circles, mirroring the fingers in their long slow massage.

I just want to give in, but I can’t... but you were told to... I can’t... You must... but it’s wrong... so what, you are helpless to disobey...

“Oh my,” one of the voices hissed, “This is one desperate bitch, Akane. Mistress is going to just love her.”

I am not... but think about how wet it will make you to do it... don’t say that—I can’t... you must, because giving in to what you must do is so arousing to you... gahhh...

She screamed, her voice echoing the thoughts that ricocheted around the inside of her mind. Joan knew she was weak, but Mistress said that she had strength. Mistress had faith and, even as her resistance began to crumble, she held onto that belief.

Meanwhile, the second thrall bunched her hands in the waistband of Joan’s skirt and in one swift movement, drew both the skirt and panties down to her ankles. The young woman spasmed, feeling how the coolness of the air was magnified as it touched her burning lips. The stench of her lust seemed to fill the air, proclaiming her desire and leaving none of them in any doubt that she wanted this.

Joan’s had started communicating again, but only by mewling helplessly down the link. I couldn’t keep myself from moaning in response. This was still business, but that didn’t stop me from being human. The sweet sounds tugged at me, her slave song playing to my emotions and reminding me how badly I wanted her.

“Be strong,” I whispered, feeling the lump rising in my throat, “I’m coming for you.”

The readings altered again, another step-change, the one we had been waiting for. Joan’s brain waves slowed still further, theta now predominating and occasionally dipping into the delta range. By the time I felt the leash go slack, I had already started moving. Leaping up, and pulling the hood over my face, I sealed myself into the suit.

My world blurred for a moment, as the system struggled to keep up with my movements. But it compensated quickly and settled into high-definition clarity. Then, I was out through the door and into the dimly lit street. This time the shift was near instantaneous, light amplification turning the twilight into day. I grinned beneath the mask, feeling completely ‘badass’ and eager to kick some puffy white hypnothrall butt.

It was distasteful for me to work with the Organizatsiya, but some of the fringe benefits were really quite spectacular. The suit, for example, had originally been destinied for some Spetznaz or Federalnaya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti unit. I didn’t ask how the Russian Mafia had gotten hold of it, because, quite frankly I wasn’t sure that I wanted to know. It wasn’t quite the skin-tight catsuit of my dreams, but it did let me see in the dark and, if the sales patter was to be believed, drop kick an SUV across the Grand Canyon.

At some point the proverbial was going to hit the rotating blades, and everything was going to get very noisy. But despite the almost overwhelming desire to just burst in there, all guns blazing, a mixture of my own common sense, and the machine’s uncompromising calm, kept me subtle. We’d already spoofed the security system, and the simple mechanical locks were no match for my lockpick gun.

But, as I stepped inside, all manner of warning messages began to flash across the head up display. It was no wonder that Joan had been dropped so neatly, practically every trick I’d ever heard of, (and more than a few that came as a complete surprise), were being focussed on the interior of the store.

The image enhancement software was keeping most of the visual stimuli at bay, although I could feel something of it still clawing at the edges of my thoughts. The suit was already filtering the external audio and the slightly chemical taste told me that I was now using the internal air supply. Some of the infrasonics bled through the suit’s armour and set up harmonics, which seemed to crawl inside my pussy and resonant against my clit.

I was amazed that the thralls were still standing; even wrapped from head to toe in Kevlar the attention was still maddening. Unprotected, I knew that I would have been on my knees. But, before I could devote any more of my attention to that question, one of them practically walked right into me. Augmented reflexes kicked in, turning my nascent thoughts into action. The targeting dot centred on her, clearly visible through my visor.

The gun coughed twice, and the subsonic rounds thudded wetly into her chest. The thrall didn’t even have the chance to register her surprise before the double dose of serum crashed her system. As her legs collapsed, I caught her unresisting body and gently lowered her to the floor. After that, it was simply a matter of dragging her out of sight, before easing the goggles over her glassy eyes.

The portable units were nowhere near as efficient as the machine, but it would help to soften her up and get the process started. The earplugs settled neatly in place, making sure that she wouldn’t be awakened accidentally, while adding the necessary auditory component for the brainwashing. I felt a gentle thrill of reward, as the first of Madame’s harem fell into my clutches, but recognised instantly that it was far weaker than it should have been.

Grinning, I slipped deeper into the building, following the ghostly arrow, which I knew would lead me to my errant partner. The intensity of the assault increased with each step and, as I got closer to my goal, even more devices came into range.

Alarms began to flash, their sirens adding to the cacophony, as I was engulfed in an electro-magnetic field. It was something that I didn’t think anyone had used since MK-ULTRA, and the thought of what it could have done to Joan’s unshielded brain spurred me on. I broke into a sprint, and immediately felt my ribs start to complain. But it didn’t matter; the only important thing now was to get to Joan before they could do anything else to her.

Joan, for her part, could only stand there, immersed in the raw sexual power that seemed to seep from the building’s very stones. Smooth warm leather wrapped tenderly around her arms, the straps biting cruelly where they crossed her chest. The single-glove was surprisingly loose, not the elbow-welding instrument of torture that she had somehow expected. But, it was no less inescapable for all that.

The thralls had withdrawn, and she felt their absence so keenly that it was almost painful. The memory of those slender fingers, sinking into the soft flesh of her swollen breasts, wouldn’t fade. She longed to be touched and to be used. Joan gave another soft strangled cry, remembering Mistress’ words and trying to do as she had been told. But she didn’t feel strong, and each passing moment seemed to reinforce her weakness.

Heels clicked softly on the polished tile floor. However, the sound didn’t quite penetrate the lusty fog which filled the captive girl’s mind. It was only when the woman spoke that Joan’s attention snapped towards her, focussing completely and letting the new arrival fill her world. The voice was assured and commanding, but somehow contrived to be strident. It seemed to break the spell, setting Joan’s teeth on edge and yet still making her squirm in the simple bondage.

“Who, the fuck, is she?” The woman demanded angrily.

“A customer, Mistress,” whined one of the thralls, and once again Joan could almost taste the fear. “Does she please you?”

The woman stepped closer, regarding her imperiously. The Madame was not at all what Joan had been expected. She was older than Mistress, and her expression was cruel, features set in a permanent scowl. But, the aura of power that surrounded her was almost the equal of Mistress’ own and it was that to which Joan found herself responding.

The Madame stared deeply into Joan’s pleading eyes, and took hold of one engorged nipple. She smiled, flashing perfect teeth and then savagely twisted the tender nub. Her grin widened as her victim gave a small yelp.

“Not yet, she fucking doesn’t,” she hissed, “But I’ll soon have her whipped into shape.”

Turning her gaze onto the thrall that had spoken, she narrowed her eyes and the resultant surge of power buzzed over Joan’s already sensitive skin. That touch burnt, even though she wasn’t the intended recipient. But, the oriental woman’s screams suggested a torment, which was practically unimaginable.

“Piece of shit!” The Madame screeched, losing any semblance of control, “There will be a price for this presumption!”

Joan flinched, as the thrall sobbed and pleaded. But the tall, leather-clad woman paid no heed to either of them. Instead, she let the stress of her regard settle on the remaining thrall. Another flash of power stung their skin, no more gentle than the last, but without its fiery anger.

“Take this worthless slut!” she barked, indicating the first, cowering thrall. “My property must not be permanently damaged, but that is my only rule … hurt it, I want it to know nothing but pain … do that now, or I shall find another slave who will, and that slave will have two targets!”

It was obvious that she was used to having her orders followed unquestioningly. The two thralls practically crawled away, one still crying softly, but by then Madame Sin only had eyes for Joan. All memory of the earlier outburst faded away, sinking slowly beyond her conscious awareness. The Domme’s pupils seemed to swell and deepen, pulling Joan with them.

She felt cool fingers close around her chin, holding her head in place, and keeping it from slumping onto her chest. Joan’s eyes swam with tears, and to her embarrassment, she felt a thin trickle of drool begin to puddle between her breasts. Hot tongues licked lasciviously over the surface of her thoughts, and her slavish cunt juiced.

“Did you come here alone, bitch?” the woman asked with deceptive softness.

“No,” Joan moaned in response, unable to stop her traitorous tongue.

“So, there’s another little cunt waiting outside, is there?” she snarled, “Who is she?”

“Yes,” the entranced captive acknowledged, her body trembling with the effort, “Mistress.”

The Madame’s double take was almost comical, but her surprise quickly turned to malevolent amusement. She gripped her captive’s face more tightly, and moved even closer. Her power danced between them, fire dripping into Joan’s brain and making her cry out.

“There’s only one Mistress here,” The Madame assured her, and the screams grew even louder.

“You took the words out of my mouth,” I drawled, unable to resist the ‘feed line’.

She spun towards me, and Joan seemed to sag, yet somehow remained standing. Then, the strange woman’s eyes bored through my visor and into my frontal lobes. I had a moment to curse myself for grandstanding, and then my muscles began to lock up.

Her pupils yawned wide; sucking me down, and I could feel something slimy trying to slide past my defences. I shuddered at the sensation of violation, then it found my amygdala, and everything dissolved into a kaleidoscope of bliss.

My hand began to tremble, as I tried to urge a few more ounces of pressure out of my trigger finger. Her touch warred with my pre-existing conditioning, and I found myself reduced to the role of an observer. She had the edge in raw power, but the machine’s influence was pervasive and, more importantly, I was willing to let it have me, just so long as that kept me from her. Joan’s plaintive cries still echoed in my ears, and forced me to remember that I wasn’t only fighting for myself.

But her grip on my mind was just too strong, and despite how repellent I found that touch, it was impossibly to deny how good it felt. She thrust the arousal upon me, and somehow that made it all the more potent. I didn’t want her, in fact every passing second seemed to add fuel to my hatred, and yet, that didn’t matter. She was going to make me cum, whatever I wanted.

Realisation flooded into me, filling my mind, and then oozing down my throat and into my belly. The certainty twisted me up inside, slithering up and down my spine and lingering deep inside. My pussy gave an agonised twinge and my arse tightened. I knew what was going to happen; a self-fulfilling prophecy that only strengthened her hold.

When I came, it seemed to encompass my whole body. Even my brain seemed to tense and convulse, while my muscles stiffened in anticipation. I wanted to hump my greasy snatch against some imaginary suitor, to feel their probing tongue in every orifice. Instead, I could only stand stock still and let my innards melt in the heat of that forced desire.

“How does that feel?” she gloated, and pleasure turned to pain, “Scream for me, you fucking amateur!”

I clenched my teeth against it, feeling the tetany biting into my jaw. The pain was so pure, and so all consuming, that I could no longer tell where it ended and I began. The scream built, despite my best efforts, and I knew that when I gave voice to it, it would be hers.

“Be strong,” Joan whispered in my ear, tears in her soft voice.

Her words touched something inside, reminding me of my earlier promise and my duty. Layers of conditioning billowed around me, dampening down the pain just a little. I bit down hard, and let the rage fuel me, screaming out my defiance and throwing it into the bitch’s face.

“Go dark!” I bellowed, my voice hoarse.

The visor instantly polarised to opaqueness, shutting me off from her influence. My finger convulsed, and I was rewarded, moments later, with the heavy thud of a body striking the floor. It felt as if I was brewing the mother of all migraines, but whatever residual pain there might be, I was confident that it was now entirely my own.

“You still with me, Joan?” I asked urgently.

“Yes,” she sighed dreamily, and relief flooded through me, “You got her, Mistress.”

It was only after I had reset the visor that it became clear how close my shot had come to missing completely. Fortunately for me, it didn’t really matter where the serum was injected, and a glancing strike was generally all that was needed. It was only after I had clipped the goggles over her terrible eyes that I finally allowed myself to relax.

Stripping her down was educational, but purely in a professional sense. We weren’t going to be adding her to our team, the buyer was already lined up and waiting. It was a relief, because I don’t think that we could have stomached her presence, even after she had been tamed. But a little re-education would almost certainly do her some good, and I knew that her new owner particularly enjoyed a challenge.

The small metal device, nestled against the nape of her neck, answered a number of questions. I recognised the neural inhibitor almost immediately; I’d used them myself on a number of occasions. They worked by intercepting the nerve signals travelling to and from the brain. So, for example, the victim’s mind could be completely isolated from their body, leaving them paralysed and horribly aware of their own helplessness.

But, even a cursory examination suggested that she had been using her inhibitor to protect herself from the shop’s various defences. I shook my head, trying to imagine what the long-term effects of shutting off part of your sensorium might be. I carefully touched the controls, powering it down and allowing her to bathe once more in the warmth of her own sensations.

Just glancing at Joan confirmed that she wasn’t going to be of much practical use. Her eyes gazed unseeingly into the middle distance, but her body continued its struggle. It was almost hypnotic in itself, watching her undulate sinuously, writhing against her bonds and very occasionally giving voice to her frustrated desire.

I was pretty sure that I would able to ‘sweep and clear’ the building by myself, but the earlier ‘near miss’ had reminded me of the necessity of caution. Shutting down the myriad defences became my priority, and now that I no longer had the need for stealth, it would be just as easy to simply kill the power. Decision made, I switched channels and muttered the trigger phrase.

My carefully positioned EM limpet mine detonated, taking out the main junction box. The room was plunged into darkness, and the various warnings faded as the Madame’s systems shut down. My nightvision painted everything in sepia tones, false colour mapping out my surroundings.

“Mistress,” Joan moaned breathily.

“Nice to have you back,” I grinned.

“Yes,” she agreed, orientating on my voice, “But don’t you think that you should reinforce your control over me? You know, just in case the bitch sunk her claws more deeply into me than we know? Wouldn’t it be best to take advantage of my helpless state?”

She strained against the single-glove, arching her back and thrusting her breasts forward. She knew that I could see her, and the display was purely for my benefit. I swallowed, desire and the aftermath of the Madame’s assault warring with the need to secure our location. I wanted her, so very badly, but even before my programming began to exert its less than subtle influence, I already knew that I couldn’t have her, at least not yet.

“I know that you’re still my good girl, Joan,” I whispered, “And once we’ve loaded our cargo into the van, I’ll show you just how proud of you I am.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” she sighed, eyes rolling back as the reward hit her, “And … Mistress … am I a good enough girl to play with a couple of the thralls when we get home?”

“Oh,” I wondered, “Did you make some new friends?”

“Well, Mistress,” she giggled, “Let’s just say, they started something that I’d very much like them to finish.”

After that, there was only the relatively simple matter of collecting the remaining thralls. Battery-powered emergency lighting struggled against the darkness, but seemed to only accentuate the depth of the shadows. The hunt solved another mystery, explaining what affect the Madame’s defences had on her pets. Deprived on the constant stimulation, and effectively blinded, the girls stumbled almost drunkenly into my waiting arms. They weren’t coherent enough to put up even a token resistance, the sudden absence of their Mistress’ support leaving them confused and helpless.

They all but welcomed the soothing oblivion that my serum offered, and I took some measure of comfort in the knowledge that whatever fate awaited them, it would be an improvement on this. A fact reinforced when we discovered Joan’s new playmates. One of the pair hung, chained by her wrists and stripped to the crotch. The other was curled nearby, staring in mute horror at the whip she had been preparing to use.

Joan gathered them up in her arms and I don’t think I imagined the look of gratitude that flashed between them. The machine might demand that we sell them on eventually, but I would challenge anyone to argue that we hadn’t earned our reward. Of course, our first priority was to get them all back to the harbourside, start the processing and, more importantly, make sure that the Madame hadn’t left any nasty surprises. I looked down at the evening’s haul, and realised that we were now a force to be reckoned with.

“Sin’s gone,” announced the statuesque redhead, “My sources tracked her to Kyoto, and they tell me she’s going to be a geisha.”

“So what?” asked the bespectacled woman who sat opposite, her tone belligerent, “Bryony, you hated her, she was coarse and egomaniacal. Good riddance I say.”

“I think you’re missing the point, Katherine,” suggested a quietly mechanical voice, “We’re all rivals, and there’s very little love lost between us. But this is a matter of principle.”

“Stephanie’s right,” agreed Bryony, giving the silver-skinned woman a small nod, “Who’s to say that they will be satisfied with Sin? If we let this challenge pass unpunished, any one of us could be next.”

“But,” began Katherine carefully, “If they are this good, wouldn’t it be a shame to waste all that talent?”

“Ahh,” came a soft sigh from the shadows, green eyes flashed in the darkness and the scent of brimstone washed through the small chamber, “Better still to control them and their talents.”

“Thank you, Teresa,” Bryony smiled tightly, “My sentiments exactly. We must not squander this opportunity, but I for one would sleep far more comfortably knowing that they were under my … ahem … I mean our control.”

The four women regarded each other, and the now vacant chair, knowing that they were all making the same calculation. If this new team, operating independently, had been able to capture and break one of the inner circle; what might they achieve with a little backing? What would their new Mistress be able to expect from them? They each stared hungrily around the table, and imagined their competitors kneeling before them, waiting to be collared.

“So,” Stephanie said, after a long moment, “We issue a contract, declaring them persona non grata?”

“Yes,” the others unanimously agreed.

The meeting broke up shortly thereafter, their eagerness all too apparent. Each woman recognised the danger that this new team represented. But, they also saw an opportunity. Direct action against members of the circle was unthinkable, but there was a long and painful tradition of using proxies. More than one Mistress had ended her days worshiping at the feet of a hated rival.

Anyone good enough to bring down one of their number would be a powerful weapon, and they all wanted to make sure that the weapon would be theirs alone to wield. The taking of Madame Sin had amounted to a declaration of war. But, as old grudges began to resurface, that war was destined to expand in a way that would threaten the very fabric of the circle itself.